#no. he's busy judging him for being poor and feral

[winepresswrath]

relatively minor adaptation change I'm sad about is Lestat's relationship with religion- he's actively angry with god and the church in this version, whereas iirc in the books he identifies that kind of disillusioned rage as a specifically upper middle class malaise he's immune to because as an aristocrat he never took the whole thing that seriously. I like this because it is so, so much funnier than being mad at god. character of all time. Still very catholic but he's also like "god can't disappoint me my parents already explained our ancestors exaggerated his impact to keep the peasants in line."

And it ties into his relationships with Louis and Armand because part of his original deal is that he doesn't want to be a god or someone else's reason for being. that's one of the reasons he rejects Armand in the first place. whereas the show has him placing himself on that pedestal, at least a little, especially in his relationship with Louis. How much of this is Mr. My Own Personal Jesus With the Good Hair's POV is I guess debatable. anyway a big part of their reconciliation is him asking if Louis can forgive him for just being some guy instead of having all the answers and I really like that beat and hope they can replicate it in a way that fits with their show-dynamic.

[tired-biscuit]

Twenty-three Minutes

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: hinata hyūga/kiba inuzuka

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: slightly suggestive content, but nothing too explicit. mutual pining, friends to lovers.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 6.8k+

𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: During a prolonged game of seven minutes in heaven, previously sheltered feelings come to light between two friends.

FOR a woman so passionate about clothes and all things fashionable, it comes to no surprise that Ino Yamanaka’s closet ends up being pretty cramped.

Filled with towers upon towers of shoeboxes and a seemingly never-ending row of hangers that all contain pricey jackets, thick sweaters and colourful skirts most of Konoha has yet to see her wear, the already tight space feels even more excruciatingly small when accommodated by a single person, much less two. 

Especially if one of those people is a rather tall and burly man, who cannot for the life of him keep still, and the other one is a woman whose anxiety – invoked by that very same man, albeit unintentionally – makes her fidget all over the place, no matter that she so desperately attempts to make herself seem smaller than she actually is.

To be fair, Hinata has good reason to be nervous. During a round of seven minutes of heaven she had never actually agreed to playing with her very, very intoxicated group of friends, the poor – and completely sober – Hyūga had somehow ended up shoved inside a closet with no one other than Kiba; her former teammate and friend. 

And much to her astonished surprise, he’s felt more than just that as of late. 

Hence the anxiety. And speaking of the dreadful thing, Hinata’s breathing is ragged now as she assesses the current situation she’s wound up in. 

Let’s see. She’s all alone in the dark with him – the man she has a mellow, albeit steadily growing crush on. His arm is touching her own with the close proximity. He’s been giving her fleeting glances the entire night. Smiling even more sweetly at her than usual, too; the signature feral grin growing larger and larger with every downed drink.

I mean, who wouldn’t be nervous?

Staring at the sheer, sparkly fabric, which she assumes belongs to a dress of some wicked style she’d never dare wear herself, Hinata attempts to calm down her wild heartbeat by channeling her focus on wondering how such an outrageous number of outfits can possibly belong to one single person.

All right, the person in question is Ino Yamanaka… but still. Surely even a woman like her would have some sort of limit? Right?

Judging by the slight crinkle of his nose when she reaches out to touch the shimmering dress as a failed attempt to seem busy, Kiba seems to be thinking the exact same thing.

“Damn, this place is fuckin’ drenched in perfume, huh,” his gruff voice reaches her ears all of a sudden, the familiar drawl to lace it even more prominent because of the fact that he’s ever so slightly tipsy. 

Hinata merely blinks at the curse, seemingly unfazed by it. Over time, she’s learned that all Inuzuka talk in the same crude way; sharp and straight to the point, despite the tendency of swallowing down most of the words as if they can’t be bothered to say them in their entirety. 

And yet, they still put in the extra effort to keep them as blunt as possible every chance they get. 

Back in the day when they had been mere Genin, Hinata had been shocked to hear what filthy vocabulary Kiba opted to use on the norm right there – amongst elders and other children alike. 

She remembers it quite clearly, actually. Being so, so worried about what his mother might think of it if she were to catch him using that kind of coarse language. However after meeting Tsume and spending a single afternoon inside her home with Shino, her worries proved to be entirely unnecessary. After all, the moment the clan leader had opened her mouth, it made sense where Kiba had picked up the habit from.

But now, after spending so many years in his company and going on missions, running errands with him and reporting to the Hokage, she’s grown used to it – somewhat. 

If she looks past the rudeness, the way he speaks is almost one of his more likeable features. Right next to his messy brown hair, of course. And his wide smile that he only brings forth whenever he feels like it, as well as the dimples in his cheeks, and the red fang markings that accompany the grin.

Looking at it now, his grin still remains boyish even if he’s no longer the ditzy boy she’s always known him as. After all, standing in that boy’s place is a grown man, now. A fully capable man; a Jōnin with experience underneath his belt – no, not in that way!

Christ. Where had all the years gone? Hadn’t she been participating in low-ranked missions with him and Shino just yesterday?

Speaking of years, it had taken Hinata plenty to acknowledge the change, to force herself to admit that he’s grown into a person she could admire in more ways than one. Especially now, as she turns to look at her former teammate from underneath her lashes, and realizes that the childish roundness of his face and the insolent upturn of his nose have long since disappeared. 

Because as far as appearance goes: Kiba has become all sharp and precise lines; all high cheekbones and an equally defined jaw. He’s got these piercing eyes that have the power to pin her down with just one look alone, and full lips that hide a rather dangerous set of teeth she’s never been afraid of – never. 

Where her body gently curves, his own cuts. His skin is also darker than hers; tan and sun-kissed, like the sun itself appreciates the fact that he’s willing to walk under it, while it turns her red in return, mocking her by making her look like a damned sea crab. 

But it’s not just his looks that have changed. He’s also become more attentive towards others, more easy-going with the passing years, too. The war had changed him, had turned him calmer and gotten rid of most of his immature foolishness, whilst it stirred and riled her up in return. 

It’s nothing to fret about, though – his sudden calmness. He’s still got that snarky attitude that always made the hair on the nape of her neck stand to attention, sometimes in a bad way, other times not as much – he’s got plenty of it, actually. However, the only difference is that he’s also got the whip to tame it into submission whenever the need calls for it, now.

Submission. 

The word lingers in her head for a tiny bit. Unlike her, Kiba had always been the exact opposite of it. More of the domineering sort. But now, standing in this tight space with him; sharing every single one of her breaths with him and feeling the warmth that just won’t stop radiating from his body, she can’t help but wonder if he’s also like that during… during…

Hinata’s pulse turns erratic once more as treacherous heat creeps up her pale neck and stains her equally as white cheeks with the sudden rush of blood to pool everywhere inside her body. Her thoughts run haywire for a second, and as if on cue, she feels Kiba move again. 

The sleeve of his forest green sweater brushes against her cream-coloured one with the movement. She swears that she can feel that wretched heat of him right through the thick layers of cotton they’ve both donned on to fight the unsuspecting cold autumn had brought upon the village. Swears that she can feel it scorch her skin.

“Hina?” As if he can sense the change within her, Kiba also turns to look at her, now. Unlike her, he moves with his entire body; all until the middle of his chest – his heart – is pointing right towards her. As if the call for help she’s silently emitting is too strong for him to ignore, he unknowingly offers her his undivided attention just from the way he stands now.

He has always been like that, ever since they were kids. Always so open and transparent with his thoughts and emotions, he had always been there – right by her side. Soap-sliver thin, translucent. Relentlessly urging her to grow stronger and strive for something big, something special; not once had Kiba turned his back on her, whilst so many others did. 

Like her father, for example. And Neji, back when the anger he’d felt for their entire clan had been unfortunately misplaced and aimed towards her instead. 

Neji. The bridge between her and her cousin had been repaired at some point, a kernel of hope starting to take root somewhere deep within her as they at long last met at the middle of it. She grew; prospered. But then the war had happened, and its cruel wrath had taken Neji from her for a second time – this time with no chances of ever binding back the ropes that held that bridge together. 

She’d cried a fucking river because of the loss; that already delicate bud of nearly blossoming hope withering right back to dust as if it had never even existed before. It had taken both Kiba and Shino literal years to piece her back together. To mend her back into what she once had been, what she has now become again – but this time stronger, and at long last willing to pick up the reins that held the power to control her life.

Hinata still remembers them both sleeping on the floor of her apartment that she’d moved into after the war as a means to isolate herself from her clan. Every single night they were there: Shino asleep on his back, those quirky sunglasses still sitting atop the bridge of his nose, while Kiba and Akamaru lay curled together into a mess of thrashing limbs, blankets and hefty paws.

She had never told Kiba that she heard him mumbling her name in his sleep on some nights, the furrow of his brow tight and his fingers twitching as if he was trying to reach out for the phantom version of her he’d conjured up in his dreams. Had never mentioned the look she’d exchanged with Shino when he caught her reaching over to run her hand through the Inuzuka’s hair in an attempt to calm him down on night number six.

It was easier to pretend, to feign blissful ignorance. After all, Kiba did just the same as he rose with the sun each morning and whisked those pesky late-night thoughts away for the day ahead. Shino did, too.

“Hina? Hey.” Kiba repeats the silly nickname the elders of her clan would never allow him to use, yanking her back from her thoughts with a snap of his fingers in front of her nose; pushing her back to this moment, to him. 

The inside of the closet is dark, but she knows that his peculiar eyes allow him to see just fine in it – much like she’s able to use her own to discern any movement hiding in the shadows. And because of them, she now sees him as clear and bright as day as he tilts his head, studying her intently before he asks, “You all right?”

“Yes,” Hinata croaks in answer almost immediately. Her rosy lips form a thin line as she presses them together before she swallows the saliva that’s gathered inside her mouth. The sound is loud in the small space, too loud. So she clears her throat, her tone slightly more even as she says, “I’m fine.”

“Mm. You don’t seem fine to me,” he retaliates immediately, tapping his nose with the tip of his index finger with a small, albeit signaturely arrogant grin. Hinata tries not to look at the glint of his fangs too much when he drawls, “I can smell how nervous you are, you know.”

Unbeknownst to her, Kiba doesn’t mention the fleeting whiff of sweetness he’s caught emitting from her amongst the bitter tang of nervosity. Doesn’t allow himself to get his hopes up, even if he’ll trust his keen sense of smell right to the day he dies and gets lowered into his grave.

So instead, he watches as her pretty eyes dart onto his hand that he still keeps lifted to his face. Her gaze slides across the scars that litter almost every one of his knuckles; rises upwards to acknowledge how blunt and short he prefers to keep his nails, even if he possesses the ability to form claws. 

Speaking of them, they’re all fully healed – the scars. Some are fading, others are thinning out, but Hinata still doubts they’ll ever completely go away. After all, the one that runs along the edge of his thumb in one clean, straight line, reaching down right to the upper side of his wrist, is still there even if it’s ages old. 

It had been a not-so-kind courtesy from her kunai during one especially intense sparring session when she’d still fought like a goddamn lioness to try and impress her father – her clan. Back when she thought that she actually stood a chance.

Even to this day, Hinata still thinks of Kiba as an idiot for never getting back at her for it. She had been seething with blind rage, not caring if she actually caused him any sort of hurt or injury whilst chasing her father’s approval during what was supposed to be just a simple day of training. 

The action had been so unlike her, had been a nearly polar opposite of her normally demure nature, and he had just… endured it. Had encouraged it even, and smiled that wide grin as she stepped back and dropped the kunai at the first sight of a droplet of blood dripping down her teammate’s hand.

He had never once winced as she cleaned up the rather deep gash only minutes later, her emergency medkit splayed wide open in the grass next to her. Had never once complained about it. Just told her that he was proud of her for sticking up for herself. That if she kept it up, she would be able to kick just about anybody’s ass real soon.

Hinata blinks. This closet – this closeness – is going to give her fucking whiplash. She doesn’t sound fully like herself as she says, “I-I’m not nervous.” Yeah, that oughta convince him.

“Aha, sure ya ain’t,” Kiba says, all sarcasm and blatant disbelief as if he can read her thoughts.

He ignores her characteristic stutter that she’s only now slowly ridding herself off - at the ripe age of twenty-five. Pauses to look at the faint tinge of pink on her round cheeks; at the thinnest layer of sweat that gathers on the column of her neck. Christ, she smells so sweet, so sugary. All he wants to do is bury his nose into the crook of her neck; inhale her fucking essence until–

“What?” she asks now, catching the way his pupils expand when he flicks his gaze up to look her in the eyes again. Her voice sounds so small, she hates it. He thinks it’s the cutest thing ever. Especially when she tries to give him a defiant glare.

Long seconds pass. Her heart is pounding like crazy inside her chest. Ouch, ouch, ouch.

“Nothin’,” Kiba finally mumbles, still staring at her. But instead of adding anything more to his answer, he rather sucks in a deep breath through his nose. As if trying to read her more thoroughly. Trying to pinpoint the exact emotions, the exact hormones that are altering her scent.

As if coming up with a plan.

Hinata swears that her nerves twitch with anticipation at how he quietly grunts after the inhale – twitch with whatever the hell it is that makes her feel like her pulse is thundering inside her ears. It just makes her sweat all the more. Makes her scent turn all the more prominent.

The tension in the small closet rises with inhumane speed when he tilts his head to the side and looks at her with a glint inside his eyes that she could only describe as purely predatory. He’s different now; his jaw clenched tight and his gaze so intense that it pins her down to the spot, making her breathing hitch in the back of her throat. 

Flames are beginning to lick up her legs at the heat of his stare that burns like a forge, now. She can feel its warmth nipping at the tips of her toes, her calves, her thighs as they continue to run their ember tongues along her now-flushed skin.

“I’m not nervous,” she repeats meekly, as if the denial can serve as a shield of some sort. Her upper lip quivers in the same way her whisper does. She says the words but doesn’t even believe them herself, how silly.

Kiba seems to notice it, too, because a dumb smirk is plastering itself onto his even dumber face as he takes a step towards her and taunts, “Not nervous ‘bout what? Being stuck in here with me? All alone, jus’ you and me?”

And despite her instincts telling her not to, Hinata pushes back when he leans in, towards one wall of Ino’s stupidly cramped closet. She guesses that he’s just toying with her like he always does; but fuck, he’s so close to her now that she can smell the cool scent of his nettle shampoo and the spearmint chewing gum that sits on top of his tongue.

For how long have they been stuck inside this closet? Surely longer than seven minutes? He wouldn’t just pounce at her this fast. This quickly. 

Right?

“C’mon, Hina,” he mutters, his voice deeper than usual; so raspy and warm that it reminds her of crackling wood in a fireplace she never got the chance to lounge in front of. “Just admit it. I can smell how you feel, you know damn well that you can’t hide that kind of stuff from me.”

“I-I–” she starts, heart suddenly hammering; jumping inside her ribcage from the surge of adrenaline to shoot throughout her. “I’m not... not–”

“Not nervous?” Kiba finishes for her, still advancing closer. “Yeah, you’ve already told me that. Now do me a favour and tell me what I wanna hear instead.” Dear god, has he always been this big? This demanding?

His intimidating presence fills the small space so rapidly that she feels like fainting. Even the previously pink blush that had lingered on her cheeks deepens into a furious shade of scarlet. It tingles across her entire face, the blush. Makes it prickle with heat.

Hinata blinks, her long eyelashes rapidly fluttering. It’s a struggle to form sentences from how fast her brain deteriorates to pathetic mush from being this flustered. “N-No, I–”

“You what, mm? Know that scent doesn’t lie?” He’s so close to her now that he’s towering over her in the dark, cornering her and caging her right between himself and the wall. 

His scent envelops her, overrides Ino’s perfume that surrounds them and makes her toes curl in her knee-high socks. He smells heavy; like the rain and the rich soil it hits, nothing like her dainty notes of lavender and vanilla. A forest, something ancient and powerful. It’s enough to turn her slightly dazed, if the nearly non-existent proximity hadn’t done that to her already.

She’s frozen to the spot as he twirls a strand of her silky midnight hair around his finger before tucking it behind her ear. And whilst doing so, he accidentally – or not – brushes the sensitive spot right where her jaw meets her neck. 

The immediate zing of electricity to surge through her makes Hinata’s knees wobble. Makes her thighs clench together and her vision spin. She sags against the wall, nearly going limp from how soft her legs turn.

But when he reaches out to catch her, her hand shakes as she suddenly slams it flat against his chest. Right where his heart is. Her fingers clutch his forest green sweater, pretty nails, clear of any sort of polish, digging into the cotton; desperately clawing.

“Stop it,” she blabbers, evident panic clear in her voice. “You can’t– No, no, n-no... Enough!”

Kiba stops at the jumble of words she throws at him. Looks at her. Really looks at her. At her wide eyes, at the blush that still sears her entire face, making her look like a ripe tomato. At the quick rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathes, and breathes, and breathes, as well as at the sweat that gleams on not just her neck now, but also her brow.

And then, he chuckles. This deep sort of rumble that’s pleasant to echo within his chest. That outright confuses her. Especially when that same chuckle turns into a snicker, that finally turns into full-blown laughter.

“Wh–...” Hinata starts, heart still thumping, thrill still coursing her veins. She still feels light-headed. “What’s so funny?”

“Ah, I’m so sorry, Hina,” Kiba manages to let out between boyish snickers, his eyes crinkling with guilty delight. He wipes at the corners of them, now, upper lip quivering, showing off one pointy fang. “I couldn’t resist, hah…! You should have seen the look on your face, ahah!”

The raven-haired Hyūga blinks, feeling the colour draw away from her face, tinting her cheeks back into a faint rosy shade of blush instead of the previously intense red. “What are you going on about?”

“I was just messing with ya,” he explains through a wheeze, nose scrunching when he grins again – all broad and wild. He takes a shuddering breath, tries to quiet down the little giggles that just won’t stop erupting from him before he scratches the back of his neck and looks at her again.

Her brows lift, hiding beneath her bangs as she waits for further explanation.

One corner of Kiba’s mouth kicks upward at how sternly she looks up at him this time. “Did you really think I’d believe you’d be nervous ‘cause of me? C’mon.” He pauses, and looks her directly in the eye as if to challenge her before flicking his wrist, dismissing her. “I know I’m dumb, but I’m not that dumb. Have some faith in me, please.”

Hinata’s stare continues to remain unmoving, even if her legs still feel like jelly. Christ, who knew he had such an impact on her? The entire thing lasted what, a mere minute? And here she is – mere putty in his hands already. 

She doesn’t comment on his level of intelligence, just asks, “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

His smile falters slightly at the question, at the tone. Even his eyes seem to lose just a smidge of that mischievous glint as he simply shrugs and says, “Well, you’re still pining after Naruto, are you not?”

Silence stretches between the two friends despite the small space. The heavy, slightly uncomfortable kind.

“Everyone makes me nervous,” Hinata says finally. “Not just Naruto.”

Saying his name doesn’t bring the thrill it used to. Doesn’t make her heart clench, nor her tongue taste any sweeter. She cares about the future Hokage, of course she does, but not in that kind of way anymore. Not in that desperately, hopelessly infatuated kind of way that he never seemed to return.

He didn’t even see her, after all. At least not in any way Kiba did. Like he still does, actually, even to this day.

“Yeah, but he’s the only one that could… ya know,” Kiba finds himself running his mouth when she turns quiet again, attempting to fill the silence with words, words, words, “provoke you in that kind of way. ‘Cause of how madly in love with him you are, and all that lovey-dovey crap, hah.”

“Being in love is not ‘crap’,” she mumbles at his fake laugh, the curse tasting foreign on her modest tongue. Even he blinks in surprise at the fact that she used it.

But then he shakes his head. Loses the smile. 

“Yeah, it is,” he says.

“No, it isn’t,” she counters right back. “Why would it be?”

“‘Cause all it does is bring you pain,” he retaliates finally. He pauses, that short beat of silence skipping as his eyes suddenly start to avoid her. “I mean, I don’t know ‘bout you, but that seems like a pretty crappy thing to me.”

Hinata gets the feeling that he isn’t talking about her struggles concerning love when he says the words.

But instead of saying anything, she just watches as he pulls back from her then, giving her space to breathe; to calm down. His touch to her neck had left the skin there burning in its wake, but that’s not why she frowns now. No, the reason as to why she pouts, bottom lip just barely jutting out, is rather because of the lack of that exact physical connection.

Kiba looses a sigh at the sight of that freaking pout. Runs a frustrated hand through his chestnut hair. “Look, I’m sorry, okay?”

“Mhm.”

“C’mon… Don’t be upset with me, it was just a joke.”

“Well, I am.”

“Ugh.”

She sits down next to him, still wearing that adorable pout on her face, when he motions her to join him by patting the warm floorboards right after he slides down the wall and plops down onto them himself. The closet is so small that their thighs are touching. His joggers rub against her bare skin, making her pleated skirt rustle.

Neither of them moves their leg away.

They stare at the dark for a moment, not focusing on anything in particular. The slits that are his pupils grow wider when she sighs herself and rests her head on his shoulder, they eat up the white space where his irises should have been. Meanwhile, Hinata’s own eyes serve as polar opposites to his own; the milky circles dilating with no visible pupils in sight.

Briefly, she wonders what the eyes of their children would look like. What abilities they’d possess. What kind of life that would be for her. If he’d be as much of a good husband to her as he is a friend.

“Hina?” His tone is careful when it reaches her again.

“Mm?” she mumbles, her soft cheek nudging his shoulder as she readjusts herself. She brings her knees closer to her chest, but makes sure her skirt stays in place.

“I’m sorry.” Genuine this time. Torn.

“Did you really mean what you said,” she utters after a brief pause of thought. “About love?”

He’s silent for a moment, too. As if contemplating. She’s just about to switch the subject to something a bit more ordinary, something a bit more safe, when he finally says, “No.”

Silence lingers once more. And then she says, “I’m not in love with Naruto anymore.”

She can feel him stiffen beside her. Can hear his breath ever so slightly shudder as he whispers, “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“How so?”

“I’ve found someone new.”

“Oh.”

He rests his head atop her own. Inhales the fruity scent of her shampoo and cherishes the sugar in it whilst he still can. “Not to overstep, but… You don’t need to love someone just to feel fulfilled, ya know.”

“I know,” she replies, his words making a rather delicate part of her heart glow, glow, glow. “But trust me when I say that even I was surprised by it… It happened so unexpectedly, even though it had kind of… Always been there. In a way.”

“Mm,” Kiba hums, deep in thought. “So, wanna tell me what the lucky bastard is like?”

Hinata chuckles at the question. At the fact he’s unknowingly called himself a bastard just now. She rests her hands atop her lap, fingers intertwining together. 

“Well… He’s rather annoying and stubborn. Loud… Like, so, so loud; you wouldn’t believe how loud he is.” Her insides warm up when he snickers at the attention she gives to the word. “But… He’s also genuine. Incredibly passionate and determined. Open, and supportive, and loving... Gosh, he’s so loving.”

“Okay, damn, don’t start drooling all over my shoulder ‘cause of this dude, now.” Kiba chuckles again as he mulls her descriptions over. Looks up at the ceiling. His toes wiggle as he thinks. “He sounds a lot like Naruto.”

“No, he’s different.” Firm, her answer. He’s his own person. Special in his own peculiar way.

“Is he nicer or somethin’?”

“Well…” The corners of her lips twitch. “Only when he wants to be, I suppose.”

“Towards you, I mean. Does he, like,” he mumbles, trying to find the right words, “see you? Treat you well?”

He’s the one. He really is. Maybe it’s time to admit it not just to herself, but to him as well.

Maybe.

Hinata stills at that; heart beginning to thunder again. Her fingers fidget, palms starting to feel clammy as she fiddles with the hem of her skirt. “I don’t know, Kiba,” she says, her voice so, so quiet that he can barely hear her despite the closeness and his sharp hearing. “You tell me?”

Kiba goes silent for a long moment, as if he’s attempting to paint the bigger picture inside his head. And then, at long fucking last, his breath hitches. His heart begins to race. Realization begins to dawn upon him and settles in, in, in.

“What?” He turns completely rigid, spine straightening, causing Hinata to lift her head from his shoulder. His face goes blank, eyes widening in the dark again. He swallows, not caring how stupid he may look as he repeats a meek, “What?”

“What?” she echoes innocently, the expression that lingers on her face completely coy. “What is it?”

“Are you saying– No,” he starts, cutting himself off with a wild shake of his head. As if he doesn’t dare believe the mere thought of her returning his feelings. As if he doesn’t dare say it. “You better not be fuckin’ with me right now as some sort of sick revenge… ‘Cause if you are, I swear to god I’ll–”

“I’m not messing with you, Kiba.”

His face flushes red now. This deep, crimson shade that almost matches the colour of the fang markings on his cheeks that tell everyone what clan he belongs to. “Stop messing with me. It’s not funny.”

“I’m not messing with you,” Hinata repeats sadly. She frowns at how lowly he actually thinks of himself. At how stubbornly he’s beaten it into his head that he doesn’t deserve to be admired by her, much less loved. For so long that he’s actually started to believe the denial.

He sucks in a deep breath. Through his mouth this time, to fill his lungs quicker with air because his chest feels way too tight all of a sudden. “But I’m not–” 

I’m not Naruto.

“I know that you aren’t,” she interrupts him gently, taking his bigger hand and clasping it with both of her smaller ones. His callouses scrape against her own, thick fingers curling around her daintier ones by pure instinct. She can’t help but smile at the affectionate touch he seems to execute without even thinking about it. He’s always known how to make her feel seen. “I never asked of you to be him.”

“But I’m not… special, like he is,” Kiba continues, his voice so low as if he’s ashamed to admit it. “I didn’t– I can’t do the stuff he does. I’ve tried, but I just… can’t.”

“So? You’re special to me,” she says and it’s true. She blinks. Runs her tongue along her front teeth. “Do you really think I’m that shallow to only fall in love with a man because he’s the strongest of them all?”

“No, but I do think that you need somebody like him,” he retaliates stubbornly. “You’re, like… royalty, or whatever. And he’s a war hero, a-a…”

“I don’t need anyone,” she cuts in again, looking up at him underneath her lashes with fire burning behind her pale eyes. “You’ve said it yourself; that I don’t need anyone to feel fulfilled… And yet, I want you.”

“Why?” He can’t understand it. How? Why? Why him?

“Because I see you,” she answers, frowning at the evident doubt that’s still present in his own eyes. “It took me a while, and I am sorry for that, but it’s true when I say that I finally see you; see the things you did and continue to do for me.”

Kiba’s teeth sink into his bottom lip. The prickle of one fang that the action invokes helps when it comes to grounding him, because if it didn’t, he’s sure as hell that he’d be floating up towards the clouds right now. Like a balloon – right through the ceiling of Ino Yamanaka’s closet. 

She wants him. Sees him. Him, him, him; nobody else. At long last, he can stop pretending. Can slowly rid himself of all the doubts and the insecurity he’s managed to hide deep underneath his thick skin. Can stop wondering if he’ll ever be good enough; ever be enough.

“Kiba?” Hinata whispers, and goddamn had his name always sounded so good, coming from her mouth like that? Always so pleasant?

“Yeah?” he whispers back. Her face is so close to his own now that he can smell her strawberry chapstick and see the subtle dip of her Cupid's bow. At how faintly it trembles as she reaches out to run her hand through his unruly hair before resting it atop his heaving chest.

She’s the one to take a deep breath this time around as she tries to calm down; to mentally prepare herself before she asks, “Do you want me, too?”

Does he want her? Does he fucking want her? What a stupid question. What a silly, foolish question.

“Yeah,” Kiba croaks out, heart pounding – hurting in the best way possible. His voice cracks; he hates it. “‘Course I want you, Hina. I-I’ve always wanted you. Ever since we were kids.” She’s so close. Goddammit, she’s so, so close. If he pushed forward by a mere inch, he could probably kiss her, oh, Christ.

Just the mere thought of her soft lips touching his own makes him feel dizzy. Makes his head spin; brain doing the same cartwheels his own heart executes in his ribcage. Thump, thump, fucking thump.

“Can I kiss you?” she asks. He can’t fathom the fact that she’s actually bolder than him for once.

“Yeah,” he repeats like a parrot, like a lovesick moron because he is one. “Mhm, yeah, yeah. Of course.”

Honestly, he’ll consider himself the luckiest man alive if he actually  manages to live for long enough to experience a kiss from her. This beautiful, kind-hearted, nurturing deity of a woman. Because judging by all the thrill that’s pumping through him right now, he doubts that he will.

And yet, he’s still around as Hinata leans in; cautiously, warily. Not because she’s scared of him and his brash nature, more so because she’s enticed by it – enticed by him. Her cheeks are so rosy, he wants to kiss them and touch them to feel their warmth. To squeeze them until her lips purse, and–

His jumbled train of thoughts diminishes and turns into pure silence when her mouth presses against his own gently and she at long last, after so many years of confusion, and lingering glances, and yearning touches and sleepless nights spent tossing and turning in separate beds, kisses him.

And fuck, the kiss is so soft. So sweet. His hand lifts to touch her cheek, feeling its warmth, her own two back to holding onto his other one that had never left her lap. Stroking his knuckles in a way that she can feel the scar she’d given him all those years ago and that he, unbeknownst to her, wears proudly today.

He melts completely into her. Melds himself with her very soul through every panting brush of lip. He calls himself an arrogant bastard, but he’s become as soft as a teddy bear that she gets to squeeze and play with to her heart's content. 

Every kiss they exchange continues to grow in intensity. Turns to subtle click of teeth and swipe of tongue. Their lips don’t touch in the usual needy, feral tempo he opts for, but it’s still one that he can appreciate just as deeply – even more so, now that he thinks about it. Like he’s wound up in an alley he’s not at all familiar with, but surprisingly enjoys the stay in nonetheless.

Kiba pushes into her more deeply, makes her release this shuddering gasp that lights his body on fire as he takes over. He wants to pull her into his lap – to ravage her, taste her all over because he’s been waiting for this day, for this moment, for so long. To cherish her, adore her in more sinful ways. Make her feel special with his hands, mouth, tongue.

And how couldn’t he wish for that? After all, Hinata, his Hinata, tastes like sugar and everything nice, countering the bitter taste of beer he possesses on his own tongue because of the little party they’ve still got going on.

Shit, the party–

The closet door slides open a mere moment after Hinata senses movement and Kiba catches another scent. They part swiftly; with a quiet, albeit slightly lewd pop! Thank god for being ninjas.

The two rapidly blink at the sliver of light to seep into the closet as the third member of the former Team 8, Shino Aburame, gives both Kiba and Hinata a pointed look through his tinted spectacles, now. Their respective heartbeats are still all over the place by the time he peers inside the darkness himself. 

They watch as he looks down, looks at their entwined fingers; at Kiba’s hand that still rests on Hinata’s cheek. At their panting chests. At how closely they sit together, how fucking red they’ve become.

“Hmm,” is everything Shino contributes to the conversation that’s yet to begin. Their friend merely quirks a dark brow as if he knows exactly what they’ve been up to. 

And perhaps he does, Kiba thinks. Hiding a tiny bug amongst so many clothes the wretched Yamanaka owns, would be a piece of cake for the nosy insect user. But alas, who on earth would believe him if he exposed Shino as the true gossiper he actually was?

Luckily for him, however, Hinata is the first one to stumble into movement out of the trio. Her eyelashes can’t stop fluttering as she stutters a tiny, “H-Hi, Shino.” 

Goodness, she’s so pink in the face; the blush blooming as furiously as ever now that they’ve been caught. So cute. Especially as she releases Kiba’s hand to run her fingers through her hair frantically, trying to smooth down the strands he’d managed to ruffle whilst kissing her like a madman.

“Hey, man,” Kiba plays along, seemingly unable to wipe off the dopey grin that remains plastered on his face, now. Still wearing the wild grin, he pushes from the floor and offers Hinata his hand to help her back up to her feet as soon as he stands up to his full height. 

Swiftly standing right next to him a moment later, Hinata never lets go of Kiba’s hand. Neither does he let go of hers. Of course he’ll hold her hand if she wishes for him to hold it. At this point, he’ll do just about anything for her.

His eyes are on Shino as he clears his throat, trying so hard to be casual when he says, “What’s up?”

Shino’s gaze dips to their entwined fingers once more. He stares at how Kiba strokes Hinata’s knuckles so tenderly that the action almost seems alien for a brute like him, and how she shyly lowers her head until that curtain of midnight hair almost entirely obscures her from the view of the two men. 

It doesn’t last long, however. After all, Kiba feels the need to tuck it behind her ear rather quickly. Feels the need to make her feel seen even quicker.

So after a silent couple of seconds, the poor Aburame finally looses an exasperated sigh at the new item to stand before him; at how their entire dynamic is surely bound to change, now. Gesturing them to follow, he merely utters, “Time’s up.”

“Is it, now?” Kiba drawls in answer. The Inuzuka swears that he can still feel the tingle of Hinata’s lips on his own. When he pokes the tip of his tongue out, he tastes strawberries – sweet!

“Yes,” Shino replies, stepping out of the closet so the pair can do the same. With his back turned towards them, he adds somehow amusedly, “It’s been up sixteen minutes ago, actually.”

Hinata and Kiba exchange a look as they head back for the living room where loud chatter suddenly erupts; all of their friends most surely anticipating their return and the juicy story to follow. 

His grin grows, stretching even wider than usual when she gives him a single nod of her head. A silent approval.

Who knew that all it took was a cramped closet and twenty-three minutes to spare in the dark?

[sukirichi]

— there’s always a price to pay when you get your hands on a work of art.

PAIRING: tattoo! artist megumi x reader

REQUEST. tattoo artist au + mutual pining + size kink, praise kink, thigh riding + reader is shorter than megumi and isn’t shy 

WARNINGS: feral megumi, scratching, vaginal sex, size kink, praise kink, mature content, slight overstimulation, sexual tension lol, unedited story

NOTES: ah thank you so much for this request, I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Here is my third contribution for FERAL MEGUMI FRIDAYS! and oh wow tattoo artist megumi uh no thoughts head empty

WC: 5.4k+

The tattoo saloon loomed over you, the neon signs almost blinding in the darkness. You could feel your heart pick up its pace in your chest as you hitched your bag up higher, the excitement settling in your toes. Mustering up the brightest smile you could have, you cleared your throat and pushed the door open, the tiny bell on top jingling to signal your arrival.

Your eyes roamed around the walls covered with intricate drawings, the leather seats dark and kept in pristine. Now that was rare – your leather couches always wore out in just a few weeks.

Making your way inside, grip on your sling bag still tight, you bit your lip as you peaked behind the counter. Empty. No one was there, and the nearby opened rooms were empty as well. Scratching your head, you scrunched your nose in confusion. You were sure you got the right place.

With a heavy sigh, you turned to leave, then stopped in your tracks when a dark-haired man exited a door you hadn’t even noticed at first.

He was tall – taller than you; his arms stretched until the sleeves of his black hoodie were pulled down, revealing a sliver of black tattoos that marked his skin. Upon hearing your awed gasp, his cold blue eyes fluttered to yours, the man – who was absolutely handsome despite his frown – froze in his spot.

You waved a hand to him, your smile bigger than ever. “Hi!” So you would be working with this cute guy? Maybe job-hunting wasn’t such a bad experience, after all.

“Hey,” he drawled out hesitantly, approaching you with his ink stained fingers pointed at you. He was still frowning, which was a damn shame, since you were sure he’d look even hotter if he smiled. “So...you’re Y/N.”

“Yeah!”

“And you...” he tilted his head to the side, inquisitive eyes studying your form. You would’ve felt conscious with the way his brows furrowed, eyes unreadable and lips pressed into a thin line, but you were sure you dressed to impress on your first interview. You admitted, however, that maybe wearing a white collared shirt with a pink tennis skirt made you stand out like a sore thumb in the heaviness of the studio. “...want to be a front desk man here?”

