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daniyanii · 3 years ago

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Yandere Itachi

Despite traveling to every village far and wide he had never seen a woman, let alone person like her.

Her hair was new, her facial features, skin and personality. It was just so intriguing to Itachi, he couldn't help but be enchanted by it.

He found himself risking his cover much more than usual. He had began at first sneaking in a few times a month to check on her for a few minutes but eventually it became a nightly hobby.

He would come right when her sensei dismissed the team and shadow over her while walking home. After he would watch through windows while she moved about and finally once he was sure she was sleep...he would sneak in and watch.

He noticed many things about the girl while observing. She didn't have not one single friend in the village, not even her teammates. She seemed to just tolerate everyone while they shunned her and outcasted her. She didn't ever seemed too fazed by it though, almost as if she was used to it and okay with such treatment.

It angered and upset Itachi, but surprisingly no one had ever put their hands on her. Most people looked at her like she was disease ridden so many just glared from far away and clutched their kids and valuables closer.

She had never been touched,..... until today.

Itachi was watching (Y/n) take her usual peaceful and silent walk home. He did notice that she was extra drained on chakra today, and looked like she could drop any minute. Which already had him on edge but he was soon pushed right off the cliff when a heavily drunk man stumbled over to her caressing her body

Despite the few pushes and slaps you got in he caught your wrists in one hand and was using the other to roam your body. All while placing sloppy, wet kisses on your neck.

In seconds the man collapsed to the ground without as much as a peep. You were thankful of course and you didn't even wanna know why. Just count this as a blessing and run! You thought to yourself. But after the first step you took a tall man in an eerily long coat with red clouds on it appeared directly in front of you.

'Oh great I avoided the flames just to die from the smoke' you thought to yourself

" If you wanna fight, be my guest." you said with your hands in your pockets and looked directly at him with a questioning glare

"No, I just wanted to ensure you're safety." Itachi vaguely answered, feeling as if was going to faint since after months of obsession and stalking he was finally talking to you.

"Why?" you asked, trying to see through him, too bad you weren't a Hyuga.

"Because, you're the teammate of my little brother, and if he is fond of you then so am I. Now may I please escort you home?" Itachi asked bored

'This guy does kinda look like Sasuke but....hotter. He seems pretty strong so I guess I'll go' you thought quickly and recklessly in your tired state

All you did was nod, but then a thought ran through your head.

' Didn't sasuke say his brother murdered his entire clan and was a rouge ninja,essentially in a gang?!'

But before you could protest he already had a grip on your arm, performing a transportation jutsu effortlessly.

*YOUR POV*

I opened my eyes immediately to see that I wasn't in my home. Before I could think I heard the heavy steel door shut and lock.

Instant panic.

"Calm down, my love. I put that there so you don't even try and run. We can finally be together, no distractions" He whispered out, coming closer and I moved away

" What the hell are you talking about?! This is all just some sick joke to lure Sasuke out isn't it?" I said the most rational thought in my head

"Quite the contrary, if I wanted Sasuke I would have cut straight to the chase and took him. At first I thought my destiny was to live out my days until Sasuke killed me but once I saw you all that changed." Itachi slowly walked over, grabbing my hands in his. All I could was stare and think

'bruh what the hell did he just say?'

"My new fate is to spend the rest of my days here with you. You are the most important thing to me now. You mean more that the Akatsuki, taming the nine tails....even Sasuke." He confessed lowly which had my eye wide as saucers

I stepped back and snatched my hands from his cold embrace.

"Look I don't know what type of fucked up game you're playing but don't expect me to go along with it. I'm supposed to be your "new destiny" but we've never even met before." I spoke cautiously but still shooting him a glare

"Well we know eachother now and in due time you'll learn to love me, since I'll be the only face you see for a long time..." Itachi smiled and it wasn't even a crazy or fake one, it was.....genuine

'I need to get the fuck ASAP'

"Well except for when you end up carrying my child then of course it'll be all three, or four of us. Though I doubt we'll have more than two." He smirked at me and there was no mistaking that look.....it's lust.

"What do you mean? I would never carry your child or anyone else's for that matter. Also, you killed off your clan, why would I birth more just so could kill them too."

"I would never hurt something me and you created. Especially, in such a sacred way." He put his surprisingly large hand on my cheek and caressed my face.

"Plus, think of them as a gift from me. A reminder of the times we'll share, and that even in death I'm still here. Sasuke always wanted to help revive the clan, I'm just helping him out too. And when I leave this Earth they will serve and protect you. And eventually.... free you."

#yandere #yandere naruto #yandere itachi uchiha #yandere itachi #naruto fanfiction #yandere itachi x black reader #itachi x black reader

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nnightskiess · 4 years ago

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santana lopez imagine

r e q u e s t: Can you do a reader x Santana lopez? Where reader and Santana are best friends but reader has been in love with santana for a long time and becomes distant and santana wants to know why and finally knows and just fluff. Thank you

✫彡

Y/N zoned out the conversation Quinn, Brittany and Santana were having and instead fully focused on the smile on Santana’s face. She’d been friends with the girl long enough to know that this smile meant that she felt at ease.

The corners of Y/N’s mouth curled into a smile at the sight of it as she kept staring at her best friend. Her cheeks flushed when Santana turned her head, just to check up on Y/N who had been a bit quiet. She’d caught the girl staring. Santana’s expression softened a bit before she joined the conversation again.

It had been like this a lot the past few weeks— Y/N zoning out just to stare and admire Santana, only for her to get caught by the latter. However, Santana didn’t seem to mind or notice and thus Y/N’s crush on the girl grew larger every day.

What had been the turning point? The mindless random kisses they used to share now and then? Which in Santana’s defence were just so that they kept practicing until a cute boy came along. The way Santana only let Y/N see the real her? How Santana carried herself? Or how she could light up Y/N’s world by just a smile or a witty comment? Well, Y/N couldn’t quite put a finger on it. But there was so much about Santana that she adored and liked that it wouldn’t be fair to her to just pick one.

Her mouth set in a hard line. No. She couldn’t fall in love with Santana. It wouldn’t end well. What if Santana got weirded out by it and decided that it would be too awkward to stay friends? Y/N couldn’t bear to lose the girl.

“You okay?”

Quinn and Brittany continued their conversation while Santana’s attention went to the girl next to her. Y/N nodded softly, sending her a tight-lipped smile.

“Here,” Santana handed her the rest of her granola bar in an attempt to cheer her up. Because even though Y/N denied something was wrong, she could see right through her best friend. “And you better eat it because I don’t usually share my food.”

Brittany heard the two and shoved her lunchbox towards Y/N. It was filled with the Lucky Charms marshmellows. “It took me four boxes to fill it like this but eating this usually makes me happy so I hope it works for you too.”

“Are you trying to cheer her up or give her diabetes?” Quinn snorted and shook her head in amusement.

“Thanks, Britt, but i'm fine.”

“Suit yourself.” Brittany shrugged, held the lunchbox up to her chest and grabbed a handful. Quinn grimaced at the thought of having to eat that much sweetness in one bite.

Santana hadn’t stopped staring at Y/N during the conversation, her brows knit together when she realised something was up. She scooted her chair closer to the girl, grabbed the sleeve of her Cheerios jacket and rested her head softly against the girl’s shoulder. Y/N smiled sheepishly while Santana’s frown never disappeared, wondering what kept her best friend so silent, the soft encounter between the two not going unnoticed by Brittany.

✫彡

Santana strutted around the school’s hallway, head held high. She looked fierce, confident and oh so ethereal— if you asked Y/N. The small smirk on her face turned to a smile when she locked eyes with her best friend, Y/N, who was already staring at her from her spot at her locker.

“How’s the only person I tolerate in this school doing?” She challengingly raised an eyebrow as she came to a stop next to the girl.

Y/N stared into her eyes for a second, seeing them twinkle. The two girls lingered for a moment in a comfortable silence until the sound of a locker slamming shut cut the girl back to reality.

“Hey, you okay?”

Santana’s smile turned into frown, seeing how quiet Y/N seemed.

“Hm? Sorry, yeah...”

The Latina squeezed her eyes in suspicion but decided to let it go, knowing how Y/N worked. If she tried to pry and get it out of her, Y/N would only shut her out even more. She’d come to her when she wanted to or when she was ready.

“Okay, hear me out— I know you’re insecure about singing high notes but I’ve found the perfect song for us to sing for next week’s assignment.”

Y/N bit her lip and closed her locker, “I kind of already agreed to sing with Rory...”

“Wait, what? Why?” Santana’s face immediately scrunched up. “And roll back a minute— out of all of them you pick that leprechaun? Let me guess, you’re going to sing his national anthem while he’s Irish dancing in the background, clad in all green while throwing lucky charms out of his pot of gold?”