“Yeah!”

“What makes you think you’re qualified for this?” he crossed his arms on his chest, and you didn’t miss the slight bite of his voice. So he was handsome – but cranky. Great. “You don’t look like you fit in here.”

“Judging someone’s appearance and inferring that it has any relation to their credentials isn’t such a professional thing to do, you know,” you raised your chin proudly, jutting a pointer finger to his chest. He clearly didn’t expect this because he scowled and took a step back, while you fought the grin that threatened to paint your face. “Would you like it if people told you that you’re not qualified to be a lawyer because of your tattoos and piercings?”

He scoffed, “I don’t want to be a lawyer. As you can see, I’m a tattoo artist. And to answer your question, no, I don’t give a fuck what people think about me.”

“I can tell,” you muttered to yourself before smiling back up at him. He was too easy to read; his brow quivering and lips firm at your faux enthusiasm. “But yes, I do believe I’m qualified! I’m a fast learner and I’m even quick on my feet! I’m really good at talking to people too so I believe I can help schedule client appointments really well and guide them with this whole process.”

“Being front desk man doesn’t mean serving the clients tea and biscuits.”

“I know.”

“You know?” he snorted with a roll of his eyes. He then gestured you to follow him all the way back to the front desk. You expected he’d teach you about how to handle the appointment books or pick up phone calls, but instead he plopped down on the leather couch of the waiting area, his legs crossed on top of the other.

Your eyes followed the patch of pale skin exposed from his ripped jeans before you looked away, not wanting him to see that you found him attractive despite his less than welcoming personality.

“What exactly do you know about this industry?”

“Nothing, to be honest, but I’m not here to be a tattoo artist or anything. I just really need a job and I assure you I’ve got plenty of experience and knowledge when it comes to manning front desks or counters,” you stated confidently, “I know I look out of place, but I really need this job.”

The man only narrowed his eyes at you. Contemplation was written all over his face, probably wondering why you couldn’t just work somewhere else. “Why come here, of all places?”

“Because it’s the only one that has a flexible schedule,” you sighed, “I can’t work shifts anymore because I’m too busy at university. From when I talked to your boss – Geto, was it? – he said that the salon was open 24/7 and I could work until before my classes start. He’s not really strict about that kind of thing.”

“So you mean to tell me,” he leaned forwards, looping his fingers with one another while his ice cold gaze slithered over your desperate ones. “You’ll be at university for half the day, sleep until midnight, and then come here to work and attend class a few hours later? Isn’t your schedule a little irregular?”

“Oh no, it’s not like that! I also have mock classes after uni and it lasts until late at night, then I help clean at the local shelter. They’re running out of volunteers and the dogs are really adorable and take my stress away so...I make sure to come by when I have time.”

“You are one odd creature,” he noted loudly, almost as if he wasn’t completely aware he vocalized his thoughts. Well, at least now you knew he wasn’t the type to think his words over, which either made him more entertaining – or insufferable the longer you worked with him – if you began working anyway. “You could’ve used your spare time to rest. Do you even eat?”

“Yeah, I have a granola bar right now with me! I actually brought two,” you pulled out the snack from your bag, “You want some? I only got the oats, though.”

“Keep it to yourself,” he rolled his eyes, slapping his hands over his knees before rummaging over something behind the counter. “Fine. If Geto said he’s okay with you, then you’re hired.”

“Really, that easy?” your eyes widened, but then you chuckled when this strange man glared at you in response. He sighed as he pulled out a piece of paper, a pen on top of it. The papers read something about application forms and credentials, and you beamed, happily writing your information away with a slight bounce in your toes.

Unable to keep your happiness to yourself, you looked back at the bored man, wiggling your eyebrows playfully. “Huh. I was kind of expecting you would grill me – you’ve got that scary look in your eye. Let me guess, you often scare clients off?”

It seemed he could never get tired of glaring at you, because his eyes fuelled with heat as he leaned against the wall.

You hated to admit that he looked ridiculously handsome like that – the guy wasn’t even doing anything remotely attractive in the first place!

“I’m the most booked artist here, and I ask that you don’t get too comfortable with me. You haven’t even started working here and you’re already riling up on my train,” he groaned when you merely laughed in response. He made quick work of signing something in your form before handing you a key. “Here’s for your locker. Come to work tomorrow. Geto won’t be around for a week so I’ll be the one judging your performance. If you fuck up in the slightest – I won’t hesitate to fire you, you understand? We always have Yuuji coming around anyway, you’re really not that needed for the front desk.”

“Oh,” you nodded at his harshness, unsure whether to feel threatened or amused. “O-okay. I’ll do my best then. I look forward to you – ah, wait, what’s your name?”

“Fushiguro Megumi.”

“Oh, that’s a pretty name,” you muttered to yourself, uttering his name over and over again until it rolled smoothly on your tongue. “Shame you have a shitty attitude along with that handsome face, though.”

“You trying to say something?”

You faced him, about to laugh when he scowled at your not-so-subtle comments. Waving your hands to him, you made your way out the door, your smile only irritating him further. “No, I wasn’t. I’ll be taking my leave then – see you tomorrow!”

Seems like working in a tattoo studio wouldn’t be so bad.

You came to work the next day early and pumped with adrenaline. The idea of meeting the moody tattoo artist caused you to be giggly and happy the whole day, not even feeling the exhaustion of a long day of hard work as you made your way inside the shop.

Clocking in at exactly two in the morning, you proudly tugged your name badge on top of your left breast, patting it for good luck.

The bells jingled, making you look away from your tag. “Good morning – oh, where’s Megumi?” The man standing in front of you was taller than Megumi, his head nearly knocking over the doorframe if it wasn’t for his poor, slouched lanky frame.

He had white hair that brushed atop his cerulean blue eyes, and your eyes widened because wow, he was beautiful.

“Hey, you must be Y/N! Megumi told me you came around yesterday but he didn’t tell me the counter girl was this pretty,” He was in front of you the next second, his nose nearly grazing over yours that had you leaning back into the wall for space. “Hmm...he didn’t tell me that at all.”

“Oh, thank you. You are...?”

“I’m Gojo Satoru, one of the senior artists here. Since Megumi isn’t here yet, let me give you a tour!” Before you could react, Satoru already had an arm wrapped around your shoulder, his other arm waving and pointing to all the hung paintings and labels on each door. You found it odd that he treated you like you were an old friend, but you weren’t going to complain. Nice co-workers were always welcomed.

“Here is the holding area where clients wait to get their session done. This is Geto’s studio and right next to that is his office where he does all the finances and all that jazz, while this is my studio. Cool, isn’t it?”

Your mouth fell ajar as Satoru led you inside his studio, the walls painted the same aquatic shade of his eyes, but what caught your attention was the galaxy themed tattoo designs he made. They came in different shapes – a volcano head, a dragon, a worm, a four-armed monster – but inside them were all galaxies with sparkling and burning stars. You could see everything and nothing all at the same time.

“Whoa, you made all this?!”

Satoru’s chest puffed out proudly, “Yeah, I did. I’m flattered by your reaction, I really am, but you haven’t seen Megumi’s yet. There’s a reason our salon boomed even though he’s only been working here for two years.”

At the mention of his name, your interest was piqued, all ears and curious smiles directed to Satoru. “Oh, can I see Megumi’s studio?”

“You can – if you book an appointment.”

“But I don’t plan on getting any tattoos,” you frowned.

“You’ll never get to see his work then,” he chuckled to himself, the sound growing louder when you visibly deflated. What was the point of getting your hopes up like that then? “Megumi doesn’t like letting others in his studio without permission or an appointment.”

“Why not?”

“He’s just iffy about it,” he shrugged, “Don’t bother trying to decode his personality anymore, Megumi’s very hard to understand. Though if I were to make sense of it...” he rubbed his chin, eyes looking out into the distance. “I guess you could say Megumi’s not the type to be showy when it comes to his work of art. Did that clear it up?”

You blinked back blankly. “No, not really. But it’s fine – I don’t plan on getting to know him anyway.”

That was the biggest lie of your life.

The moment Megumi came around a few minutes later, a loud groan upon your animated greeting over his arrival, your chest bloomed with a different kind of fluttery warmth. He rarely came out after that, clients swarming in to both his and Satoru’s studios, but each faint glimpse of his door cracking open that allowed you to see him focused as he worked, you could no longer deny the heat burning down your legs.

You crushed on the grumpy tattoo artist.

And the more you came around work, greeting him zealously and teasing him to no end that he’d look hotter if he smiled, your crush only intensified for him – completely unaware that he too, couldn’t get his thoughts off of you even with his door closed.

In fact, he kept his door closed all the time because your voice distracted him too much.

“Hey, Y/N, you free?”

You looked up from the textbook you were reviewing, slamming it shut when Satoru’s head peeked out from his studio. He was still wearing gloves with a pen between his fingers, most likely still in the middle of a session.

“Yep! We don’t have appointments yet and I’ve already closed it for non-appointees. Did you need me to get you something?”

“Yeah, could you get Megumi for me? He isn’t picking his phone up and one of our special clients are coming soon. I’m packed right now so I can’t fetch him. I’ll send you the address and you get him, yeah? Just open the counter if you need money for a cab.”

You blinked owlishly at him. On one side, you’d be more than glad to see Megumi again. He hadn’t arrived despite it being four in the morning already, and you were worried, but you also didn’t have his number to ask how he was doing. Progress with Megumi was...slow, to say the least.

He still holed himself up in his studio, coming out only for bathroom breaks, although you noticed a drastic improvement when he finally began to mutter an almost shy “good morning” under his breath for the past few weeks.

It wasn’t much, but you’d have to make do.

“Uhm, when is this client of his coming? Should I run...?”

“Yeah, you need to fucking run. They’re coming in an hour and a half!” Satoru exclaimed, flailing his hands around like a madman.

Even after working with him for some time, you still couldn’t believe the older man was practically a man child, even asking for head pats sometimes. He would lean down with a pout, using a squeaky voice to call your attention, which always succeeded in Megumi fake gagging before he locked himself inside his studio.

“Forwarded you his address. Really sorry for the inconvenience, Y/N!”

“It’s okay!” you jumped out of your seat in an instant, not bothering to take your name tag off anymore as you left the salon, hailing the nearest cab.

Megumi lived quite far from the salon, which had you wondering why he chose to work there when there were plenty of salons in his area too. His place looked shady, as well, his apartment in a high-rise building with endless graffiti and several drunk stragglers hooting for you.

You ignored them all, taking two steps at a time from his staircase, your hands on your knees as you panted for air. Why did he have to live on the tenth floor?

“Megumi! Megumi!” you banged your fist on the door, throat parched from your sudden cardio session. You were sure you burned ten calories just from that sprint, and you sighed in relief when Megumi swung the door open, still looking handsome – and sleep-deprived – as ever in his black shirt and black skinny jeans.

“What?” he demanded. After seeing that it was you, he quickly snatched a water bottle and passed it your way, closing his door behind him. “Y/N? What are you doing here? How’d you know where I live?”

“Satoru said you had a really important client. You weren’t picking your phone up so he sent me to come get you.”

“It’s my day off,” he grumbled, answering your silent questions, your worries dissipating into thin air. Once you’d satisfied yourself by basically dunking the entire bottle, Megumi rolled his eyes, his hands flat on the small of your back while he guided you downstairs. The sudden touch flamed your cheeks; a stupid smile on your face. You were shameless, though, leaning back closer to him in the darkness of the early morning. “Why does he send a girl out of all people?”

“Something wrong with that?”

“It’s unsafe. My neighbourhood isn’t the best and who knows what would’ve happened to you if some goons came out?” Megumi hailed for a back, surprising you when he let you get in first and paid for the fee despite your outstretched hand prepared with the bills. “I can’t believe Sukuna chose this day to come of all times. I can never get a damn break.”

“Sukuna?”

“A special client. He’s a really huge tipper and comes on odd schedules – I didn’t think he’d come now.”

“Yeah, I checked the papers and he wasn’t there,” you frowned to yourself.

Megumi pressed his head against the window, eyes closed as his chest heaved up and down rhythmically. With the sun slowly shining from behind you, the golden stretches of it outlined his sharp features you adored, and you rested your chin on your palms, eyelashes fluttering at his beauty. “You know, Megumi, you’re really pissy sometimes – but you’re quite nice, aren’t you? I’d say you were even worried for me.”

He cracked one eye open, those blue eyes still shining with irritation, but make no mistake since his ears were flushed red. “I’m not. I just don’t want to be involved in a police investigation if they find your body near here.”

“How sweet of you.”

“Shut up.”

You and Megumi were beginning to get closer. You couldn’t pinpoint where he started to grow more comfortable with you, but it was definitely there and it was painfully evident that even someone stupid like Satoru noticed the sexual between you two.

He would always sniff the air whenever you and Megumi sat next to each other during lunch breaks, a wide grin on your face while Megumi buried his face in his hands, groaning because he knew the moment Satoru opened his mouth, nothing but dumb comments would come out. And dumb comments they were; the white-haired man merciless as he teased Megumi for acting like a cute little kid around you.

You never took it to heart, though. It was Megumi you were talking about; he was hot and cold; sweet then distant from one moment then an entire person the next.

Not that you minded, it only added to your fuelling crush on him, but you couldn’t control the way your heart fluttered every time Satoru whispered that he did like you, excusing that Megumi just wasn’t the best with words. Apparently, Megumi had spent too much time holed up in his apartment and studio that he had zero to little knowledge on how to talk to pretty girls – especially one that was clearly attracted to him as well.

Satoru encouraged you to go for it – that you should confess or break the ice first otherwise Megumi would never do anything about his raging boner every time you came around.

You only flushed at his statement, but you couldn’t deny that you too felt the same way.

One morning where Satoru and Geto were out restocking supplies, you and Megumi were left alone in the salon. Of course, he still resorted in the comfort of his studio, muttering under his breath that he wanted to try some designs before disappearing. Only this time, he left the door slightly open, the lights peeking through the slight crack.

Walking up to him with muted footsteps, you leaned over his shoulder, glancing over a sketch of...you? “Are you drawing me?”

Megumi yelped at your voice right next to his ear, throwing the paper away on the other side of the room before glaring at you. You laughed at his reaction, because how was it possible he was both so criminally sexy yet adorable? He looked terribly gorgeous today, as well, wearing a short sleeved black hoodie and black sweatpants, looking so comfortable and boyfriend like – and you couldn’t even begin to express your appreciation over his new lip piercing.

“Why do you always sneak up on me?” he snapped, “Didn’t I tell you I wanted privacy?”

“Then why aren’t you pushing me away?”

Megumi sighed exasperatedly, turning back to organize his pencils before glaring at you. “What do you want? Got no one else to bother since Satoru isn’t around?”

“I just wanted to see your art,” you mentioned, but kept your eyes directed on him instead of the plethora of sketches and designs hanging from his wall as to not offend him. “Satoru told me to never come inside. He said you’re really...private when it comes to your works,” you furrowed your brows at the last part, feeling your heart beat pulse at your tongue.

It was now or never.

“Can I see your tattoos too?”

“Why do you want to see them?”

“A work of art on a canvas who’s also a work of art himself?” you finally gained confidence to tease him again, getting riled up further when Megumi stiffened at your curious hands travelling under his shirt. His breath sharpened as his glare only deepened, though he didn’t make a move to stop you. “Why wouldn’t I want to see that?”

“Being flirty doesn’t work on you. It’s not cute.”

“You’re blushing though,” you remarked. Megumi groaned and pushed your face away until your buttocks landed on his recliner. Satisfied with Megumi not completely kicking you out, you swung your legs back and forth, still staring at his hoodie as if it was an offensive material.

“Can I...see?” Megumi rolled his eyes before he lifted his shirt up, revealing to you intricate patches of black ink splattered over ripples of muscles. Your mouth salivated, and somewhere down there, you drooled too. Tentatively, your hands reached out to finger the image of canines, Megumi shuddering over your cold touch on his warm skin. “It’s beautiful. What does it mean?”

Megumi pursed his lips before whispering, “These are the dogs I had as a child. My father got me them so I wouldn’t be too lonely when he’s away from work.”

“They’re very pretty. They look like black and white wolves,” you smiled, elated that he was opening up in more ways than one. Your touch flitted over to a winged creature under his left collarbone, small letters beside the image. “And this bird? Nue? He’s so majestic,” Your hands never stopped in trailing over his skin like a lost wanderer, sweeping over ink ink until Megumi completely discarded his hoodie to the side, his back faced to you.

A white viper tattoo stood large on his broad back, crawling until over his shoulder with the fangs ending just above his pecs. Megumi swallowed at each slivering touch, your fingers dipping and caressing every dent and curve of his body.

You couldn’t get your eyes off of him, your breath hitching in your throat as one of your hands gripped his biceps subconsciously. “You’re so beautiful.”

Megumi stiffened when your thumbs grazed over his nipple right next to the viper’s fang. Almost as if a switch was triggered inside him, Megumi growled, ducking to capture your lips with his in a sloppy, heated kiss. His hands tugged at the ends of your hair to arch your neck to him, his knees slapping your legs open before he settled comfortably between you, his low groans mixing with your breath moans.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. From the moment I met you,” he nibbled your lips, hands trailing down to thumb at your hipbones. “I knew that innocent good girl look was nothing but an act.”

You smiled through the kiss, a tiny gasp falling from your lips when Megumi pulled you closer until your heat grinded against the hardness inside his pants. Laughing at his harsh movements, you let Megumi tilt your head back, his lips sucking and teeth gently nipping at the sensitive flesh of your neck.

“Innocent girl?” you echoed, legs now wrapped around his waist to pull him closer. “What makes you think I am?”

“White lace panties? Short tennis skirts and sunshine smiles?” Megumi clenched his teeth, his hands eager as he tugged the white lace down until it looped to your ankles. You gasped, back arching when he thrusted two fingers inside you, curling and fingering against your bumpy walls. “You’re not fooling anyone, baby, especially not me.”

“Took you long enough to understand I wanted you though,” you chuckled through broken moans, eyes shut tight while your legs opened wider, heels digging into the hard cushion of his seats. “I was wondering when I’d get to break you from that tough guy act of yours and have you fuck me good,” Megumi growled at your words. You leaned forward to scratch at his chest, your tongue licking the shell of your ear as you rasped, “And on a side note, I am a good girl – only to those who can make me feel good, of course.”

Megumi cupped his palm to collect your arousal dripping of his, finally shutting you up when his fingers grazed over your sweet spot that had you clenching around him. And those were just his fingers. “You’re something else, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I know,” you nodded smugly, hands coming up to tug harshly at his hair. Megumi hissed at the sharp pain, prompting him to fuck his fingers in and out of you faster until you leaked down to his chair, thighs trembling and your high-pitched moans coating the walls of his stupid. “Megumi, ah! Just shut up and fuck me already – been wanting you long enough.”

“Needy little girl,” He pressed you down on the reclining seat, settling between your legs before he spread your lips open with two thumbs. At the sight of your bare cunt clenching around nothing, Megumi groaned, teeth biting his lip because he could cum right then and there. “Fuck, look at you. So wet already,” he ran a hand over your slit to collect your arousal, eyes dark with lust as your juices webbed between his fingers. “All this for me? You’re so good.”

“Fuck – yeah, yeah I am,” you leaned back harder into the seat, groping at your own breasts while you nodded dumbly, too fucked out to even form a coherent response. “Going to be good for you, Megumi, gonna make you feel good.”

“Sorry, babe, maybe next time. I’m too impatient to not feel your pussy around me,” he pushed away at your hands that planned to pump his cock, his hand coming down to push you hard against the seat until his weight loomed over you.

You felt Megumi begin to align his tip at your center, dampening his mushroom head with your arousal first that had you both moaning left and right.

Hands scratching down his back as your teeth dug into your lips, Megumi pushed into you with one thrust, the sudden stretch making your legs shake and your body writhe underneath him. “Shit, why are you so tight? So fucking warm and perfect,” he rasped next to your ear, and you could hear how hard he was breathing as he thrusted into you, his cock hitting all the right places.  “Could fuck this pretty pussy all day, baby, shit.”

“Me-Megumi – t-too big!”

“Shh, you’ll be fine. You’ll take it like a good girl, won’t you?” he cupped your cheek, grinning sinisterly as he watched the way your greedy walls sucked him in. “See how you take me so well? You’re so small and pretty wrapped around my cock. I could break you if I wanted you,” he growled, his hands gripping hard at your hips when you clenched around him, enticing the man above you to quicken his pace.

Megumi watched with a lust filled gaze as your breasts bounced at the relentless pace he started, his balls slapping at your ass. “Oh, you’d want that, wouldn’t you? You want to be stuffed with my fat cock in you? Fuck you until you’re a drooling mess? You’re so gorgeous when I fuck you stupid.”

“Yes, Megumi, agh. Keep going, keep going, I’m so close!”

“Oh, you feel like heaven around me,” he praised at your neck, his cock stretching you wide and pushing into you. Megumi groaned lowly at your ear as his palms flattened over your stomach that bulged every time he thrusted in, his balls tightening at the sight. “Look at how big I am for you, baby, but you’re doing so well. You were made for me – made to take my cock, shit, you’re so perfect around me. Gonna make you feel good, yeah? You’re such a good girl for me. Cum, baby, that’s right – I’m allowing you to cum.”

“Gumi, Gumi, fuckkk,” your legs tightened around him as Megumi panted with each harsh thrust, the black marks over his skin expanding and stretch when his forearm rested beside your head. His muscles clenched as he fucked into you deep, over and over again until he pushed you over the edge.

A silent sob left your lips when you came around him, your juices creaming around his cock. A few thrusts later, Megumi fell on top of you as you felt him spill his seed inside you.

He had too much that you felt both your cum dripping down your ass; Megumi pulling out with a slight wince from the oversensitivity. You struggled to catch your breath as you laid there, legs wide open and the cool air hitting your bare pussy. The door was still open, and Satoru and Geto could walk in on you both looking like this, but you couldn’t care, not when you could barely feel your legs.

You dropped your arm over your face, hearing Megumi pull his pants back up. “That was...”

“Intense?”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, wincing as you sat up. Your hair stuck to your forehead in sweaty clumps, dawning on you now that you were still very much covered in your sticky cum. You recoiled from the seats as you realized Megumi hadn’t even put on a towel underneath.

“Shit. Is this chair even clean?”

“I sanitize it every after session. Don’t worry about it,” he rolled his eyes, his tattoos covered and hidden from your sight once more when he pulled his hoodie over his head. Megumi retrieved a clean towel from his drawers and wiped at your sensitive pussy, your legs immediately closing around his hands when the towel accidentally grazed your clit.

Megumi gripped your knees with a silent glare. “Stay still. I’m cleaning you up.”

“I didn’t peg you as an aftercare guy. Thought you would leave me hanging here,” you teased, but really, you were feeling warm all over again as you watched Megumi wipe you all the way down to your other hole, your legs still tensing up.

Once he left to wash his hands, you could relax, tugging your panties back up with immense struggle. He wasn’t kidding when he said he’d fuck you good – you could barely feel your legs now.

“And have you make a mess by ruining my seat?” he sighed as he returned, helping you seady yourself while he snapped the slightly soaked panty back to your core. “No thanks.”

“You’re so mean, Megumi. I’m hurt.”

He rolled his eyes at your pout, leaning down to kiss you square on the lips. This time around, the kiss wasn’t rushed; it was slow and sensual, firm yet gentle, and his hands carefully massaged your sore hips that would soon bruise from his grip before.

“No, you’re not,” he mumbled through your lips, mimicking that lovesick smile on your face as he pulled away. “But babe, you know the rules. Now that you’ve seen my work of art – what tattoo would you like me to give you? My name on your inner thigh?”

[onmyyan]

Straight Venomous

Yandere!Batfam x Venom!Reader

A/N: Cannon typical violence, tw//murder(dw no one important) tw//blood mention, weed is smoked briefly, tw//guns (I mean come on it’s Jason) Venoms words will be in bold EDITED 1/11/2023)

If there was any place your, let’s say particular situation, would be overlooked it was Gotham City.

You and the symbiote had come to a comfortable understanding, no eating people in exchange for a questionable diet of whatever gut-churning combination he could come up with. It reminded you of a pregnant woman’s cravings, odd and occasionally disgusting but better than people. However, there were times when you’d give in to his more feral behavior. Like today for instance, you’d made the silly mistake of trying to have a moment of peace outside your stuffy apartment, rooming with two dudes wasn’t so bad as you made a point to avoid them, they minded their business and besides the occasional unexplained shout or small explosion they were solid roomies, sure the came home at the weirdest hours and you could smell the blood on them they tried in vain to hide but you weren’t one to judge what those two got into, before V you were a lot closer, even managing a movie night once in a while when the stars aligned, but that was in the past, this routine of distance would have been lonely if not for your built-in bestie.

Just as you began to inhale the sweet bitter smoke of the joint you’d so gently rolled up a disgruntled man came barreling down the alley you sat perched in. A few moments later the scream of a siren shot down the street, the noise alarming you more than the skittish criminal before you. The farther away the vehicle got the less your head felt like bursting, although now you had to face your other issue, seeing as your fire escape was basically on the floor, his panicked eyes snapped to you immediately. 

A brief pause was held as he contemplated his actions, you could practically see the gears turning as he eyed the messy bag of loose hundreds, then his gun, then back to you.

”Oh please do-“

The shotgun fired, smoke blocking his vision, though the thick blanket of smoke couldn’t hide the sound of your body hitting the wall. He turned around quickly but as he expected no one came to investigate the crime. Hunched over he began to shakily flip through the bills counting rather calmly for a man who just committed first-degree murder.

”Seriously? You fuckin’ shot me. Dick move guy.” Your voice was right behind him, before his brain could process how you were even breathing, let alone down his neck, a tar-like substance began to creep from beneath his shirt, his weapon was snatched away and crushed, the scream of metal being ripped apart muffled his shout of pure unfiltered fear, all the while the strange tendrils continued to wrap around his wriggling form, “What the hell?! Get off me you crazy bitch-“ his voice cut off by the mass of black gagging him.

”You owe me a new shirt dickweed .” The behemoth of a man was now being held a foot off the ground, his thrashing becoming more desperate with each passing moment.

”Aw look at him go! He wiggles just like a worm.” Venom said joyfully constricting tighter and tighter, the tendrils creating some kind of cocoon around the poor bastard.

”Yeah yeah don’t make a mess.” You said digging through the cash he dropped, your face scrunched as you flicked away the bloodier bills. “Come on V, I gotta go to the stupid store now.” Your face sat in a pout as you thumbed the singed fabric of your shirt, more distraught about the waste of a good outfit than the still closing holes in your chest, at some point the man had stopped fighting, and what should have been a sickening sound of digestion echoed in the dank alleyway. Thankfully your roomies weren’t home, you didn’t feel like explaining.

”You done?” Venom took a moment before loudly burping out his snack's gore-covered clothes, “Cool cuz my tits are getting cold.”

Thirty minutes later four extra large pizzas sat stacked against your side, as ugly as it could be Gotham truly came alive at night, the air buzzing with life and opportunity both good and bad, it brought a small smile to your face, you could feel Venom scanning the area no doubt looking for more food to waste your money on, well that assholes money if we wanna get nitpicky. The air could be dank at times but there was always a hint of saltwater lingering in the back. Most people wouldn’t be so calm in your position, in fact, it had taken a while for you to do so, but V was adamant about exploring the city, especially at night when he could form around you like a body suit sans head, the shadows made it much easier to hide in plain sight, his curiosity was genuine and reminded you of a toddler in a way, you had a hard time saying no to the (mostly) sweet (not so little) guy.

Most people out at this time were up to no good or about to be, so it wasn’t unusual to feel stares or sneers bearing down your back, but once close enough, most people had enough common sense not to engage with you, something hardwired in their DNA tells them to stop, something they knew in their heart of hearts was dangerous. Most people were uncomfortable around you. But not all.

Pushing past a gaggle of drunken men you paid them no mind, their comments not registering in your brain until a hand swiped for your large haul of food.

”Back the fuck up dirt neck.” You said after dodging the man's hand for the second time. 

The pack of hyenas shaped like men mumbled drunkenly in disdain, something about your attitude was heard but just barely, the reverberation of Venom's snarls bounced around in your skull like the bass was turned up to ten.

‘Vile little manthings. Disgusting creatures- let’s eat them’

“It’ll ruin your appetite.” You answered out loud in disagreement, yet gently set your pizza down, far enough not to get destroyed but close enough to keep an eye out.

”You sh-should answer when spoken to.” One of the idiots began shuffling towards you, his face red, eyebrows furrowed, you huffed through your nose, ignoring them once more you cracked your neck in irritation. “I really don’t feel like dealing with you musties.” Once more your words didn’t match the almost eager grin steadily stretching across your lips.

White began to bleed over your eyes, your fingers twitching, not knowing who to reach for first, a tremble of excitement grew in your belly, the closest man stumbled backward into his friend, rubbing his eyes at what he has just seen, just as the reality of the situation began to dawn on the drunkards mind a new person entered the fray,

”Come on guys don’t be like this,” The new voice suddenly spoke after leaping from the one of buildings you stood between, “I only have three bullets left so one of you is gonna get special attention, I’ll let you fight it out.” he stood tall, the streetlights flickered almost menacingly causing streaks of red to bounce off his helmet and onto the now shaking men. Although clearly outmatched they tried to square up anyway, seemingly missing the pistol pointed at them. Venom retreated back inside, his curiosity peaked by the man's abrupt declaration.

‘He smells familiar.’

’Weird thing to focus on but go off I guess.’ You responded plopping down beside your dinner, flicking the lid open you watched eagerly as the fight began, although it wasn’t much of a fight so much as the newcomer embarrassing the four dudes faster than you could fold your pizza in half. He kept his promise unloading the three bullets into three different kneecaps, the fourth guy tried to take a brave swing only to get his shoulder roughly dislocated, and his body was shoved into the ground with enough force for something to crack, the noise reverberating with his accompanying scream.

”I told ya’ you’d get it bad.” Red said with what you could only imagine was a big smile, he brought his heel down on his head with a smack, giving it a good twist before finally turning to acknowledge your form.

”You okay down there?” The amusement was clear in his voice as he squatted to eye level. You nodded, cheeks too full to answer, after swiping at your mouth with the back of your hand, you shot him a grateful grin. “Want some?” 

He snorted offering you a hand, “I’m good, preciate’ it sweetheart.” Your eyebrows shot up at the nickname, your suspicions growing by the second as you accepted his hand. “You shouldn’t be walking out this late you know that right?” 

“Oh, so I’m just supposed to not do what I want cuz assholes are assholes? Thanks for your concern big guy but I’ll take my chances.” You swiped your food off the floor and began heading back towards your tiny shared apartment curious how this was going to play out. 

“I agree, good people shouldn’t have to do that kinda’ shit but you know what town you’re in so.” His large arms were crossed as he walked beside you, “Exactly. I’ve lived here long enough to know just what I’m getting myself into thank you very much.” He laughed, the sound funny to hear with the filter over it, I wonder if he knew about V? Was this all some elaborate way to tell me he knew my big secret?

”You just wanna see this ugly mug every night then huh? Not that I’m complaining truly I’m flattered, but there are easier ways to ask a guy out.” You couldn’t fight the loud laugh from escaping, “Cute, but no thanks, I’m already in a pretty serious relationship, he doesn’t like to share.”

’Depends who’s asking for it’ the symbiote teased.

Ignoring his perverted implications you continued on expecting him to leave after done his - wait was this his job? Did the city pay vigilantes? Probably not they all definitely got side hustles, bet Superman has a secret Onlyfans somewhere.

”You’re fully not listening to me are you?” He asked with a laugh interrupting your train of thought.

”Caught me, heh whoops, what were you saying?”

”I said where are you going? Seeing as you want to die or something I can’t let you walk home alone.” You paused to stare at the ‘stranger’ 

“We really gonna do this Jason? Like you gonna sit here and pretend you aren’t you and don’t live two feet from me.”

“..............”

”Oh my god we are.”

”..............”

”Is this who we are? Is this who we represent .”

”......HOW- How’d you...”

”You smell like you.” He subtly lifted his arm to sniff despite the big-ass helmet on his head.

”Also you called me Sweetheart and you said it just like you always do.”

”Well this is embarrassing.”

[jordanstrophe]

Going Once, Going Twice, part 2

Masterlist

CW: Whump, Pet whump, Slavery, Trafficking, Manhandling, Restraints, Begging, Panic Attack, Death of a relative mentioned

Winola gently brushed through Peter’s hair, with an occasional stroke with her long nails, causing shivers to roll up his spine. He had calmed down and sat in silence, drowning in his own thoughts. He glanced down as his wrists, they were starting to get red and sore, it stung when he moved.

“It’ll go away in a few days.” He heard her say above him. She always seemed to be aware of what he was thinking.

“The auction day is always the worst, but once it’s over, it will get better.” She said, setting the brush down and pulling up a chair. She took his chin in her wrinkled hand, gently tilting it up.

“I’ll be honest. I have mixed feelings about you.” She said, her eyes piercing his. He took a shaky deep breath and closed his eyes.

Don’t cry. Don’t panic. Just breath.

“Look at me” 

As commanded, he opened his eyes and looked up at her pitifully.

“You’re a return, but you don’t act like one. You had a master for how many years? Yet you act feral. Are you just scared because you’re somewhere unfamiliar and unpredictable. Is that right?” She raised an eyebrow.

He couldn’t deny it, her every word was true, as he shamefully nodded his head.  “I... I didn’t think he was going to do it. He was in a bad mood at the wrong time and I broke... I broke a mug. It-It was just... It was just a cup. Or at least I thought it was.”

“You’re right. It was just a cup. But the cup didn’t get you thrown out, did it?” She asked. This time, he couldn’t bite back his sob, he was stuck in what felt like an uncontrollable emotional roller-coaster. Probably the closets he will ever get to riding one. “I just want to go home! I don’t want anything else. I-I just want to go home, please! Give me another chance!” He cried.

“Did you think like this when you were with them? Did you truly feel that way before?” She raised an eyebrow.  “No... No I didn’t. But it’s better then here.” He sniffed. Winola chuckled, thumbing away the tears. “That’s fair enough. I want you to know I put you on the right side because I thought you had potential. Most Pets here sell for average, but sometimes some will spike, maybe even a bidding war. I try to pick those out before-hand just to give them some extra attention.” She smiled, gently booping his nose.

“But... But I’m a return.” He looked down at his knees in shame. 

“A return that had a rough start, I think. Who knows, you might get bought by some sweet couple.” She shrugged. She took his hand in hers and inspected his nails. 

“I’m going to give you a run down over what’s going to happen tonight. You’re going to be put up on stage near the end of the auction. If you get bought, you’ll be taken to processing and will most likely get chipped.” She said. She took some warm water and soap in a soft cloth, taking his chin and angling it as she gently washed his face. 

"Just look pretty, and absolutely no crying.” She sternly grabbed his cheeks with both hands to force eye contact. “I’ll try...” He muttered. “That’s not good enough. No trying, no crying. That’s the only advice I can give you. I have to get the other Pet’s cleaned up, so behave for me.” She said, unbuckling one hand, and gripping his sore wrists tightly. “Aah! W-Wait!” He cried, trying to pull his wrist out of her grip. In an instant, her other hand shot a tight grasp in his hair and pulled his head back. 

“Behave. I’m not unstrapping you all the way until I know you can do that. Say it to me.” She hissed. “I’ll behave!” He cried, relaxing his wrist in her grasp. She held him there for a moment, testing his patience, before letting go of his hair and unclipping his other wrist. She shackled his wrists back together in front of him, before pulling him onto his feet by his arm. He stayed true to his word and followed her back into the room and sat him in the corner, but gave him a gentle pat on the head before she left. 

As rough and scary as she was, she was kind of nice about it... He felt her touch lingering in his hair, part of him missed her when she left. Now he was sitting in a dark corner pondering whatever fate he may befall at midnight.

<><>meanwhile<><>

Robert shivered in the wind, pulling his trench coat up around his face. What a complete waste of time, sitting out in the cold, dressed up waiting to go someplace he didn’t want to go. He entered the building and was immediately greeted by warmth and a champagne glass.

‘Ah! Mister McAllen!” The waiter called, handing him a glass. “Madam Winola was hoping to see you tonight. Here for business or pleasure?” He asked.

“Neither, if I’m being honest.” He chuckled, pulling his leather gloves off. He was tall, with dark brown hair and a full beard. He didn’t look like it, but he was filthy rich, but chose to dress in a well used trench coat with some slight torn gloves. 

“Regardless, I’m sure the Madam appreciates your support. Just being here boosts the numbers!” He exclaimed. “Well, I owe her for helping me out. She’s a good friend.” He wandered off to mingle in the crowd. Robert McAllen wasn’t entirely welcome in the industry, as he inherited his wealth from a petty aunt who didn’t want her ungrateful spoiled offspring to get her hard earned money. So she scratched them all off the will and gave everything to Robert at the last second as a spit in the face. Robert however, appreciated a more simple life, but kept up appearance for the sake of his aunt, bless her soul. He felt like she deserved as much, but did it more out of guilt than anything. 

He took his seat far in the back. He was planning to mingle on his phone, as he tried not to look at the faces of the terrified Pets that were being hauled onto the stage one by one. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this year's auction! Our first item is a new, 23 male, 6,0, bidding will start at fifty-thousand!” A woman on stage announced. Robert really tried to just focus on anything else, but curiosity got the better of him as he snuck a glance at times. Something caught his attention in the corner of his eye, as his attention spiked. Someone sitting further to the side with a bored, but serious expression on his face. He recognized him.

Winola was hanging around the curtain between the stage and the crowd. She peaked out eyeing the audience, before nervously pacing around. 

“Psst! Neal!” She called. One of the tall guards walked over to her and crouched to her height. She whispered something in his ear seriously, her face sick with concern. The man listened intensely, nodding along before she shooed him off, as he disappeared backstage. She looked around the room, before she locked eyes with Peter, who was about to be dragged onto the stage. 

“Wait!” She called, running over and gripped his shoulders, wrenching him to face her.

“Sweetie look at me. Listen very carefully. There’s a man out there called the Baron. He rarely appears, and always, always buys at least one. He hasn’t bought anyone yet and it’s almost over. Whatever you do, don’t get bought by the Baron. Do you understand me?” She shook him.  

“W-wait... I-I I don’t understand, how do I do that?’ He pleaded. 

“Madam, he’s up, now.” The guard argued. 

 “Just-!!!”

 Before he could hear anything else, his arm was roughly grabbed and yanked out the curtain. The room was dark where the audience was seated, but the stage was a spotlight. He could feel his every heartbeat banging against his chest, he couldn’t breath, his vision was blurry. He just wanted to collapse to the floor and be swallowed up, to be taken anywhere that wasn’t here, too have anything happen that wasn’t this.

The room’s chattering quieted down as arms wrapped around his waist and he was hoisted up onto a block on the center of the room. His shackled wrists were clipped to the floor between his knees. He dared a glance up at the glint of hundreds of eyes staring up at him, judging him, measuring his worth. He couldn't do the one thing that was asked of him, as he broke down sobbing. The combination of his panic attack and crying felt like he was drowning in his own body.

“The next item on the block is a rehomed male, 21, 5,7.” A woman in a dazzling red dress rattled off, standing to the side of the block with a heavy clipboard resting in her arm and a gavel in the other behind a desk.

“Bidding will start at fifteen-thousand.” She announced. 

The room fell silent. 

“Eighteen.” A rough voice called. 

The crowd burst into whispering, murmuring amongst each other. It was the Baron. He knew it.

When the Baron wanted something, the Baron got it. 

“Oh Poor kid...” Robert thought to himself. That boy wasn’t going to survive a week with the Baron, who was ruthless and strict. 

“Excuse me, Mister McAllen?” A tall man had somehow slunk his way to him without being noticed. “Erm, yes? Wait, Neal? Is that you?” Robert whispered. “Madam Winola has a request. She wants you to buy that.” He motioned to the young man on stage, who had broken into hysterical sobs. The stage was quietly laughing, and the Baron had an amused grin on his face. 

Robert almost laughed himself at the ridiculous request. “You-You want me to what now?” He quietly hissed back with disbelief. “All she said was I ask on her behalf for you to buy it.” He shrugged. “Wait, Isn’t that illega-'' Before he could finish, the man had slunk away. He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. He looked up at the man on stage who was huddled low to the floor on his knees. He could see him shaking even from the distance he was. 

‘’Twenty-thousand!” He called, nervously raising his hand. The Baron’s head snapped back at him, as Robert tried not to make eye contact. He could feel the anger radiating off him. What was he even doing? He doesn’t do Pets, but Winola always had good reasons to do things, and she was taking a huge risk asking this, so the explanation had better be good. One thing was for sure, he made a very powerful enemy this day, but who cared. If he was going to use his money for something, infuriating the Baron was a good way to use it.

“Twenty-thousand! Do I hear thirty?” The women announced.

“Thirty.” The Barron called.

“Forty-thousand!” Robert challenged. Well, too late to go back now.

“Fifty.”    “Sixty-thousand!” 

"Errr.. Sixty-thousand! Do I hear sixty-fi”

The Baron abruptly shot to his feet in an instant. “One-hundred thousand!” He angrily yelled at the women onstage. “Hundred thousand!? I.. Uh, do I hear hundred-te-”

“Three-hundred thousand!” Robert yelled. He didn’t even have entire meaning behind his voice, he was just shouting numbers at this point.

“We have a bidding war!” Someone shouted through the crowd, as they all laughed in unison. 

Peter’s face had gone pale. Tears were pouring down his face, but he couldn’t make a sound anymore. His cries would have been drowned out by bargaining anyway. Was this even real? Was there a mistake? Was there some perfect angel Pet behind him somewhere, while he was just in the way?

“Eight-hundred thousand!” The Baron yelled, his hands in a fists, as his knuckles turned white.

The women on stage looked like she was going to have a heart attack from excitement, or confusion. Robert shrugged, this was already going down in history, so let's have a little bit more fun. He was neck deep already.

“Five million!” He called.

 The room dropped dead in silence. 

The Barron’s face went stone as he looked up at Robert, before slowly sitting down in defeat.

“F-Five... Million! Going once... Going twice?”

“SOLD!” She banged the gavel with a bit too much enthusiasm, there was probably a hole in the desk.  Peter flinched at the sudden noise, but was frozen to anything else. It hadn't really sunken in yet, whatever just happened. He jolted once more as two hands unhooked him from the block, and took both his arms and pulled him up. This was the first time someone didn’t yank him in a direction, and walked with him gently. Except he wasn’t really walking, he was pretty much being drug off the stage.

'Ladies and gentlemen! I think we have a record tonight!" She announced. 

Robert leaned back in his seat chuckling. Ohhh what had he gotten himself into.

Worth it though.

Tag list: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @moose-teeth @ill-eat-you-if-you-cross-me @alien-octopus

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ Thank you for reading!

[justgenshinstuf]

Could I possibly request some team headcanons for Diluc, Razor, Barbara, and Diona? :pensive:

Thank you for the request! I hope you don’t mind me making a deeper dive into Diluc and Diona’s relationship in this one, focusing a bit on this little scenario I had in mind for them.

Team Headcanons: Diluc, Razor, Barbara and Diona

Diluc was kind of reluctant to work with other people at first.

He was sure he is competent enough to deal with every mission himself and even thought out a plan to finish the task the Traveler gave them beforehand all on his own.  

Barbara completely busted him when he tried to sneak out of their hideout and lectured him about it.

He stubbornly stated Diona was too young, Barbara not built for fighting and Razor... “He is certainly a powerful unit, but he is feral. He can barely speak for Barbatos’ sake”.

“You don’t talk much ether”. Barbara argued frowning, she was so disappointed in him. “You are not much better yourself. Traveler trusted us on this, so we need to work together!”

Diluc didn’t have much choice at this point. Going on a treasure hunt with a bunch of kids, what is he a nanny or something? He just hoped to get this over with quickly.

Needless to say, he underestimated pretty much every aspect of this situation they were in. If he was stubborn enough to get caught into this by himself there could be a great chance of him not returning back in one piece. This mission required more time and planning, Diluc needed a team.

Barbara is an absolutely extraordinary healer and a true fighter at heart. She won’t hesitate to throw herself into the thick of it to be helpful during combat.

When the battle is over she will be there, her little dress covered in dust, maybe a smudge of dirt on her round cheeks and ponytails ruined, but always with the brightest smile. “We did it!”

She seemed absolutely fearless and ready to do whatever it takes to win, to prove everyone who would judge her solely on her appearance wrong. 

She herself was amazed by what kind of drive she can feel from being an adventurer. She tried to improve her grasp on Hydro Magic everyday, not only for the sake of healing, but for fighting too.  

She may be a bit self-conscious about her powers, but when she gets better no one will dare to say she is not built for fighting.

Dedication to improving her strength aside, her main passion was still helping and healing. Barbara was always a little shining star of the group, trying to keep everyone’s morale up and to prevent quarrels.

She was also the only one Diona let close to herself at first. She kept her distance with Razor and especially with Diluc, her arch nemesis in Wine Business. “Ew, you give me the creeps! I’m only here to help Traveller with the mission!”

Razor tried his best to stay out of conflicts. “The pack must stick together”. But he still had some disagreements with Diluc on how to handle different situations better. Wolf senses against professionalism of a vigilante, desire to keep the group together against reckless self-reliance.  

In reality, Razor wasn’t the only one with the moral high-ground. Diluc’s behaviour was caused mostly by his desire to protect who he thought were too weak for the dangers they were facing, and a bit by his recent antisocial lifestyle.  

In fact, Diluc acknowledged Razor’s outstanding abilities and ferociousness, but still thought of him as a child, too young to deal with the darkness of this world. Same thing with Barbara’s determination and Diona’s agility and senses. “Possessing a Vision is not enough to fight evil”.

Diona was mostly intrigued by her teammates and happy to have them around, even tho she wouldn’t admit it. She would even go out of her way to show everyone the opposite of how she actually felt not too become vulnerable.

A bunch of people too used to keeping to themselves and poor Barbara trying her best to maintain a positive atmosphere. To say the truth, they just needed time.

Pretty soon Diona and Razor discovered their shared love for hunting. Diona still tend to say mean things along the road of “You smell like a wet dog!” or “Stay away, I don’t want to get fleas!”, like an insecure child she was, trying her best to build thick walls around herself.

One time Razor complimented her bow shooting skills and Diona’s little face turned as pink as her hair, little cat-ears twitching in excitement. “Don’t tease me, you mutt!.. You are okay with your hunting too... I guess”.  

She was now looking forward to evenings when Razor would ask her to come to the woods with him. “Ugh, what took you so long! We have boars to hunt!” And with more time they would even come up with a friendly competition of who gets more kills.

Barbara often starts her morning routine with healing their bruises and picking thorns from their hair after the night hunt. Razor especially loves when she uncombs and brushes his hair. “I can do your hair too sometime”. She teases Diluc jokingly. He always politely declines “Thank you, I’m good”.

It is possible to pinpoint the exact time their team dynamic turned to the better - the day Diona didn’t show up for the group meeting. Strangely, Diluc volunteered to go look for her, almost like he had a strong feeling something was off.

When he was almost ready to start panicking he found Diona hiding in a tree. She had watery red eyes and face smeared with tears. Diluc felt his heart think into his stomach. He usually barely knows how to deal with his own feelings, let alone someone else’s.

That was how Diluc first learned about Diona’s situation with her father. He then asked Elzer to do some snooping around Springvale to confirm some details of the story. Master Diluc was shortly informed about head hunter’s unchecked alcoholism.  

“Master Diluc, should I send people to deal with this matter?”

“No need, I would like to have a talk with him myself”.

Uncrowned King of Mondstadt suddenly turning up to his door one late night was a bit sobering for Draff. Diluc gave him a strong gaze, little flames flashing in his eyes for a brief moment. He welcomed himself to the table, taking a bottle of wine from it, spinning it a bit in his hands, examining his Winery’s label with fake curiosity.  

“Would be a shame if Mondstad’s most famous drink made children miserable, wouldn’t it”. He said thoughtfully to himself before sharply smashing the bottle against the floor.

Draff recovered from shock with a slight delay. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” He screamed, unable to control this burst of rage, still drunkenly slurring his words.

Red liquid that was now spilled across the floor suddenly inflamed, scaring Draff enough for him to lose his balance and fall backwards, so that hot tongues of spreading fire were now nearly reaching his face. The dark figure of Master Diluc was standing in the epicentre completely unflinched.  

He firmly stepped over bottle pieces, that were now melting into obscure shapes. His shadow was looming over poor drunk, whose face turned completely white, tiny cat-ears laid back.  

“I’m making sure I won’t need to come here again”. The flames went out as abruptly as appeared, leaving no trace of the fire that just broke out in the middle of the room. All of the wine burnt, but not a single floorboard damaged, only a faint smoky stench in the air.  

Diluc glanced over Draff one last time, making sure he made his point clear, before heading straight for the door. “Now let me excuse myself”.

After that fiery visit Draff surely laid off on drinking and Diona’s moods drastically improved, even though she never learned about that incident. She even became a bit closer with Diluc, who would now be much softer with her, trying to do what he can to make her life easier.

He even took her fishing one time, something her father haven’t done in ages. Diluc starting to act more like a big brother to Diona surely made Barbara very excited. “See, Razor, I told you they just needed some time!”

[sophiamcdougall]

EXPLAINING SANREMO

(PART 1) Last week I was swept away, helpless, by the avalanche that is the Sanremo Song Festival and I am still recovering. For your safety, I’ve tried to keep the insanity contained on my Italian side blog. But I want to try to offer you a rough summary of what I’ve learned. Sanremo inspired the Eurovision Song Contest. Over five nights, 24 acts, each with a brand new song, compete at the Ariston theatre in Sanremo for a tacky little golden lion, and the glory of being the year’s Song for Italy. 2020 marked the 70th Sanremo, so depending on who you ask, it’s a venerable national treasure or it’s stale and embarrassing (Many Italians are sick of it. Or say they are, but see below.) It is also an EPIC STRUGGLE between THE FORCES OF GOOD AND EVIL FOR THE SOUL OF HUMANITY Let’s meet some of the protagonists: 

AKA: host Amadeus, entertainer and comedian Rosario Fiorello, il Bel Paese, and competitor Achille Lauro.

Amadeus got things off to a bad start before the show even began by praising his various female co-hosts - all seasoned TV professionals - for their beauty and their ability to stay “a step behind a man.” Outrage ensues, Amadeus claims he did not mean it like that, but keep this in mind for later. Also competing are Morgan (below, left) and Bugo (below, right.), who are performing a duet.

Going in, the one thing I know about Morgan is that on more than one occasion, he trashtalked my beloved and blameless Fabrizio Moro. So I hate him and want him to suffer. And apparently he has quite the reputation for throwing tantrums, picking on fellow-artists and sabotaging events he’s part of. But hey. He’s supposedly talented and Bugo clearly thinks he deserves another chance.  And we’re off!

Irene Grandi kicks things off with  “Finalmente Io” (“Finally Me”). But I’m starting with her not so much because she’s the first to sing as because I don’t think the song’s  got enough attention -- either for the fact that it bangs or for what it represents in the drama that’s about to unfold.

Finalmente Io is what, in the business, we call foreshadowing.

There’s a magical thing that happens to women with when they turn 40. The  develop Not-Giving-A-Fuck superpowers. The song is basically about that. It’s about freedom, and self-acceptance, and being 100% done with male bullshit. (It's also a bit of an ADHD anthem but let’s leave that aside for now.)  “I’ve lost all my patience, and all my fragility,” she sings. 

And, “If you want sex, let’s do it now. Heeeeeeere.”

Irene is the portent everyone misses, a harbinger of what is to come. 

Think of her as John the Baptist.  Onwards. So the first thing one discovers about the Sanremo Festival is that just because we have to get through 24 “big” acts AND 6 (?) new/junior artists, and they all have to perform multiple times, that doesn’t mean there’s any RUSH. Guest singers wander on and perform a song or ten. There’s comedy. We can stop everything to talk about football.  A lady comes on and talks for a million years about how her granny taught her that True Beauty is Found Within. There are also speeches about important subjects like violence against women. In fact, we are going to talk about that a lot, but also a bunch of competent and experienced female TV personalities are stuck taking turns at playing Amadeus’s Glamorous Assistant of the evening and he can’t shut up about how beautiful they all are while they cringe and lean subtly away from him. So it’s ... slow, and awkward, but within its own cheesy terms, things are normal. Too normal. Enter Achille Lauro. 

Softly, almost whispering, he begins to sing a song called  “Me ne frego”  (”I don’t care” - but with an edge of “fuck you”). This is both an everyday Italian expression and a fascist motto. Well, it was till now. 

A nation is convulsed. Right-wing Italian boomers are screaming because YOU! CAN’T! DO! THAT! AT! SANREMO! THERE! ARE! CHILDREN! WATCHING! Italian Tumblr, which like the rest of Tumblr is feral, thirsty and gay, is screaming for different reasons entirely. 

Achille, you scandalous creature, what have you done? What have you got to say for yourself?

Something strange and magical  has released and it cannot be contained. On with the songs. Good songs, bad songs, blah songs. I like “Tikibombom” by Levante - a love letter to weirdos and rebels, “Rosso di Rabbia” (Rage Red) by Anastasio about being, well, angry but scared you can’t do anything useful with it, and “Eden” by  Rancore, about... the nature of sin?? touching on everything from September 11 to the mafia to Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.   However, this contest is being judged (mostly - it’s complicated) by an industry jury of FOOLS, COWARDS, and TRAITORS who KNOW NOT WHAT THEY DO, so virtually all of the above artists are so far languishing towards the bottom of the provisional rankings. Achille ends up in 17th place and  Rancore at 22.

Truly, the light hath shone in the darkness and the darkness knoweth it not.

LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE TO RANCORE. 

Rapper down, repeat RAPPER DOWN. SEND HELP.

However, for people who went in implacably biased against Morgan, it’s not all bad news. "Sincero” (Sincere) by Morgan and Bugo is in last place. Whether this is anything to do with the song or because Morgan is a nightmare of a person who has systematically alienated everyone in the Italian music industry except the trusting Bugo ... we can but ponder.  Sanremo grinds on. Days blur into each other and I’m not even going to try to cover events in exact order. Sanremo knows no order. Sanremo is like the universe, linear time is a construct that doesn’t really exist, and chaos happens very, very slowly.  But meanwhile, somewhere on the astral plane:

At least that is what I deduce must have happened.

The competitors and guests look deep within themselves. Do they have what it takes? Are they ready to answer the call? 

Let’s see! It’s Covers Night! Which is also Duets Night!

That’s Elettra Lamborghini (yes, that Lamborghini) and Myss Keta.

 Are they in tune? No. Does it matter? ALSO NO.

Meanwhile ... something strange is brewing between Amadeus and Fiorello...

 But wait, PLOT TWIST.

Enter Roberto Benigni.

The beloved actor and director is the latest avatar of the Dionysian frenzy that has chosen Sanremo 2020 for the place of its birth. He is the One who will unite the electric queer mayhem and the impossible grinding tedium  of Sanremo. In him, the two strains will fuse and become unstoppable. He is going to talk about sex for twenty-six minutes

He reads from the Song of Songs, which ... I knew it was sexy, and all, but is it really like that? Do you ever think about NAKED BODIES? Roberto does. Do you believe in PHYSICAL LOVE? Roberto wishes you would. Anyway, just think of all the sex we could all be having, literally right now, right heeeeere, whether we are  “a woman, and her man. Or a man and his man. Or a woman, and her woman!” He is awful. He is magnificent. He is excruciating. He is spellbinding. We are hanging on his every word and we are considering chewing our own arms off to escape. He proposes an orgy in the orchestra pit. 

Hand on heart, all of that happened. Italian Tumblr, bear witness.

And what of Achille Lauro? He unleashed this madness upon us all,  is he just going to sit back and let everyone else do all the work? Of course not. Achille Lauro came to bring not peace, but a sword, to the world of toxic masculinity and gender in general and his work is not yet done.

”I too was once a little girl,” Achille sings.

Dressed as Bowie-as-Ziggy, Achille duets with Annalisa on “Gli Uomini Non Cambiano” - “Men Don’t Change”. It’s a heartbreaking song by Mia Martini from 1992 about male abuse of women, and not a single word, or a single pronoun has been changed.

However, although he’s the one in the competition, and the one dressed to dazzle, he leaves Annalisa the spotlight. It’s like she’s the tortured protagonist of the song and he’s a voice in her head, a sympathetic spirit who can’t swoop in to rescue her but can quietly affirm that she deserves better than the the hellish treatment she’s singing about. in fact, he pointedly stays a step behind her at all times. And she’s majestic. 

Of course, he’s not fucking DONE

He’s still got to sing “Me Ne Frego” again. Can he top the cape-drop? You be the judge.

So Italian Tumblr,  is now writhing on the carpet,  making a sound only bats can hear, and shitposting itself into delirium, but has it all been ENOUGH?

NO.

Poor Rancore has died again. Toxic masculinity still exists. Amadeus is still pretty gross. Everyone is going to have to GAY HARDER. CAN THEY DO IT? This post is, like Sanremo itself, getting insanely long, so ... STAY TUNED FOR PART TWO, in which Fiorello’s true nature as a chaos being is revealed, Amadeus faces his Calvary, and the gun on the stage goes off.  ----- UPDATE: Part 2 is here

[villainousshakespeare]

Putting it Back Together Chapter 4

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Adam/OFC

Rated M (will probably change to E) - Grief, angst, eventual smut, mention of characters dead before the start of the story, blood, slow burn, touch starved

Summary: Since the death of his beloved Eve, Adam had been barely living, only alive due to a promise he made to her. Then one night he meets his new neighbor, a woman dealing with grief of her own. Will they help each other heal or drive each other crazy?

@yespolkadotkitty @just-the-hiddles @hopelessromanticspoonie @wine-and-whines @arch-venus25 @caffiend-queen @devilish–doll @enchantedbyhiddles @hiddlesholic @i-do-not-fangirl-i-fanwoman @kellatron55 @ladyoftheteaandblood @latent-thoughts @gorgeous1974 @maryxglz @myoxisbroken @nuggsmum @nildespirandum @pedeka @redfoxwritesstuff @sinfully-lustful-darling @vodka-and-some-sass @wrathkitty @kingtwhiddleston @wolfsmom1 @poetic-fiasco @shiningloki @dangertoozmanykids101 @bookworm-christina @thecutestlittlebunbunfairy @amwolowicz @delightfulheartdream @frostbitten-written @what-a-flammable-heart @tom-hlover @nonsensicalobsessions @myraiswack @loki-yoursaviourishere

This had not been part of his plan, Adam thought as he switched on a lamp and cringed at the disaster that was his livingroom. Instruments and musical equipment were strewn all over the place, wires and amps just waiting to trip the unwary or uncoordinated. Which, by everything he had observed so far, definitely included his companion.

"Sorry for the mess," he mumbled, clearing a path to the sofa with his foot.

"Don't be," Lilly smiled, looking around with avid interest. "It's exactly how I envisioned it!"

"Great," Adam rolled his eyes.

"Not that I've been envisioning it," she blurted out, face turning scarlet. "I just meant... well, if I thought about it at all, which I only did because I could hear you so clearly over here... and what with all the clattering around..."

"You expected it to be a wreck," he finished for her as he swept a collection of books off of the ancient sofa and onto the floor.

"It's cozy," she said lamely.

"If you say so. Sorry I don't have anything to offer you except water to drink. I don't entertain. Ever."

"Water would be perfect," she smiled encouragingly at him, as though he were a toddler displaying acceptable manners in company.

Which, he supposed, was about right. Fuck, he wasn't even sure if the water here was potable. He had never drank any of it, of course. He only used the kitchen sink to wash the cordial glasses from which he drank his blood. Fetching a slightly larger cup that he had found in the cupboard when he moved in and giving it a quick clean, Adam let the water run for a few minutes to help clear out the pipes. It didn't look too contaminated; he hoped he was not about to poison her.

"Here," he walked back to the livingroom and thrust the glass into her hand. "No ice, freezer doesn't work."

"I'd say you should call the super, but I guess that doesn't work if you're the owner."

"It doesn't really bother me," he replied with a shrug. "I'll fix it myself eventually."

"After all, you don't have guests," she said impishly.

"Right."

"Perfectly drinkable," she judged after taking a sip from the cup.

"Good. Now, let me see if I can find that tape player."

That was what she was doing here, after all. Why his invitation had popped out he could not fathom, much less how he had ended up bringing her back here that very night. At least this way he could limit the time he spent with her, he supposed. It was already two in the morning; not long until the sun began to approach the horizon and he would be forced to show her the door whether he wanted to or not.

Glancing over to where she lounged on his sofa, he was not so sure what the decision would be on that one. Her legs, stretched out on the cushion, were quite shapely despite her petite stature, and the red top just invited one to run their hands over it to feel the silky material and the lush curves underneath. And then, of course, there was her neck, long and white and begging to be bitten.

Adam swallowed and turned away. He  could not help but think of the last time he had had a mortal in his home, though it had not been this one. Ian, his supplier of instruments and all around procurer had been almost a friend, if a zombie could ever be thought so. He was sweet and harmless, and Adam had a genuine affection for him in a distant sort of way. It had been a horrid shock to walk into the room one night after sun set and see the young man sitting lifeless on the couch, blood drained from his body and drying on the face of Ava, Eve's feral sister.

Adam had always hated Ava, and that night had been the last straw. It was also the beginning of the end to life as he knew it. Within hours he had tossed her out on her skinny ass, disposed of poor Ian's body, and was on a flight with Eve to Tangier, where she was destined to drink tainted blood and die. All because Ava had sucked Ian dry. All the more reason to hate his late wife's bitch of a sister.

Still, looking at Lilly stretching herself out, he could understand a little better how Ian had come to die. Ava had whined to them about how cute he had been, how she couldn't resist. At the time he had scorned such a thing as a pathetic lack of self control. He still did to a large extent, but at last he knew the urge. Not just the urge to feed, an impulse they all shared, but an urge to take a human in such an intimate embrace. When Eve was alive it would never have occurred to him, he had had her for such connections, he needed no one else. Now though, alone and untouched for years, he longed to feel Lilly's smooth skin against his mouth, to hear her gasp and sigh as he ran his lips over her neck.

Not that he would ever drain her, of course. He was not such a monster. He would not even drink from her. To do so would expose his true nature, and that would mean relocating again, as well as putting her life in danger.

No, he would do her this one favor, and then he would return to seclusion. He would make sure that he left through the basement when absolutely necessary so that she did not hear him, would otherwise stay inside so that their paths would cease to cross. It would be better for them both.

"Here it is," he mumbled with satisfaction. "Give me a moment to set it up."

"Take your time," she said happily.

Glancing over, Adam saw that she had given up lounging and was now coiling up all of guitar cables into neat rounds. He had to admit that she did a good job - they were neither too tight so as to damage the wires nor too loose so as to unravel as soon as she walked away. With a shrug of his shoulders he allowed her to continue. The cables could use sorting, and he was certainly not inclined to the task.

"Sorry," she said with a blush as she caught him staring. "I warned you, I fidget. I seem to always need something to do with my hands."

He could think of several things she could do to keep her hands busy, he thought. God, what was wrong with him? Was he really so touch starved?

"Where's the tape?" he finally asked

She leapt up from where she had been sitting, breasts bouncing as she did, and almost reverently handed him the box containing her Grandmother's recordings. Adam turned back around, discreetly adjusting himself as he did. He carefully placed the spool in his machine, grateful for something to occupy him until he got himself under control.

After a short series of clicks and static while the tape began to unreel, a scratchy blare of a trumpet began to waft through the air, soon joined by a piano and soft brushes on drums. Adam was taken back to a different era. A time when he had circulated more among the general population of humans. Women wore dresses and hats, men suits and ties, and a sophisticated style permeated the music scene. He had forgotten how much he enjoyed that era, the end of the 40s and beginning of the 50s. Between his excitement at the recent technological advances and his nostalgia for the old days of the height of classical composition, Adam sometimes forgot the joy and sorrow, the feeling that jazz could evoke.

When the voice, low, smooth, and heavy with emotion, slid in like honey, he looked instinctively to Lilly. Her mouth was open, shaped with a hint of smile at the corners. Her eyes blinked quickly, struggling he was sure to hold back tears. This would be the first time, he supposed, that he had heard her Grandmother sing since she had died. Even without the connection to the woman, Adam himself was moved by the song. He was struck by how strong Lilly was being, listening and holding back her tears.

Moving one step towards her, Adam opened his arms. With a catch of indrawn breath Lilly took two steps of her own and for the second time buried her face against his chest. It was so different thought, he thought as his arms came around her. That first night on the roof, she had been some annoying zombie woman, pushing herself in where she was not wanted. Her blubbering all over him had been almost violent in the way she sobbed and clutched at him. Now, she simply melted against him, and he gently stroked her back as he rested his chin on the top of her head.

The song ended and another began, this one he remembered. It had been a huge hit, still was sung every so often, covered by lesser vocalists. Lilly's Grandmother was not one of those. She was a true artist.

"There's a somebody I'm longing to see, I hope that he turns out to be Someone to watch over me..."

As the music continued, Adam found himself swaying to it, bringing Lilly along with him. She was stiff at first in his arms when he began to dance with her, but when she realized what he was doing she relaxed and allowed herself to feel the rhythm. She would never be a natural dancer, and she was clearly still in her head, but there was something sweet about that. She tried so hard at everything. Tried to be strong, tried to keep busy, tried to learn, tried to be happy.

When was the last time he had been happy, Adam wondered. When was the last time he had even tried? Not since Eve, certainly. Before that, he was unsure. There were moments, of course, even at the end with her when he had been so. He loved her with an enduring passion. But he had been going through the motions for decades, shutting himself off from the world around him. Ian had been practically his only connection to it.

Pulling back a bit, he spun Lilly about and half smiled at her. It felt strange to smile even that much. Muscles he had not used in forever only half remembered how to work. He had always had a brooding nature, but of late it had become harsh even for him.

They kept dancing until the tape ended, adjusting to the tempo and style of each song. It felt so good to lose himself in someone else's music for a change. To hold someone, to connect with someone. She was right, what she had said earlier that night. Music required no discussion, no messy dialogue. You could just feel it, let it move through you. And where there was someone else there, someone who even if not a musician herself clearly had an ear and more to the point a soul for it, to share it with it could be a profound experience.

When at last the song ended, Adam and Lilly's eyes met and something deeper than a smile passed between them. It was sad and joyful and required no words. They both collapsed on the sofa, Adam pulling her into the crook of his arm as he sat sprawled and tired. Lilly's legs were curled under her and she rested her head against his chest. He could feel the rise and fall of breathing, fast at first from the exertion of dancing, begin to slow. It was some time later that he realized she had fallen asleep on him.

How strange, he thought, that she should be so comfortable with him that she could so easily drift off. He had perfected the art of scaring people off, and yet this tiny woman had tenaciously refused to be run off. She seemed to trust him, even, had shared something deeply personal with him.

The sun would be up soon. He should wake her, he knew. Yet, looking at how peaceful she looked he could not bring himself to do so. Gently, Adam slid out from beneath her, lowering her head down onto a convenient throw pillow. He foraged about until he found a blanket on an armchair and draped it over her, tucking her in. Lilly sighed and burrowed deeper into the sofa, a light sigh escaping her lips.

Taking one last look, he made sure the curtains were drawn, turned off the light, and headed to his bedroom. Things would go back to normal tomorrow; they had too. But let them both sleep peacefully today.

***

Lilly scrunched her eyes and stretched a bit, trying to wriggle away from a hard lump she could feel under her left side. What had she left on her bed that was poking into her with such insistency. Feeling under her blindly, she pulled out something long and wooden. A drumstick? How on earth had that ended up in her bed? And why did the mattress feel like velvet?

As she emerged from the fog of sleep, Lilly came to the sudden realization that she was not, in fact, in her own bed.

Sitting up, she felt a smile cross her face that was lit from within. Last night had been a good night. She had reconnected with some old friends, and maybe even made a new one. Twenty-four hours ago Lilly would have thought the possibility of a friendship with Adam a fantasy at best, delusion more likely. And yet he had approached her, he had accepted her invitation to the club, and he had issued an invitation of his own that led her back to his apartment.

Oh, not that Lilly was crazy enough to think that he meant anything more by it than friendship. She was not the type of woman that brooding musicians stayed up composing love songs for. She was the type who hounded them with her insistent chirping until they finally relented and occasionally allowed them inside, like the mangy cat you gave milk to once who would forever after haunted your door. She was fine with that, she told herself. He had been a friend when she needed one, lending her an arm to dance with and a shoulder to lean on when she needed it most.

He had also, it seemed from the blanket draped around her, tucked her in. Her grin widened. Despite how hard he tried to cultivate his grumpy persona, Adam had could not hide the sweet kindness in his nature from her any longer. She had felt it as he had held her last night, and later when they danced.

That had been something she would not soon forget. Lilly was too tense as a rule to be graceful, but Adam was such a strong leader that she had stopped worrying about his poor toes and let herself simply enjoy. His body had been a continuation of the music, feeling it to the tips of his fingers and the ends of his hair it seemed. All loose and yet firm where his hand lay on her back, he had guided her flawlessly, swaying to the sound.

All in all, it had been a far better send off for her grandmother than the stuffy funeral planned by her father. The old woman would have enjoyed last night, Lilly knew, and she would have enjoyed Adam. Beyond the shared love of music, his sharp tongue and kind heart would have been just to her liking.

Not wanting to send her mind down fruitless paths, Lilly stood up to get a better look at the room. It really was exactly how she had imagined it, if not more so. Every flat surface from the floor to the mismatched furniture was covered in instruments, sound equipment, mechanisms for which she had no names, and the odd notebook or staff paper. Three of the walls were covered in sound proofing foam, the third in an odd collection of portraits. Looking at them, Lilly found scientists, authors, artists, philosophers, all sorts of creative and intellectual types. She made a game of naming them all, only coming up blank on two (although three more were guesses), and trying to decipher meaning from who was present and who absent. Somewhere in there, she was sure, was the secret to his mind's inner working.

Part way through her perusal, Lilly realized that nature was calling. Assuming the layout to his home was similar to hers, she made her way as quietly as she could up the creaky staircase. Once at the top, she was greeted with a long hallway, three doors on each side.

The first door she tried opened into a room dominated by a large drum kit. Scattered about around it were a music store's worth of other percussive instruments. Some day, she thought, she would like to come back and play in here, to see if she could bang out some of her inner frustration. It must be as good as therapy in some ways!

As she opened the second door an avalanche of what she thought were rugs or tapestries of some sort threatened to come spilling out and bury her. She quickly leaned all of her weight against it to close it shut again, hoping she hadn't disturbed anything expensive and moved on to the third door.

Lilly forgot how to breath as she opened it. There, spread out on a large bed covered in pillows, lay Adam, completely naked.