“Santana...”

The brunette sighed, letting it go, not being able to resist the pleading look on Y/N’s face.

“He asked me first and he was so shy about it, it was adorable. And he’s new and doesn’t really know anyone yet so it was hard to turn him away... and um, he told me we’d discuss the song over dinner at Breadstix so how could I turn that away?”

“So he asked you out on a date?”

“N-No-”

Santana rolled her eyes at the girl’s obliviousness, “And by the way,” She raised her hand, “Since when do I have to ask you to partner up? We always do everything together?”

Y/N shrugged, “I’m sorry, San. A promise is a promise. But I think you need to start looking for another partner unless you want to end up with Mr. Schue.”

Santana's jaw clenched in irritation as Y/N walked off without another word.

✫彡

Santana worry and confusion only grew when Y/N walked passed her and sat down next to Rachel, completely ignoring her usual seat next to Santana. Rory walked into the room. She immediately sent the boy a glare before he sat down next to Y/N. He slightly glanced over his shoulder and as he felt Santana’s eyes on him, he slowly put his arm around Y/N— feeling bold. The girl barely scooted away from him, trying not to hurt his feelings, but it was enough for Santana to notice her discomfort.

Oh, hell no.

✫彡

“Hey, St. Paddy!” Santana’s loud voice rang through the courtyard, making Rory stop in his tracks.

“Oh, boy, here we go.” He slowly mumbled to himself.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

He turned around and saw how furious she was by the frown on her face and the fire in her eyes.

“What do you mean, Santana?”

She gave him a dirty look, “Oh, cut the crap, cardigan... You know what I’m talking about.”

“It’s... Flanagan...”

“Whatever-” She rolled her eyes. “Listen closely and don’t open your mouth before i’m done talking, okay?”

Rory nodded hesitantly, not sure if this already counted.

“You’ve got a crush on Y/N. I have eyes. I’m not stupid. But I get it, she’s gorgeous, caring, softhearted and is the best thing in this world since sliced bread. But what she’ll never be, is yours.” She pointed a finger at his chest. “So don’t try and act all adorable while sneakily taking her on a date... because if we’re being honest, she probably just said yes because she pitied you after realising that if she said no, you would have no one to sing with. And since you were oblivious to all of that, I think you also missed the fact that she isn’t into you at all.”

He rose his eyebrows in shock as Santana let her mind run rampant, not sparing his feelings. Rory awkwardly held onto the straps of his backpack.

“Here’s what’s going to happen— first, you’re going to call Breadstix and cancel your reservations...then you’re going to call Y/N and tell her you changed your mind about being duet partners.” Santana gave him a mock smile and was about to walk away. “Oh— and if you ever put your disgusting arm around her again, I’ll kick your ass so hard it will send you flying back to Ireland in just a few seconds. Got it?”

Rory nodded again and watched Santana walk away with a pleased smirk on her face.

✫彡

Santana tapped the girl on her shoulder and whispered, “Wanna go to Breadstix tonight? I heard they have one free table for tomorrow night.”

Y/N turned around in her seat, sending a glare her way before focusing back on the class. Santana looked to Brittany, taken back and in confusion, but she just shrugged.

✫彡

“I little birdie told me you need a new duet partner.” Santana walked up to Y/N’s locker, hands in the pockets of her comfy Cheerios jacket.

The smile on her face disappeared when Y/N slammed her locker shut and turned to her with her brows furrowed.

“Jeez, who put nails in your shoes today?”

“I know it was you.”

Santana shrugged, “So? I spared you the painful situation where you had to reject him... plus, now you get to sing with me. So change that frown into one of your pretty smiles because I know just the perfect song for us to sing.” She perked up but her cheerful expression vanished once again when Y/N walked away from her. She pursed her lips and frowned in confusion as she watched the girl hurry out of the school.

✫彡

Things had been different since that afternoon. The two barely interacted or even looked at each other anymore, which was all mainly Y/N’s fault. It had even caught the attention of the other Glee club members since Y/N tried to ignore Santana as if she was some disease she wanted to steer clear of. It was out of character for the both of them not to be together.

“Everything okay with you and San?” Brittany leaned over so that no one else could hear.

Y/N gave her a small smile, as if nothing was wrong, “Oh- yeah, yes, don’t worry.”

“You sure?”

Y/N hummed in return, turning to face Mr. Schue but Brittany scooted even closer before mumbling, “I think you should just tell her how you feel.”

Her head shot to the side, eyes wide as saucers. Brittany didn’t seem to realise how panicked her statement had made the girl feel. Y/N was still trying to stay cool when Mr. Schue called her name.

“Rory and Y/N, would you two like to perform your duet today?”

The two shared a quick glance before Y/N opened her mouth,

“Oh, w-we’re not partners anymore. Can Tina and I perform instead?”

Santana cocked her head to the side at that new information, seeing Tina nod. They had apparently already planned this out.

“But Tina’s partnered up with Brittany?”

“Yeah, I know, but she doesn’t mind singing twice.”

Mr. Schue rose his eyebrows in confusion. “But we’re with an even number of members so how come you have no partner?”

Rory’s arm slowly went up, “Santana has no partner either.”

“Shut up, leprechaun.”

“I thought that was what you wanted?” Rory mumbled at her but slowly turned back around at the look Santana shot him.

Mr. Schue seemed a bit confused to why the two best friends didn’t seem to want to pair up together. However, that gave him all the more reasons to make them partner up. Maybe whatever was going on between the two would be taken care of that way.

“Santana, Y/N— you’ll be up next week. Alright?”

The two girls shared a glance before Y/N focused back on what Mr. Schue was saying.

✫彡

“Y/N/N, can we meet up after practice? We really need to plan how we want to sing the song if we want to win. You still okay with singing Aguilera?”

Y/N nodded absentmindedly, not really paying any attention to Santana. Because she knew that if she did, she wouldn’t be able to stop looking at the girl. Besides, the love in her eyes would probably not be missed by Santana and she obviously didn’t want her to know.

“Hey?”

“Hm?” Y/N looked up, trying her best to not look into her eyes for too long. But the worry and hurt in them broke Y/N’s act.

“I’m worried about you.” Santana placed her hand on top of Y/N’s, squeezing it.

“Don’t be.” Y/N mumbled out softly, trying to brush things under the carpet.

“Did I do something wrong? Was it the thing with Rory? Or back when-”

“No.” She shook her head, “Don’t worry, okay? You could never do something wrong in my eyes.”

Santana smiled at that.

“Great. So if I’m not the problem, then please tell me why you’ve been so distant with me lately?”

Y/N panicked slightly and racked her brain for anything. “Just... stuff.” She could slap herself for that weak excuse.

“Stuff?” Santana gave her a look, not buying it. “What stuff? Stuff at school? At home? Personal stuff?”

Y/N nodded softly at the last one and looked at her lap.

“Want to talk to me about it?” Santana’s voice was as soft as a feather and barely even audible.

Y/N didn’t look up from her lap and shook her head.

“That’s okay.” Santana scooted closer to her best friend, “Then I’m just going to have to-” But when she was about to wrap her arms around Y/N to comfort her, the girl quickly pushed her away, grabbed her stuff and walked out leaving Santana clueless to what she had done wrong.

✫彡

“I’m telling you, Britt, she ran away like I was some bee circling around her.”

Brittany smiled sympathetically. She could see it really affected Santana.

“Oh, God.” She groaned and held the bridge of her nose. “She’s been like that every time I get close to her, what if it makes her uncomfortable? See?! I should just keep it all to myself, it’s better that way. I haven’t even told her anything yet and she’s already distancing herself from me.”

Brittany sighed loudly, “There you go again— putting two and two together and making six. You worry too much.”

Santana crossed her arms and let out a breathy, sarcastic chuckle, “I worry too much? She’s my best friend— I can’t lose her.”

Brittany’s smile softened, “I know. But you won’t. Sometimes you just have to take the leap and hope that a flying unicorn will scoop you up out of the sky. And I hope Y/N will jump onto its back as well... unless she’s scared of horses...”

Santana smiled at Brittany’s explanation,

“Thanks, Britt.”

✫彡

Santana was talking with Brittany when Y/N walked passed the two, basically making a b-line to the exit of the football fields.

“Okay, this has got to stop.”

Santana rushed after her, Brittany following suit— afraid Santana was going to lose her rag.

“Y/N, stop-” Santana grabbed her wrist, making the girl turn around. “-and fucking explain to me what’s going on? I’m sick of you acting like this.” She waved her hands around.

Y/N pulled her hand back and squinted her eyes as she looked at Santana before walking off again.