Lilly knew she needed to quickly exit, closing the door behind her, but she could not seem to make her limbs obey her. If Michelangelo had wanted a model for his David, he could have used him, she thought. Adam lay on his stomach, face buried in a pillow. While this luckily or unfortunately (she could not decide) preserved some of his modesty, there was still quite a bit on display to appreciate.

Broad, well muscled shoulders and back gleamed pale, contrasting against the dark of his hair where it fell. His waist segued gorgeously into a pair of slender hips and - dear lord, there should be a law! - a perfectly firm and round ass that Lilly would have given her right hand to squeeze. Long, lean legs seemed to go on for days, and actually fell off the bed before reaching his gigantic feet. A mischievous part of Lilly felt the urge to reach out and tickle them, and she actively clasped her hands behind her back to keep from acting on this awful impulse.

Had she really tried to convince herself, just moments before, that she was perfectly happy to just be his friend? If so, she had been deluding herself. Oh, she would take what she could get, but Lilly knew in that moment that she would go to her grave ruined for anyone else.

As she stood staring unabashedly at him, Adam mumbled something incomprehensible into the pillow. Lilly started to make for the door, but his head turned towards her and she realized he was still asleep. Cautiously, she lingered a moment longer, watching as he reached out to the other side of the bed, as though searching for something not there.

"Eve," he said, clearly this time. "Baby, I miss you."

Someone had reached into Lilly's chest and crushed her heart between their fist.

She had no idea why it had never occurred to her that he might have a lover, or even a wife. He was beyond gorgeous, brilliantly talented, and obviously had money. Anyone would want him. Why should she assume that just because there was no woman here at this moment he was single?

And yet, clearly, she had. The raw emotion in his voice, the need as he called the woman's name had been all it took to destroy her heart.

Following the direction he was facing, Lilly realized that in this room of dirty laundry and bedding, one picture stood out like a beacon. Placed on the table next to the bed where it could clearly be seen was a photo of Adam and a woman of ethereal beauty. She was not "pretty" in a conventional way, but had something far beyond that. Almost as tall as he was, and perhaps even paler, she was stunning in a cream colored suite with yellow gold hair. Adam had his arms twined around her center, and looked at her with such love in his eyes that it was unmistakable.

Forgetting her need for the bathroom, Lilly bolted out of the room and down the stairs. She needed to get out of here. Away from the perfect man who she was afraid she had already fallen for and the perfect woman who was clearly everything Lilly was not. Including it now became clear, the one that Adam wanted.

[land-under-wave]

As promised, here’s the complete draft of the weird Scott Pilgrim Red/Green fic in its current state. For information about what’s going on with this fic, please see this post. If you’d only like to read completed sections, please start here and keep following the links.

This is very much a rough draft. Aside from simply incomplete sections, there were a lot of things that needed to be revised, such as: awkward tone shift, two sections being too similar to others, a lot of transitions I didn’t like, a really just inadequate Misty section, bad wording choices, etc. I would estimate it was about 85% done. 

Content warnings: some amount of creepy old man behavior which I did my best to mitigate but was somewhat unavoidable given the premise. For section-specific warnings, in the first part, Green gets close to panic attack territory, and the ending contains physical slapstick comedy and a few references to Officer Jenny I was trying to edit out. A more detailed warning (which touches on ending spoilers and explains how I tried to handle the creepy behavior) can be found here, and the full spoilers with all the details can be found in this post (also linked above).

.

.

.

A year after Red finally comes down from Mt. Silver, Green gets his head out of his ass long enough to ask Red out on a date. 

Surprisingly, Red agrees. Even more surprisingly, the first date is actually a resounding success. Sure, Green panics for half an hour about what to wear, and it gets off to an incredibly awkward start — Red’s mother is hovering anxiously in a corner because he insisted that it be at his mother’s diner, the douchebag, so they spend twenty minutes in stilted conversation while Green makes attempts at small talk and Red gives monosyllabic answers — has he mentioned that Red is a total douchebag? But then Green loses his temper and starts shouting, which gets Red fired up at last, so they start bickering over training regimens, Green’s childhood dickishness, and that time Red vanished up a mountain for four years, and by the end of the meal, they’ve hashed out most of their issues. 

On impulse, he grabs Red’s hand on the way out, and Red lets him. His fingers curl around Green’s in response, and it sends a jolt of electricity right up to his spine.

This is . . . good. It’s new and unfamiliar and a little terrifying, and sometimes Green just wants to bury his head into a pillow and scream angrily to deal with the confused tornado raging in his chest, because what the hell are emotions, but it’s good.  

A month after they make it official, Green brings Red to a gym leader meeting. Red gets a couple of surprised looks when he walks in, but it fades quickly, and Misty waves him over to the usual corner where she, Brock, and Green sit. If anyone asks, Green is prepared to point out that Red’s still technically champion, but no one does. Everyone must like him enough that it doesn’t matter. 

They wait till after the meeting, when everyone’s milling about and talking to each other, in order to announce that they’re dating. That’s when all hell breaks loose.

“What? Green?” Misty shrieks, while Sabrina looks at him with silently judging disapproval. 

“Oh my,” Erika says delicately, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth.

“Red, no!” Brock wails.

Green is pretty sure he should be offended. These are his colleagues, after all. He’s been working with them for half a decade — when’s the last time Red even talked to any of these people? Why are they all on his side?

Surge snorts, arms folded. Just when Green thinks he might restore some sanity to the proceedings, he declares, “Think again, boy. You’re not tough enough to make the cut.” 

Green bristles immediately. He and Surge have always had a slightly contentious relationship, because Surge is all hard-nosed discipline and Green is — well, he can admit that he’s a cocky bastard. “And why do I need your approval to date Red anyways?” he sneers, with the full disdainful force of all his teenage attitude. The contempt is not hard to muster up. Nobody here is related to them, and even if they were, he and Red are both adults who can make their own decisions. 

As expected, Surge stiffens at the implicit taunt in his voice, but just as the tension is about to boil over into an argument, Erika steps in with a raised hand and a warning glare to silence him. “Surge,” she says, and that one word is all she needs to restore order. 

Before Green can feel grateful for their calm, sensible supervisor, she turns to him and resumes the thread of conversation. “We have a league,” Erika informs him, serene. “You may not date Red until you defeat all of us.”

Green’s jaw drops open. “Are you serious,” he says, and looks to Red, who just shrugs. 

Great. Big load of help he is. 

“I’m afraid not, my boy. And I’m afraid you’re no match for me,” Blaine says, before laughing at his own stupid pun.

“Why the hell are you so concerned about Red’s love life anyways? What are you, his possessive loser exes?” Green demands. 

He’s expecting a response like, “Don’t be ridiculous,” but instead, to his horror, Erika merely smiles. “What do you think?” she says.

Silence.

Green stares at his colleagues, the seven elite trainers who have been charged with safeguarding all of Kanto, and wonders if he’s losing his mind. Has his hearing gone? He doesn’t think he’s that old, but maybe it’s hereditary. God knows how many times Gramps has misheard his name.

He knows Misty had a crush on Red at one point, but all of them? How the hell did that happen? Red’s never exactly been Kid Casanova here — some days, Green can barely believe Red seduced him — and when did he even have the time for that? He’s spent most of the years since he’s met them alone on a mountain! And hold on a second, Blaine is at least four decades older than him! For that matter, how old is Surge? 

Green is about to have an aneurysm.

He holds his head in both hands as he struggles to wrap his mind around the concept. “Okay. So you’re saying all of you have dated Red, and now I need to defeat you to date him,” he says slowly, hoping that saying it out loud will make things sound more reasonable. It doesn’t. It just makes his head hurt even more. 

What’s worse, Erika doesn’t correct anything he said. She just smiles and nods. “That’s right,” she says, and as if that’s a cue, the others fall in line behind her in a perfect V formation, sliding into battle-ready stances with smiles just shading into predatory. All traces of friendliness have evaporated, turning them into consummate professionals. Even Brock has dropped the doofy attitude for something serious. Surge’s grin is a little too maniacal for comfort, exposing both gums and teeth, and combined with the glint in his eyes, it’s downright feral. 

Green takes a step back, almost involuntarily, and sees Surge’s smile widen in response. Out of spite, Green squares his shoulders and moves back in place, pretending he’s not as uneasy as he actually feels. He scans the seven faces before him, hoping to see a sign of their normal collegial acceptance, but their faces are as solid as stone.

He can’t say he really expected anything else from them. This pose is familiar and well-rehearsed, and they’re all beyond the point where they let the mask slip during official business. Still, Green was hoping that there would be some sign that things would be different for him. After all, this isn’t official business, and in any other situation, Green would be there too, flashing one of his trademark smirks while staring down whatever poor schmuck who Erika decided had earned their ire. But this time, it’s not some hapless criminal or an interfering bureaucrat. He’s the schmuck, and for once in his life, he’s feeling the part. 

Green knows he shouldn’t feel this rattled by a battle stance. As a fellow gym leader, it’s easy to notice all the work that went into constructing it, and the flash of eyes and tilt of head that Erika used as a signal is all too familiar. But it gnaws at his stomach anyways, and it’s not even because all his colleagues have turned against him at the drop of a hat. It’s the space. Or the lack of it. Because the spot where he would be standing has already been taken up. Misty and Brock closed the gap without so much as an exchanged look, and in doing so, they’ve erased his years as Viridian Gym Leader like it was nothing. 

He didn’t think it would be so easy to replace him. 

Green looks at the inch-wide gap between them and swallows, hoping he can swallow down the uncomfortable lump at the bottom of his chest along with it. He’s always tried to ignore it, but sometimes, he gets this sneaking suspicion that they haven’t fully accepted him as one of their own. They’re civil, of course, and sometimes even kind. But kind is different from warm, and that’s what he thinks they lack.

He can’t nail down exactly what it is that separates him from the rest — in terms of join date, Janine’s less than a year his senior, and he doesn’t think any of them except Surge would hold his old, immature attitude against him, since he was mostly grown out of his bratty stage by the time he took over Viridian. But none of that has banished the [sinking feeling] that he’s on the outside, just a little.

So he’s kept his head down like an animal exposing its belly, and every time the doubt rears its ugly head, he redoubles his efforts to earn his way in. He had a hard road from the start, with the stain of Giovanni’s legacy seeped into his gym’s very foundations, but over the years, he’s earned fantastic evaluations, the loyalty of a cohort of talented trainers, and an official commendation here and there. He’s even got a sickeningly gushy page in the Viridian guidebook that made Red laugh at him for twenty minutes straight after one of his challengers showed it to him. When you’re on a mountain with bad reception, those twenty minutes count for a lot.

Green carries all his accomplishments with him, close to his chest, but they don’t do much to dispel the doubts that hang like ghosts in the back of his head. And he thinks that if he stays quiet and still for too long, they might eat him away until he’s nothing.   

He sucks in a breath, but his lungs don’t feel like they’re absorbing air. He presses his hands against his thighs, but that doesn’t do anything to ease the trembling. He tries to count in his head. One. Two. 

“Wow,” says Red’s voice from behind him. “I didn’t know that all it took to defeat the great Green Oak was dramatic posing.”

The sound of that innocent tone sends Green whirling around on instinct. “Oh, shut up, like you can talk!” he shouts, and it comes out as easy as breathing, so easy that he doesn’t notice how much lighter he feels at first. “All it took to defeat you was realizing Mt. Silver would never return your love!” 

“The mountain and I have something special. You’ll never understand, Green,” Red says, very seriously. If it were anyone but Green, they might’ve believed he meant it, but you don’t grow up with someone and not know when they’re just yanking your chain. 

“You know, the only thing I got out of being your childhood friend is the ability to tell when you’re being a dick,” Green tells him sourly.

“Love you too,” Red croons, and okay, he’s definitely doing that on purpose. But if he’s doing it to be a distraction, it’s working. 

He brushes his hand against Red’s. “Thanks,” he says, low enough so that only Red can hear it. Red curls his fingers around the palm of his hand and looks him in the eye, unspoken question burning in his gaze. 

In response, Green draws a breath, takes one final glance at his erstwhile colleagues, and nods.

He can do this. 

.

.

.

What he might not be able to do, Green reflects as he starts his first match, is endure any more of Brock’s stupid rock references. 

“My Pokemon and I are all rock-hard,” Brock declares proudly. He’s always been cheesy and goofy — probably because of all those younger siblings — but his horrible battle introductions have always taken the cake. And does he realize that by doing this, he’s also teaching his siblings about innuendo? Maybe that’s why they giggle at him all the time.

In all honesty, once you get past all the quirks, Brock is kind of an admirable person. You don’t raise nine kids without earning some respect from Green Oak, and he knows all too well about growing up with absent father figures. But unlike Green, Brock didn’t let that hurt define him growing up. Instead, Brock took on that responsibility without reserve and without complaint, and he grew with it to become a good man. A lot of kind, loving people would’ve broken with it. In comparison, really awful puns and a tendency to hit on every girl in the room aren’t that bad. At least he’s sincere about it instead of just being a sleaze. 

But Brock makes it really goddamn hard to get past those quirks. And when he starts urging Onix to use Harden, that only proves his point.

Things go downhill from there.

With the proximity of their gyms, it’s convenient for Green and Brock to have practice matches together, and he uses the knowledge he’s gleaned from those to plow him down in their fastest match yet, one eye twitching the entire time. There’s no way Brock could be making that many hardness references by accident. “I took you for granted, and so I lost,” Brock says glumly. Then he looks in Red’s direction and cries, “Red, my love, I have failed you!” throwing an arm across his face theatrically. Geez, get a grip. Or a life. Or both.

But instead of treating him with the contempt Brock deserves for this patheticness, his traitor boyfriend pats him on the back sympathetically. Ugh, why is he even dating this jerk? 

At any rate, at least this catastrophe is over. “Loser,” Green scoffs, and heads out to schedule his next match. He catches Red giving Brock a shrug before following after him.  

He never thought he’d say this, but thank god Misty is the Water type Gym Leader. After rocks, they have the most potential for innuendo, but Misty has too much angry dignity to be caught dead like that. If someone tried, steam would come out of her ears and she’d probably yell something about disrespecting the beauty of water types. This shouldn’t be an issue again until Blaine. 

.

.

.

Misty might not be a fan of innuendo, but she makes up for it with determination and skill. There’s something different about her this time, a strength in her stance that didn’t used to be there, and it centers Misty too much for him to rattle her. 

The first time they fought, she was fourteen years old to Green’s thirteen, a skinny kid who bristled with her inferiority complex and hated anything to do with flowers. Provoking her was a piece of cake, and any suggestion of her inadequacy could send her into a spiral of rage or just as easily send her collapsing in tears. 

In hindsight, it is funny how Misty rejected her famous family while Green embraced his too much, opposite ends of the same spectrum. Green dealt with his issues with his cockiness, Misty with her anger.

This Misty is fully in control. She holds the reins to her anger and reels it in, harnessing it as fuel instead of distraction. She’s ruling her emotions instead of letting them rule her, and in doing so, she’s taken on a bright, focused zeal he’s never seen from her before.

She’s growing into herself, he thinks, and out of her sisters’ shadows.

He’d be proud of her if she wasn’t giving him such a hard time right now.

“You definitely weren’t this hard to beat the first time around!” Green growls, sending out his Scizor.

“Oh, that was just business,” Misty says, rather cheerfully, enough so that Green wants to wring her neck. Her smile widens to just this side of menacing. “This is personal.”

Green gets out of it with his dignity intact, but it’s a close one. Not for the first time, he rues having taken over an Earth-based gym, because it means he has to keep at least a respectable amount of Ground types in his regular training rota and he’s a far less flexible trainer now.

.

.

.

“About time you showed up,” Surge says, arms folded, boots planted shoulder width apart. Green looks at the severe military cut and the stern expression and wonders what Red ever saw in him. It can’t be a thing for older men, everyone but Surge and Blaine are within a few years of Red. It can’t even be a thing for men. The league is half women, after all.

“Why did you date him anyways?” he hisses to his boyfriend, low enough that Surge won’t hear.

Red shrugs. “We both like Pikachu,” he said. 

The utter loser. 

“I can’t believe you,” Green mutters in disgust. “And people think I’m shallow.” 

“It was only once or twice,” Red says, in what sounds suspiciously like a consoling tone. He pats Green on the shoulder a few times.

He stares at him in confusion until the dots connect. “What the — I’m not jealous!” Green cries indignantly. He’s just perplexed, and that’s a very different thing. Green Oak is above such petty things as jealousy. 

Red just pats him on the shoulder some more. 

Green Oak also does not need such things as consoling, so before his boyfriend can be even more of a passive aggressive dick, he turns to Surge. “Let’s just get this over with.” And maybe it’s sheer frustration or his natural tendency to be a brat to Surge, or maybe it’s just type advantage finally being on his side for once, but for some reason, this time the victory comes easier than all the previous.

.

.

.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Green?” Erika asks. She cocks her head to the side, and for the first time since he accepted this stupid challenge, Green feels a sense of trepidation. Erika is, after all, kind of his boss, and she’s also one of the most terrifying people he’s ever met. 

You wouldn’t think it to look at her. Most of the people in Kanto never get the chance to see anything more than a sweet woman who likes gardening and flower arrangements. Her colleagues, on the other hand, experience a whole different side of her, with all the talents that got her appointed as Kanto supervisor. Things like her ability to calmly reason with anyone, her backbone of steel, and a carefully hidden serial killer crazy that can outstrip Surge at his worst.

He breaks out into a cold sweat. Is he ready for this? Sure, he’s beaten her before, but the first time he battled her, he was still stupid enough to think Erika was soft and beating her would be easy, and weirdly enough, that stupidity gave him the reckless brilliance he needed to take her down instead of causing his downfall. He might’ve become a better battler in the meantime, but now he’s too cautious to use those same crazy strategies and he also knows that she was taking it easy on him — all gym leaders adjust their level to their opponent’s in official matches.  

More than ever, Green is acutely aware of the differences between him and his thirteen year old self. There was a kind of fearlessness that came with being young and feeling like the world was at your fingertips. He spent pretty much his entire Pokemon journey swaggering around like being thirteen meant he was now a real adult and the world would just fall at his feet, and even losing the championship to Red didn’t quite jolt him out of it. Green’s only eighteen now, but he feels unbearably older, more off balance, uncertain of everything he needs to do. It’s funny how he couldn’t wait to get older when he first set out from Pallet Town, but now he just wants the carefree bravado of thirteen again. Why did he decide to grow up? Who told him it was a good idea? 

“Backing out now, Green?” says a dry, challenging voice, and all the air goes out of his lungs. But in a good way. 

He didn’t have this at thirteen.

Now that he’s back in reality, Green pulls up his disdain like a barrier against his fear. “As if,” he sneers.

“Good. After all, you still have to win me,” Red says. He bats his eyelashes, and the sight is so horrifying that it wipes all thoughts of Erika from his head immediately. “Your princess awaits inside the castle.” 

“Princess? Yeah, right. You’d never be able to pull off the dress,” he shoots back automatically. He feels himself ease, the seas inside him settling down as he sinks into the rhythm of the familiar. He even lifts his chin and smirks as he says, “You know what, I think I change my mind. Let’s call the whole thing off, I need someone who’s better-looking than you.”

“Aw, but nothing’s as ugly as your personality,” Red says, and that tone would sound sweet if it weren’t coming from someone who’s halfway allergic to sincerity. But at the same time, he covers Green’s hand with his and gives him a smile like a secret. “You can do it,” he says, with an iron, quiet faith. 

Green breathes out, long and slow. “You’re right, I can,” he says, turning back to Erika. He flashes her a smirk full of confidence that he’s actually starting to feel and declares, “I won’t back down.” It comes out as an oath, and he’s not sure if it’s to himself or to Red, but he knows he won’t lose. 

She shrugs elegantly, but it doesn’t feel like as much of a threat this time. She’s just an ordinary woman now. “Very well,” she says, and sends out Tangela. 

Throughout the battle, Red doesn’t let go of his hand.

.

.

.

Sabrina’s waiting at the door of her gym when Green and Red walk up to the entrance. “You’ve arrived, as I predicted,” she says.

“Uh, yeah, we scheduled the match in advance,” Green points out. Beside him, he can hear Red muffling already-quiet laughter. Why does he enjoy Green’s discomfort? Is he just a sadist?

“We did not arrange that you would arrive twenty minutes early,” Sabrina responds, and turns around to lead him inside before Green can get the last word.

Green fights the urge to make a rude gesture at her back out of sheer spite. He and Sabrina have never been that close. They have a shared interest in freaking people out for fun and games, but Sabrina does it by being sinister and cryptic, while Green prefers sheer power with a dash of douchebaggery instead of mind screws. Even though he knows he’s still a total dick, being around Sabrina makes him feel weirdly benevolent in comparison. 

In that regard, she’s a little more like Red—they’re both closed-mouthed and hold their cards close to their chest until something makes them give them away. But it’s weird to think that Sabrina is anything like his boyfriend, so Green shuts off that train of thought as fast as he can. He can’t really explain why he likes Red so much more than Sabrina. It’s not just shared history, there’s something deeper there between them that he can’t quantify. Maybe it’s just that the things Red holds to his chest align with Green’s own brand of awfulness, maybe it’s just that Sabrina somehow manages to be even weirder than Red. 

Whatever the case, Sabrina’s tactics might have a point. This battle feels like the worst one yet, not because of the difficulty, but because of the tense, hard air in the gym, Sabrina’s ever-present smile like another ghost skulking in the background. This battle doesn’t excite him, it just exhausts him. He just wants it to be over, and in his haste, he makes mistakes. Sloppy ones, like trying to use Tackle against Gengar even though he’s grown up knowing Normal type moves don’t work on Ghost types. It doesn’t help that the mere presence of Gengar in the Psychic gym had thrown him off to begin with.

Sabrina seems to be sensing his discomfort, because the funny little grin on her face widens with his growing unease. For the first time, he truly sees what a formidable opponent she is, wielding both psychic powers and psychology against her challengers to damage them physically and mentally. It was another thing that his complete and utter self-confidence had made him immune to the first time. 

Idly, he wonders if that was the point of this, one big scheme to make him appreciate his colleagues more as trainers. If so, it worked. But was he really that bad before? Maybe he’d ask Erika once this awful quest was over.

If that is the case, though, ironically, it’s also her undoing, because as the match goes on, Green also starts to see the woman he knows inside the mysterious figure at the other end of the gym, and focusing on that familiarity helps combat the unease. In the end, Green can’t really say that it’s his skill that wins the day. It feels more like luck, just a game of who can outlast the other and he happened to draw the winning card. But when Alakazam falls, it seems to break the spell over the room. The lingering tension dissipates, just as ghostly as the atmosphere that had created it, and the world comes back into focus.

Sabrina looks at her fallen Pokemon and, bizarrely, smiles as she recalls it back into its Pokeball. “Your love for Red overwhelmed my psychic power . . . The power of love, I think, is also a kind of psychic power . . .” Sabrina intones.

“Okay?” Green says. Even ignoring the psychic powers, Sabrina has always been a weirdo. 

Sabrina says something else, but he’s not really paying attention. Instead, he grabs his boyfriend’s wrist.  “Red, let’s get out of here,” he says. He’s ready to blow this joint, and if he has to be in this creepy gym much longer, he’s going to make that literal. 

.

.

.

Out of all the other Gym Leaders, Green thinks Janine might be his polar opposite. Sure, they’re around the same age and their names kind of rhyme, but Green is brash and confident and walks like he owns the place, while Janine . . . well, Janine is naive and enthusiastic to the point where she’s pretty much tripping over her own feet. She seems too young for her authority, while Green wields his so easily that people are startled when they find out his actual age.

It’s weird to think that Red could date two such different people. Heck, it’s weird to think that he could get two such different people to date him. Maybe he realized he didn’t like that type and that’s why he’s dating Green now, he muses.  

That still doesn’t explain why both Janine and Green agreed to date him. Insanity? That must be it, because it also explains why he’s fighting all of his colleagues over his dick of a childhood friend.

But the biggest difference between them, Green thinks, is that Janine has never gotten over her yearning for her absent father. She still desperately wants to make Koga proud. Even now, he sees in the way she forms her stance that she’s trying to follow his teachings.

Still, in spite of their [different] reactions, struggling to cope with the fame of their family line and its looming shadow over their entire lives is something they have in common. Someday, she’ll have to figure out how she wants to be a gym leader, separate from her father’s legacy. Someday, she’ll have to make a name for herself as Janine, Gym Leader of Fuschia City and not Janine, daughter of Koga. No one will ever respect her if she doesn’t — Green’s learned that the hard way.

Someday, she will have to walk her own path. But that day is not today.

“Are you ready, Green? Cause I’m not going to wait for you to catch up!” Janine calls, sounding very un-ninja-like. Green briefly mourns the loss of the mystique. He used to think ninjas were cool.

“It’s my duty to defeat you on the behalf of all evil exes everywhere!”

“You can’t be serious,” Green says.

“Sure, I am!” Janine says. She pulls out a small, colorful rectangle from somewhere with her magical ninja arts and waves it around. “After all, I’m a card-carrying member of Red’s League of Evil Exes!”

There are cards now. Green looks at his boyfriend and says, “Red, what did you do to them?”

Red just looks at them and shrugs, looking mildly confused himself. But not confused enough that he’ll actually do something about it, Green notes sourly. 

.

.

.

Cinnabar’s volcanoes are as fascinating as always, but Green is too busy stewing to enjoy it. He marches past all the ads for hot spring resorts and into the Gym, braced for what lies ahead of him. Blaine is waiting for him inside. “You’ve made it, my boy,” he said, and the expression on his face is almost like a proud parent.

Green scowls. He used to respect Blaine. He is, after all, one of the finest scientific minds in all of Kanto, and while Green isn’t a scientist, Gramps has instilled him with a healthy respect for their work. Even the punning had been bearable. He had earned the right for a quirk. 

But this? This was going too far.

Blaine at least has the decency to wait until they’re all set up for battle before he springs the next part of his awful sense of humor on him. “And now, a quiz! What makes you worthy to date Red?” Blaine asks.

“What made you worthy? You’re an old man! Red was a teenager!” Green shoots back. He’s pretty fuzzy on the timeline of Red’s awful lovelife, but there’s no way Red was any older than fifteen whenever the hell they dated. He’s pretty sure Red wasn’t in some demented long distance relationship while still on that goddamn mountain. 

Blaine gives him a creaky shrug. “What can I say? Red really lights a fire in my heart,” he chuckles. 

“I’m reporting you to Officer Jenny when this is over,” Green informs him. Gym leader or not, perverted old creeps shouldn’t be allowed in society. Especially not the punning ones.

But reporting him to the officer and letting her punish him for his sins would be cheating if Green does it before he beats Blaine fair and square. He doubts the rest of this stupid league would accept that as defeating Blaine and their ridiculous challenge, so he sends out Rhydon and prepares for a fight.

.

.

.

After an excruciating moment, Arcanine falls.

“Oh,” says Red’s voice. Green looks over his shoulder to see him standing along the wall of the gym, near the entrance. It’s completely like the sneaky bastard to come in secret and Green can’t even be mad at him as he looks at the battlefield and asks, “Is it over?”

For a moment, Green doesn’t know how to answer him. He doesn’t even know how to speak. He just breathes, as the adrenaline drains out of his lungs and euphoria replaces it. His shoulders slump. He looks at the ceiling. It’s over. This ridiculous journey is finally over. He can now date Red in peace. 

And then the applause starts.

.

.

.

Erika is the first one to emerge, from behind one of the outcroppings of rock near the back of the gym. Brock is next, followed by Misty, while Surge, Janine, and Sabrina come out from the other side. They form a line at the head of the gym, and bizarrely, every single one of them is clapping, even Surge, though he looks like he’s been forced into it. While Green looks at them, too stunned to react, Blaine moves back to take a spot next to Sabrina.  

“Congratulations, Green,” Erika says, smiling. She looks genuinely happy for him, as does Janine, but Surge still looks vaguely murderous and Brock looks like he might cry with happiness. 

“What’s going on?” Green demands. On closer inspection, Brock’s “about to cry” face is more like a father watching his child leaving on a Pokemon journey, so proud that it’s spilled over to sad. It worsens the distinct feeling that something’s been going on in the background that he doesn’t know about.

Erika coughs delicately. “I’m afraid we must admit to a deception,” she says, serene as ever. “We are not actually a league of Red’s exes.”

If Green gets any more revelations in the next week, he’s going to have a stroke.

After a beat of frozen silence, he splutters out, “You’re not?” in a tone that’s half confusion, half demand for an explanation. He looks all around him and then waves his hand at the entire gym, a gesture which turns sharp and wild with his anger. “Then what was all of this for?”  

“Well, we’re not a league of Red’s exes, but we are all members of ‘Red’s League of Allies Against His Evil Ex-Best Friend Who Broke His Heart,’” Misty explains. She frowns at him. “He was pretty torn up over you during his Pokemon journey, you know.”

Dumbfounded, all Green can manage is, “You can’t be serious.” 

“But we are,” Janine says earnestly. She produces her card out of nowhere again and hands it over to Green, who’s now close enough to read the letters embossed on the front. It does, as she’s claimed, state Gym Leader Janine of Fuschia City to be a member of Red’s League of Allies Against His Evil Ex-Best Friend Who Broke His Heart. It’s even made out of red plastic.

Well. One part of him is touched to know that Red had valued their friendship so deeply. You wouldn’t know it to look at him, with his stoic man of mystery act. 

The other part is just plain indignant. “That was over five years ago!” Green screeches. They started their journeys when they were thirteen, for God’s sake!  

A new thought occurs to him. “And if this was all fake, why was Brock going on about his love and hardening?”

“Did he? Oh, that scenery-chewing ham! I knew he would get carried away!” Misty says in disgust. 

“I was trying to go for realism!” Brock protests 

“That’s only realism for you, you sleazy flirt!” she snaps, and yanks at his ear. 

“Ow, ow, ow!” he yelps.

While Misty’s handling that headache, Green tries to replay the conversation where this all started. “I was the one who first brought up the idea that you were exes,” he mumbles, a little horrified. 

“Once you made the assumption, I thought it might work to our advantage,” Erika explains calmly. “A test of your reaction to his supposedly storied history, so to speak.”

“So you just made it up on the spot?” Green says, nearly speechless. How on earth had he fallen for a hastily thrown together scheme? What had it even been centered around, seeing if he was the kind of douchebag who’d storm off and call Red a slut? He’s Green Oak. You don’t get to be one of the top trainers in Kanto by the time you’re fifteen without being a good strategist.

Then again, clearly, all of his colleagues are absolutely insane. No one ever taught Green how to anticipate that. 

Erika smiles apologetically. “Please do forgive us, Green, but we had to make sure you two were serious about this. Your friendship ended so badly, and we didn’t want this to end the same way. After all, the poor boy was so heartbroken that he went up a mountain to get away from you.”

Green’s jaw drops. “Okay, that one was not my fault!” He’s willing to accept the blame for being a dick, for being generally unhelpful with Team Rocket, and a lot of other things, but he draws the line at the goddamn mountain.

“Sabrina?” asks Janine curiously.

The psychic in question is studying her nails, looking bored. “My powers aren’t meant to be used for answering this sort of nonsense,” she says. “Ask him yourself.” 

“Hold up!” Green shouts, before they can get too off topic. “How was this supposed to make sure I was serious about him?”

“You can be a fickle, capricious sort of person, Green,” Erika explains. “So we thought that, with a series of challenges in your way, if this was some kind of idle whim, you would abandon your quest.” 

Green tries to wrap his head around that logic and fails. “How was that supposed to work?” he demands. “What if I was just in it for the challenge of beating the entire Kanto League again and not for Red?” 

Erika just smiles. “You don’t have enough of a death wish for that,” she says, like she’s sentencing someone to execution. 

Green freezes and feels his spine go rigidly straight at the sound of her tone. That smile looks sweet at first glance, but it’s just a little too perfect, a little too gentle, carefully controlled in a way that says she could easily let that control snap at a moment’s notice. It’s the kind of smile that might be the last thing you see before you die. 

Holy Arceus, there are no words in the universe to describe how terrifying Erika is. 

Green breaks eye contact as soon as he can and shakes his head a few times, just to get out the lingering feeling of dread. He quickly turns his mind to another topic. “Okay, so who really has dated Red?” he asks, just to get everything straightened out once and for all.

“None of us. Particularly not me,” Blaine answers. “You young whippersnappers are practically infants.”

“Misty did ask him out once, but he turned her down,” Brock chips in. 

“Hey! That was years ago, and I’m over him anyways!” Misty splutters, cheeks bright red. She shoulders him hard in the chest and snarls, “Stop bringing that up!” still blushing furiously.

“Ow, that hurts!” Brock yelps.

“You deserve it!” Misty hollers back, and the two of them start arguing again.

You know what, maybe Green doesn’t need to get revenge for all the innuendo after all. Misty’s been doing a pretty good job of enacting it for the both of them. 

Misty stomps on Brook’s foot, and Blaine winces. “Please don’t call Officer Jenny,” he says. 

.

.

.

In the chaos, Green realizes there’s one party they’ve forgotten about entirely. “And you!” He whirls around and points at his erstwhile boyfriend, whose expression is blankly nonchalant. To a stranger, he might’ve even looked innocent. “There’s no way they could’ve gotten away with it unless you played along! But you haven’t dated any of them!” 

“Nope,” he confirms, wearing a funny little smile on his face. He’s clearly enjoying himself, and the smugness of his expression only increases as he coos out, “You’re my one and only.”

That tone he’s using is the stuff of nightmares, and Green blanches, reeling back on instinct. He can hear Red laughing at him inside his head. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he demands, refusing to let that deter him.

“It was funny,” Red says, and then, in a perfect deadpan, “Besides, it was a nice revenge. You drove me up a mountain, after all.” 

Green is at least seventy-five percent certain that isn’t true and Red’s just playing along to be a douchebag. “Why, you—!” he growls, and instinct born of ten years of childhood games takes over. He tackles him to the ground, fisting his hands into his shirt so he can drag him up by the collar. He hears someone shout behind him, and it’s probably because they’re a little too old for roughhousing, but Red, Red understands him. Red doesn’t panic or protest. Red just lifts his head to meet his glare with a smirk, and then leans up, grabs his head, and kisses him.

There’s still noise in the background, but it fades away as the world becomes nothing but Red. 

.

.

.

Later, while they’re falling asleep, Green asks, “You didn’t really go up the mountain because I broke your heart, did you?”

“No,” Red answers, but before Green can let out a breath of relief, he says, “I went up there cause you were so annoying that I wanted a break from you.”

In a display of supreme maturity, Green kicks Red in the shins. Some things never change.

[ascottywrites]

Best...Friends?

That Bad Friend Scott McCall tag really gets to me sometimes because even though the fandom kind of pushes it to an extreme, even before the whole Donovan and Theo business I can see how much of a suck-ass friend Scott could be. Like I don’t mean that friends should be up in each-others assholes during every given moment of the day but it is a horrible feeling to be cast aside like so much trash or easily forgotten and in cannon that happened more often than it should have for two people who call one another ‘family’. 

And I know, extenuating circumstances, storytelling, ‘poor story telling’...yada yada, but I’m also a petty ass and sometimes I need to consume the distortion in the fandom to thrive. 

**Also, lets be honest, sometimes the fanfiction is truer to the characters portrayed than the actual cannon. ijs 

This whole post is also known as “I’m a petty asshole who lives in the south so doesn’t get enough opportunities to actually be a petty asshole.” 

Anyway! On with the list! : 

Steter: 

On Edge by Bunnywest (Complete: 8/8| 23,707) 

“What do you mean, Stiles is missing?” Peter demands, scowling at the phone. "Missing, Hale! Can you help find him or not?" The sheriff's voice cracks, and Peter can tell he's out of his mind with worry. Peter doesn't blame him.

In which Stiles gets bitten by a rogue alpha and bolts into the preserve, terrified and out of control. Peter's the one best qualified to find him, because Stiles is Peter's mate. Peter maybe hasn't quite gotten around to telling him that part yet, but Stiles is his, and he's damned if he's going to lose him to some feral alpha. He's going to find his boy, bring him home, and as for the rest? Well, Peter has a plan. It's Peter. He always has a plan.

pack of two by ScarSacrifices (one-shot| 1,735) 

“You’ll be alright. No one can hurt you now,” Peter breathed out clutched the sobbing boy to his chest. Peter took a shaky breath and smoothed his hand down the boy’s hair making low shushing sounds as he did so. “Just listen to my heartbeat sweetheart, I’m here. You’re not alone,” he clutched him tighter, “not anymore.”

A Blowtorch? Really? by MysticMusic (Complete: 2/2| 4,757) 

“He’s homicidal,” she sputtered.

“No, Allison. The witches are homicidal. He’s smart,” Stiles hissed, “and if you took your narcissistic head out of your ass for five minutes, you’d see something called self-preservation instincts. Seriously what the hell is wrong with you? A blowtorch? Really? How fucking stupid are you?”

Or, Stiles defends Peter when Allison attacks him with a blowtorch like a lunatic.

I'm Only Heard During the Silence Between My Screams by Irukashi_Narukib (wip: 42/?| 52,721) 

Stiles thinks no one is listening, so he just... stops talking. It's just like that asshole Peter to refuse to take the hint.

Infinite Space by DiscontentedWinter (Complete: 13/13| 32,124) 

Stiles needs Peter's expertise to help stop the latest threat to Beacon Hills. And, as the pack falls apart around him, he might even need Peter for more than that.

Black Fire by Green (one-shot| 10,934) 

Deaton is all about the balance of the universe, about order. Stiles's new magic - gifted to him from the Nogitsune - is the complete opposite of that. Deaton calls Stiles's magic "dark" and seeks to imprison him in Eichen where he's no threat to the balance. Peter and Stiles go on the run - but they can't run forever.

The Only Sound by Elpie (Horribibble) (one-shot| 4,407) 

Stiles becomes acutely aware of the weight and vibration of his voice in his throat. He knows what volume feels like, and understands the intricacies of modulating it through context clues. If his voice shakes at first, no one seems to notice much.

Except Peter.

What It Takes To Not Be Broken by Whispering_Sumire (one-shot| 17,410) 

He's pretty sure Death is nipping at his heels at this point.

But he has to stay awake, has to keep Gerard away from Erica and Boyd, the two Betas still tied up with mountain ash and electricity on the other side of the room, and it looks like they're trying to scream through their duct-tape, still, but he can't hear it, not anymore.

The terrible, all-consuming, staticky silence had over taken him after about the third time Gerard's lackey- Ben, he thinks his name was- had stuck a military grade taser to his ear, a low enough voltage not to cause brain damage, he'd said, because the point of this was for him to talk.

[Or: The one where Stiles is kidnapped and tortured by Gerard, and his injuries lead to a complete loss of hearing, among other things.]

Sterek: 

Something With a T by Futureworldruler (wip: 10/?| 22,723)  

It started when Derek showed up at his house with a car full of plants.

Or Derek gets help, moves in with the Stilinskis, and slowly builds a new life for himself

Alpha, Mage, Pack by Foxfire2018 (wip: 36?/| 401,116)   

Set at the end of Season 2. Stiles was kidnapped and tortured for hours. Yet no one came for him. Hurt and cast out of the pack by people he thought cared for him, what is he to do? He finds himself accompanied by someone he never expected and someone he is eternally grateful for. Derek feels betrayed and foolish for what he allowed to happen. Out of anger and hurt he forced a valuable member he really started to care for out of his pack. With the pack scattered and people hurt, what will come of them? Will they bond together again in time for the next big bad?

User Error by Poison_Love_Words (wip: 10/?| 37,767) 

Given enough coffee and a few flirty texts from Mr.Bookish, Stiles could rule the world from his basement office at Triple S. That is until the day his best friend stabs him in the back for a pretty face and the (false) promise of fame and fortune.

Based on the Prompt: Omega Stiles is the real brain behind the up and coming tech company but Scott the public “face” starts to believe his own press and falls in with his new girlfriends bigoted family. He lets them talk him into kicking Stiles out of the company. And then Stiles gets revenge by going to work for the Hales.

I'll Bare My Back (If You Hold The Whip) by Kinkubus (wip: 5/?| 16,435) 

After the fiasco with the Nogistune, which Allison barely survived, Stiles is pushed to the fringes of the pack. Alienated from his previous friends and abandoned by the Sheriff who can't deal with his broken son, Stiles slips further and further into a pit of despair. That is until he finds someone even more desperate than he is, and together they forge a bond that will revitalise both their lives and the lives of Scott's crumbling pack.

So this is my first fic and it's unbeta'd so any mistakes, please feel free to correct me. That being said, I have not paid attention to canon at all in this story. Allison lives. Gerard is dead, and so is Victoria but the Alpha pack hasn't arrived yet and to be honest the timeline is shot to pieces. Therefore please suspend your disbelief. This is primarily a story about Stiles fighting through all the odds to adopt the entire pack and cuddle them to death, whilst also feeding them healthy food because yes I know you've got werewolf metabolisms Peter but good eating habits are still important ok!

Choose! by Skeleton_Wolf (one-shot| 1,437) 

Scott made him pick between his best friend and the pack that treats him like family. Is he really his best friend if he makes him pick? Can Stiles choose?

Thunderstorms & Polish Lullabies by Whispering_Sumire (one-shot| 10,057) 

Boyd is there, hovering over his claws, Isaac looks devastated, Jennifer looks bewildered and concerned and horrified, Kali looks smug, the twins are carefully keeping their faces blank but they're playing along, and- Gods, he's really going to be forced to do this, isn't he? Pack, his Pack, the make-shift family he'd all but accidentally gathered is going to die by his hand, and even if it's forced, it'll still be his fault, for wanting them, for needing them, for biting them.

Loving them.

He wants to close his eyes but he owes Boyd more than that.

And then, abruptly, in this saturated technicolor still-picture moment of chaos and violence- the eye of the storm- the door to the loft crashes open. With the water and the metal and the force of it, the sound is almost guttural, and far too loud- even Kali seems startled.

[Or, the one where Stiles time-travels just in time to save Boyd and Derek from the Alphas, and manages to heal everyone, including himself, just a little in the process.]

The One You Choose by Livinginfictions (Complete: 7/7| 13,440)  

Stiles hadn’t seen Scott in over a week, except for glances he caught during school hours.

Not Too Late to Learn by bubblessunshinedelight (wip: 20/?| 30,596)  

After 14 years Stiles realizes Scott doesn't really know him.

or Scott finds out Derek and Stiles are dating and is a dick about it...for a while.

You Belong with Me by halcyon1993 (Complete: 4/4| 19,656) 

Derek is tired of watching Stiles get treated like crap by his so-called friends. When both the Hale Pack and the McCall Pack end up in the same nightclub, Derek decides it's finally time to convince Stiles that he'd be better off with him as his Alpha.

That thin line between right or wrong by orphan_account (Complete: 7/7| 15,718) 

An AU based on the Donovan-storyline from Season 5A. After Stiles is attacked at the library and accidentally kills Donovan, he’s in shock, panics and runs. Hurt, confused, ridden with guilt and depressed, he wonders how it ever came to this point where nothing will ever feel right again. So, he decides to call the one man who knows won’t judge him. But will Derek arrive on time to save Stiles’ life?

This story basically alternates from most of Season 5, ignoring the rest of the series. Since I hated what they did with Stiles’ character after Donovan’s attack, I decided to change it all. This story is completely written from Stiles’ POV.

A Heavy Price by Estellestafford (one-shot| 4,202) 

Every Emissary wants to work for the Hale Pack, Stiles just wanted to be Scott's but then Allison happened to get some magic so that was out the window and now he finds himself in office with some hot guy offering to make him an Emissary in exchange for fulfilling his desires.

Go Away, Scott by HelloWhyTheFuckAmIHere (Complete: 45/45| 66,227) 

After the incident at the warehouse, Stiles is fed up with Scott. He finds himself drawn into Derek’s pack and in the process, drawn to Derek himself.

With the Alpha Pack closing in, Derek needs to learn how to trust his pack and those around him. And who better to help him than Stiles?

A Healing Silence by HelloWhyTheFuckAmIHere (Complete: 28/28| 36,329) 

Stiles is slowly pushed out of the pack following his fight with Scott about Donovan's death. After receiving a phone number from an old friend, Stiles is surprised to find that it belongs to the one person who may be able to bring him back to himself.

[sweetbyte]

Title: Helping Hand

Pairing : Katsuki Bakugo | Momo Yaoyorozu

Rating : T 

Summary : She is often described as a girl with a bleeding heart; He’s just bleeding out. || Quirkless AU

He’s never been so fucked in his whole goddamn existence. In a secluded alley, injured, possibly bleeding to death, no cell phone, all in all- totally fucked.

Some cynical part of him, the part who isn’t gasping in pain-the pussy, thinks this is exactly what he deserves. Karma, if you will, for being a less than stellar piece of shit for all his life. He’s no saint, he’s never tried to be one, but if this is what he gets after trying to help a damsel in distress, never a-fucking-gain. Let the world fucking go up in flames. The bitch straight up ditched, purse intact, leaving him to his death, no gratitude whatsoever. If they were going to leave him to die, they could have at least brought him a drink. That or the stupid motherfucker could have least finished the job and put him out of his misery. The fucking nerve.

“Momo, I don’t think this is a good idea.” His ears perk up at the sound of voices, both females, and he sees the ever so faint glow of a flashlight.

“I heard a commotion. What if we find another poor animal?” The second voice, a much softer voice, begins as the light moves slowly from left to right on the ground. “This will be the fifth time, I keep saying we need cameras back here.” He stifles a groan. Of course, he’d be found by a bleeding heart humanitarian in his final moments. How lovely.

“I keep saying you need to stop closing the clinic alone.” The other voice replies in exasperation and he thinks maybe at least one of them will have some shred of common sense. Probably not since they are in a dark alley at night, most likely unarmed and unsuspecting. “You get tunnel vision when it comes to helping the unfortunate. I’m just glad you called me this time, it’s not safe for you to be out here like this. I guess it’s an improvement.” The light gets closer and he’s truly upset that he hasn’t just died by now, and that they haven’t found him yet. Shit just beam the goddamn light ahead of you, its impossible to miss him. He’s doomed.

“I appreciate it, by the way. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important.” At that he snorts, and the flashlight finally shines over him as he hears them gasp.

“Oh my- Jirou, quick call a medic or something!” He sees the light fall to ground as one girl immediately drops to her knees to assess him while the other girl stares in shock before pulling out her phone.

 “I really don’t think you should get too close. Not exactly the animal you were expecting but he still might bite.” The girl with the phone warns and he snarls just to be petty, causing her to mutter unimpressed. “Great, he’s feral.”

“Feral or not, he might die here! Look at all the blood he’s lost!” The girl on her knees, gently chides as she sets to work looking at his wound. He’s too tired to even attempt to push her away so he lets her soft hands begin to poke and prod.

“I’d rather not, you’re the vet tech, not me.” The phone girl frowns as she finally gets connected to whoever the fuck she called.

“Listen, I’m far from being proficient in the medical field, but I need your cooperation.” The humanitarian calmly begins after locating the nasty gash by his abdomen. “I need to take you back to the clinic, I have the necessary materials there to at least disinfect and bandage you up until you get proper treatment. You are continuing to lose blood.” Her eyes are focused on him, waiting for his response to continue and he wonders what she would do if he said no. “Whatever.”

Oddly enough, he sees her smile a bit before proceeding to tear his shirt. It completely takes him off guard, her strength and the sheer audacity. Before he has the chance to ask her what the fuck she’s doing, she bunches the shirt that hasn’t already been bloody soaked and presses it into the wound. It hurts like a bitch and he hopes she gets it from the loud curse he lets out.

“I’m sorry, do you think you can hold it there while I help you up?” At least she sounds apologetic, the wench, and he just nods. She braces herself under his arm of his uninjured side and helps him to his feet with an almost ridiculous ease.

“Wait, Momo, they advised for him not to be moved until they get here.” The phone girl bursts when she sees them up.

The humanitarian, Momo, tuts disapprovingly. “When will they arrive? I can’t risk him bleeding out. They can just meet us at the clinic.” He hears the phone girl groan loudly over as she continues to update the medics, he guesses. Momo begins to walk with him to the clinic she keeps talking about. Her hold on him is firm yet considerate; her body against his is stable yet supple. Its so fucking odd.

The walk isn’t far, it’s just around the fucking corner of the alley way. Veterinary Clinic, of course that’s where she works. Vet tech. How fucking appropriately humane of her. Her friend trails behind them and assists with the door. After they make it in, he hears the door lock behind them. “I’ll start tending to him, you wait here until the medics arrive.” Momo instructs and her friend nods before telling her to be careful and he glares at her, not that she cares.

Momo then proceeds to drag him to a room where he sees a steel exam table. He’s more relieved than he’ll ever admit. She had been practically carrying him at this point and its all he can do to keep holding the shirt to his side.

“The tables are sterilized, I promise, I do it myself. They are also adjustable, so it won’t be a problem trying to hassle you up on it. I only ask that you sit when I tell you to. Can you do that for me?” He rolls his eyes at her, of course he fucking can.

“Do I get a treat?” He snorts while the table lowers.

“If you’re a good boy.” He freezes for a moment and she seems surprised at her own answer as she blushes furiously before shoving him on to the table and raising it up to her level. She then busies herself gathering gloves, gauze, bandages and such from the various cabinets.

“I can be a good boy.” He teases and he must have lost a lot of blood if he’s taking in the shade of her luminescent eyes and practically fucking flirting with her. Hell, if he truly is dying of blood loss might as well make the most of it. He’s dizzy and she’s admittedly very attractive. If he plays his cards right, maybe he'll get lucky and get sucked off before he kicks the can. He shakes his head, it not likely, this girl, unlike him, is a proper fucking saint. She would never.

“Somehow, I find that hard to believe.” She laughs as she carefully peels the bunched-up shirt off and starts to dab and tend his wound. She’s extremely efficient and concentrated so he lets her work in silence. By the time the ambulance finally does make it on scene, she has him bandaged and cleaned. He’s temped to tell them to go fuck themselves, but she pushes him out towards them stating that he’ll probably need further medication for pain and such.

In the midst of being loaded up into a gurney, which is completely unnecessary, she shoves a card in his hand and smiles. “Hope you feel better, and for the record, you did great!”

She practically skips away before he can say anything. He looks at the card during the ride to the hospital and resists the urge to smirk. 

Momo Yaoyorozu

Come again to redeem treat. (:

A/N: Yes, another bakumomo oneshot, please do not judge me. 

[davantrask]

Winter King

So. I haven’t posted anything in years for Hitsuhina but I have written a thing for a friend so I will post it here. It was kind of an experiment in getting back into writing again so it is jumpy and might not be entirely linear but oh well.

It is kinda long.

This may or may not be my first attempt at tumblr.

Momo moved through the bullpen quickly, ignoring the talking idiots while she walked. She was pissed. She was very, very, pissed. Mostly, she was pissed because the captain had reassigned her partner without talking to her first. Well, no one had talked to her first. Her partner had asked for a change without consulting her because he was an idiot. 

The last case has been hard. Children had been taken and skinned by a local member of the fae community. No one liked the fae, well, most of them. Children were easy targets, delicious targets according to the asshole that was currently sitting in a cell of cold iron. The idiot had taken one look at the crime scene when they had finally caught up with the fae and well… run. Now she was going to have to have some of her protection runes re-done and that hurt. Magic inked runes were wild things. She had lost five in that fight and if she was honest with herself she was still mad about it. 

She rolled her shoulders and kept walking. Coffee, she needed coffee. The bakery down the street would give her what she needed before she had to meet up with whoever the captain was going to stick her with. 

She gritted her teeth and ignored the rage demon who walked past her. Michael was a nice guy, so long as you didn’t piss him off. When she had first started here his ears had thrown her off, but she was used to seeing them now. The receptionist was a lovely fairy whose wings were gorgeous. Her eyes kind of reminded her of a dragonfly, but it would be worth those eyes to have those wings. Renji was half a something weird that she had not figured out yet. She had hoped that they would get partnered together but he didn’t do general police work. He got a lot of the shit cases that required more brute strength than detective work. 

His runes made her eyes water some days and she wasn’t sure how to explain that to a partner. Seers, good seers, could see through the glamour that let people live their ordinary lives. What was left of their ordinary lives after the walls came down and the supernatural invaded. It had taken a lot of cold iron, a war, and a few cautious treaties, to keep humans from being the main course on the easy to harvest table. That didn't mean humans weren't hunted. It did mean that someone had to hunt the things hunting the people in the dark.

When you hunted things in that went bump in the night you didn’t have the luxury to walk around pretending that your knives weren’t perfectly balanced and the runes that you had etched into your skin wasn't to keep others from wearing it. Partners, good partners, were hard to keep. Damned weak willed asshole who had run, run, from the whole thing babbling like an idiot. 

She ran her fingers through her hair and stomped out of the building. Coffee, coffee would make all of this better. 

--

Her new partner was not what she had expected. First of all, his forearms were very distracting. She wasn’t sure where he had gotten those tattoos, they were beautiful and dazzling and she had to work hard to keep from looking at the runes. She was fairly certain she knew what most of them meant but there were a few that were complicated enough that she couldn’t make them out without drawing them and studying them herself. Doing that would tell him that she was busy looking at his forearms, so that was out. 

She wasn’t entirely sure that the girls in the office saw when they looked at him. It had to be something. Those forearms weren’t his best trait, they were just the most distracting part for her since they sat across from each other each day. 

She hadn’t quite figured him out yet. He presented himself as an elf, but Momo wasn’t quite sure that she had ever seen elves with teeth quite that sharp. He didn’t have fangs like a goblin but his incisors were sharper than any humans. His ears were definitely pointed, but Fae, Goblin, and Elves all had the pointed ears. The fae that she had seen were so far gone into their blood madness that she wasn’t sure she could tell the difference between any every day elf and an everyday member of the fae court. Then again, if he wasn’t such an utter dick about life she might have taken the elf thing at face value. 

She took a bite of her chocolate cake and ignored the eyebrow. Two weeks with him as her partner and she had already decided she wanted to stab him in the face when he looked at her like that. 

“Cake? ” 

She waved her fork at him. “I don’t judge your shake things.” It was self-defense to argue back. If you didn’t argue he thought that he was right and quite frankly she had only been able to handle that for about an hour.

Pretty or not, the man was an ass. 

“Protein shakes.” He corrected, eyes narrowing. 

She shrugged. “If you choose to live on water and powder that is your decision. I choose to live on cake.” The eyebrow arched higher. “Don’t give me that judgy eyebrow. I have lived just fine without your judgmental eyebrows about my cake.”

“Judgmental eyebrows.” His voice was the same flat tone he used on the girls upfront when they annoyed him. 

Momo smiled her most charming smile at him. The one that got stupid cops to talk and cantankerous old men to calm the  fuck down. His eyes narrowed at her and she grandly ignored that, taking another bite of her cake. 

“I have a mirror, would you like to borrow it?” The surpy sweet voice she had practiced on Renji until he just twitched at her when he heard it. Toushirou just kept watching with that narrowed eyed expression so she took her last bite of cake and put her container into what she had labeled her food drawer. 

She rather thought that no one bothered the man from wherever he had come from. Someplace across the pond before they had transferred him here. She wasn't sure why he would  want to come to this city of all places he could have chosen. He was a good investigator according to her boss. He wouldn’t run when they found fae attacking children nor would he get in her way. He had asked for a competent partner, apparently, and gotten her. She didn't think he thought much of her yet, that was all her partners though. 

She didn't need her partner to approve of her methods to do a good job.

---

“If that is the kind of trouble you attract on a regular basis, we need to work on your hand to hand.”

Momo let the sound of his voice distract her enough that she could ignore the tug of the needle in her shoulder. She glanced back at him cautiously, her shirt held in front of her boobs to maintain her modesty. “My hand to hand is fine. He had ten inch claws for hands. He only grazed my shoulder.” And then she had used the many knives she carried on her person to keep him back.

Toushirou leaned against the door to the ambulance and she forced herself not to react. He had blood and dirt smudged on his person but some of that was probably hers. His cheekbones seemed sharper in the light and his eyes were glowing. She could ignore both those things if it didn't add a feral edge to the cast of his features that made her very aware of the fact that she was a small woman and he was a very fit man. Very fit. Other parts of her were very, very, aware of just how fit he was after playing toss the Momo and he had played catch. He wasn't human and Momo had rules about only dating humans. Pretty was never a good indication of anything when it came to supernaturals. 

“If you're going to run ahead of me like that into a dark creature with ten inch knives for hands, then yes, we do.”

There was a light tug and then the tech was patting her shoulder. “Let me get a bandaid so your stitches are covered and then your free to go.”

Momo nodded, glad for the brief distraction. “Thanks Mike!”

“You can thank me by not needing stitches again for awhile.” 

“Sure thing.” Band Aid applied over her back she carefully tugged her shirt over her head, ignoring her partner. She climbed down the back of the ambulance and was surprised when a jacket dropped down over her shoulders. She glanced up at Toushirou and mimicked his raised brow. 

“It's snowing.” He reminded her. “Half of your shirt is gone and your jacket is in shreds. Take the jacket.”

“You will get cold.”

He shook his head. “The cold doesn't bother me.” 

She wasn't currently cold, but that was probably adrenaline talking. She hadn't come down off her high yet, but she was certain when she did she would notice the snow. She hadn't expected snow tonight, the weather had said very cold… eh. Things like that happened when supernaturals got involved. Probably some stupid weather witch. 

“Thank you,” he had pulled their car up to the police barricade. Thankfully, he had the keys since it was his turn to drive. She slid into the passenger seat gingerly and was surprised when he handed her a mug.

“Drink that.”

She frowned at it. It looked like tea, but it didn't smell like any tea she had had before. “What is it?”

“Tea.”

She glanced over at him. He was watching the road and not her but she could hear the judgment in his voice. Tea, she snorted and took a cautious sip. Warmth slid down her throat and curled in her stomach before continuing down to her toes. She pulled the mug back and stared at it. 

“Drink all of it, Momo.”

She stared at him suspiciously. “Did you get this at that poor crazy elf ladies cart?”

He glanced at her. “No.”

“Are you sure? Because it might turn me blue or something if you did and this is weird tea. Weird tea generally only comes from the crazy tea lady.”

His mouth tucked up at the edge in what she thought was almost a smile, almost. “No, drink your tea.”

She huffed and took another cautious sip. Same reaction, what did he put in the tea? Minus that almost grin, the man was wearing his 'see no evil, hear no evil,’ stone face. He wasn't going to tell her what was in the tea and he wasn't going to stop nagging her about drinking it if her previous experience was anything to go by. 

She fell asleep somewhere between the city they were in and the precinct. She didn't end up spilling the last of her tea on herself but the gentle shaking of her good shoulder managed to help her claw her way out of her dream. She glanced at her partner who was looking at her with those glowing eyes and she wondered if he knew she could see them. 

“I am dropping you off at home, I will handle the paperwork.” 

She glanced to the right and blinked. Right she was home. Had she told him where she lived? Probably at some point she had. She blinked at her apartment complex and decide not to ask. She glanced back at him and narrowed her eyes. “I have gone in and done paperwork with stitches before.”

He shook his head. “Not today.” 

She frowned and shrugged, carefully. “Suit yourself.”

She opened the car and shut it behind her. Her body was tired, but he thankfully didn't try to walk her up. She managed to get into the house and locked everything back up. Her wards were in place, the salt on her windows was undisturbed, so she stripped out of her clothes and curled up on the bed. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

--

Momo wasn't awake by the time she hit central the next morning. Her back had burned like fire, waking her up more than once. She wanted to blame the stitches but a quick glance in the mirror that morning had promised otherwise. Her fingers itched to touch the runes that had somehow etched themselves into a line just under her shoulder blade under the wound. They gleamed silver in the early morning light and she had the vague impression that they were unfinished work. She had still been able to walk through her wards and none of her tokens of power had flared in alarm, so they weren't dark magic. She didn't know what they were, but she knew better than to ask. Half finished as they were someone would throw her in a mental institution and lock the door. 

When she had slept she had dreamt of a dragon of ice with red eyes and lord that wasn't helping her disposition either. Dreams were the worst as a seer. It could mean anything or it could mean nothing. Still someone had started the communal pot of coffee and she was going to take advantage of that. 

“I hear you rescued some fae blood last night.”

Momo turned cautiously, eyes narrowed. Ah yes, big and dumb was here. She was fairly certain he had a name but she hadn't been bothered to learn it. Anyone with that much prejudice leaking into their work wasn't someone she wanted to be associated with. 

“If we did?” she kept her tone polite but shifted to the balls of her feet. This one she could probably take but if she popped her stitches someone was going to see the runes. That would be bad.

He marched forward. “Fae deserve what they get. Don't waste our resources on them.”

She jutted out her chin. “She was a child. Our job is to defend children from the things that go bump in the night.”

“She was a fucking animal.” He was looming over her, his face turning red. 

“She was a child.” He raised back his hand and Momo braced for the hit. If he hit her, when she stabbed him in the throat with her knives it would be self defense. 

“I wouldn't do that if I were you.” The cool, clipped words of her partner broke into the room. 

Big and dumb turned to sneer. “You going to do something about it pansy man?”

Toushirou arched a brow at him. “You are, of course, welcome to try your luck.”

Momo decided she didn't want to deal with any of this. She wasn't sure how to get out of the break room without having to engage one of them. 

“Daniel, what are you doing?” The captain was suddenly there and Momo was fairly sure she had never been so happy to see her. 

“Just talking.”

“Take your talking elsewhere.”

Momo watched him walk off and tried to not look startled when the captain nodded and her and headed off as well. She ignored her partner and went for the coffee. 

“Did you know the child was fae?”

Momo turned with her cup of coffee and stared at her partner. Since she suspected him of being fae she hadn't thought that he might be prejudiced against them. “I don't see why that matters.” 

She moved to slip past him but he curled his hand around her forearm, halting her progress. “Momo.”

She glanced up at him, eyes narrowed. “Unless it relates to the job, what I see is none of your business.”

“We were on the job.”

She frowned and sighed. “I suspected. A human child wouldn't have still been alive after what had been done to her. Elves would not have tried to fight the way she did and she didn't have a goblins  fangs.”

His fingers relaxed and he dropped her arm. “You dove between a fae child and a creature with ten inch knives for hands.”

She stared back at him. “It's my job. If you don't like it, find a new partner.” She pivoted on her heel and stomped towards their desks. 

She was done with today and it had just started. 

--

She dreamed of fire and ash being swept away by the cold snow and ice of the mountains. It was there deep within the cold mountain heart of the glaciers that the dragon rumbled her name with the voice of thunder. 

But it wasn't her name he called. The words were about her but they weren't her. Still, it crawled down her spine and settled along the skin of her back. Vivid words that hung like magic on the air. 

Even upon waking it hummed under her skin and through her blood until her ears rang with it. 

--

“You need to eat more.”

“You should mind your own business.” She slid into the passenger side car door having lost the toss to see which one of them was driving. She was starting to think he was cheating to get his way and drive. She would suggest rock paper scissors next time and see how he liked it. 

“You're losing weight.”

She turned and stared at him. “Are you going to drive?” A family had been murdered and they had been called to check it out. 

He made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded vaguely of disapproval but she ignored it. She had a blinding headache and wasn't sure if it was good or bad that the sun was going down. All she had been able to get down was one of those ridiculous protein shakes he seemed to enjoy so much since he always had one with him in the morning. 

Last night she had woken up in the middle of the night and did not realize there was no light in the room. Her night vision had improved rapidly and she didn't know what to do about it. At this rate she was going to have to quit and move somewhere where no one knew her or thought she was supposed to be fully human. 

Granny had died a few years ago so it wasn't like she had anyone or anything holding her to New York City. Pain sliced down her spine and she shifted in her seat to take pressure off her back. That morning when she got up and checked the runes were now gracefully lined down her spine, a dragon had been curled through them. A beautiful silver dragon shaded to blue, with red eyes. Throwing up into her toilet had not been the way she had wanted to start her morning but it had happened. Now she was rocking the world's worst migraine and was headed to a triple homicide. If she was lucky she would finagle coffee out of something at some point today. If she wasn't lucky, they would end up on a hunt through the streets. 

Toushirou was blissfully quiet on the drive. No music, no talking, just the sound of the car engine and the occasionally angry tourist on the road. Even the five o'clock traffic was strangely muted inside her head while she leaned against the headrest with her eyes closed. 

The car door opened and shut and her eyes opened wide. When had he stopped? “Here,” Toushirou slid into the driver's seat and handed her what vaguely resembled a pork bun. A cup of tea settled in the cup holder next to her. “Eat.”

She caught the food on reflex and stared at him. “You stopped for food?” 

He glanced over at her. “You clearly didn't eat enough today. Eat your food and drink your tea.”

She blinked at the pork bun and then back at him. He didn't get anyone food, not even a donut. Some of the supernatural communities were weird about feeding each other, she had always just assumed he was one of those. Clearly, if he was getting her a pork bun be was not. Maybe he just didn't like doing people favors.

The food was delicious and at least the tea tasted normal this time. The sun was down so her eyes weren't hurting as badly as they had been. She wasn't going to tell him it had helped, but by the time they were at the house her headache had eased back and she rather thought she could get through the evening. 

She opened the door and turned to go inside the house. 

“Momo.” She turned to look at her partner, eye arched in question. A habit she wasn't going to admit picking up from him. He walked past her, hands in his pockets. “Don't forget to eat next time.”

She scowled at his back and headed after him. Partners. 

--

She was flying this time, tucked carefully under the dragon's wing and he screamed into the night air. She was safe, safe, safe, from whatever was hunting them. 

Then the fire came and there was an explosion of ice.

--

Momo woke up slowly, her head was spinning like a top and she wasn't sure what to think about it. She rolled into her back carefully and stared at the ceiling. She frowned and blinked at it. That was not her ceiling. In fact it wasn't her house. She sat up gingerly and touched the bandage wrapped around her chest and shoulders. 

She wasn't quite sure what had happened exactly. She remembered going to the house and the runes that had been carved into their bodies had activated. Something...bad come out of that hellhole. Whatever it had been, it was infinitely worse the second time around. 

“You’re awake.”

Momo turned to blink at her shirtless partner. She turned her head away and frowned at the wall. “Where am I?”

“Home,” he said quietly. She turned her head again and frowned a little. The room was a lot bigger than she had thought it was upon first glance. 

“What happened?”

“A nightmare creature was summoned from the bodies of the victims.”

She summoned her inner fortitude and turned to look at Toushirou. His shirt was off so the eye watering runes that curled around parts of his body were fully visible. She ignored the muscles under those runes and froze when she caught his face. His eyes were glowing again but it was the lack of human anything that had her breath catching. Sharp cheekbones, pointed ears that were not the soft ears of elves. It was the power clearly radiating off of him that alarmed her. He was beautiful and terrifying all at once.

She wobbled to her feet and held onto the post at the end of the bed. Home, he had said home. Not her home, not his home, but home. “What is going on?”

He stayed where he was, leaned against the door jam. “It was a trap set for the two of us.”

She snorted. “I am human. Granted I can see through glamors, but totally human. Supernatural creatures don't set traps like that for humans.”

He sighed. “Momo, I -”

There was a loud noise that echoed through the rooms and he snarled, sharper than human teeth gleaming in the low light. It was an inhuman sound from an inhuman throat and she had…

“Send me home.” 

He whirled. “You’re not-”

“Home, Toushirou. Mine, the one I pay rent on every month. Now!”

He moved forward and settled his hands on her shoulders. “It's not safe.” This face was inhuman and full of an emotion she couldn't name.

She pushed her chin up. “I want my bed and my clothes and my shower. Not whatever this is.”

There was another roar in the distance and this time when he snarled she could feel it rumble down her bones. There was a snap and a rumble and she was wobbling in front of her apartment. He reached over and opened her door for her. “Do not leave until I come get you.”

She walked into her apartment and shut the door, locking the deadbolt behind her. She stumbled across the floor and crawled into her bed. She pulled the blanket over her head and closed her eyes. 

--

The dragon was curled around her this time. His breathing deep and even. She turned her head to stare at it.

Alive. They were both alive. 

--

She woke several hours later to something echoing through her head again. She crawled out of her bed and wobbled her way to the table. There was a bowl of what looked like soup, that strange tea, and some sort of fruit. 

'Eat the food, Momo.’

She crumbled the note into a fist and was tempted to ignore it. Her stomach gurgled up at her so she forced her shaking hand to test the broth. It tasted like soup and not magic soup. She wasn't sure if she was disappointed or not. The fruit was strange and sweet on her tongue. The tea did that thing where it warmed her down to her toes. She struggled back across the room and rolled into her covers again. 

Tomorrow she was warding her house so that nothing bigger than a flea could get in here. 

--

He had been looking for her for a long time, he told her. Had not expected to find her in the human world. Would not have looked for her at all, except she had drawn their attention by saving a child of the court. 

Drawn attention how? 

Magic.

--

Momo felt better the third time she woke. Her head wasn't spinning and the world wasn't on fire. She managed to make it to the bathroom and the all important shower this time. It took some careful work to get the bandages off her shoulder. They were sticky with blood and some pungent smelling herbs. She vaguely remembered something tearing into her shoulder but once she got everything unwrapped all she found was smooth unblemished skin. No scars, no wounds, just Momo skin completely untouched. 

She glanced behind her and swallowed; the runes are her back had shifted again. They we're definitely protection runes of some sort and made her eyes twitch just looking at them, but the dragon was no longer a shaded outline. Intricate, delicate, detailed work had been added to the markings when she had been asleep. It was gorgeous and done by a master hand or…. magic. She was fairly certain it was the dragon that had been haunting her in her dreams. She closed her eyes and took careful breaths. She was going to ignore the rest of it. She crawled into her shower and scrubbed down very carefully using her human soap. The razor worked like it was supposed to and when she got soap in her eyes it burned like soap was supposed to. 

The towels were her rough cheap towels and the liberal use of the blow-dryer got her hair dried. The texture was a little off and the color looked like it had deepened, but she ignored that entirely. Human, she was a human Momo and that was how she was going to stay. She pulled on her entirely human clothes and walked into her living room and found a fae sitting at her kitchen table, watching the door. She froze. He wasn’t wearing his human facade but at least he had his shirt on this time. 

“What are you doing here?” He had told her to stay put until he came and got her, but she was fairly certain that she hadn’t actually expected him to come find her. 

“We need to talk.” 

She shook her head. “Do we?”

He sighed and motioned to the chair across from him. “Sit down, Momo.”

She frowned at him. He was entirely too used to getting his own way. She sat in the chair, mostly because if they were going to argue or fight about her being entirely human she wasn’t going to waste her energy arguing about whether or not she needed to sit in the chair. She watched him and he watched her and she sighed. 

“So you are Fae then,” it wasn’t much of a question but it broke the ice. 

“Yes,” his mouth curled up at the edges. The smirk that had felled Mary Deleat from five-hundred yards was a lot more potent five feet in distance and directed solely at you. This face wore it better as well, as if… her brain wasn’t sure it wanted to supply that information to her. She swallowed. 

She scowled when that was all he said and moved to stand up. “Well it's been a good chat why don’t you -” His hand reached out and caught her wrist, and her words caught in her throat. His skin was cool against hers and calloused.