“Oh, no no no. Not so fast, lady.” When Santana grabbed her shoulder, Y/N turned around and pushed her off.

Santana widened her eyes at seeing Y/N so on the fence.

“Why can’t you just leave me be? I’ve been trying so hard to ignore you and ignore everything I’ve been cropping up inside but you just keep...on...bugging me!”

Normally, Santana would fire back some witty and fiery reply but she was at a loss for words. She’d never seen Y/N like this.

“I-I’m s-sorry. I’m so-” Y/N immediately excused herself and groaned before kicking the trashcan next to the bleachers, startling both Brittany and Santana.

Santana glanced at Brittany, silently asking her to give them a moment. The blonde nodded and walked back to the other Cheerios.

Santana wasn’t sure what to do or say. She wanted to hug Y/N and hold her hand to comfort her, but would she be pushed away again if she did?

“I haven’t been a good friend to you lately...” Y/N started and looked up into her eyes.

“You can’t always be amazing at everything.” Santana complimented her and smirked softly, trying to lighten the mood. But her face turned serious again when Y/N didn’t seem to appreciate the effort.

“But it’s okay. Let’s acknowledge it for a few seconds and then move on and be like we used to be.” Santana took a measured step closer to the girl.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” The brunette immediately shot back, feeling angry and confused once again. Y/N wrapped her arms around herself and softly looked up into Santana’s eyes, which were filled with hurt and worry.

“I-”

She closed her mouth again, how was she supposed to say that she’d been in love with Santana for weeks now?

“I’ve been really respectful towards this all and I’ve given you time to come to me, but this time we’re not going to walk away before I know what’s up. So, tell me.”

Even while Santana glared at her, Y/N could still feel her insides turn to jelly. Y/N looked at the crinkle between her eyebrows and how she slightly pouted her lips together. Her stare lingered a little on her lips, before she quickly looked back into Santana’s eyes. But upon looking, she noticed that Santana’s gaze was fixated on her own lips.

“T-Tell me now...” Santana cleared her throat and tried to raise her voice again, but it was clear that her mind was elsewhere. She tried to look mad, but Y/N noticed how hard it was for Santana to keep up the tough act.

Their stare lingered for a moment before Y/N turned her back to Santana to walk back into the school. But before she could take a step, Santana’s voice interrupted her.

“I love you.”

Y/N froze.

“And you ignoring me hurts me so damn much. So, please, don’t. I don’t know what I did wrong but I’d really like to know.”

It took Y/N a moment to gain the courage to turn back around but when she did, she saw that Santana was on the verge of tears.

“I hope this won’t make you ignore me even more.” She quickly glanced around the area before wiping away a tear.

“Please say something.”

“Santana...”

She immediately took a few steps back when Y/N approached her.

“No, no- it’s fine-” She waved her off. Y/N closed her eyes, ridding herself of any doubts and insecurities. She opened them again and wasted no time in cupping the girl’s cheeks to place a soft, chaste kiss on her lips.

The two parted, Santana’s face filled with confusion. It wasn’t like they had never kissed before, so what exactly did this kiss mean? Was this just out of pity?

Y/N left her no time to ponder when she attached her lips against Santana’s once more. She put much more pressure into this one, and when Y/N opened her mouth, Santana swore she could feel her heart explode. She quickly grabbed onto Y/N’s neck and kissed back, not wanting to let it go unanswered.

They slowly let go of each other after a few seconds.

“I know I asked you to say something but this was much better.” She blinked her eyes a few times as Y/N let out a breathy chuckle,

“I know, right?”

“Does that...Does that mean-”

“Damn, you don’t catch on very fast, do you?”

Santana rolled her eyes but not without grinning like an idiot. She presented her pinky to Y/N, the other girl locking hers around it as they kept looking at each other, beaming from ear to ear.

✫彡

The band started playing the first tunes of the song on their trumpets. Everyone’s eyes widened and some of the girls cheered at the run Y/N started the song off with. Santana looked at her with the widest smile on her face before starting to dance the little choreography they had come up with it. She was more than proud of Y/N shoving her insecurities to the side and still singing this song. Her voice was perfect for this song, which was mainly why Santana had picked it out, she wanted the girl to shine more.

“I don’t know what you did, boy, but you had it.”

The two faced each other and sang together. Santana smirked while singing.

"That every time I see you everything starts making sense, yeah.”

Everyone clapped when they started singing the chorus. Santana turned towards Y/N at her part, making her take steps back by slightly pushing the girl’s shoulder.

It was clear to everyone that whatever had been happening before, had been solved now. Santana and Y/N seemed at ease around each other again. They acted just like before. Well... not exactly the same, but most of them brushed it off.

Mr. Schue mentally applauded himself for putting the two together. It had clearly resolved their problems. But Brittany knew the real reason of why they had made up. She grinned, enjoying the performance, but also because she was the only one who knew their little secret. It was about time. She had tried to silently drop hints to them that they both liked each other here and there for the longest time. When Santana had returned that afternoon with the biggest smile on her face, Brittany knew enough.

Santana and Y/N grinned their hearts out at each other after ending the song and locked their pinkies behind their backs.

#santana lopez #santana lopez imagine #santana lopez x reader #santana lopez / you #santana lopez one shot #glee #glee imagines #glee x reader #glee one shot #glee imagine #naya rivera #naya rivera imagine #naya rivera imagines #naya rivera x reader

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demonicheadcanons · 4 years ago

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What the Demon Brothers Are Like When Sick

AN: MC is gender-neutral as always. Some of these skirt the line between being platonic and romantic - I wasn’t sure if I wanted to keep things platonic so that more people could enjoy this, or if I should write as if you’re already in a relationship with the brothers, so its a bit of a mess. I hope you enjoy ^^

Lucifer

If you’re not close, you won’t see him. He’s going to hole himself up in his room for a day to get better as quickly as possible. Also he feels like getting ill can be seen as a weakness, so he’d prefer for people not to see him whilst he’s in that state.

He gets sick often enough - he works hard for long hours and doesn’t get much sleep. However he’s also good at just, pretending he isn’t? His focus may be a little off, and he might be quiet or more lenient towards the other brothers because he doesn’t have the energy to scold them for hours on end, but these will be the only signs something isn’t right.

If you are close, he’ll still be wary about letting you know. Again, he doesn’t want to be seen as weak; it’d hurt his pride.

On top of this, he also worries that it might be contagious, and humans are much weaker than demons - if he’s struggling with something, it would absolutely outright kill a human. If its a disease that a human can get, his door is locked and you’re not getting near him no matter what.

Note: he is the only brother other than Satan that even considers this, and so if any of the brothers are sick in a way that could be contagious for humans, it’s him setting boundaries so that you won’t get sick.

When he does trust you enough, he’ll insist on laying with his head in your lap. He’ll tell you that having you run your fingers through his hair helps relieve the headache - it’s partially the truth, at least.

Enjoys being taken care of for once, instead of having to take care of others, but the chances of him admitting it are low. He’s self-sufficient and he doesn’t need anyone to look after him. But it’s still nice, and he’ll completely melt and stop putting up any defence if you kiss him, even if its on the cheek or forehead. He doesn’t feel like he has to fight things that make him happy right now.

Hold a glass of water or a cup of tea up for him and he’ll look straight at you as he sips at it, examining your expression and making sure you’re alright. If you seem to be stressed or upset, he’ll make you leave or cuddle up to him.

Won’t let you do any work for him - he’s a perfectionist and doesn’t trust anyone except Diavolo and maybe Barbatos to work to the same standards as him (*cough* and maybe Satan, if he’s really inspired). However, when he’s recovering and can work again, he’ll ask for your company; you can sit beside him, sit in his lap, even just lay in his bed whilst he works at his desk. Whatever you prefer. All that matters is that he has you nearby.

Will take you out to dinner or shopping as a thank you for helping him.

Mammon

If you’re not close (which, to be honest, would only happen if you don’t like him, because he likes anyone who’s nice to him) then you’ll see him complaining in the group chat and that’s... pretty much it. Sticks to his room until he’s better if he doesn’t feel like you’d take care of him.

If you are close, you can bet he’ll blow up your phone with calls and messages to come look after him for a bit, or to bring him this and that - water, painkillers, blankets, pillows, wipes so he feels less gross. Anything at all that can make him feel better, and that will make you have to stop by his room.

Mostly he just wants someone around because he feels lonely often anyway, but it gets unbearable when he’s ill. Before you were around, he’d push himself to keep going about his day so that he wouldn’t have to be alone.

Run a hand through his hair and help gently wipe his face and he’ll melt. He’s bright red and insistent that he doesn’t need some stupid human’s help, but he’ll shut up quickly if you continue to pat his head or hold his hand.