“Can I look at the runes on your back.” 

She froze, and turned to stare at him. “What?” 

“The runes on your back. I would like to look at them.”

“There aren’t any runes on my back.” She refused to sit again, even holding onto her like this was better than letting him have the advantage of being taller than her even when they were sitting. 

“Momo,” his voice gentled. “When we bandaged you up after the nightmare attacked, we were able to make out bits and pieces of things.”

She jutted out her chin. “I have lots of runes inked into my skin, Toushirou. You do too, I don’t see what the big deal is.”

His eyes shifted from the almost human eyes to the glowing eyes thing and his power wrapped around him. Her pulse was pounding in her ears. “You can see the runes on my skin?” She tried to tug her hand away from him, but his grip was like iron. “Momo,” he pushed to his feet, using his greater height to stare down at her. “Answer the question.”

She huffed at him. “Don’t threaten me,” she told him. His words weren’t threatening, but his body language was. Everything about him screamed ‘threat’. Something shifted between them and he let go of her wrist while she put some space between them. She watched him carefully, while he watched her in return. He wasn’t following her across the room and it gave her a little bit of courage. He was wearing his stone face again and she wasn’t entirely certain she could make it out of the apartment without him letting her go. That meant that they were going to have to figure out something. She could transfer or ask for a new partner, but first she had to survive the next fifteen minutes. She was not stupid, she knew who would win a contest of strength or power and it wasn't her. “You know I am a seer.”

He nodded, slowly. “Yes, a human seer. Such things have existed beyond the veil of time since humanity started to walk the earth. Your captain would not elaborate on the exact nature of your seer gifts and you are tight lipped about them.” The ‘surprisingly’ hung between them and she scowled. 

“Did she know your a fae?”

His mouth quirked up at the edges again. “She knows my nature, yes. This is her territory, there is no hiding that sort of a thing from her.”

“Her territory?” 

He shook his head. “You're changing the subject.”

“You're evasive.”

“Momo, tell me about your gifts.” He was using his ‘coax momo into doing things’ voice. He didn't use it often and never in the office. Probably because it made her distinctively uncomfortable with him being a man and her being a woman. She narrowed her eyes at him again in warning. 

“Seers… we can see through the veils or through your glamour mostly.” She shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. He was watching her so closely and she was to aware of it. “How do you not know this?” Best to point out his problems to get him not to look at her so closely. 

She felt rather certain the expression that flitted across his face wasn't exactly a comfortable one. “I have not left my court to explore the realms on this side of the divide in some time, Momo.”

“Your court?” Her ears were starting to ring again, but she wasn’t entirely certain it was from fear. The feral bite of his magic nipped gently at her skin and goosebumps slid down her spine. 

He shook his head. “Let's save some secrets for later, Momo.”

She shook her head and scowled at him. “If you're going to ask for mine, then you're going to have to return the favor.” 

He sighed. “Momo…”

“Are you my partner or not?”

He watched her closely before shrugging. “As you like. I am the Winter King of the Fae court, Momo. I have taken a sejorn from my people to come and find those who are hunting our children for blood and magic.” His magic curled through the room like a sleeping cat and the dragon on her back burned. “This city is the hub for it and the dark magic here on this side of the veil. I am duty bout to find and destroy it.”

She blinked at him, her mind blank. Yep… she definitely had not been expecting that. 

-- Her tatoo had stopped growing, the runes seemingly settled into the form they wanted to take down her back and with them the dreams. She wasn't sure if she missed the dragon or not but with him curled down her spine, she wasn't sure if he was gone for good. 

She had escaped a meeting with, more like a grilling, from The Captain and now she needed cake. Actually, what she needed was to not have the entire realms diplomacy levels with the Winter King shoved down her throat, but that wasn’t going to happen. If he was lucky, she wouldn't throw salt at his head and scream Ghoul. It would provide endless hours of entertainment but it would definitely get her in trouble with both the captain and his royal pain in the ass. 

She stared at the protein shake sitting on her desk. Her partner wasn't there and everyone else seemed to be minding their own business.

“Is he feeding you now?”

She scowled at the shake. “I hope not.”

Renji moved to stand next to her. “In a lot of supernatural communities feeding someone is an act of courting.”

“So is punching you in the face.” She said sweetly. 

He laughed. “So you're not going to drink that?”

She snorted. “Powdered water is gross. I will hit the vending machine -” she paused. “Who is that?”

Renji sighed. “That is a very high and mighty elf.”

Momo snorted. “What is he doing here?” 

Renji patted her shoulder. “He is looking for a seer to help locate some rare far artifact that he thinks is causing all our missing children issues at the moment.”

She froze. “No.”

The captain hadn't said anything to her about it so it couldn't be something that she expected her to do. The elf turned and saw her and headed her way. “You're on your own kid. Elves and I don't get along.”

Momo hissed. The elf didn't look very nice, he looked fairly terrifying. She wanted to take a step back but if she had learned anything from being a cop it wasn't to take a step back from the terrifying people. 

“Momo Hinamori?”

She arched a brow at him. “Who is asking?”

“Lord Alvract Schale, the elven government would like to hire you for a job.”

Where was the captain when you needed her? “I am a cop, I don't do private jobs. If you would like for the police to help you with an investigation you can talk to the Captain about that.”

His head tilted. “I don't think you quite understand the circumstances.”

“Is there a problem?” The cool voice of her partner clipped through the room. Momo wasn’t sure if it was good or bad that he was there. Fae and Elves did not particularly like each other. That particular elf looked all elf and he was all Fae.

Lord Whatever his name was turned and frowned. “Who are you?”

“Her partner.”

“Ah,” he dismissed him. “I don't believe this involves you.”

Momo settled her hand on Toushirou's lower back to keep him from replying. She wasn't sure what he was going to say, but it couldn't be good. “I told you that all investigations go through the captain. I am not for hire outside of my work with the department.”

He glanced at her with narrowed eyes. “This isn't a refusable job offer.”

She jutted out her chin. “Talk to the captain.”

He stared at her for another moment before turning on his heel and moving back towards the front door. She dropped her hand from Toushirou’s back and made a beeline for the captain's office.

That was a giant pile of nope. Clearly, the captain needed to be in full agreement on that. The last thing they needed was for Toushirou to do was get in a fight with lord what's his what. Because she knew which one of them would do the fighting and it wasn't her. Iron only worked on the Fae.

--

Momo stumbled into her apartment carefully. The door was easy to open since she had had Rangiku come by and upgrade her wards again. She had taken the elf’s visit seriously and she was hopeful it would keep Toushirou out of her apartment as well. The ability to pop in and out like that was very uncool.  Still, she wasn't entirely certain that mugging had been a human one. The knife wound on her side had been aimed in a completely different direction. The fact that it has missed all the important bits and has resulted in a rather impressive 'flesh wound’ may or may not have been due to the extra hand to hand Toushirou made her do lately. She eased her top off and sighed. That was going to be fun to explain on Monday. At least she got two days of rest before the captain or her partner would yell at her for this one. 

Her pants and bra followed. She eased out of both of them and stared at the rune in the mirror. The dragon seemed more glowy than normal. She sighed and turned and tripped over her pants. She put her hands out to stop her fall, eyes closing. This was going to hurt, a lot. 

She landed on something soft and half not. She managed a pained groan when all the air was knocked out of her, but the pain she was expecting when all of her stitches popped didn't come. 

“Momo?”

Her head jerked up and she realized the reason it was dark wasn't because she was close to passing out, it was because she...what the fuck.

“Don't turn on the light.” She couldn't scramble but she could make out just enough to grab blankets and yank them around her person. Soft, soft, blankets that caught on the tape holding her stitches together, but they covered her. Nevermind the fact that if she could see that much he could see… she was going to die of embarrassment. 

“Are lights acceptable now?” 

She couldn't read that tone, but she absolutely didn't want to deal with this. She swallowed. “What are the chances of you sending me home and pretending this didn't happen.”

“Nonexistent.” His voice was flat. She knew that voice. That was the voice he got when he was displeased.

“Okay.” She swallowed. 

A low light kicked on in along the walls and slowly eased up until you could see, but weren't blinded by the lights. Well, she had known she had landed on his bed, but she wasn't prepared for rumpled, shirtless, Toushirou. No one could prepare for that. She was turning red again, probably going to die of embarrassment twice.

Fingers brushed her bruised cheek. “What happened.”

“I don’t know.”

He sighed. “To your face, Momo.”

She forced herself to look at him. This was the weirdest thing that had ever happened to her in her life. “I got mugged.”

He sat up a little straighter. She ignored the tummy flex. That wasn't fair. “The elves?”

“Maybe,” she said cautiously. “They had masks, but they moved better than a human would.”

He nodded. This face was so much harder for her to read, but it was not a happy face. He looked at her sheets. They were hers now anyway. “How did you end up here?”

She shook her head. “I don't know.” 

“You don't know?”

She shook her head again. “No.”

He sighed. “I think you're going to need to let me look at those runes on your back, Momo.”

She pressed her lips together. The damn dragon and those damn runes. “What makes you think a set of runes has anything to do with this.”

He gave her a look, such a look. “No human hand made those runes. Which means there magic; magic that apparently can teleport you without your conscious consent. There are only a few types of magic on either side of the veil that can do that.”

“What kind of magic.”

“Let me see your runes and I will tell you.”

She shook her head. “Explanation first and then I will decide.”

He looked at her through his lashes. “I don't have to be nice about it.” 

His pitch lowered and warning skittered down her spine. No. Just no. She scowled to give herself something to do. “I don't care. You're not the one who got teleported naked. Explanation first.” His eyes gleamed at her for a long moment and this time the flush that slid up her chest wasn't from embarrassment. She didn't think it was. It might have been. She made herself stare back at him. 

“Most magic runes are court based. In the winter court as you grow, runes tend to appear on your skin based on what you will become or how your magic is developing. For instance, there are runes on my back that indicate that I am the Winter King. These tie me to the court and the court magic.” He was watching her closely and she nodded. All right, that made sense. Magic runes that gave him his authority. Right. 

“You are human and not tied to a court but you do have magic, your seers blood. Somewhere you have done something that tied you to this court since you were teleported here.”

She frowned. “How?”

He shook his head. “Magic is a strange thing. We have theories on how it works and we can adapt it to our uses; it's still a wild thing with it's own will.”

“I am not Fae. I definitely am not part of your court.”

His mouth curled up at the edges. “I am a benevolent king. Who knows, you might like it.”

She huffed. “No.” 

Her motioned for her to turn. “Let me see your back, Momo. Then we can talk about how we're going to deal with you popping into my bed at night.” 

She stared at him, fingers curling into the blanket. Yes, okay, that...she had not imagined that innuendo. It wasn't the words, it was the tone and that tone had been full of things. She scowled at him. 

“You're not going to make some random shit up are you?”

“No.” 

Okay, okay, that was his 'insulted my honor’ voice. She carefully eased around. At least she had underwear on. Her side pulled but she ignored that. He would see the stitches no matter what if she was giving him her back. She snuck a hand out from under the blanket and grabbed a pillow to cover her chest. She wasn't going to give up modesty just because he wanted to see her back. She eased the blanket down and pulled her hair to the side, pillow clutched to the front of her chest. She felt him move behind her and jumped a little when his fingers touched the skin of her back.

“Hey,” he said look, not touch. 

“When did these first start coming in?” 

His voice was weird. She didn't know that voice. It was full of… she didn't know. Alarm was trying to work it's way down her body. She was a cop, she ignored it. “The first one appeared after I got hurt helping that Fae child.”

“The dragon?”

“Bits and pieces here and there.” She hesitated. In for a penny, in for a pound. “The dreams were the annoying part.” She admitted. “I don't really know what they meant.”

“The dragon is the protector of the Winter Court,” he had that same strange tone in his voice, “he is also the embodiment of our magic.” His fingers traced part of what felt like a dragon and goosebumps slid up her back. “These are protection runes, very strong ones.”

“How did I end up here?”

His fingers touched the rune at the top of the set. The one she hand not been able to figure out on her own. “This rune here, it is keyed to the King of the Winter court.”

She tightened her grip on her pillow, eyes wide. “Why? That makes no sense.” She turned her head to stare at the wide eyed man behind her. “I am not Fae nor should I be tied to your court at all. Humans don't get mixed up in your business. Most of you don't even like us.” She felt like she was standing on a cliff and her words were a vain attempt to get them back on solid ground. 

His hand moved away from her back. He took a deep breath and it was the first time she had seen him look wide-eyed and rattled. She didn't like that, at all. That meant something was really wrong.

“The runes name you guardian of the winter court.” He hesitated before his eyes met hers. “Guardian and Queen.”

--

Momo let the little healer unstitch her side as she worked on healing the knife wound. The cut on her face was already back to smooth Momo skin. She glanced at the mirror in front of her. After Toushirou’s declaration he had done something to summon the healer, more importantly clothes. The clothes basically covered her front and left her back free. She had decided that it was because the healer needed access to her side, although she had caught Toushirou glancing at her back when he thought she wasn't paying attention. 

She did not know what to do with this situation. What she wanted to do was go home and sleep and pretend this conversation had not happened. Queen? Queen? There was some sort or cosmic joke going on here. She was human. Humans did not do this; they did not become supernatural anything. She glanced at her hair again. Darker, thicker hair, framed a pale face. She was pretty sure the pale was because she wanted to throw up. She had no trouble seeing in the lower light and that bothered her a lot. Everything about this bothered her. 

“You need to eat some food to replace the energy I used to heal your wound.”

Momo nodded. “Thank you.”

The healer nodded and moved out of the bathroom. She had gotten a quick wash to get the blood and smell of hospital off and now she had to go back there and face Toushirou. She gritted her teeth, she did not want to do this. 

“Come eat, Momo.” The order was in his tone again. She didn’t like it. She sighed and pushed to her feet. There was no point in not eating whatever he had rounded up. She wasn't a fan of the skirt that had come with the top but at this point she wasn't going to argue about clothes that mostly covered her body. 

The food at least turned out to be the same soup and fruit he had given her last time. “I take it this is the standard food after someone heals you?”

His mouth eased up at the corner. “To a degree, it's the easiest of the options for you to eat.” She sat down and accepted the bowl he handed her. Food was good. It kept him from talking to her and that was what she wanted. 

“I have a compromise for you.”

Momo glanced up. “I didn't realize that we needed one.”

“Did you plan to permanently move here?” She shook her head. “Then we need a compromise.” He glanced at her healing side. “The elves are targeting you as well.”

“We don't know it's elves, also, we don't know if this is permanent. You barely know me. This...whatever it is -”

“Momo, stop panicking.”

“I am not panicking.”

He grinned. It made her want to punch him. “I did not expect this either. The court has absorbed humans with magic before. All courts would do so if given the chance. Humans aren’t just caught for food, Momo.”

She stared at him. “You seem...not upset.”

That damn eyebrow arch. “I have ruled alone for a long time.”

She waved her hands. “I am human, not Fae. I can't be queen.”

He caught her hands. “You’re changing; in a few months you will have to wear your own glamour to appear human.”

She scowled. “I don't want this.”

“I know.”

She stared at their hands. His we're long fingered, strong. Hers were short human hands. Would that change too? “What changes?”

He shook his hand, shifting his hands so her hands were cradled by the palms of his. “We will discover that as we go. Some of them won't appear until we formalize our relationship.”

Formalize? “I am not sleeping with you.”

That grin popped back up. “Yet,” he corrected. “You're not sleeping with me, yet.”

She shook her head “You cannot -”

“I knew I would not pick my Queen.” He told her. “Fat, tall, ugly, pretty, it would not matter once magic choose her. I am old, Momo. Much older than you can imagine.” His gaze slid down her body and she felt herself start to flush again. “I am not disappointed in the choice that has been made.”

She pulled her arms back and crossed them over her chest. She was going red again. “I am still not sleeping with you.” She glared at his amused expression . “I am still a cop.”

“And that is our compromise.”

“Compromise.” She repeated. 

“The elves may know who you are. They have a different sort of seer in their bloodlines. It is the winter courts job to ensure that you are safe.”

“Okay, and that means what?”

“During the day, you may reside on your side of the veil. We still need to find the source of the black magic and remove it so that the children are safe. Since you have been named guardian you are going to find your need to hunt this creature is going to increase more as your instincts settle.”

“Okay, what's the catch.” She didn't like the 'you may reside’. He was not her king, this was not her court. 

“You sleep here with me at night.”

She clenched her fists. “I like my bed.”

“You are also vulnerable on that side of the veil. Here, you are protected.”

She rubbed her face. “I don't even know how I got here the first time!”

“I will come and get you until you master the magic required to travel between realms.” 

She glared. “And how do you decide when it's bedtime? I am not getting a curfew.”

He held up a cellphone. “Magic. You can text me when you're ready for bed and I will come get you.” He shrugged. “If you don't text me, I will assume something is wrong and react appropriately.”

She rubbed her nose and frowned. “I don't have a choice do I.”

“No, but other than changing your place of sleep, your life won't change much.”

She pressed her lips together and stared at him. This….was not what she had in mind when she told Granny she might like a little adventure sometimes.

God, this was not what she had imagined.

--

Momo was too tired for this nonsense. She had not slept well in the unfamiliar room, even if Toushirou had not been there half the time she was actually there. Apparently, he did not need as much sleep as she did being immortal, long lived, whatever the hell be was. He might have been giving her space as well since she was twitchy as hell around him now. 

Hell, work today had been spent mostly in silence. Even the captain had been giving them weird looks. They had agreed that they weren't going to discuss their new status just yet, but he did go to talk to the captain shortly before shift end. She had been prepared to leave, go home, and shower and maybe nap before she bad to change residences for the evening but what she had gotten was Rangiku Matsumoto instead. 

So now she was in a bar with a drink, eating cheese fries, and staring at the human woman in front of her who was showing her own (small) dragon tattoo.

“So you’re not human?” 

Rangiku grinned and dunked a poor innocent fry into some unholy concoction she had created earlier. Momo shuddered and pulled her plate a little closer to her side of the table. Clearly not human if she was eating that. 

“Technically, no. I was human, then the elves got ahold of me and I escaped and Toushirou rescued me. Now I am part of the winter court.”

Momo sighed. “Is everyone who is part of this damn court going to figure it out before I want them too?”

Rangiku shook her head. “I don't think so. It's obvious to me, I mean.” She took a bite of another fry. “I went through all this while under the tender mercies of the elves, bastards. So it was obvious to me what you were going through when it started. Toushirou should have noticed if he hadn't been so distracted.”

“Distracted?”

Rangiku grinned. “The man fed you food! Or tried to, he would only have done that if he was interested. You just bulldozing past it was the greatest thing I have seen in five-hundred years.”

She opened her mouth to argue and closed it. Then covered her face and sighed. “I don’t know what to say right now.”

“Drink more of that alcohol. It will help.”

“Ha, ha.” She ate a fry instead. “Why dinner, or fries, then?”

“The next few months are going to get weird for you.” Rangiku sighed. “I owe Toushirou my life, but there are some things that you might not want to talk to him about. If you need to talk, my ear is always available.”

Momo nodded. She would probably need to double check with Toushirou before she actually talked to her about anything, but being able to have someone not connected to the court to talk to...well that sounded nice. 

Rangiku looked serious for a moment. “We all know a queen has been chosen. It… Toushirou should have known too or maybe we knew as soon as he did. I am not as well versed in how court magic functions since I don't leave this side of the veil.”

Momo decided to just ignore that part. She was not sleeping with him. “Why can't you leave this side of the veil

“Elves are assholes. If I try to leave the veil they will find me again.” She shrugged. “It's fine, I like it here. Alcohol, people, I almost feel normal most of the time.”

Momo sighed. “I think I am going to need more fries for this.”

“You know that sounds fantastic.”

--

The smell of blood was nauseating. Momo covered her mouth and pulled her knife out of its sheath. The room smelled like magic and magic made guns very unpredictable. If she has to use one, she would. 

She turned her face into the microphone stitched into the collar of her jacket. “It's definitely this way.” 

Renjis voice clicked back. “We are coming down, don't engage anything.”

Blah, blah, don't get stabbed. Got it. If she got stabbed then Toushirou would probably make her go to the healers first and then feed her and then she would spend two days sleeping that off. No thank you. Just walking into the room with him anymore was enough to get stomach twisted together.  She wasn't sure if it was magic or just plain ole hormones, either way she wasn't  entirely comfortable with it. Most nights he was nice enough to leave the room to let her fall asleep and then she woke up in her bed at home with her alarm going off. It was some sort of routine anyway. 

She focused on the blood trail and tried not to jump when Toushirou and Renji dropped down next to her. Renji looked extra fangy and Toushirou's ears were starting to look very Fae like. 

She arched a brow at both of them. “There is enough magic down here to choke a horse. Reign it in you two.” She turned and eased down the walkway. It was too narrow for either of them to pass her and that would probably annoy Toushirou. She didn't care overly much. Right now...she was fairly annoyed with him and she didn't have a reason for why. Rangiku had give her that amused look when she had asked her about it and told her that sex would probably fix it.

Ha, ha, no.

She pulled her attention back to herself and paused when they got close to a corridor. “Let me go first.” Renji’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I smell sulphur.”

Momo nodded and eased to the side. She ended up having to squash against Toushirou but that was better than the wall. She was not touching the wall. He grimaced when he had to lean into the brick, but he could take it like a man or far, or whatever. Magic curled down her spine and along her runes. It almost felt like it missed her, she glanced at Toushirou from under her lashes and was a little startled to see him watching her and not the walkway.

“Don't let them touch you here, your magic is going to be unpredictable.” 

She nodded, her head jerking before moving down the hallway. She paused. “My magic?”

His fingers settled on the small of her back. “Forward, Momo.”

She gritted her teeth and ignored how warm his fingers were when he should clearly be cold, king of winter and all. She scowled at Renji’s red hair and avoided a hole in the wall and kept walking. Damn evasive bastard. She had decided he only gave her information when it was convenient for him. She wasn't sure how to deal with that but right now wasn't exactly the time. 

Fine. Fine. Fine.

She would deal with it later. 

--

He should have been more specific. Momo stared at the carnage that was the room she had been trapped in and refused to actually acknowledge the fact that it was snowing. If she ignored it, maybe it would go away. She wasn't cold, but of course it was apparently her magic that had caused it.

Possibly because she was trying to cover a lot of dead people that she didn't remember killing. Her clothes were ripped in a few places but most of the blood wasn't hers. Hell the blood dripping down her knife wasn't hers. There were also runes, elegant, beautiful, runes along her forearms that she was to shell shocked to translate. 

She also didn't know where she was. She had been with Toushirou and Renji and then the floor had dropped out from under her while she was escorting a victim to the main road. The victim bad attacked her as surely as all these people had. Probably, probably the woman was in the middle of all this. She swallowed her bike and flipped on her flashlight. It burned her eyes but it helped her see a little better.

Right, okay, her watch said she had been missing for two hours. Toushirou was probably going to kill her for this one, but in her defence there had been cops everywhere. She hadn't expected to fall through a whole and wake up exhausted and bodies...everywhere. Was the snow from her or Toushirou? Did it matter? She needed to find a way out of this place or she needed to see if she could teleport to Toushirou somehow. 

She started walking. Well, she used the gross wall as a prop while she meandered down the hallway. Unpredictable, she wanted to know what predictable meant to him. Killing, no, she wasn't going to think about it. She was going to hold onto this knife for all she was worth and she was going to walk. 

Some weird instinct warned her to turn off her flashlight so she did. There was a small alcove and she gritted her teeth and walked through it. She could hear her heartbeat in the quiet of the room, but that was all. 

“Who pissed off the Winter King.”

“Why is he here?” 

Momo eased a little further back and froze. They were talking about Toushirou. 

“The Queen is missing.”

“How did he lose the queen?”

“The elves have a bounty on her head.”

“Why would - do you smell that?”

Momo wanted to ask them what they smelled, but the dragon on her back burned and she was suddenly in the dimly lit room that she had come to recognize as belonging to Toushirou. The tiny healer looked up and smiled. 

“Glad to see I haven't lost my touch. Come on dear, let's get you cleaned up before Toushirou descends on us. If he sees all this blood it might go really bad for the elven diplomats.”

Momo let her lead her to the bathroom. “Diplomats?” 

White teeth flashed. “Apparently, Toushirou beheaded two elven Lord's this afternoon after you went missing. It was very messy, I am told. The elves have a fine sense of diplomacy. As soon as the first head started to fall they dispatched people to make sure no other heads rolled.”

“How kind of them.”

“Yes, well, since you smell like you bathed in elven blood I can imagine how you're feeling about them just now. Now, let strip and wash. I will take care of the clothes. You get clean and then crawl into the tub to finish the recovery.”

Momo didn't argue, the need to be clean was pretty intense and since she didn't really know whose blood she was bathed in it wouldn't be good to argue. She hesitated. “He beheaded them?”

The little healer whose name she might be able to pronounce one day grinned. “Very messily I am told. It serves them right. You're the Queen.”

Momo nodded slowly; all right what was she supposed to say to that. “All right then, I am going to go shower now.”

“Use the green soap. It will get the smell of blood out of your hair.”

Right. Shouldn't let Toushirou smell the blood. He had already beheaded two people. Who just… why would he even… you didn’t behead people. She looked at the runes on her arms. He wasn't not going to miss those. He was going to freak out and apparently he had already freaked out and beheaded two people.

“Is someone going to tell him you found me?” That was probably an important question. 

“Of course. Clean up quickly. You probably have ten minutes at the most.” There was a pause. “Unless you want him to find you naked in the shower.

She was hot and cold at the same time. He did not need to find her in the shower. She swallowed. “Very funny.” 

--

Momo pulled a pillow over her head when the lights flared on. She was not particularly fond of the lights. She sat up and immediately closed her eyes. Oh god, that was bright; too bright. She slapped a hand over her face. The light was wa

o bright. Way, way, to bright. 

“What the hell.” 

Hands jerked her forward. She snarled and slapped out at the hands. God her body hurt. “Be still, Momo.”

“I am so done with the orders.” She blinked at the walls in eye watering fascination. Toushirou never turned on the lights like this. She wasn’t sure if that was for consideration for her light sensitive eyes or his. She wasn’t sure if it was the light that gave it away or the hands roughly shoving her into the bed, but her runes flared and magic snapped the person on the bed across the room. 

She sat up and shoved her nightgown back over her shoulder. This was why she always brought clothes when she came over here. So she didn’t have to wear these flimsy things that the women here thought were nightclothes. She scowled. Her knives, she had knives somewhere didn’t she? Who the fuck was in this room? She crawled across the bed and landed on her feet. At least this stupid outfit had shorts. She scowled and grabbed a chair to pull in front of her when he was running at her again. She swung her chair around and connected with it. It flew into the table and sent everything flying across the room. 

Right, okay. Power slid down her hands and it started to snow again. Why was it snowing exactly? God only knew why it was snowing. She scowled and dove behind the chair when something crashed into it. That was something with a sharp edge attached to it. Someone was attacking her with a sword. There was a flash of power in the corner of the room, and Momo decided that it was probably not going to kill her in the next sixty seconds. 

She grabbed another chair and attacked whoever it was that had turned on the damn lights. This was not fun. Something twisted her body around and she hoped over the sword that was coming at her from behind. A knife landed in her hand and she dove at the man who was coming at her. He dodged backwards and she took that opportunity to do so as well. Great, just great, now there were two of them. She caught the corner of the table and flipped it up to hide behind to catch the knives that she had barely noticed. Right, okay, well she was a good fighter but this was a little ridiculous. 

The snow exploded into the room. So much ice and snow. Momo used the distraction to dive behind the couch. There was a crash and a scream; another scream. Momo wrapped her fingers around the hilt of her knife a little tighter. 

“It's all right, Momo.”

She almost snorted.  Right, she had heard that one before. Get up, Momo. Eat the food, Momo. Let this person who wears Toushirou’s face crawl into bed and shake you and probably try to stab you in the face, Momo. No, she was not going to deal with this. She crawled to the end of the couch and peeked out from behind it when the snow and ice disappeared. The room was still shambles, but there were no bodies. Toushirou was standing in the middle of it. A long ass sword in his hand while he looked around the room. Her tiny knife, in comparison, wouldn't do much of anything to stop that sword. 

“You know, I have heard that before in the last ten minutes.”

He turned, mouth quirked up. “Nice outfit.”

She scowled at him. “Put up the sword.” It disappeared from his hand and her little knife followed. Well that was a rather interesting type of betrayal. She had liked that knife. Having a weapon was a lot better than not having a weapon. “I thought you said I was safe here?”

His eyes narrowed and she forced herself to leave the relative safety of the couch and ignore the way his eyes followed the line of her legs. “You were sleeping fine when I left.”

Right, okay, it wasn’t creepy when you shared a room with someone. She rubbed her face. “Well, they got in somehow.” She dropped her hands and yelped. He was right there. She threw up her hands and he barely caught her before she tripped over the couch. She swallowed. Okay, they were supposed to not do this level of touching, right? She glanced up at him through her lashes, he was watching her with that particularly lethal for Momo expression on his face. 

Her super ninja fighting skills had not reared their head, so clearly he was Toushirou? 

“Be careful,” he loosened his grip on her hips and she took a step back, nodding. 

“They had your face,” she told him a little wearily, his jaw ticked. 

“How did you figure it out?”

She waved her hand at the still very bright lights. “They turned the lights on all the way. You never turn on the lights when I am asleep.” She glanced at him. “I haven’t decided if you keep them off for me, if you keep them off in general or if you can see that well in the dark.” He didn’t need to know about those few seconds of confusion. She had not been awake. 

His mouth curled at the edge. “I see.” She glanced at the room that she had thoroughly trashed. Huh, that had been an effective if fast fight. “You weren’t alone for more than ten minutes.”

She frowned and went to ask him if some of his people had decided to get rid of her when he reached down and caught her hand so that he could look at the runes on her arms. She almost jerked her hand out of his, but she was fairly certain that it would get her another one of those looks and she had had enough of those today. He had that half amused expression on his face, that wasn’t much better. 

“What happened when you feel through the floor?”

She ducked her head. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He tapped her nose with his free hand and she scowled. 

“These runes are very rare and hard to come by.”

“Great.”

He sighed. “You have protection runes on your back and battle runes on your arms.” His thumb brushed against her wrist. “What am I going to do with you?”

She shrugged, “Take me home so I can get actual clothes to sleep in?”

He reached up and ran his fingers down her throat and to her collarbone. “I like this outfit.” 

She felt the flush starting to work its way up her chest. She cleared her throat. “That's nice, I still want pants.”

“I can keep you warm, Momo.” 

She blinked. Blinked again. He did the voice thing. The unfair voice thing. She felt her face flush a bright red and scowled at him. “No.”

She wasn't sure what to do with that dimple. Probably ignore it, that was for the best. “Come,” he told her. There was a faint whisper of magic and they were standing in a new much bigger room. It wasn’t as dark as the previous room. Windows lined the walls giving her a view of the mountains covered in ice and snow.

“What in the world…” her voice trailed off while she blinked at the room. It was a nice room, but still.

“This room opened up once you were recognized as the Queen. It is in the heart of our court, anyone who wishes you ill will here will face a different sort of death than the one I can offer them.”

“What do you mean?”

He motioned her towards the window. She glanced at him. He was wearing his stone face again; the one that told her she was going to have to figure this out on her own. She sighed and walked to the edge of the room and stared out the window. Mountains, ice, snow, more mountains. She wasn’t sure what she was… wait. Wait one damn second. The mountain that she had been admiring shifted and red eyes flashed against the horizon as the whole damn thing…. it moved. That whole mountain over there moved.

“Is that a dragon?” 

--

Momo stared at her coffee cup and the cookie she had ordered herself and tried to be practical. There was no practical left in here. There was a lot of devastation, anger, and hurt. She had been fired from being a cop. She forced herself to keep her hands from clenching. Oh sure she has reasons.

‘The Winter Queen can't be a detective on this force without political repercussions. It is one thing to use cover to find a murderer, it's another to be a paid member of this institution and we are a neutral force. No one will think this territory is neutral if you're being paid and you are too good to let you volunteer.’

Too good to let her volunteer. It was a nice way of saying she wasn't wanted. She took a bite of her cookie and contemplated what, exactly, she was going to do now. She was still inching her way through the transformation from human to Fae. Toushirou had spent a lot of time staring at her that morning so she had avoided the mirrors for all she was worth. Her ears didn't feel pointy, but she had left her hair down just in case. Maybe that was the problem. She used to have fine hair and now it was a thick curtain to just past her shoulders. At least it was still straight. If her hair curled she might have lost her mind. It also wasn't white; a small favor she kept thanking the universe for. 

Still, she had been fired from the job she had spent her whole life working towards. She wished Granny was still alive. Then she could call her and tell her about this madness and hear her laugh. She would want to meet Toushirou and probably demand daily visits once she knew he could pop in and out of reality at will. 

She wasn't going to cry in a coffee shop over a cookie. She could at least wait until she had liquor in front of her. God, what was she going to do with her stuff? She was going to be forced to live with Toushirou full time now and that would just lead to extreme boredom. She closed her eyes and jumped with someone dropped into the seat in front of her. 

“Renji?”

“I heard.” He had a cup of coffee in his hands. She wasn't quite ready to look up at him yet. “Shit thing for her to do

“What reason did she give?”

“That's you’re the newly appointed Winter Queen.” He paused. “Toushirou is going to be pissed.”

Momo nodded. He was probably going to have words with her. “Why would she do that?”

He shook his head. “I don't know. The captain doesn't play political anything, but that was a pretty shit move. It's going to paint a target on your back with the more extreme cops in the division. Her grandmother is probably rolling over in her grave right now.”

Momo hesitated before shrugging. “What's her story? As a human I didn't rank enough to know, but Toushirou said he had to tell her who he was when he came into town. Is she a see?”

Renji grinned. “No, she probably hates you for that one, actually. Her great-great-grandmother had real power, but she was a human yanked out of this world by a court. She made it back and settled here, declared this place neutral territory and started the supernatural police force to monitor and deal with things that went bump in the night. It's a long convoluted story but that's the basis. Each generation has carried it on, though the current captain is all human. She uses charms and various things to maintain her authority and most of the courts respect her stance because of the previous generations.”

Momo nodded. “If it's just based on respect then who knows how Toushirou is going to react.”

“Quickly and angrily if I am to judge his response to the elves attacking you. It's why I quit too. I want no part of that when he decides on how he is going to retaliate.”

Momo blinked. “You quit? Too? I thought everyone liked the captain.”

Renni nodded. “We did, until she obviously set you up against those elves. Then she throws you under the bus? Fae aren't stupid and Toushirou has been the king for a long time. Going after you is suicide.”

Momo took a drink of her coffee and watched the people walk by outside. Some were supernatural hiding in plain site, some were just plain humans moving on to live their new lives. “That doesn't make sense to me. Why? All I wanted was to be a cop and help people.”

Renji shrugged. “The type of person who goes from human to Fae Queen in a matter of days is the type of person the captain would see as a rival. As long as you were a good little cog in the wheel she could ignore you. The rules of this place state you should be safe here, but that won't stop her from trying.”

Momo pursed her lips together. “What do you think Toushirou will do?”

He looked at her and she sighed. “That's what I thought. What brings you here, Renji? You didn't come all this way to give me the political speech.”

“I have a job offer for you.”

She glanced at him surprised. “You quit your job.”

He nodded. “Yes, but Kira, I don't know if you have met him, and I have had a contingency plan in place for a while. We both like to find the missing pieces but we don't like all the bureaucracy, so we have our private investigator licenses. We would like for you to join us.”

Momo wondered if she looked as startled as she felt.

“We have offices on the corner not too far from here and three apartments above. We bought the place outright a few years ago so if you wouldn't have to pay rent or anything.”

“That's… Generous of you guys.”

Renji looked uncomfortable for a moment. “Look, I mean, I know Toushirou would probably buy you anything you wanted, but we wanted to make the offer. You're a damn good investigator and we would love to have you as part of the team.”

Momo smiled at Renji. “I would love to meet Kira and look over the apartment and space, but I probably do have to talk to Toushirou and see if there is some political thing I don't know about.” Having an apartment that she didn't have to pay rent on would let her continue to transition in peace and give her a place to hide from things. Having a job would be better. 

Doing private investigations would give her something outside of being queen. She wasn't ready for the queen gig, wasn't even going to pretend she was ready for the queen gig. Hell, Toushirou and her weren't even at the point where they were kissing. She eyed Renji and wondered if he would still like her if she asked him if Fae kissed each other. 

Kissing Toushirou would probably wreck her world, she had better not. 

“Wanna go look now?”

Momo scooped up her cookie. “Let's!”

--

“You’re not sleeping.”

Momo glanced up from where she was settled in front of the large window that looked out over the mountains. She hadn't seen the dragon again since the first day she had been here, but she figured it was out there somewhere. Toushirou had picked her up at her apartment and then apparently headed off to meetings. She rather thought the time difference here was strange, but probably it wouldn't matter as much anymore.

“My brain isn't tired.” 

She was a little startled when he sat on the rug in front of the window with her. She...well, okay. Nevermind now she could feel the heat of his leg against hers, really was it necessary to do that? She glanced over at him and realized she had his full attention. Well, crap. 

She glanced back out the window. She was pretty sure the dragon was hiding from her. 

“What's bothering you.”

She looked back at him. “Your many minions haven't reported in?”

“Not today,” he stretched his legs out in front of him. “I will wait to see if you will tell me before summoning the minions. It is easier on their knees.”

Momo snorted and watched the snow fall. “The Captain fired me today. Said I was too much if a political hot potato to work under her office.” It stung, having to tell him. He was the whole reason this has happened and she didn't particularly like it. He had not returned to the precinct since the whole 'behead they enemy thing.’ Probably due to his cover being blown. 

“Did she now.”

“You didn't know?” 

He shook his head. “No, I would have dissuaded her from it, if I had.”

“Why?”

“Politically, she has very little power. The rules that have been put in place are maintained by the courts through treaties. Initially, following the rules was forced by her family but that changed as people settled into that side of the veil. They have very little power of their own now, they have only ever produced children with humans.”

“The why did you look for the murderers as a cop?” 

“Convenient cover. Also, it is her people's job to hunt for those who would attack our children. I was curious as well, how someone like the creature we caught was killing uninhibited in the city.”

“What did you decide?”

“Other than you and a few others it's a farce of a police force now.” She shifted so she could look at the line of his jaw. It told her more than that flat, flat, voice. He looked at her with those eyes. “What else did she do?”

She closed her eyes with a sigh. He brushed her hair back away from her face and she tried not to look startled, she rather thought she failed. 

“You wouldn't look so pensive if there hadn't been something else. What is it?” 

“Renji met me for coffee. He said she named me Winter Queen.”

“Did she now.” His words were soft and quiet and that was more terrifying than anything else she had seen from him. 

Momo nodded. “I can't confirm -”

“I can.”

“Renji offered me a job as a private investigator.” She told him to change the subject. She got the satisfaction of seeing him freeze, eyes a little wide. Ha, she had surprised him with that one. “It comes with an apartment. I am going to accept it.”

He cocked his head at her. “You could always move here.” 

“And do what? You and I both agreed I wasn't ready for court functions until I finished my new power upgrade.” Amusement curled at the corner of his mouth and eyes. “I have never sat still in my life, I am not starting now.”

“They offered you an apartment?”

She shrugged. “I can't afford my own place without my job.”

“You can afford whatever you want.”

“That is your money, not mine.” Her hands were fists on her knees and she forced them to relax. She hated talking about money. He had so much and she had so little. Working at least let her feel independent, well, maintain her independence. 

“Everything that I have is yours.”

She looked outside in an attempt to cover her blush. Right, yes, well they had to have this conversation at some point. “It doesn't feel like mine.”

“I see.”

“Do you?” Arching her brow at him probably wasn't winning her any points. “I have been alone a long time. Not long in Fae terms, granted, but it feels like winning the lottery or something. Not mine.”

He kept watching her for a few minutes and she made herself stare back. This was one of his tactics, stare at the Momo until she broke and told you what was actually bothering her. Not this time. 

“I am going to have to insist that you eat dinner with me several times a week, if you're going to want to spend your days on that side of the veil.” He gave her one of his looks that she hadn't quite figured out. “We will also need to work out arrangements on how to handle the more dangerous investigations you're going to find.”

“I am not -”

“Protection spells and battle runes do not equate a peaceful life, Momo.”

“Because I created those runes myself!” Sarcasm would win her any points, but it helped. He pushed to his feet and held out a hand for her to take. “Come to bed, it's late for you. You're going to feel it tomorrow.”

She took his hand grudgingly. She moved to drop it once she was standing and his fingers tightened around hers. He led her towards the bed and glanced back at her. She wasn't sure what he got from her face but his mouth tilted up in that smirk that always did weird things to her stomach. 

“I can't seduce you if you don't let me touch you, Momo.”

She almost tripped over her own feet. Seduce? “What?” Her voice was raspy, but she was...he…

He paused and turned and used his free hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, fingers brushing over her jawline before he let his hands drop. “I told you before, I am not disappointed that you are my queen.”

“I told you I wasn't sleeping with you.”

That thrice damns smirk had her curling her toes into the floor to keep from reacting. “Yet,” he reminded her. “You're not sleeping with me, yet. I never said I wasn't going to change your mind.” He brought her wrist up to his mouth, lips soft against her skin. “It's a war of attrition and I am playing to win.”

Momo could feel her ears turning red. She cleared her throat. “No.”

He nodded and tugged her towards their room. “For today.”

...that was both the most thrilling and terrifying thing she had ever heard in her life. 

 --

Momo wasn't sure where she was. She was floating somewhere and her body felt weird. She opened her eyes and realized that she was in a weird Misty place, just floating. She turned her head and frowned. Her body wasn't particularly under her control, just her head. She closed her eyes and counted to three and opened them again. Same place, same story, what was going on here? Was she dead? What had happened and why couldn't she remember it? She closed her eyes again and decided to not panic. Panicking didn't seem to be a plausible thought process. 

There was a rumble in the distance and her head tilted in it's direction. The rumble increased. She closed her eyes and the mist growled at her, she opened them in time to see a red eyes dragon curl around her body. She took a deep breath and felt the dragon curl around her. 

'I found you, you are safe.’

She wanted to ask him where he found her, but her eyes were closing again. This time, at least, she was safe.

At least, she thought she was safe. 

--

Momo stood in front of Rangiku’s door, hood pulled over her face. The door opened and she stared at her friend, wide eyed and probably pale. Rangiku stared at her.

“Can I come in?” Even her voice felt funny in her mouth. It was enough to startle the blond out of her stupor.

“Momo?”

“Please?”

The door opened wide and she moved into the room before she could change her mind. The door shut behind her and she shivered. It was cold, but it wasn't the cold bothering her. She turned to her friend and wondered if she saw the same thing she had when she looked in the mirror.

“Momo, what happened? Does Toushirou know you are here?”

She swallowed the tears that wanted to erupt. She wasn't going to cry. She shook her head. “I am not even sure how I got here to be honest.”

Fingers pushed her hood back and Rangiku sucked in a breath. Momo didn't quite flinch, her body freezing. “You finished -”

“Yes,” she interrupted quietly. Rangiku was looking at the same defined cheekbones, sharp ears, and dark eyes of the fae lady she had seen in the mirror that morning. She swallowed. “Something bad happened. I don't know what yet, but I dreamed… Well, it doesn't matter what I dreamed. When I woke,” she waved to graceful, not human, hands at herself. “This.”

Rangiku hesitated. “You’re beautiful.”

She surprised both of them when she burst into tears, her entire body crumbling into the chair she had sat in a hundred times. Rangiku dropped with her, wrapping warm, human, arms around her while she cried. 

She cried too much and not enough but as soon as the waterworks started, they stopped. “I didn't want to be Fae.” She told the woman next to her. 

“I know.” The hand patting her shoulder paused. “Toushirou is going to have kittens when you're not there.”

Momo snorted. “He will live.”

Rangiku leaned back on her heels cautiously. “Momo, he is the King of the court.”

She shrugged. “According to the dragon I am his equal not his subject. He will live.” 

“The… dragon?”

Momo looked at her friend and wondered if the empty hole in her gut was because her humanity had been so thoroughly stripped from her so quickly or not. She was numb and tired and god, she was right.

He was going to kill her. 

She managed a slight smile. “It might be better not to ask that one. It's complicated.”

Rangiku nodded, wide eyed. “What can I do?

She sighed and closed her eyes. “How do I get back?”

“Oh boy.”

--

Momo sat in her bed and listened to the rain fall. Rangiku hadn’t a clue how to get her home but she had known how to sneak her back to her apartment. The room Renji and Kira had given her had the most privacy being on the top floor, it also had the biggest window and was the hardest to get from the front door. Right now she couldn't see much outside, but the lights were off and it was peaceful. Her new ears had caught too much sound outside until the thunderstorm shut everything else out.

She refrained from touching her ears again, not sure how she felt about them. Toushirou had told her it might take decades for things like that to change, but clearly he had been wrong. She tucked her arms around her legs a little tighter and rested her chin on her knees. Everything was too big, too loud and… magic whispered against her skin and she tilted her head to look at the blond man who had appeared in the corner of her room.

Her inhuman eyes took him in without the veil of humanity shielding her. Power thrummed against her spine in warning, even as the part of her that she hadn’t realized was on alert settled and relaxed. He was safe. Toushirou, Winter King, her...whatever. She had expected him to be furious but he was watching her as cautiously as she was watching him. 

“I guess you got Rangiku's message.” She had not taken anything as modern as a cell phone with her when her panic had plunked her in down in front of the blond woman's door. 

“Yes.” 

Even his voice sounded different. Her stomach fluttered and she ignored that too. “What happened?”

He tilted his head just a little. “You don't remember?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“A few elves decided to kidnap the Winter Queen and torture her.” His voice was low and quiet but she could feel the rage he wasn't showing her, now that he was talking. 

“How did you find me?”

His mouth edged up at the corner. She wasn't sure how she knew he had found her, that he would look, but she did. It wasn't that he had been her partner or that he was...a friend. She was missing so he had found her. 

These new instincts were going to get her in trouble.

“Kira.” 

She nodded and looked back out the window. She didn't want details. She wasn't sure how being tortured equated pointy ears and weird blood but it had. Maybe later, when she was feeling brave, she would ask. 

“Why Rangiku?”

Momo glanced back at him. “What?”

“Why did you go to Rangiku when you woke up?”

And not him, he didn't say it but it hummed between them. It was the question of the hour apparently.

She sighed. “It wasn't a conscious thing.” She had the time to think about it. Rangiku had explained why she needed to know the answer to that question. “I saw my reflection on the mirror… and I guess I wanted to be human again so badly I ported myself to the only safe human I knew.”

He settled on the bed next to her, long legs tucked close. She shifted so she could mostly face him. He reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear, fingers carefully not touching her ears. 

“You’re beautiful.”

She managed a slight smile. “So Rangiku said.”

“Being Fae doesn't change who you are.”

“It feels like it does,” she looked at her hands. Long delicate fingers, strong wrists, even her chipped nails had been replaced. She wondered, briefly, if they  could grow into claws.

Long fingers curled around hers. “Who you are is not predicated upon how you look. It's what you do.”

She looked up and was a little surprised to find his face so close to hers.

“You are the guardian of the winter court. It's Queen, a protector. The fact that you are also now Fae in body does not change that.”

She huffed. “You make it sound so easy.”

That damn mouth quirked up at the corner. “Come back with me.”

There it was, the elephant in the room. The reason Rangiku couldn't just magic her home. Consequences to all of her choices, even unknowing ones.

“Why? I panic at the sight of my own face and somehow port myself to the other side of the veil and can't get myself back home. That does not scream stable.” She couldn't get home this time, but he could come and get her. She could choose to go or to stay. 

Magic...well, magic rules were so strange.

His mouth brushed against the palm of the hand he was holding. “Next time, don't panic.”

She rolled her eyes. “Like that is going to happen.”

Another brush of his mouth; this time against the pulse point on her wrist. “You will learn.”

She scowled. “That isn't helping your case.”

That smile that made her heart stop and her face flush, flashed lightning quick against his mouth.“If you leave me to deal with the elves, I will just kill them all.”

“You can't just kill an entire race because they attacked me.”

“Tortured you, and I assure you, I can.” His eyes had shifted until she wasn't sure she wasn't looking at the Dragon.

“No.” She swallowed. “Toushirou…” She didn't know what to say. What to do. She didn't know enough about anything to do anything and yet here they were. 

“Being alone leaves little to be desired.”

She scowled at his mouth. She wasn't even sure why she was looking at his mouth. “Can't you just say you would miss me?”

“I would miss you.” Another kiss to her palm. “You haven't slept with me yet.” 

She could feel the heat sliding over her cheeks. “That should not be a predilection on which I base a decision.”

Eyes gleamed at her from behind thick eyelashes. “Sure it can.”

She huffed and laughed at the same time. “I will cause you endless problems.”

“No one will be bored.”

She looked at him again and tried to set aside her worries and just...look. He was beautiful and so old. His age and power an endless well against her skin and yet, here he was trying to convince her to come back with him. To try again. 

She didn't remember what had happened to change the rules but clearly something in her did. The wary, uncertain side. He watched her with those unblinking eyes of his and she wondered until she didn't. She surprised herself when she leaned forward and kissed him. His mouth was soft and warm against hers. She wasn't sure what she had expected, but the new side of her with all its instincts approved. 

His hands curled into the thick mass of her hair while hers eased into the front of his shirt. She kissed him until she was flushed with it, until her lungs burned for air, until she memorized the taste of his mouth. She broke the kiss and ignored how hard she was breathing. “I am still not sleeping with you.”

He leaned forward and nipped softly at her bottom lip with his inhuman teeth. Shivers and goosebumps slid down her spine. “Yet.”

--

[radstag-ghoul]

Chapter 1: The Alley Cat and Scarecrow

Wendy was definitely lost, of that she was sure. For the past hour she had been roaming the ruined streets of Boston, evading raiders, feral ghouls, Gunners andl Super Mutants, whilst trying to find Diamond City. The map on her PipBoy was no use now however, the screen having staticked out about an hour ago, leaving her to follow the crumbling highway above.

She was also sure she was as good as dead unless she found a better place to hide. Scarcely daring to breathe, the woman continued to cower behind the ruined truck, the tick, tick, tick of the Super Mutant Suicider pacing around on the other side just loud enough for her to hear.

"Where'd human go!" The mutated being bellowed. Wendy flinched, her grip tightening on the pipe rifle in her hands. Her luck at avoiding conflict had finally ran out it seemed. Just five minutes prior she had run into a band of five Super Mutants. Two of them she had managed to take out, though two of those that remained, she realized too late, were much more deadly. She had already seen what the first suicider had done, to one of its own comrades who had gotten too close, so she knew she had no chance against the remaining monster. She had been partially caught in that first explosion, thrown violently against a wall, and judging from the sharp ache in her left arm and side with each breath she took she'd wager she had broken a rib or two and her arm. Not to mention she was covered in numerous burns, her Vault jumpsuit riddled with scorch marks. She had also been seperated from Dogmeat in the blast, unsure if the faithful hound had even survived. Poor dog. I can't even look for h-shit! She looked around frantically, as the ticking grew steadily louder. "Gonna find you! Gonna kill you!"

Then, she saw it. Her salvation. From the corner of her eye, the glow of a neon sign. In her panic she hadn't noticed it before, but now it seemed bright as day to her eyes, beaming proudly the word "GOODNEIGHBOR" with an arrow pointing to the right. Don't know where that goes, but sure as hell better than sitting duck here. Saying a silent prayer to whatever god was listening, Wendy peeked over the hood of the truck, attempting to gauge if she'd be able to make it before she was spotted-just in time to look the angry Super Mutant right in its beady, dark malevolent eyes.

"There you are!" It bellowed, dashing towards her as fast as its thick, muscled legs could carry it.

"Fuck!" Wendy screamed, turning tail and running towards the sign and where it pointed. She could hear the ticking speeding up, practically behind her accompanied by the loud plodding steps. Up ahead she could see a door, with another neon sign above it. Though with a sinkimg feeling she realized she wasn't going to make it in time. So this is how it ends, blown to hell by the fucking un-jolly green giant. Never even made it to Diamond City. Shaun, I'm so-

The loud booming pop of a gunshot sounded off from somewhere atop the wall of "Goodneighbor", a bullet whistling over her head towards the monster behind her. Hearing a strangled grunt and a loud thud Wendy would wheel about, to see her pursuer lying dead on the ground, blood pooling from its ruined left eye, the mini nuke it had been holding having rolled a short distance away, no longer in danger of being detonated.

What in the goddamn...? Looking back to the wall, she saw no one there who could have fired the shot. Several moments later however Wendy heard a voice-distinctly masculine and somewhat annoyed- calling over the wall "Well? You gonna come in and thank me?"

"Uh...sure." She called back, Well, if he saved me guess that for sure means they're friendlies in there. I hope. Taking a deep breath, she would cautiously limp towards the door, slowly opening it and slipping inside.

The first thing she noticed was the man just clambering down from the wall, a sniper rifle holstered on his back-a thin wisp of smoke still wafting out of the barrel, indicating him as her savior. Bald with a patchy stubbly beard upon his chin, he wore the same style of black leathers and jeans she had come to associate with the bands of raiders she had tangled with. Which of course already made her uneasy, along with his sleazy smile. He took a drag from the glowing cigarette in his hand as he looked her over, taking in her current sorry state.

The second thing she noticed was the location she was in: what appeared to be a town of some sort-if it could even be called such. Two shop fronts stood across from her, and to her left a building she remembered from a middle school field trip-the Old State house. In the shadows of the building Wendy could see two people standing together, face to face, quietly conversing with eachother-the one with their back turned to her wearing a long red coat of some sort, and what appeared to be a tricorn hat. The one that faced her was decked out in metal armor, a woman, her head shaved bald save for a single, long crest of copper colored hair that fell in a wave over the left side of her head.

She continued to stare for several moments, distracted from the one who had killed the suicider-though her attention was jerked away from the pair as he spoke up, his voice just as sleazy as his smile "Now now, you can properly thank me, eh? Hows about some payment for saving your ass. And of course y'gotta pay for...insurance as well, being a newcomer and all."

Wendy blinked, "Um, excuse me? Insurance?" Is he for real?

"You heard me." He sounded more aggressive now, a more demanding tone to his voice. "All newcomers gotta pay insurance. And like I said, you owe me." He smirked.

Wendy felt the flush of red hot anger rise in her as she shook her head at him, "I don't have that many caps, and I need 'em!" She snapped, narrowing her eyes at him. "Why even shake me down now? What was the point of saving me when you coulda just picked over what was left of me?"

"Caps have worth, irradiated, melted metal don't. That's why. Not very bright, are you?" He sneered, tapping ash from his cigarette as he started walking nearer, blowing the smoke in her face. "Now, I ain't saying it again...you hand over everything you got in them pockets or 'accidents' start happening to ya. Big, bloody accidents." He patted the rifle on his back, baring his teeth in a threatening grin.

"Fuck off," Wendy snarled, with as much venom and malice as she could muster, raising her pipe rifle to point at him, satisfied when she saw him flinch at the unexpected ferocity. "Or you're the one that's gonna have a big, bloody accident." In the back of her mind she knew it wasn't a good idea. She was already tired out and injured, practically on the verge of falling over right there, though she was doing her best to hide it as she glared unwaiveringly back at him.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of red approach, accompanied by a voice- slightly gravely, somehow smooth, yet with a subtle edge of command to it. "Whoa, whoa. Time out."

Finn flicked his gaze to the man, taking a step back from Wendy as she too turned her attention to the newcomer-the red coated stranger who had been standing in the shadoss. Though as he now stepped out of the gloom, Wendy had to hold back a gasp as she saw his face. Beneath the tricorn hat atop his head, the man looked to be bald, the entirety of his face and the rest of his head and visible skin covered in burns and scar tissue. Half of his nose had fallen off, leaving two bare nostrils in place of a proper proboscis. The outer lobes of his ears were likewise missing, along with most of his lips. Dark brown, nearly black eyes bored into the man, seeming devoid of either white or pupil. The coat he wore looked extremely old fashioned-a colonial frockcoat, completed with black trousers, a frill collared shirt underneath, and most amusingly a tattered old American flag tied around his narrow waist like a sash. "Someone steps through the gate the first time, they're a guest. You lay off that extortion crap." That dark gaze fell upon Wendy, a slight worried frown tugging at his scarred lips, so quick she thought for a monent she was imagining it. "This one especially, look at her, she's shakin'. Must've been through some shit to get here."

Wendy blinked, realizing she was indeed shaking, trembling slightly, though neither from her ordeal or from Finn's threats. No, it was this strange, scarred man that now made her shake, much to her embarassment, as she fought not to look away from such an inhuman gaze, scarcely daring to blink. What is he? Is he one of those...things? He looked somewhat like the feral Ghouls she had fended so far, though much less zombie-like, decrepit and decayed looking, and clearly more intelligent and sane. He must be one of those normal Ghouls Preston mentioned.

For the briefest moment Wendy saw a flash of fear in Finn's eyes at the approach of the Ghoul, though he tried hiding it, puffing his chest out and crossing his arms "What d'you care? She ain't one of us!" He growls "'Sides, I saved her ass, she owes me!"

"What, no love for your Mayor, Finn?" The Ghoul huffed slighty, pretending to be offended. "Also I don't think she owes you anything. You were just being a good neighbor, right? So let her go." There was an edge of steel to his voice this time as he glared at Finn, never once breaking eye contact. If Wendy herself had been on the recieving end, she would have caved instantly.

Finn, however, wasn't as smart, as he took another step towards "the Mayor", dropping the butt of his cigarette and grinding it under the heel of his boot. "Y'know what, you're soft, Hancock." He gave a dark chuckle, staring right back unflinchingly at him. "You keep letting outsiders walk all over us, someday there'll be a new mayor." He cast his gaze at the town around him for a moment, trying to catch the eyes of those watching. Though everyone seemed to be carrying on with their own business, Wendy could see many people glancing their way every so often. The woman in combat armor was the only one who seemed to have her full attention focused on the scene, smirking as she leaned against one of the shop walls.

Hancock gave a small sigh, his expression softening some as he seemed to drop the "tough mayor" act. "Come on, man, this is me we're talking about." His lips curving into an easy soft smile, he started walking towards Finn. "Let me tell ya something..." He extended a hand to the man, placing it on his shoulder as if he were about to pull him into an embrace. Finn looked uneasy, though uncrossed his arms, letting his guard down at the Ghoul's familiar, friendly tone.

Wendy saw different however, as she saw the glint of steal behind the Ghoul's back. She didn't even have time to cry out in shock as Hancock drove the blade of a knife into Finn's chest, not once but twice, his smile twisting into a savage grin. Finn gave a strangled cry, his face frozen into a mask of shock, anguish, and betrayal. As the man toppled over, twitching and gasping as his life ebbed away and the blood pooled under him, Hancock uttered a loud tsk tsk tsk, wiping the bloodied blade on a rag he produced from somewhere within the frock coat. "Now why'd you have to go and say that, huh? You're breaking my heart over here." Raising his gaze from the dying man, those dark orbs focused on Wendy, that worried frown having returned. "You alright, sister?"

Wendy swallowed hard, struggling to find her words after witnessing such an unexpected, brutal act. "I-I, uh, th-thanks?" She stuttered stupidly, wheezing some. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off some, her side was starting to scream with pain, making it much harder to breathe. With alarm she noted her vision starting to swim, as her knees shook violently, threatening to give way beneath her. "Jus...need a mo'..."

Hancock blinked, walking nearer to her, reaching out a hand as if to steady her. A hand still spattered with Finn's blood. Already he sounded somewhat distorted and far away to her, seeming to grow and stretch further and further away "Shit, I'm gonna take...as a 'no'. Listen...a stimpak...y'need...it easy?"

Thats all she heard as she crumpled to the pavement beneath her, the stress and strain of her injuries and ordeal finally catching u to her. As her vision blurred and darkened, she heard a few last words before she slipped into unconsciousness

"Poor little Alley Cat..."

* * * * * * *

Hancock swore loudly, rushing forward to try to catch the woman before she fell-too late, sadly. He should have expected that to happen eventually given her current state. It was pretty damn impressive she didn't collapse as soon as she stepped through the gate. "Shit..." He sighed as he knelt beside her, calling over his shoulder to Fahrenheit as he heard her approach "Think she's gonna need more than one stimpak. Medex too. Also, got any radaway on ya? Feel like she's gonna need it. Poor Little Alley Cat..." He murmured.

The woman's right side was covered in burns, most second degree but several third, splotching her Vault jumpsuit with scorched holes. Judging from the faint glow that lingered around them, Hancock could tell they were nuclear in origin. Thought I heard a Suicider. But no boom. Must've ran into more than one. Amazin' she's still alive.

Fahrenheit scoffed as she stood beside him, tossing him the requested meds "Don't you think it's a little too soon for that?" She joked, refeeing to his...untraditional use of the chem when it came to 'spending time with his smoothskin friends' "Don't think she's exactly up for it either."

Hancock shook his head, tsking as he nimbly caught the syringes and Iv bag, scarcely having to look"I'm sure there'll be plenty of time for that later, but it's for a much more practical use now. She's fucking coated in radiation burns." Taking the cap off the medex syringe, he'd slide up the sleeve of her jumpsuit, wincing in sympathy as the woman whimpered and stirred, the material rubbing against one of her burns. Sliding the needle into her vein, he'd push slowly down on the plunger, before slowly pulling it out, tossing the empty thing aside.

The woman lay still once more as the drug kicked in, seeming to fall deeper into unconsciousness. However, her eyes slowly fluttered open, glazed and unfocused, staring directly into his. Her trembling rosy lips parted, as she croaked out a single word. "Sc...are...crow..." Her eyes slipped shut again, as her breathing deepened, passing out for good.

Hancock blinked, not sure what to think of that. "Huh...alright then." This one's got "very strange" written all over it. Wait...111? As he continued to look her over he noticed the numbers sewn along her collar, announcing what Vault she hailed from. "Heya, Fahr, ya ever hear of a Vault 111? That even in the Commonwealth?"

Fahrenheit leaned in closer to inspect the Vault Dweller herself, silent save for a long hmmm before she'd straighten again, shaking her head "Can't say I have...she's a looker though, eh?" She joked, refering to the burn scar and white blotched skin that marked her right cheek. "Ain't the first time she's been burnt this bad."

"So it seems." Taking the radaway now Hancock ripped it open with his teeth, carefully pouring some over each of her wounds, confident there'd been enough time for the medex to put her out for it. After that he would stick her in the shoulder with both stimpaks, before he'd stand, motioning to two of the Neighborhood Watch who lingered nearby "How's about instead of rubbernecking ya make yourselves useful. You, carry her over to the Rexford, tell Claire she needs a room. If either her or Marwoski give ya shit, tell em I'm footin her bill."

He watched as the one he indicated rushed forward to scoop up the petite woman, grumbling under his breath as he hurried off towards the hotel with her. Hd nodded tothe other, jerking his thumb towards the still-warm corpse of Finn "You, take out the trash. Get that scuzzball out of my sight." Turning, he'd walk back towards the State House, not even bothering to watch the other Ghoul drag the would-be mugger away, making a note to check in on the odd woman later. "Now, Fahr, what were you saying about Pickman's Gallery ag-hmm?" The Ghoul stopped, his hand hovering over the knob of the door as he heard scratching at the town gate, as if some sort of animal were trying to get in. Then several moments he could gear barking, carrying over the wall from the otherside. Curious, Hancock strode over, throwing open the old blue door-his knife at the ready first in case of trouble.

A blur of brown and black fur tore past him, causing him to cry out in surprise as the beastie ran across his toes "What the hellM He blinked, watching the dog run further into town, heading in the direction of the Memory Den and Hotel Rexford. "...Huh. Well, betcha 50 caps that dog has something to do with her." Chuckling, he shook his head, closing the gate once more as he strode back towards Fahr and the Old State House. "Now, you were sayin'?"

* * * * * * *

Wendy awoke with a start, her eyes flying open to stare at the peeling, cracked, burned ceiling above her. Her mind spun in confusion, as she tried to process where she was and what happened through the clinging, groggy haze of sleep. Boston. The Super Mutants. Someplace called Goodneighbor. Hancock.

Suddenly something wet and cold brusher against her hand, accompanied by a soft whining sound. Uttering a small gasp, she turned her head to look beside the bed, to find a familiar canine nudging at her hand. "Dogmeat!" She exclaimed, scrambling to sit herself upright. The dog gave a small, happy bark in reaponse, jumping up on the bed. Laughing, Wendy flung her arms around him, not even minding the sloppy wet licks he gave to her scarred cheek "Oh, thank God...I thought you were a goner. Who's the bestest goodest boy?" She crooned, scratching him behind the ear. Dogmeat whined happily, squinting his eyes shut and leaning into the touch.

As she lavished attention on her canine companion, Wendy allowed herself to look around the room, taking in her unfamiliar surroundings. She appeared to be in what was once a hotel room, reduced to decrepitcy and decay by the ages. The bed she lay in was nothing more than a lumpy old mattress on a rusted steel frame, with an old straw pilliw and a patched up blanket thrown over it. A wobbly old chair sat by it, upon which her pack and rifle rested-much to her relief. An old dresser was pushed against the far wall, with a smudged up mirror, covered mostly in cracks. Atop it, an old electric lantern hooked up to a small battery provided the only source of light in the room, casting all but the corners of the room in dim, flickering light. Those remained draped in shadow, as well as the area around the doorway-where she saw a glowing red dot, reflected by dark orbs above them: eyes, dark and inhuman, that watched her from the gloom.

Wendy's blood ran cold at the sight, the hairs on the back of her neck raising. With a snarl she reached for her rifle, fight-or-flight kicking in as she decided she would kill whatever was in the room with her, before it killed her. She raised the gun, pointing it right at those eyes, her finger hovering over the trigger.

"Whoa, whoa, easy there!"

Wendy faltered at the familiar, scratchy voice, as two heavily scarred hands appeared from the dark, raised palm-out in a placating gesture. A moment later, Hancock stepped into the lantern-light, a lit-cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth-the source of the red light she had seen. "There's no need for that. We're all near-civilized here, yeah?"

"Y-you?" Wendy sputtered, lowering the rifle. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Hancock shrugged as he dropped his hands back to his sides, taking a drag from his cigarette before speaking "Well, was here to check up on ya. Had some of the Neighborhood Watch bring ya over after you passed out, gave you a stimpak and some medex." Walking over, he carefully picked up her pack from the chair, placing it on the bed. He'd drag the now empty chair over to himself, turning it backwards before plopping in it, his thin legs straddling it and his arms crossed over the backrest. Smoke curled from the edges of his mouth and the remnants of his nostrils, the wisps slithering wraith-like along the skin of his disfigured face. "Didn't expect any of that Heh can't say I really blame you though," He chuckled "Wouldn't wanna see this mug after I just woke up. Either way, you're definitely doin' better than before I'd say."

Wendy took a deep breath, taking a moment to calm her nerves as she set the gun down on the bed near her relocated pack "Sorry...and, uh, thanks for bringing me here. Er, though I'd like to know where exactly 'here' is." She fought not to shudder at the almost unworldly sight before her, telling herself it was just a smoke trick. And of course the Ghoul's appearance in general.

Hancock tapped his fingers against the back of the chair, raising a hand to take the cig from his mouth, tapping the ash from it. She noticed that a couple of his finger nails were missing, those of his pinky and ring finger. "That'd be the Hotel Rexford, home of the best beds and best chems in Goodneigbor-well outside of my personal stash. Paid for the room myself, so don't worry about Claire coming to collect. Well 'least for another two nights." He didn't seem put off by her earlier reaction to his arrival. If anything he seemed amused, a smile tugging at the corners of his burnt lips.

Wendy snorted, quirking a brow "The best beds? I'd hate to see the worst..." Jokes aside, she was surprised at his generosity. Something's up here. "You treat all newcomers this nicely?" She scooted closer to Dogmeat, who appeared to have dozed off, curled up by her side. "Or am I special?"

The Ghoul chuckled, his smile widening "Heh, you're a sharp one. In a way, yeah, you are special. Not everyday a Vault Dweller comes walzting into Goodneighbor. And from a Vault I've never even heard of? Well, y'can understand why my interest's been piqued. Wouldn't do to have you croak in the gutter before you even answer my questions. Though honestly, even if you were just another dirty, desperate drifter? Still woulda done it." He shrugged "You needed help, so I helped ya. Simple as that."

"Yeah...I s'pose that's fair enough. So...what do you want to know?"

The Ghoul shrugged, raising his cigarette to his lips again, inhaling the pungent smoke. "Eh, was actually thinking I'd let ya ask your own questions first. Sure you gotta be curious too, Vault Dwellers always are. It'll make things smoother when it's my turn too. So shoot." He waved his hand in a 'go ahead' gesture, before crossing his arms over the chair again. He wpuld rest his chin upon them, watching her intently as she spoke, his tricorn casting his face in shadow.

Wendy blinked, not having expected that. Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, she decided to start with something she hoped wouldn't offend him, but she wanted to confirm, "So...you're a Ghoul?"

He nodded, seeming if anything pleased by the question, his smile widening to a grin. "That's right. Like my face? I think it gives me a sexy, king of the zombies kinda look. Big hit with the ladies." His voice shifted to a low purr, as he leaned in slightly closer, flashing her a wink.

Wendy swallowed, finding herself blushing, much to her surprise. She coughed and flicked her attention back to Dogmeat, scratching behind one of his ears. "Uh, y-yeah. Sorry, just you're the first I've seen that's not..."

"Feral?" He finished, smoke trickling from his nostrils. "Yeah, I guessed. But, listen. Lota walking rad freaks like me around here, so ya might wanna keep those kinda questions on the lowburner. Not everyones okay with em. Now, what else ya wanna know?"

Wendy looked back up at him, hoping the last of the redness had left her cheeks. Come on, he's a walking corpse... "What was with that Finn guy?"

Hancock let out a long sigh, shaking his head in disappointment "Ah, Finn. Well until recently he was one if our best fighters...could drop a Suicider from-eh, well, from what I've heard you already saw. Really gonna miss him next Super Mutant Attack that rolls around...eh, well, anyhoo, he was getting too big for his britches. Wasn't really leaving me any choice. Way he was challenging me, threatening newcomers, had to make a mayoral show of strength. Though, I hope that incident with him didn't taint your view of our little community." He smiled again, his dark eyes twinkling, "Goodneighbor's of the people, for the people, ya feel me? Everyone's welcome."

"Thanks for that. Goodneighbor, eh? That's the name of this little town?" Wendy mused.

Hancock nodded, his voice full of an almost fatherly pride, "That's right. We cobbled this little neighborhood together out of the freaks and misfits that just won't fit in anywhere else." He flashed her another wink, (and to her embarassment she began to blush again) "You make enough friends here, you'll call this place home soon enough."

"Ah, well...I probably won't be staying that long." Wendy admitted, feeling somewhat guilty. Despite herself, the more she sat talking and joking with him, the more she was starting to like the Ghoul.