“Fine. Since you’re so desperate to be around The Great Mammon, I guess I’ll let you stay.” Yeah no, his grip is so tight on your hand that you’re not getting away anyway.

Recovers surprisingly quickly, and doesn’t get sick that often. However, he will insist that he’s better before he actually is, because he gets bored laying about doing nothing - he’s a busy guy, he has money to make and so on. You’ll have to force him to stay in bed for a bit longer even when he’s absolutely sure he’s better, because he really isn’t.

This will stop happening if you give him a lot of attention when he’s sick - he’s a sucker for affection. Cuddle up to him and he’ll stay in bed for as long as you think he should to get better. Honestly it isn’t even fully necessary - he hates seeing you upset or worried, so if you plead for him to take better care of himself he might actually consider trying.

Delirious rambling is common for him. He’ll be half asleep and look up at you and just tell you anything that comes to mind. This is as open as he gets about his feelings, and he might complain to you or tell you about this thing he saw when he was out that kind of reminded him of you, or about that one time when Lucifer did something embarrassing when they were still angels. Despite being too loose-lipped to keep short-term secrets, he’s not a gossip and so this is the only time he’ll tell you about any of the other brother’s personal matters. Please don’t tattle on him - he really was just out of it and didn’t mean to do anything bad.

He cries easily normally, and it gets worse when he’s sick - if you’re watching shows with him whilst he recovers, he’s going to be blubbering over anything even slightly sad or happy. Make sure you have a box of tissues and some treats that won’t make him feel too sick to cheer him up.

He’s going to ask for help with catching up on school work when he’s better, but he’ll repay you in any way you ask him so long as it doesn’t involve much grimm being spent. Maths tutoring is a big one - he hates doing work, but he’s really good at maths canonically. Essentially, if you’ll do his other subjects for him, he’ll do your maths homework for you. You’ll probably end up doing more work, but you get to spend even more time for him if that makes up for anything?

Additional note: Mammon is the only brother who Lucifer will give you time off school to take care of. This is because he knows Mammon won’t want to be alone and will probably stress out so much that he’ll end up worse off. It means he has a way of monitoring Mammon without having to be around him, and he doesn’t have to worry. This won’t be the reason he gives you - he’ll act like its a problem that you’re missing classes and will imply that he’s only just barely allowing it, but will give you permission at the end of the day because “well, it will keep him out of my hair at least.”

Leviathan

Like Mammon, if you’re not close you just won’t hear from him. He can get quite irritable when he’s sick, and holes himself up in his room so he doesn’t have to deal with anyone. Honestly no one will know he’s sick unless he misses school and Lucifer orders someone to check up on him, because nothing much changes except that he messages the group chat less.

He acts a bit like Belphie when he’s sick, and sleeps through most of it cuddled up to his Ruri-Chan body pillow, with TSL on in the background as a grounding comfort.

He doesn’t get sick often. His immune system isn’t the best, because he never goes out. At the same time, because he tends to avoid people anyway, the likelihood of him catching anything is low.

If you are close, not much will be different - you’ll have to seek him out to notice he’s sick, or he’ll tell you in the context of asking you to set a show to record or go to a store for a special promotion involving something he’s interested in. He doesn’t really look for any comfort, but the closer you two are, the more upset he’ll be because now he knows what its like to be close to someone and it makes him miss it.

Won’t initiate anything, but he’s less flustered about physical affection because he’s just so tired. He still blushes when you so much as hug him, but he won’t protest or put himself down, he just holds on as tight as he can manage and nuzzles as close to you as possible. He likes sitting like that for as long as you’re comfortable.

He’s disturbingly quiet compared to when he’s healthy. He can tolerate headaches because he’s used to them from staring at screens constantly, but the second he has a fever or feels nauseous he’s silent. You can try to prompt him but he’ll get out a small amount of info and then just, pout and frown off into the distance because he doesn’t feel good and he hates it. He prefers for you to talk to him at these times, in a calm and level enough voice - especially if you talk about something that you’re very passionate about.

Levi is bad at taking care of himself at the best of times, but when he’s sick he’s surprisingly obedient. If you ask him to drink some water or try and eat something, he will. He needs the reminders but once they’re there he’ll follow them pretty well. Without them he’s going to spend the entire time in his bathtub bed. If he’s really, really sick, he’s going to take out all the pillows and fill it with water and he’ll sleep off the sickness in his demon form with his head underwater. He’ll only do this if left alone, though.

If you sit or lay beside him when he’s laying down, he’ll alternate between holding your hands and playing with them. He’s too tired to be nervous and it really calms him down. If you remind him when he’s better he’s going to turn bright red and stammer out something about how “of course you wouldn’t want a gross otaku like me to hold your hand.” However, the memories, as fuzzy as they may be, make him happy and if you two are napping together even when he’s not sick any more, he’ll still play with your hands once he believes you’re asleep.

Once he’s better, he’ll catch up on schoolwork quickly be himself - he wants to get it out of the way as soon as possible so that he can catch up on all the shows and games he missed. You won’t see him for a day or two as he catches up on everything unless you ask to spend time with him, and he gets really flustered and happy because you already spent a lot of time together and you still want to be around him?

Overall, he’s pretty self-sufficient compared to most of the other brothers, because he’s used to spending time by himself and being sick doesn’t completely uproot his life. Alongside Lucifer, he’s also the most likely to get you a gift to thank you for sticking by him. If you were looking for anything, he’ll have ordered it before starting to catch up on his school work.

Note: He’s silent almost the entire time he’s sick, but at least once a day for as long as it lasts he’ll open his eyes and stare up at you and groggily mumble about if you could please feed Henry, the fish flakes are over on his desk, thanks. Also, you’ll hear him all you by your actual name the most when he’s sick because he forgets to call you a normie.

Satan

If you’re not close, like with the others you really just won’t hear from him. He’s going to be following whatever advice he found in books to get better as quickly as possible, or he’ll buy a potion if there’s one that will help. If nothing is helping, he’s going to be confined to his room because he’s in a constant bad mood and doesn’t have a good handle on his anger.

Even if you are close, he’ll ask to be left alone whilst he’s recovering because he knows he might snap and say or do something that he’ll regret. The only time he’ll willingly let you be around him is if he knows he isn’t contagious, and if he’s too weak to do anything. Its a rarity like no other, because it involves so much trust in both you and himself. If you force yourself into his room and insist on taking care of him anyway, he’s not going to say a word because he’ll be too focused on keeping himself under control.

He essentially becomes like a cat that is constantly fighting the urge to claw at your hands. Be slow and gentle around him, and keep your voice low. If you can get close enough to pat his head or let him curl up with his head in your lap, then you’re safe. However, if you’re loud or knock over his books he will quite literally growl at you, teeth-bared, and you’re going to want to get out of the room as soon as possible.

Once you manage to get close to him, keep a hand on his head and read quietly to him and he’ll pass out pretty quickly. He prefers for you to read fairy tales at times like this over anything else.

If you’re like this and another brother is loud outside of the room or bursts into the room he’s going to be furious. He’ll grip your wrist - possibly tight enough that it’ll leave a faint bruise - to keep you in place and glare at them until they back off, or just glare at the door until the noise stops. You’re pretty much trapped with him unless you can somehow figure out how to get up without waking him up, and if he wakes up and you’re gone you’re going to be hard-pressed trying to get him to let you get close again.

He’s going to be embarrassed once he recovers, and it really is best just to not bring any of it up again. After the first time he gets sick, he will seek you out if you were able to get close and you took good care of him - he’ll text you to bring water and painkillers to his room because he’s sick, and after that he’ll ask you to read to him again. He seems more normal each time, but make no mistake - if anyone else tries to be around him they won’t get away unscathed.

Satan really goes from one of the most reasonable brothers to acting very much like a demon, or like some kind of animal fighting to appear human.

When he’s better, he’ll thank you for helping him. If you don’t seem to be scared of him even after seeing him in that state, he’ll stick a little closer to you in future. He doesn’t try to repay you in any specific way, but he will help you out in little ways over time. If you don’t help him whilst he’s sick, he’s going to be understanding, but if you decided to help him and then ended up afraid of him he’ll be frustrated because he warned you and you ignored it.

Asmodeus

Unless you really seem to not like him, he’s going to act similar whether you two are close or not; he’s complaining in the groupchat about being sick and about how awful his screen feels right now and so on. This will continue until you either take it upon yourself to go take care of him, or Lucifer sets up a rota where everyone has to go spend some time with him so Asmo will stop blowing up his phone.