He shrugged, seeming none too disappointed at this news "So? Doesn't mean you'll be gone for good, right? You might come back someday. Life's weird like that." Taking one last pull from his cigarette, hed lean over to stub the glowing butt out in a nearby ashtray, smirking as he settled in his chair again "Anymore questions?"

She fell silent for several moments, pondering what to ask next. "Just one more...what's your story, Hancock?"

Hancock laughed, grinning widely "Ooo, how I love to hear you say my name finally. Well, it's my favorite subject. I came into this town like...a decade ago? Had a smooth set of skin back then. While I was busy making myself a pillar of the community I would go of on these...like...wild tears..." He seemed to gaze beyond her as he reminisced, expression unreadable before he'd sigh, soft and fondly "Ah, I was young. Any chems I could find, the more exotic, the better. Finally found this experimental radiation drug. Only one of it's kind, and only one hit left..."

Wendy's eyes widened slightly, quickly putting the pieces together "And that's what made you...y'know?"

He nodded, shifting slightly in his chair "Yep. Oh man, " He sighed again, his eyes losing focus for a moment as he chuckled "The high was so worth it. Yeah, I'm living with the side effects, but hey, what's not to love about immortality?" He smirked, his eyes glimmering from under the shade of his tricorn.

"Wait, you're immortal?" Wendy gaped, not sure wether he was pulling her leg or not. "But how?"

Hancock shrugged again, waving his hand in a wishy washy gesture "Well...not exactly. Ghouls just age really, really slow. Something about the rads, maybe? Who knows."

Wendy took a minute to let all this information set in, not sure what to think of it. "Huh. Well, immortal or not, you're a helluva risk taker, Hancock."

He chuckled again "Only have one life, why not try it all? Now then," He leaned in closer to her, his eyes focused intently on hers. "So hows about we start with a name?"

Wendy found herself lost for a moment in those dark pools, caught off guard by the direct eye contact. "W-Wendy," She stuttered, before clearing her throat, doing her best to steady her voice "My name's Wendy. Wiggin." She stuck her hand out towards to Ghoul, offering him a handshake. Damned if I make it seem like I'm scared of him.

Hancock smirked, taking her small, pale hand in his larger, scared one, giving it a hearty shake "Wendy Wiggin...heh, I like that. Wiggin. Pleased to make your lovely accquintance."

Just as she expected, it felt rough to the touch, ridges of overlapping scar tissue rasping against her palms. She tried not to shiver at the sensation, finding it not unpleasant but definitely odd. And as he called her 'lovely' she had to fight not to blush for the third time in her conversation with him. Lovely? He sees the thing on my cheek, right? "Heh heh, well I wouldn't call it that..."

As she was about to release his hand, however, her vision suddenly turned white, before several quick, dreamlike images flashed through her mind:

An old shack on the shores of a small lake, two young boys running beside it.

One of the boys, now a man, smiling in a disturbing way, inhuman and long.

A syringe, filled with a small amount of green glowing fluid, held by a trembling hand.

A body swinging on a noose, a crowd cheering below.

And Hancock, his back turned to her, as they both stood on the roof of an unknown building, a fiery mushroom cloud rising into the sky before them...

Wendy gave a small gasp, returning to her senses as she quickly jerked her hand out of his grasp. She could tell from thestrange unfocused look in his eyes, howenver, that she was too late. What did he see? Me probably, or something about me. Fuck!

The Ghoul shook his head as if to clear it, blinking it confusion as he raised a hand to scratch at his bald scalp "Eh...shit, sorry for zoning out there. Jet flashback," He offered an apologetic smile, chuckling sheepishly. "Now where was I...oh, right. Your turn to tell your story."

Wendy gave silent thanks to whatever diety had given her such luck, glad to have avoided a topic she didn't want to discuss. They'll all drive me out of here...know he said this place was for freaks, but they gotta have limits. "Alrighty...just fair warning, itsa little...wild. Not really expecting you to believe it "

Hancock laughed, gesturing to himself "I'm used to more than a little wild. Lay it on me, I'm all ears."

Wendy nodded, taking a deep breath, silent for a moment before she started. "The Vault I'm from...111...it was some sort of cryongenic storage-thing. To tell you the truth, I'm...pretty fucking old. Like, before the War old. See, when the bombs fell, we didn't know that, my husband and I. We thought it was gonna be yknow, a proper Vault. Seemed like it at first, when we all rushed in. Hell, I was still so stunned I didn't even notice all the red flags. They had us step into these 'decontamination pods', me in one and the husband and baby in the other. That's the last thing I remember, looking through the glass at them in the other pod. Then everything went cold and dark..." She trailed off, taking a breath to steady herself before she started the next part of her unfortunate tale.

Hancock continued to watch her, scarcely blinking, though she could see the displeasure and anger in his eyes "Lying to a bunch of people like that...that's seriously fucked up. And they had you on ice this fucking long?"

Wendy nodded "Yeah...and from some of the shit I found on the computers of the 'scientists' who were supposed to be 'studying us', they intended to never let us out. Theu were gonna leave us behind once the radiation cleared. Luckily fate was as unkind to them as they were to us...they all killed eachother before they could even be let out. Tore eachother to pieces like animals according tp the logs."

Hancock nodded approvingly, chuckling darkly "Bastards got what they deserved then."

"Heh, yeah. Anyways...we probably would have been frozen in there forever, but someone broke it

Though they didn't come to save us. They..." She found this part difficult to tell, turning her gaze to her own hands fidgeting in her lap "They thawed out mine and my family's pod. They didn't unlock mine though. Two of them, one of em in white suits...the other one bald. He...h-he tried to take Shaun from Nate...my son...my husband. Tried to trick him, but Nate knew something was up. Wouldn't give him our son. So he...that bastard he...he..." She growled, clenching her fists as she fought back tears. "...killed him." She finally managed to get out, holding back a sob. "Killed him and took my baby. And I couldn't do anything to stop em. Could only pound on the glass...and scream. Then they put me back on ice...until the pod broke, and I was free...though it was too late..."

Hancock's gaze had softened, one of sympathy as he shook his head "That's vile...no parent should have to go through that. And your husband...so, I'm guessin' be plan is your lookin to hunt down the sacks of shit?"

She sniffled, embarassed as she wiped a tear off her ruined cheek with the back of her hand. "Yeah...I'm giving 'em hell when I find them. But that's just the problem, I don't even know where to begin looking. I was pointed in the way of Diamond City, but got lost." She sighed, raising her arm and Pipboy attached- the screen still fuzzed with static, much to her chagrin"This thing keeps fritzin out on me. Map on it won't work. So I got lost...ran into some Super Mutants. Managed to take out the smaller two of them, but then...those explosive ones-Suiciders you called them? Came charging at me. One of them blew up, fucked me up, lost Dogmeat," She patted the snoozing pup's head, illiciting a soft grunt from him, "Could only run from the second. Almost got me too...but Finn got him first. Luck I guess, in a way. So....that's how I found myself here."

Hancock was silent for a minute, his head tipped down, face obscured by the brim of his tricorn "Well you're right about one thing, that's certainly one hell of a story. To think you're that old...heh, only people who can claim that honor are older Ghouls. I'm still a young whippersnapper." He shook his head, sighing as he raised it to look her in the eyes again "But speaking of these...vermin again, I think Diamond City is your best bet at finding 'em. I have an accquintance there whose good at getting to the bottom of shit like this. Nick Valentine. Bonus, he could probably give that Pipboy of yours a lookover. Guy's got a way with tech." He gave a wry chuckle, causing a brief moment pf confusion for Wendy.

There's a joke here I'm missing. "Do you know the best way to get there from here? A way that preferably takes me past as few...friendly locals as possible? Though think I need a little time before I head out. Really need to stock up...get a new outfit." She sighed, refering to her ruinied jumpsuit, poking at one of the holes on her sleeve.

He nodded again "Sure, when time comes I'll draw you up a rough map. Heh, almost wanna go out with ya myself, but sadly can't leave. Up to whats left of m'ears in 'mayoral duties'...bleh." He made a distasteful nose, uttering a short, bored sigh. "Speaking of, I'd best get to it." He got to his feet, the chair creaking loudly "Thanks for telling me your story...I sincerely hope you get justice. And find your son."

Wendy smiled, incliningh er head briefly "And many thanks to you for helping me.

*******

Hancock shook his head again, trying to get rid of the strange feeling that still clung to him, annoyed at the white that still lingered at the edges of his vision. Some flashback...if it even was that. As an experienced junkie, he was no stranger to weird side effects from chems. But that had been something entirely different.

Closing his eyes and rubbing at his temples, leaned against the wall of the hallway as he tried to remember what he had seen....

A young girl, a mere infant, ginger curls spilling from atop her head, a white blotch marring her right cheek, clothed in a black dress. She was held in the arms of a likewise dressed older woman, her hair the same orange shade. Both of them stood before an empty coffin.

The same girl, older, cowering in the corner of a school yard as children threw rocks and sticks at her, screaming "Witch! Freak!"

A man in an old soldiers uniform, golden haired and handsome faced, smiling as he held a ring out.

A red haired baby, smiling up as he lay in his crib, reaching for the spinning mobile above him.

The same man from earlier, but this time a single bloody hole in the middle if his forehead, his wide brown eyes forever open and staring in horror.

And finally, Wendy standing atop the Mass Fusion building, a savage grin on her face as a nuclear explosion occured before them, her eyes in contrast strangely pained.

Opening his eyes, Hancock shook his head again, cursing and mumbling to himself. It's probably just your fucked up brain making up shit based on what she just told you. Her husband, her kid....but...she didn't say shit about the stuff I saw of her as a kid...I'm guessing that was her. Or that last part. What the fuck? And even then...saw it all before she told me all that...Bah ..I needa drink. Shit's gonna do my head in.

As he sauntered into the lobby Clair shot him a nasty look from her spot behind the front counter, her arms crossed. “So when am I getting what’s owed for that stray upstairs? Your people said I’d get the money. Mowarksi’s gonna-”

“Alright, alright. Enough. Told you I’d fork it over when I was done here.” Sighing in annoyance, he reached his handinto his frock coat, fumbling for the hidden pocket he kept caps in. Counting out thirty of them, the Ghoul strode over, placing the money atop the desk. “See? Let it be known John Hancock’s a Ghoul who always pays his debts.” With a wink and a two fingered wave he sauntered out of the lobby into the street outside, pulling a pack of cigarettes from a different pocket. Sticking one of the smokes in his mouth, he’d light it with an old gold-plated lighter from within his pocket, taking a drag. Giving a small cough he began walking away from the hotel, steering his way towards the Third Rail.

What a day, what a day…

[kda-chat]

K/DA Cat AU

Hi, I have this idea stuck in my head and I’m here to share. It’s a long one, so be prepared. Inspired by a drawing of Evelynn as a cat, the many cat videos I’ve been watching, and my writer’s block.

XXX

Ahri is the owner of three cats:

Evelynn

A gorgeous Maine Coone, her massive tuff of fur around her neck is the key to her fame. She has a beautiful dark purple coat with magenta highlights. There are specks of golden hairs scattered in her undercoat that gives her overall coat a nice glow.

A popular show cat, Evelynn won awards for best coat, best form, and overall a splendid looking cat. Her previous owner was Twisted Fate and, together, they impressed every judge that came their way. However, Evelynn started to dislike show business over time. She started to get aggressive, hissing and biting at the judges. Then she turned against Twisted Fate and soon she was basically acting like a feral cat that refused to listen. Twisted Fate knew Evelynn was up for retirement cut out for show business and so when Ahri offered to adopt her, he gave Evelynn to her.

Evelynn had a hard time getting along with Ahri. It took months of scratches, bites, and blood being spilt for the two of them to finally be acquainted with each other. Ahri never gave up and soon Evelynn started to relax and trust Ahri more. Now, she’s fiercely protective of Ahri and finds any stranger as a threat. However, when Ahri adopted her second cat, Evelynn found someone worth more of her protection.

Akali

A sleek Japanese Bobtail. The smallest of the three cats, Akali has a nice midnight blue coat, turning black near her rear side. Her right hind leg is all white, with black paws. Her bobtail is small but fluffy. The top of her head has a tuff of fur that Ahri likes to tie into a pony tail or else she can’t see.

Akali was raised from a kitten with Shen. She had spent most of her time in a dojo, where she became a favorite among the students. Fast, quick, and always on her toes, Akali is usually found chasing mice, challenging a big dog, or getting into some kind of ruckus. She had a lot of energy and Shen decided to let Ahri adopt her, hoping that Ahri’s other cat, Evelynn, would be a good companion for her to play with. He was more than right.

Evelynn practically stuck with Akali, grooming her, protecting her, doting on her, the list goes on. It took Akali a while to get use to Evelynn’s affections but soon warmed up to them. After a while, Ahri figured that they were more than just playmates, they were in love.

Whenever Ahri has spicy ramyun, Akali is right there to steal a noodle or two.

Kai’sa

A graceful Siberian cat. With a huge dark purple-black coat, two distinct golden brown diamond marks on her back, Kai’sa also has rounder ears that almost look like hair buns. This is due to the harsh condition of surviving on the streets, and not really having proper nutrition when she was a kitten. However, out of the three, she is the biggest.

Kai’sa was originally a street cat, roaming the gutters and defending herself from other feral cats. However, unlike feral cats, she was nice and friendly with humans, often she was well fed with how much humans loved her sweetness. Ahri came across her and took her as her own.

Kai’sa was severely timid with Evelynn and Akali, hiding in the corner or under the bed to avoid them. This was due to the trauma of other vicious street cats. It took Ahri months to get Kai’sa comfortable with Evelynn and Akali. Despite Evelynn and Akali being friendly with Kai’sa, it took Ahri a long time for Kai’sa to stop hissing at them. After a while, she became more comfortable with her forever home and became a mother figure for Evelynn and Akali.

Then a rogue cat named Sivir, according to her name tag, happened to stroll the street where the three cats lived. An Egyptian Mau with an impressive spotted coat, Sivir took an interest in Kai’sa through the window. Long story short, they’re lovers and Ahri would adopt Sivir but she was owned by Azir, who she kept running away from due to him always smothering the poor cat with too much affection. She practically ran away just to see Kai’sa.

That’s it. Hope you enjoy my headcannon!

[jaxl-road]

Scar Tissue chapter 2

The band is coming together like they were always meant to, Slash’s crush gets worse, and Duff gets an unwelcome visit from his past.

Pairings: Slash/Duff, side Axl/Izzy

Warnings: Implied/discussed past abuse (non-explicit)

Read on AO3

~~~~~~~~

To the surprise of absolutely no one, they convinced Duff to stay.

There was definitely an adjustment period, especially for him and Slash as new roommates. When the five boys finished their vodka and finally made their way to bed that first night, Duff built a nest in the corner of his and Slash’s room out of a pile of clothes, blankets, and a couple of couch pillows.

“We can share my mattress,” Slash offered, determined not to let his lust turn him into an asshole. He wasn’t going to let Duff sleep on the floor just because he had the misfortune of being insanely hot, “I don’t mind.”

But the bassist had shook his head, avoiding his gaze, “No thanks. I…” he trailed off, adjusting the mass of fabric on the floor absently. Smiling weakly, he looked over but still wouldn’t meet Slash’s eyes as he whispered softly, “No thanks.”

There was something so jarringly fragile in his voice in that moment that Slash couldn’t bring himself to press the issue. He simply offered him another blanket to add to the pile.

Luckily, Duff was only stuck on the floor for two nights, before he bribed Steven into helping him drag a cheap mattress into the house. Slash couldn’t help but laugh when, once dropping it in the corner, Duff proceeded to simply move his nest from the floor to the mattress, the pile looking exactly the same save for being a few inches off the ground. Even just a few days into his arrival, it was obvious that he was a welcome addition to the band and the boys.

“Hey!” Duff huffed as Slash snatched his coffee out of his hand one morning, weeks later, “There’s an entire pot right here!”

Slash laughed. One of the first things they learned living with Duff was that he was an early riser, always up hours before the rest of them. The guitarist planned to respond with something witty, but as he took a sip from the stolen mug, he found himself sputtering in surprise, “Jesus Christ, I taste more vodka than coffee!”

“Pussy,” the bassist snorted, snagging the mug back and downing half of it in one go, “Make your own coffee if you’re not even going to appreciate mine.”

Rolling his eyes, Slash moved towards the cabinets, “I’m more of a whiskey person anyway.”

“And I promise I’m not judging you for that.”

Pouring himself his own coffee, Slash only got a single sip before Axl entered the kitchen and snatched it away from him. “Hey!” he huffed, while Duff laughed at the irony.

“Karma, bitch,” he grinned.

Axl chuckled, hopping to sit on the counter as he drank his coffee quietly, rubbing at the dark circles under his eyes. The singer had warmed up to Duff quickly, much to his band mates’ relief. All of them found themselves growing more and more excited for their future as a band. With each rehearsal their confidence grew. They started staying later and later as the week went on because they would get so into their own music they just didn’t want to stop. They had something good here, they knew it.

There was just one little problem.

Slash had hoped that as time went on, he would get over his dumb infatuation. After all, it wasn’t like he didn’t spend a lot of time around attractive people- surely someone new would catch his eye and he’d move on.

But it only got worse. Because not only did Duff continue to be unfairly attractive, but he also told the worst jokes that still managed to make Slash laugh every time, and he hovered around the four boys like a mother hen, and he always had a bottle of vodka stashed on him somewhere, and when he smiled Slash felt his fucking heart stutter.

Yeah. It was so much worse than lust.

Slash had a fucking crush on him.

To make matters even worse (because Slash apparently couldn’t catch a fucking break) everyone knew about it. The only one who wasn’t aware of Slash’s growing feelings was Duff, and Slash didn’t know if he was relieved or infuriated. All he could do was pout every time one of his bandmates would snicker knowingly when he looked at Duff a little too long, or tease him when the bassist was in another room.

“I know what I said before, but I changed my mind,” Steven stated one night at a bar, “Just bang him, watching you pine is painful.” Slash punched him in the shoulder.

“I’m two seconds away from locking you both in a closet,” Izzy deadpanned on a different day. Slash simply glared.

“How the fuck do you manage to share a room with him, you look like you’re about to swoon every time he walks into the damn room,” Axl smirked, laughing when Slash ducked his head.

Tapping his fingers against his glass, Slash considered Axl's words. The bar was busy around them, the five friends celebrating another successful show. Izzy, Steven, and Duff were lost somewhere in the crowd while Slash and Axl sat at one of the tables in the corner, winding down after the high energy of their performance.

The truth was, despite sharing a room, Slash and Duff were no closer than the rest of the members of the band. The bassist seemed reluctant to change in front of anyone, often simply passing out at the end of the night in his clothes, and he was always up and about by the time Slash woke up.

Glancing up at Axl, he debated asking the red-head about something that had been on his mind for almost a week now. Despite Axl's hesitation when they met, he and Duff got along great. But Slash hadn't thought anything of it until earlier in the week when he had woken in the middle of the night. The group had partied pretty hard the night before so it figured he’d have to piss in the middle of the night, as annoying as it might have been. But when he sat up, he noticed Duff was absent, a space for him cleared on his mattress but unoccupied. Frowning, Slash checked the clock next to his bed.

3:17am. It was no secret that Duff was an early riser, but this was a bit much even for him, especially given that they had only gone to bed a few hours earlier. Careful not to make too much noise, he made his way out the door. But just as he stepped into the hallway, he saw two silhouettes in the dim light of the kitchen. Stepping quietly to get a closer look, he was surprised by what he found.

Axl was sitting on the kitchen counter, with Duff leaning heavily against the cabinets just inches beside him. They both had their heads held low, angled towards each other, shadows obscuring their features, and Slash could hear a soft murmur between them, though he couldn’t make out any words.

Slowly, Slash stepped back behind the corner, hiding himself even as he continued to stare for another few minutes. He couldn’t see their expressions or hear their words, but the moment felt… intimate. Just the two of them in the dark, speaking soft and gentle, a bottle of whiskey untouched and ignored beside them.

He thought about Duff always waking before the rest of them, and he thought of the dark rings often under Axl’s eyes, and he wondered how often they met like this.

Axl was with Izzy. Slash knew that. But he still felt a tug of jealousy when he thought of him and Duff sharing something special.

“You’re fucking gone for him, aren’tcha?” Axl's voice broke him from his thoughts, the singer grinning teasingly.

Slash wanted to argue, but he knew it was pointless, and he was a little drunk and a little high, so he figured there was no harm in venting. Leaning forward, he put his head in his hands and groaned, “It was bad enough when he was just hot. I could deal with that. But I like him, it’s the worst!”

Axl tsked sympathetically, “You poor, doomed idiot.”

“Shut up,” he mumbled.

“We can set up a game of truth or dare if you want.”

“No.”

“Spin the bottle?”

“No!”

“Oh! Seven minutes in heaven! I mean, you’re just acting so much like a teenage girl I figure these are your best options.”

“Shut the fuck up, asshole,” Slash threw a napkin at the singer’s smug face.

The red-head opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, his eyes caught on something over the guitarist’s shoulder. His mouth shut with an audible click of his teeth and his whole demeanor switched like a flip. “Axl?” Slash furrowed his brows in concern, but Axl ignored him. Instead, he stood aggressively, chair scraping harshly against the floor as he suddenly stalked away. Slash immediately jumped up and followed after him, “Woah, Axl, what’s wrong?”

Watching the singer move was like watching fire ignite down a trail of gasoline. There was an explosion coming.

When they reached the back door to the bar, Slash still didn’t know what was going on. He tried calling Axl’s name again, but the singer continued to ignore him, throwing open the door and exiting into the back alley. Stepping after him, Slash froze in the doorway. Time felt like it had slowed to a crawl as he took in the scene in front of him.

There was an older man standing with his back to the door. He had a thick build and thin dark hair pulled into a low ponytail, and with the way he held himself, large and imposing, it took Slash a moment to notice Duff at all. The stranger had Duff pinned against the dirty brick wall, one hand wrapped around a pale, thin wrist in a bruising grip, while the other cruelly grasped a handful of blonde hair. The bassist’s wide, panicked eyes were fixed on the ground, his free hand shoving uselessly to try to push the man away. But the stranger only pressed in closer.

Axl wasn’t a big guy, not by a long shot, but he had two things in his favor: the element of surprise, and a fuck ton of rage. So when he grabbed the man’s shoulder and twisted him around, he released Duff out of surprise, and before he could even begin to react, Axl brought his knee up as hard as he could into the man’s groin.

From there, Slash felt a bit like he was watching someone get mauled by a feral cat. As soon as the man curled over in pain, Axl was digging his nails into the man’s scalp, latching on viciously as he kicked at anything his boots could reach, screeching profanities and showing no mercy even as the man stumbled back and tried to shake him off.

It’s not until he sees Duff slide down the alley wall that Slash finally manages to move, his shock and confusion swiftly turning to panic and concern.

“Hey, hey, Duff, are you okay? Are you alright?” His hands hover carefully in front of the bassist, almost afraid to touch him. Duff is trembling like a leaf, his breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps, and even though he’s still staring down at the ground, Slash can see a few tears caught on his eyelashes. He’s never seen the bassist so… small.

He doesn’t know what to do, and he turns just in time to see Duff’s attacker actually throw Axl away from him, the singer’s body landing harshly against the pavement. The stranger has blood running down his face, oozing from his hair and nose. He’s hunched over and in obvious pain when he turns and runs out of the alley, calling out “crazy bitch!” behind him as he flees. Relief flooded through Slash, because while he has no doubt Axl would have gone right back to tearing the man apart, he was also clutching his side in pain, his arms scraped up from hitting the gravel.

“I-...”

Slash’s attention snaps back to Duff, the bassist’s voice shaky and weak, his chest still heaving as if he can’t get enough air. He tentatively looks up when Axl approaches them, struggling to speak through chattering teeth, “I-I’m sorry. Are you o-... are you okay?”

Shaking his head, Axl stands a few feet away from them, letting his bloody arms hang at his sides, “I’m fine, man. Just breathe.”

Duff swallows thickly, curling into himself as he does his best to take a deep breath. It feels like they’re in some private pocket of time and space, separate from the rest of the world. The alley is dark and quiet, but there are little flashes of light on the edges of their vision as cars drive past, and the muffled sounds of music and laughter from inside the bar. They have no idea how much time passes, but eventually, as Duff’s body begins to still and his breaths become even, Slash hesitantly reaches out to hold the bassist’s hand. Duff grips his hand like a lifeline.

Finally, the blonde takes one last steadying breath before looking up at his bandmates, “Thanks. Sorry.”

“You’re fine, dude, don’t worry about it,” Slash insists.

“How… how did you know I was out here?”

At the question, Slash turns to Axl. The singer shrugged, “Got lucky. I happened to look over right when he was dragging you outside. Didn’t exactly look like you were okay with it.”

They both notice the way Duff flinches at his words, his breath hitching just slightly, and his grip on Slash’s hand tightens ever so slightly. Axl’s face darkens and his grinds his teeth for a moment before forcing his voice to be at least somewhat calm, “I’m gonna go find Steven and Izzy and settle our tab. Why don’t you two head home,” he looks at the guitarist as he makes the suggestion, nodding at him before turning on his heel and heading back inside.

It makes sense when he thinks about it that Duff probably wouldn’t want to be crowded by all of them right now. Turning back to the bass player, he asks softly, “You good to stand, or…?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m fine,” he answered softly. Slash helped him to his feet, and after a moment of reluctance, he released the other man’s hand, wrapping his arms around his middle, “Thanks.”

The first few blocks of their journey are silent, Duff keeping his head low and Slash giving him space to pull himself together. Eventually though, the taller boy sighed heavily, “Thank you again. I’m sorry for wrecking the night.”

Guilt is heavy in his voice, as if some random night of drinking was more important than him, and Slash hates it, "Hey, it's fine, I'm just glad you're okay,” he replied sincerely. He feels a swell of anger in his next words, “Fucking rando deserved worse than what he got.”

When he looks over, Duff is biting his lip, hard, "Actually…" he murmured nervously, "It was my fault."

Slash raised an eyebrow, disbelieving, "How do you figure?"

"That wasn't just... some rando…" Duff explained slowly, "That… was my ex."

It probably wasn't the right response, but Slash ground to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk, "Your ex?" And fuck, he didn't mean to sound so accusatory. He was just surprised and, if he was being honest with himself, more than a little worried. Duff's admission had alarm bells ringing in his head. The man had looked older, especially compared to the young band members. Slash would peg him somewhere in his late thirties, and that combined with the way he'd gone after Duff physically did not make for an optimist first impression of the guy. After all, even after some ugly break-ups- even the ex's that Slash fucking hated- he just can't imagine going after them the way that man went after Duff.

The bassist shrugged, shifting anxiously on his feet in front of his band mate, "Yeah, I-" he cleared his throat, still looking anywhere but at Slash, "I was living with him, and, um, things didn't… end very well. So I kind of… stole some money from him when I left. That's why he was, y'know…" he gestured vaguely.

That is absolutely, without a doubt, not the whole story, Slash knows immediately. He doesn’t think Duff is lying, per se, but he can feel the weight of omission heavy in every pause and stutter, and he gets the distinct feeling that if he had all the missing pieces he would get a completely different picture than the one Duff is trying to paint him right now.

“He sounds like a prick,” his voice is firm.

Duff looks up in surprise, “I-... but I-”

“Nope. Don’t care,” Slash interrupts, because his stomach clenches at the thought of Duff trying to shift all the blame onto himself when he was the one who got pinned against an alley wall, “I don’t care if you robbed him blind, he’s an asshole, and he deserved every drop of blood Axl drew.”

Even though his tone left no room for argument, for a moment it still looked like Duff was going to try. His face is a mosaic of guilt, shame, and disbelief, his mouth open as he tried to think of what to say. But finally, he swallows back whatever words were stuck to his throat and offers Slash a weak smile, “At least Axl got some of that famous rage out of his system, right?”

It’s not an agreement, it’s a deflection. But Duff looks so tired, his face still pale and a bruise blossoming on his wrist, that Slash lets it go. For now at least.

“True,” he chuckles, “Might have bought us a few more days of peace before he throws something out a window or something.” They both laughed, some of the tension releasing between them.

They make it another two blocks before Slash is hit by a realization and stops in his tracks a second time, “Wait a second,” his eyes widened as Duff looked at him curiously, and before he could stop himself he blurted out, “so you like dudes?”

Immediately Duff’s face flushed bright pink, “I-I mean…”

A slow grin spread across Slash’s face, “So I have a shot then.”

His statement had Duff snapping to stare at him, blinking in surprise. He huffed out choked sounding laugh, “Shut up, you ass,” he muttered turning to resume walking.

Slash trotted after him, and he couldn’t stop smiling as he sing-songed, “I have a shot~!”

Duff shoved him playfully. But he was smiling too.

[lamiralami]

TMA Retro 4: Page Turner

I was touched to see some tag commentary on yesterday’s post! Honestly, it gave me an emotion - I am traditionally very anxious about engaging online, it speaks to my immense love of TMA that it brought me to Make A Post At Last. It’s very affirming and reassuring to get some response to my lunatic treatises. Y’all are all right. 💜

Anyway, grab some lighter fluid and a sturdy wastepaper basket, time to torch your haunted novel in MAG 4: Page Turner

It’s ironic that this statement is about the Vast when it is one dense motherfucker. so many dangling plot threads are introduced here, each ready to hook you and start reeling. we’ve been into the meta plot since episode one but this episode is the first time the audience is made aware of such.

seriously: Jurgen Leitner and his library, Gerard Keay and Mary Keay, Michael Crew. the figures introduced in this one thirty-minute installment loom large over the rest of the entire run

you could, your first time through, even file this away as a one-off scary story if not for the fact that Jon knows what’s going on (enjoy it while it lasts, my son). He’s heard of Jurgen Leitner. He alludes to an incident with his library in 1994. Deeper than that, he immediately takes the statement at face value and treats the claims within it as authentic, which is a complete 180° on the first three episodes

and this is such a smart story choice? Jon shapes our perspective into this universe and up until now he’s been utterly dismissive of the validity of the stories he’s telling. To go from practically rolling his eyes to scheduling a meeting with his boss about tracking down more haunted books - that tells us that Jon takes this seriously as a threat. And that makes us take it seriously too, makes us take note that strange books are dangerous things in this world. Any offhand mention of books in future statements will be enough to make us sweat

And! It starts winding the narrative tension on a character level. Why and what does Jon know about Jurgen Leitner and his library? Why does he say his name with such venom? And if he’s so sure about the supernatural nature of these books, why is he so loath to believe the other statements?

(and then it takes 80 + episodes to fully answer these initial questions. Jonny enjoys a slow roasted torment)

love that the statement giver presents, as proof of his iron-clad sanity, the fact that he works as a theatre technician. speaking as someone with an unfinished theatre degree: theatre people are feral my good buddy, try again. I mean, we refuse to say the name of one of the most famous plays in the English language because we think a ghost will trip us for the indiscretion. this is not the trump card you think it is.

a quick sidebar for the Red String Brigade: The Trojan Women is an ancient Greek tragedy that involves a baby being thrown off a city wall. The Seagull’s first published English translation was done by Marian Fell, and also a seagull is a bird and birds can fly. Much Ado About Nothing is very good and you should all watch the version from 2011 with David Tennant and Catherine Tate.

it’s interesting that these early episodes seem to take a cue from urban legends in some respects. Nathan Watts gets extremely drunk at a party and then is almost skinned by a monster while having a smoke. Joshua Gillespie is approached while engaging in a whirlwind of debauchery and has to take care of a cursed coffin after accepting money for what he thinks is a drug trafficking gig. Amy Patel regularly spies on her neighbour for her own entertainment and then has to watch him be replaced by a malevolent entity only she can perceive. and now Dominic Swain pushes past his guilty conscience to score a valuable book off an unknowing charity shop and...gets a bit dizzy and haunted by a phantom stink for a few days then gets ‎£5,000, well anyway, the point is he got spooked! spooked after doing something kind of iffy! that is pure urban legend procedure; modern day fairy tales imparting dire ��consequences onto societal transgressions. in a horror story this structure offers a false sense of safety - if you’re a good person, the monster won’t come for you. I can’t recall which upcoming statement yanks the rug out from under us with the first completely random victim.

cannot comprehend how this guy didn’t start plugging the book into google translate the second he got home. that probably saved him from being taken by the book but I am still judging him for not even trying it. yeah you’d be sucked into some sort of sky hell but at least you’d know what’s in the book!! could never be me

(yes I am aware in this universe I would have been eaten years ago. I’ve made my peace with that)

grbookworm1818 slays me. I don’t know which is better, the idea of Gertude carefully curating the most sixty-five-year-old-on-goodreads username she could as a cover for her cursed purchase history, or her actual sixty-five-year-old brain just expressing itself naturally because Gertrude is a very busy woman who doesn’t have time to immerse herself in the ins and outs of internet culture, she just wants to buy the demonic tomes she’s selected for destruction and get on with her day thanks.

did Gertrude know what a meme was? which Archivist could convincingly pose as a millennial best, Gertrude Robinson or Jonathan Sims?

The Key of Solomon and its former keeper, Samuel Liddell MacGregor Mathers, are both real historical figures. the book is basically Renaissance-era magical au fanfic of the Bible, and the man was a 19th century British occultist (and likely drinking buddy of Jonah Magnus) who founded a Very Serious Secret Society. this is a picture of him whiiiiiich rather dispels any sense of menace he’s meant to invoke. what kind of cosplaying nonsense

Mary Keay is such a striking figure. “She was very old and painfully thin, but her head was completely clean shaven, and every square inch of skin I could see was tattooed over with closely-written words in a script I didn’t recognise.” a Look, a vision!

I’m guessing that Our Gerard was blasting heavy metal at 2 am to try to drown out his undead mother while waiting for her manifestation to dissipate. I like to imagine him frequenting Reddit advice posts about dealing with toxic family members, poor lad

oh my gosh Mary refers to Gerard as “her Gerard” is that where Jon got “our Gerard” from?? I feel betrayed??

whatever, I’m reclaiming it. Our Gerard is meant with affection now babey! 

the eye portrait is a bit puzzling. the inscription - ‘“Grant us the sight that we may not know. Grant us the scent that we may not catch. Grant us the sound that we may not call.”’ - could almost be read as an invocation against the Eye? But in general Gerry is fairly Eye-aligned, so...shrug emoji

(honestly my main takeaway from the eye portrait is that it’s finely detailed and near photorealistic so we can add “tortured artist” to our list of Gerard Keay traits and is it any wonder that he’s so Fandom Beloved?)

Mary is Not Good at negotiating sales. her main technique involves terrible tea, bringing up repressed childhood trauma, and getting her magic book to drop animal bones onto customer’s shoes. I’m guessing Pinhole Books was in bad shape even before the police investigation and murder charges.

hahaha, the Vast pushes Dominic down the stairs. classic. you gotta grab what opportunities are available

so did Gerard have to follow Dominic back to his flat and wait awkwardly on the doorstep at like 3 in the morning, hoping none of his neighbours would notice and call the cops

the revelation that Mary’s been dead the whole time! this episode may be more intent on world building and plot set-up but damn if it isn’t still a good little ghost story.

kind of rude of Gerry to just burn a book in this guy’s flat without asking and then steal his wastepaper basket.

Jon may not call the statement giver a liar for once, but never fear, he’s still our petty bastard man. accuses Gertrude of filing statements without reading them, has Sasha double-check Martin’s research, grumps about his general misfortune . he’s stressed from the Archives’ disorder and having flashbacks to a certain picture book but by Jove, that won’t stop him making snide comments on what’s supposed to be an official audio transcription!