Asmo doesn’t seem to change much when he’s sick, but he’ll have moments where he lays quietly and stares up at the ceiling because he’s overthinking something or he feels alone and hates it. He needs to be distracted constantly - paint his nails, or help him wash and moisturise his face, or tell him whatever silly stuff his brothers have been up to lately and he’ll brighten up a bit.

If he’s sweaty or feels like he looks even slightly less beautiful than normal, he’ll try to hide his face beneath a pillow at times because if you’re going to think about him, he’d rather not have you remember what he looks like right now, even if he’s still the most attractive person in the three realms. Enough compliments will draw him out but he may make a few inappropriate remarks in response.

Overall he acts similar to how he normally is, with a little more complaining and a slight cut down on his more suggestive comments. He’ll want to be pampered and taken care of and will make his wants known, but once you’re there with him he’s able to stay calm about the entire thing unless it goes on for too long and he feels like it’s going to take time and effort to get himself looking as good as he usually does again.

If you’re very close, and he’s realising that he has genuine feelings, then he’s going to have brief periods where he’s vert soft with you - he’ll ask you to lay down beside him and he’ll hold your face in his hands and whisper to you, being honest about how he feels and telling you what he likes about you, and asking you questions about yourself and about how you feel about him. He gets a little teary-eyed at these times because he’s really happy that you’re there with him even when he’s not in top shape.

The absolutely worst with food when he’s sick. He’s picky and he’ll turn his nose up at almost everything. If it has a smell it’s making him nauseous, but if it doesn’t have any taste at all he’s going to refuse to eat it because if he wanted his food to be bland he’d go ask Solomon to cook for him. Asmo is most at risk of making himself more sick by only eating sweeter foods because they’re all he can tolerate.

He’s a healthy person generally - he takes good care of himself, it’s a huge priority of his. He doesn’t get sick often but he takes longer to recover than most of the other brothers, and it really frustrates him.

Overall, just stay close to him and help him take care of himself in whatever way you can and he’ll be alright. This is probably the safest time to be around him, because he’s not in the mood to try anything when one of the participating parties is sick, whether it be you or him. When he gets better, though, he’s going to be very suggestive for a while because he insists he’s running on a deficit and needs attention.

He won’t necessarily reward you or thank you directly for helping him - I mean, you got to spend all that extra time around him, and that was a treat in and of itself even if he was sick the entire time - but he’ll invite you over for face masks and will paint your nails and offer to give you a nice massage. Essentially, whatever you’re down to do, he’s also down for once he’s better and is able to have a nice bath and fully wash away all traces of the illness.

Beelzebub

If you’re not close, you’ll know he’s sick because there’s suddenly a lot more food around than there was before with him not around to eat it, and Belphie is complaining about how his stomach hurts because Beel is sick. Beel, himself, will stick to only complaining to Belphie in their room, or he’ll ask Lucifer to find a way to help him feel better. Whilst doctors will be called for all brothers if their condition seems serious, its incredibly likely that one will be called for Beel immediately no matter what.

If you are close, you’re going to be stuck by his side the entire time he’s unwell unless you really have something to do and Belphie agrees to spend the time with Beel instead. He really doesn’t want to be alone, and he’ll cling to anyone who comes near him. If you’re uncomfortable with physical affection you’d be best avoiding him whilst he’s sick.

Otherwise, Beel will wrap you up in his arms and cuddle with you, holding you as close as he can. He’s going to be wary of not hurting you, and he’s essentially a furnace when he’s not well so he’ll release his grip slightly if you seem to be overheating (Belphie sets up a fan so it stops being as much of a problem, thankfully). If he’s really sick and can’t focus, you’ll have to remind him if he’s holding you too tight or you’re starting to overheat because he won’t stop himself from holding you as close as physically possible and essentially wrapping himself around you like a koala bear.

Beel isn’t one for words irregardless of how he’s feeling, but you can hear him making a quiet whining noise in his throat every now and then if you listen carefully - when he’s really distressed, the sound is near constant and sounds like flies buzzing. Being sick is one of the worst things ever to him, and he can never get used to it because it’s such an uncommon state for him. He’s a healthy guy generally, as he’s sporty and active and takes good care of himself. He’s usually fairly immune to most illnesses.

Nothing really makes him feel that much better except for you to stay close by. He appreciates small gestures - gentle kisses on his cheeks or hands, words of comfort, and humming to him will calm him down enough that he might be able to sleep it off.

One good day of rest and he’ll be back on his feet, better than ever and ready to eat everything in the kitchen. If you cook for him or with him? He’s in love. Even if you don’t, he’s still going to insist that he has at least one arm around you at all times, and if you’re comfortable with it he’ll probably take to carrying you around with him half the time when he’s recovering - its his own way of saying thank you and that he appreciates what you do for him.

He won’t do anything special otherwise to thank you. However, because he and Belphie both tend to get sick at the same time, if you tend to both of them he’ll definitely try to repay you in some way. Usually this just involves giving you some kind of snack when he’s filling up again. If he knows there’s something you really like to eat, he’ll sneak out when you’re sleeping and get some for the two of you, as well as something for Belphie.

Belphegor

If you’re not close you’ll still know he’s sick because he’ll be trying to help Beel feel better first before he focuses on himself, and he’ll be grumbling the whole time. He’s angry and he’s not going to put up with anything, and the second Beel’s asleep he’s not leaving their room, or he’s locking himself up in the attic and sleeping until he’s better. No one except Beel and Lucifer dares to go near him when he’s like this - even then, Lucifer only checks up on him if he really needs something, or to make sure Belphie is okay because he’s the youngest brother and Luci very occasionally babies him.

If you are close, much like Beel you’re going to have to avoid him if you don’t want to spend the next few days cuddled up with him. He tends to be sick for longer, and if you’re not careful he’ll try to get you to spend the entire time in the attic, wrapped up in his arms.

He’s the only one who will end up in his demon form for the majority of the time he’s ill even if you’re around, for a variety of reasons; he doesn’t have the energy to maintain his more human-like form, he’s too frustrated and doesn’t care enough, etc. Also he finds it comforting to wrap his tail around you in some way if you’re okay with it so you won’t leave when he’s napping.

Belphie won’t admit to it, but the worst thing you can do when he’s sick is leave and not be back before he wakes up. Similarly to Satan, it upsets him to the point where he’ll get angry and refuse to let you back into the room, but he can be convinced fairly easily or bribed with the offer of letting him sleep with his head in your lap, with you running your hands through his hair.

As mentioned before for Beel, the two often get sick at the same time. Belphegor will be less clingy if you’re also taking care of Beel, and ten times more grateful. He won’t let you go for anything, but the second you mention that you need to check up on Beel too he’s already released his grip and he’s grumbling about how you better come back as soon as possible.

When he gets better, he doesn’t really see a need to thank you or anything - not because he’s ungrateful, but because you two are close and he’d take care of you if you were sick too. He sees it as a normal and expected thing. If he was snappy with you, he’ll apologise indirectly, but otherwise he doesn’t say anything about it. If you did end up taking care of both him and Beel he’ll pat you on the head and probably offer to let you rest with your head in his lap for once.

AN: Thanks for reading! If its highly requested I’ll do this for the Undateables too. In the meantime, I plan to write about how the brothers take care of MC when they’re sick.

#om headcanons #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #my writing #i hope the read more appears okay so that people can tell there's more than just luci's ;u;

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angelofthebau · 4 years ago

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Your Majesty [Part One of Three]

Aaron Hotchner x Female OC/Reader

Word Count: 3204

This town is full of gangs, it always has been, but one woman is in charge of them all. When the BAU team are called onto a dangerous poisoning case, the PD captain tries to reject their help. But the team aren’t leaving, and they’re going to be dragged into a bizarre town with a interesting queen who seems to have taken a shine to the BAU Chief.

Angel Note: I already began this story using smaller parts, but the second part somehow got deleted (thanks Tumblr). So I’ve rewrote it. I am still taking my Tumblr break, but this was a request that I really wanted to do.

Jet briefings were always the worst. They meant that time was of the essence, an unsub desperately unravelling further at each moment, but the case that the BAU were about to be thrown into was far more complex and dark than they could have initially thought. True, it was already dark enough - as Penelope Garcia explained over the video feed from back in her ‘cave’ in Quantico - three children and two teenagers dying of mysterious causes, all in quick succession, with no link between them available to see at the local PD’s surface view.

‘Eight year old Susanna Rose, six year old Jaxon King, eleven year old Jessica Baker, sixteen year old Michael Barren and nineteen year old Austin Rivers. All lived in different parts of town, Susanna and Jaxon went to the same school, Jessica went to a different school just outside of town. Austin worked at a gas station and she still lived with her parents, and Michael was in high-school with no job,’

Going back and forth over the case file, agents Prentiss, Jareau, Rossi, Morgan, Hotchner and Dr Reid threw around possible links and early theories. The possibility of an unknown disease was thrown out by the local PD, due to none of the family members from the victims’ households becoming sick. An interesting toxicology report on Susanna, Jaxon and Jessica found an unusual concoction of substances within their system. The ME was still finishing their report on Austin and Michael, but they were betting the same mixture would show up too. A lethal, rare compound of chemicals that created havoc on the human nervous system and causing the body to attack itself, eventually shutting down completely. A poison.

“We’re landing,” Hotch interrupted the conversation, hushing it to a silence as the plane descended.

“Detective Mills, it’s a pleasure to have you here,” Mills greeted the two agents with an outstretched hand as they walked into the precinct. He was met with a firm handshake from the BAU chief.

From the back of the precinct, Captain Halloway happened to glance up from the case file, catching the end of Mills’ handshake with a stranger. A suit. Tailored. Serious. FEDs.

“SSA Hotchner and Jareau,” Hotch spoke lowly, accepting the formality. “The rest of my team are with the ME and the latest victims’ family,”

“Mills,” Halloway bellowed, striding over to his detective and the two FEDs, a scornful look plastered on his features.

Mills flinched as the Captain stopped beside him, facing the agents.

“Captain Halloway,” He introduced himself. “I’m sorry, Agents. We have this case handled,” Halloway spoke sternly, before turning towards Mills. “What did I tell you about calling the god-damned FBI?”

Mills’ mouth fluttered open and closed, like a fish, as Halloway stared him down.

“Sir, with due respect, this case is incredibly time-sensitive and my team has agreed to be at your disposal,” Hotch interrupted, sensing the tension.

“This is still your case, we are just here as a resource to stop more people from being killed,” Jareau soothed.

“No-one else is going to be killed, agents. Apologies for your wasted journey, but things are under control here,”

“Captain, how can you be sure that you have this handled?” Hotch questioned, his arms crossed against his chest, his face smouldering.

“Agents, you don’t know this town. I can assure you, this is being taken care of,”

“Why is there information missing from your case file? Surely, if this case is being taken care of, then you have a suspect, or a lead, or something more than what’s in this file,”

JJ held up the dull, thin file. Halloway took a sharp intake of breath, staring up at the ceiling to compose himself for a second.

“Please, Agents. Go home,” He mumbled, trying to sound as authoritative as possible, but he knew he was in a difficult territory. The FEDs would never back off from a case like this and the precinct truly had no leads or suspects as such. Halloway had a secret weapon as such - not enlisted by him, but someone that he knew would put an end to the killings. Someone who was better at catching a killer in this town than the cops were.

JJ and Hotch stood still, showing no signs of moving at all, and bore a glare into Halloway.

Halloway shot a scowl towards Mills. Mills shrank into himself further.

“Do you want to start a fight with the Queen?” Halloway spat at Mills.

♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔

“So, what’s with the Queen business?” Rossi asked as soon as he entered the conference room that Halloway had reluctantly given the BAU, Prentiss following behind. Morgan and Reid were already in the room, relaying information from the ME report to Hotch and JJ.

Hotch looked up from his casefile.

“Something’s not right about the case,”

“Mills clammed up as soon as Halloway got close to him. Something’s happening, but we’re not sure what yet,” JJ added.

“Corrupt cop maybe?” Prentiss offered, but Hotch shook his head.

“He’s allowing us to stay on the case. Why would a corrupt cop do that?”

“To avoid suspicion?”

“But who’s the Queen?”

Halloway opened the conference room door, just catching Reid’s question as he entered. The agents became silent, watching his every move. He exhaled loudly, shutting the door behind him. He drew the blinds in the conference room and flicked on the huge screen at the back of the room, remote in hand.

“This town is gang territory. It has been for years, most of our cases were rival gangs fighting over turf. Usually open shut investigations, until five years ago,” He began. He pressed a button on the remote, illuminating the screen with three group photographs, with each photograph titled by gang name.

“There are more gangs, but these three are the main groups that run in this town. Caana, Arc and Silver. Caana…”

Halloway clicked the button again, showing a collage of photos of at least twelve different people, some mugshots - some candid.

“They’re the oldest. Dating back to before this town was really a town. Drug smugglers mostly, forever thinking they’re a cartel but they’re just drinkers and fighters now, with the occasional pill selling,”

He switched the screen again, showing another collage. Only five people, all candid shots.

“Arc are clever bastards. Own half of the town, cooked their books, ran an on-ground black market operation. We’ve always been two steps behind them, and they’re in and out of the town regularly,”

“Past tense?” Reid wrinkled his nose. Halloway nodded.

“They’ve never been tied to any of our old cases themselves, but Arc get the blame for most of Caana’s fighting with…”

The next screen was a huge collage, over thirty different people. Only one mugshot.

“Silver. Silver are the worst. These guys are into everything. Half of them came from The Silk Road collapse, huge dark net presence. We suspect some hitmen run with them too,”

“Why was the government never notified of these gangs?” Morgan asked, chewing on the end of his pen. Halloway shook his head.

“Five years ago, our cases slowed. Calls about Caana’s bar-fights stopped. Arc’s name stopped being mentioned. Most of the members of Silver seemed to drop from the face of the earth. The black market stopped - everything just seemed to halt. We found out that there was a hierarchy controlling all three of these gangs, keeping them out of trouble with the law and calming down their rivalries. The gangs started keeping to themselves, Arc even improved the community significantly. We knew they wouldn’t just stop their activities, another group had to be controlling them and covering them all up. But the town became more peaceful and we hadn’t had a homicide case hit our desks until now,”

“So which group was overseeing them all?” Hotch asked.

“Not a group. One woman,”

“The Queen?”

“A few gang members from Caana mentioned ‘Queen’ if we ever spoke to them. It was always ‘Queen will handle it’ or ‘Queen will punish’. Almost biblical, in a sense,”

Halloway clicked to the final slide. There was only one photo, it was candid but the woman’s features were clear enough.

“Elizabeth Tatiana Leighton. Known as Tate Leighton. We ran into her three years ago…I ran into her three years ago. She’s the Queen. She runs all three gangs. She stopped the rivalries, she oversees every single thing that the gangs do. I have no idea what she holds over them, she has no one else by her side, but she controls every member. She’s ruthless,” Halloway paused to look at the photograph, a ghost of a smile flickering in his face. “But, in a way, she’s on our side. The activity from the gangs went cold years ago, no-one knows what they’re doing now or if they’re even operating anything anymore. There’s only been one altercation since she took control. From what I heard, the members involved in the feud were scared onto the straight and narrow by her,”

“So you can’t track anything to her?” Prentiss asked. She was almost in awe of Tate.

“No. A note was on my desk a few days ago, just before the first body was found,”

Whilst Halloway dug into his pocket, searching for the note, Hotch stared at the screen. He memorized Tate’s face, noticing the youth in her features. She must have been only twenty-something. He wondered how she got into this business, and how she controlled so many people.

“It is under my control. Accept my grave condolences to the families of the victims. I do not tolerate killing of innocents, especially children. I am taking care of this. Do not follow this up. I will give you my word when everything is clear. I will pay for the victims to be remembered. Signed, Majesty,” Halloway read. The team were stunned silent for a moment.

“So, we have a young woman in control of three dangerous gangs. She has morals and a rule-book,” Rossi commented.

“The issue is, we can’t leave this case alone,” Morgan sighed.

“Why not?” Halloway asked in worry.

“I have a feeling that this woman is going to take an eye for an eye to whoever is responsible for this,”

Mills bounded into the room. He stopped for a brief second, lingering beside the door as he noticed Tate’s photo on the board, before quickly snapping out his gaze.

“There’s a call about another body,” Mills burst out. Halloway nodded to the team as they all stood up from the chairs.

“I won’t lie, I’m uncomfortable, but I’m glad to have you here,” Halloway muttered to the room. The agents shot a glance at him, before leaving the conference room.

Tate was the first to find the body. She hadn’t heard from Olen in a few hours and now his body lay on the beach, next to Caana’s old smuggling cove, unused as a passage for the last decade, in bad shape. She kept her distance from the body, but spent a minute in silence. Olen was a good man. She respected him immensely - he was intelligent and cunning, but understood Tate’s viewpoint in life and supported her from the moment she took over the lowers.

When Deacon had come to her only a couple of hours ago with news of an FBI presence, Tate had already set a plan in motion. Her most trusted lowers were assigned to tail the agents, ordered to stay in pairs for their own safety. She only wanted to know what they agents knew, purely to aid her own investigation. Before Deacon had left to begin his assignment, he’d handed her a file, filled with pictures and information on the FBI agents working on the case. She’d spent a good half hour memorising their names, their faces, their accomplishments - trying to find any weaknesses to play with in case the agents turned on her.

In a way, she wished that she could share information with the law. The poison was called Keltrox, which Silver had acquired from a known gang contact. They’d given it to Tate in order for her to analyse it and create a cure. With the business that her lowers got up to, they pissed a lot of people off - Keltrox was a hot new thing on the market, according to Silver, with a high chance that someone seeking revenge on one of her lowers would use it.

Sadly, knowing where the Keltrox came from couldn’t narrow Tate’s search, as any of the gang members could have gotten their greasy hands on it - not just Silver. Hell, maybe even the drunkest in Caana had a stash somewhere.

Tate’s blood began to boil the longer she stared at Olen’s lifeless body. The kill felt personal, as if Tate had been poisoned herself. Innocent people dead, and now one of her most loyal lowers. It was a message, and Tate could hear it loud and clear.

The agents hadn’t been to the beach according to her hourly reports. Olen wouldn’t have been at the beach unless he had good reason to slip away from his assignment. The killer had to be one of the most trustworthy lowers to pull something like this. Her most loyal lowers knew that Tate would be at the beach, in this very spot, if she was unable to be found anywhere else. It was the beach that she washed up on years ago, on a tiny lifeboat she’d managed to get onto when Alzena began to fail and wreck. The moment that she’d found the freedom that she’d been looking for was completely within this spot - now, there was Olen’s corpse.

His eyes were still open. She badly wanted to close them, to sprinkle sand over them, to keep his vision away from what would happen now. But even Tate knew that the FBI would find something more within Olen’s corpse, and her compulsion would ruin that chance. She didn’t want to lead them down the wrong path.

“The call said the body was next to Caana’s cove, it should be just over this hill,”

Halloway’s voice sent Tate running into a dip in the rocks of the cove, poking her head above to see two agents accompanying Halloway towards Olen’s body. She ducked back down as they drew closer to her, cursing her sandy footprints that she’d left behind. After a few seconds, she ducked her head back up, recognizing the agents as Prentiss and Hotchner. They talked for a little while, their conversation indistinguishable to Tate, until Prentiss left the beach with Halloway. Hotchner stayed, seemingly staring at the ground until his face turned towards Tate’s direction.

He’d clocked the footsteps.

He raised his head, locking eyes with Tate immediately. His hand automatically grabbed onto his gun holster, but Tate stood up fully, hands above her head. Hotch relaxed his grip.

“Tate Leighton,” He addressed her, but Tate shook her head.

“Close his eyes please, Agent Hotchner,”

Hotch stared at her for a brief moment, then silently leaned towards the body, gently brushing Olen’s eyes closed. Within those seconds that he turned away, Tate had taken off, vanishing as he turned back to look at her.

He stayed on the beach for a minute or so, dissecting his encounter with the Queen herself. She looked even younger than she did in the photo that Halloway had shown him. She knew his name. They were being watched.

What he never expected was her empathy. They painted her to be ruthless and uncaring, almost numb. He didn’t believe that her request to him was a plan to get away, but instead a compulsion of emotion, compassion.

He made his way back towards the car, meeting up with Prentiss and Halloway.

“Did you find anything else?” Prentiss asked, opening the back car door.

“Tate Leighton,” Hotch spoke lowly, settling himself into the driver’s seat of the SUV.

“The Queen was there?” Halloway burst out.

“She was there before us, there were footprints from the body to where she was hiding,”

“Is she a suspect?” Prentiss asked, and Hotch shook his head as he started the car engine.

“I don’t think so. She asked me to close the victim’s eyes, and then she left.”

“Huh,” Prentiss thought aloud.

“She knew my name. She’s watching us,”

Hotch began to drive back to the precinct. At a red light, just before the turn for the precinct, he glanced out of his window. Tate stood there on the sidewalk, watching him.

“Thank you.” She mouthed to him.

As quickly as she appeared, Tate left, losing herself in the small straggle of people on the sidewalk, making her way back to the beach. She called her lowers, checking on their status. They’d heard the news about Olen by now, but were sticking to their assignments. Deacon and Clarke followed the agents to the beach, seeing Olen’s body, and they’d noticed her on the sidewalk, but said nothing about her encounter with Agent Hotchner. It wasn’t their place to ask her. Deacon was slightly worried about what he’d seen, though. He didn’t like his Queen getting involved with law enforcement, let alone the FBI. What he’d seen on the sidewalk - the way she’d gone back to the car to say thank you to Agent Hotchner...it made him feel a little sick.

Meanwhile, back at the precinct, the team felt like they were hitting dead end after dead end. Sadly, Tate’s work meant that most of the gang’s activities were covered up to the maximum, even Garcia was having a hard time finding out any recent information, and Tate was a ghost in the system. No information could be found on her regarding the last ten years, almost like she vanished during her teens, only to resurface on the beach following a shipwreck five years later, somehow becoming the leader of three gangs in a small, dangerous town. Hotch’s mind replayed Tate’s behaviour over and over again, trying to dissect it further than he already had, but he never found anything new.

“That’s weird,” Garcia’s voice interrupted Hotch’s thoughts and the team’s conversation over the phone speaker.

“Whatcha got, baby girl?” Morgan answered.

“When I was digging into the Queen, one of the things I found was that the boat that she was on when she was at sea was called Alzena - you know, before it was hit by a bad sea storm and she ended up sailing on the lifeboat,”

“And?”

“Now, here’s the thing, I was tracking packages into the town to see if anything suspicious had been reported and nothing had - however, there was a package that was sent about a month ago and the address it was sent to was an abandoned building, so it was sent to the posting office because it couldn’t be delivered. No-one went to pick it up from the office and that package was reported missing four days ago by staff,”

“That could have been the poison,” Prentiss said, looking to the team.

“Guys, the name on the package was Alzena Smith,”

Prentiss shot a look at Hotch.

“We need to bring in Tate Leighton,” He declared, rising from the chair to find Halloway.

♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔♔

Angel List:

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@psych0crybaby

@mortallythoughtfulgurl

@arganfics

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@ellvswriting-deactivated2021010

@pumpkin-goob

@xessx

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@ptrs-prkrs

@passionatelyacademic

@averyhotchner

@rousethemouse

@whoreforhotch

@baumarvel

@iconicc

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zuffer-weird-girl · 4 years ago

Note

kindergarten AU!!!!!! kai wears a plague doctor costume for halloween, kinda a continuation for that cute little drawings!!!!!!!

Those cute, amazing PERFECT drawings belong to the artist @thewhitequeen2001

They did already so many drawings of Kai that tugged on my heart to the point my face was like Midoriya's squeeze on U.A festival.

"Aahh, is a rare sign seing Chisaki blush but look at that." Pops commented as Kurono snickered, not even caring about the death glare the other boy was giving to him.

Although the threat on his eyes was empty due to the scarlet red on the Poor's boy cheeks.

Pops chuckled before noticing Kai was about to leave the room until he dropped his hand on the top of the boy's head, making him grunt and look up at him with narrowed yes.

"Fine kid. At least be honest next time, if it is about to impress your little friend then just say it."

"Tch. As if." He rolled his eyes before growling when Pops messed up his hair and told him to change so they could go. Kurono looking at him with a smirk until he snapped his gaze at him with an annoyed look "What?"

"You got a crush on (Y/n)-chan~" he almost singed as Kai blushed even more and growled at the white haired boy.

"Shut up blockhead before I kill you."

"You wouldn't." The boy chuckled again but this time with a hint of nervousness on his voice.

"Try me." Chisaki lifted his hand up for good measure before Pops coughed to get his attention.

"I thought you wanted to get this costume? If we dont go now then-" he didn't even finished talking before Kai widened his eyes lightly and rushed upstairs, leaving Kurono and Pops to blink at the scene.

"... Can I get a devil's costume too Pops?" The elder chuckled at the white haired boy comment before nodding and montioning for him to get changed as well.

"Only that kid?" He holded the horns and the trident on his hand as Kirono nodded with a smile.

"Dont need that much."

"Well, that's a good thing." He sighed with a smile before looking at the dark brow haired boy looking around "But Chisaki isn't done so I guess we will take a while."

"That's because he wants to impress (Y/n)-chan!" He laughed and winced when Kai shouted back a "shut up".

Golden eyes suddenly widened when he found a beak mask along with a top head, slidding his fingers through and grabbing to bring close to his eyes.

A mask huh... he could both wear this to show you and protect himself from any diseases... maybe even quirks?

He furrowed his eyebrows before looking at some cape and a walking stick with a golden crow on the tip.

Perfect. This surely would impress you.

He grabbed on the things one by one and carefully carried them, he didn't want it to drop it, for Pops to see. When grey eyes found what he had on his arms he grabbed on the things amd looked at the price tags, wincing at what cost would it give to him.

"Too expensive?" He asked in hesitation and saw Pops furrowing his eyebrows while looking at him, doing a more or less signal...

It was for the very first time for Pops to see Kai with actual sadness on his eyes despite the expression on the boy's face didn't changed a bit. The kid sighed and took all what he took and looked at pops.

"I understand. Forget about it Pops. Sorry for bothering you."

After having a daughter and so many years he lived he swore to God that he never actually felt his mafius heart break at some simple sentence and apology of a child.

"Nonsense kid." He dropped one of his hand on Kai's head as soon as he went to put it back the costume as the boy looked at him with one eyebrow up.

"Huh?"

"Cmon. Is not everyday that you act like a normal child anyway." The elder chuckled and kneeled down to mess with Kai's hair and took the things out of his arms as Chisaki's golden eyes seemed even to shine at the action before he opened his mouth and closed a bit.

"What is it Chisaki?"

"..Thank you Pops. Thank you a lot." He spoke nonchantly but Pops saw the genuine happiness and adoration on the boy's eyes as he chuckled and went to the cashier.

"Owwww acting like a normal child." Kurono chuckled before wincing when Kai slapped the back of his head.

"Dont test your luck idiot." He growled while crossing his arms as Kurono pouted while rubbing the sore area.

"This things is itchy." He rubbed his arm while his other hand kept a hold on the mask and his walking stick as he walked alongsides Kurono.

"Think you can actually tolerate for most of the night?" The white haired boy asked as Kai went to answer before the sorce of the motive of his costume voice called.

"Kai-kun; Kurono-kun you noth actually came!" You squealed happily as Kurono saluted as Kai blinked before going to put on his mask.

Not because he wanted to hide his blush, pfff as if!

"Kai!" You cooed as he frozed "You actually came in a plague doctor costume! You look so cute on it!"

He tsked and looked away from you, he could feel it his blush starting to reach the tip of his ears

"You should have seen him." Kurono giggled "He was so desperate to get this exact costume just because you said it!"

The ground could swallow him while now...

"Really?" You giggled as Kai sighed and punched the back of his friend's head.

"What's with you hitting me all the time?!"

"I'm older. You're a idiot. You are annoying. These are enough reasons for you?" He growled as the boys changed glares before you separated them.

"Cmon is Hallowen why are you two fighting on the first place?" You pouted at Kai as he tsked again.

"Let's just get this done already." He mumbled while taking your hand on his gloved one and putting his mask on while dragging you. Ignoring the pouding of his heart and Kurono's smirk at his direction.

#chisaki kai x reader #bnha imagine #overhaul #chisaki kai #bnha x reader #bnha characters #bnha villains #bnha villains x reader #kai chisaki x reader #kid kai #zuffer writings

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nahimjustaworm · 4 years ago

Text

These Hands Can’t Hold His Heart

BakuDeku Fanfic

By WorminaWall on AO3

30k

9 Chapters - Completed

Angst | Pining | Time Skips | Eventual Happy Ending

Rated M

Chapter One

Bakugou is no stranger to pain.

Given his Quirk, pain is a part of his DNA. His climb to the top of his third year class has come with plenty of scrapes and bruises and he’s familiar with hurting other people. Pain, in varying degrees, from varying people, has been part of his life since he was a child. He likes to think that he’s pretty good at tolerating it. He’s not some fucking crybaby who can’t take a punch. He can handle it, and he can hide it. He’s gotten good at hiding it- years of practice helps with that- so much so that he sometimes forgets he feels pain at all.

Sometimes, though, that pain bubbles up in unexpected moments and knocks him off guard. It’s not like any pain he’s ever experienced before, but he’s familiar with it. It doesn’t come in the form of a punch, or a blast, or anything of the sort. Its weapon is shy laughs, determined eyes, freckled cheeks and crooked fingers. A sideways glance. A voice saying a name he has no right being called anymore. The pain of this doesn’t cut him like a knife, it’s not sharp and quick, it emerges from inside his chest, an innate part of him, squeezing his insides until he feels like he can’t breathe. Sometimes it only lasts for a moment, once the glance has been broken, or the freckles turn away. Sometimes it lasts into the night, where he’s laying on his bed, curled up on his side, clutching around his body like he wants to crush that dull ache out of him or help it finish him off.

Bakugou is no stranger to pain.

He doesn’t know if it’s easier now- nearly three years of living in close proximity, two years of them sorting their shit out, one year of a mutual pact to try being “friends” again. The verdict is out on whether or not he prefers this to their constant fights and outward intolerance of each other. It’s taken them what seems like a lifetime to go back to being able to stand next to each other without starting an argument.

There are times where he thinks he preferred the way it was. The times when Deku smiles after Katsuki says something funny, or when he’s the first person the other tells when he’s figured out a new move, or when his shoulder brushes up against his own when they’re sitting on the couch.

There are also times where he’s convinced that what they are now is better. The times when Deku’s smile makes his eyes crinkle after he says something funny, or how excited he gets when he tells him he’s figured out a new move, or when his shoulder brushes up against his own when they’re sitting on the couch.

Hate is an easier emotion to fake than love is to feel.

-----

Everything is going fine until it’s not. Katsuki’s been hiding the pain that has buried its roots inside him for years, but he’s forgotten that pain like this is a disease and other people carry it too. Hell, he’s the one that sowed it.

Moments of weakness unearth buried memories- trauma reveals trauma. They’re only a few months into being Pro-Heroes, and after everything that’s happened to them, they forget that this world is still new to them. They forget until one day Deku’s staring frozen at the spot where a living, breathing human just was two seconds ago and now they’re not. Katsuki’s not there to see it happen- he works in a different district- but he hears the news report about civilian casualties where Deku is and knows that the other is not okay.

Deku comes stumbling into his apartment later that night, uniform still on, gore and dust still covering him.

“What the hell, Deku?” He says, the usual heat not there in his voice. He stands up, ready to force the other to go home and take a damn shower, when the look in those green eyes locks him in place. They’re unfocused, unseeing, haunted. He’s never seen them look like that before.

“You should have let me do it,” he mumbles, voice hoarse. Katsuki winces slightly at the sound of it.

“Do what, what are you talking-”

“The roof. You should’ve let me jump.” Katsuki’s blood runs cold. He’s buried that memory so far inside him that the feeling of it resurfacing is enough to knock the wind out of him. Words he never meant to say ringing inside his head again.

“Why’re you bringing that up now?” He asks, voice weaker than he’s heard it in a long time. They’ve put a lot of things behind them, an unspoken agreement when they decided they’d try being friends again. Ever since that day, they hadn’t talked about it.

“How can I call myself a hero if I let that happen to that woman. How can I ever be worthy of All Might’s power when I can’t even save someone right in front of me?!” He’s looking up at him now, frantic, like a wounded animal. He’s clutching his chest so tightly that Bakugou can practically feel the bite of Deku’s nails on his own skin. “You shouldn’t have ever saved me- I’m not the hero that All Might thought I was! You were right, why did you have to-”

Izuku’s cut short when Katsuki yanks him into a crushing hug.

“Don’t fucking say that.” He hears Izuku inhale a shaking breath to protest, but continues. “You’re only human, not even All Might could save everyone every single time.”

“One for All was wasted on me.” He grips onto the back of Katsuki’s shirt as his tears flow freely. “I’m worthless.”

His voice is so small, like they’re back in middle school again. He hates it, it’s like a slap to the face, a testament to the person he was, the person that planted the seed of doubt inside his childhood friend’s head and tended to it so carefully and meticulously until it blossomed into something ugly.

“This isn’t your fault. It happens to every Pro.”

“I’m not just any person, Kacchan! I’m his successor, I’m supposed to save everyone, how can anyone believe in me if I’ve fucked up this fast!” He’s practically screaming, but it’s muffled by Katsuki’s shirt.

“There wasn’t anything you could do- no, shut up. I know people say that when they’re tryin’ to bullshit you, but I'm not a fucking liar. I saw the footage, you were hit with a binding Quirk. You were lucky you weren’t hit by debris too.” Izuku flinches at that, no doubt replaying the scene in his head. Katsuki tightens his grip, not realizing what he's doing. “Go take a fucking shower.”

He releases his hold, but keeps one hand on his shoulder. For an instant he’s being taken back to a familiar position in an empty classroom.

“All Might's never had any regrets choosing you. And you need to stop thinkin’ you’ve got to do this all on your own.” He removes his hand and straightens up. “Go take a shower. I’ll get you a change of clothes.”

“Y-you don’t mind…?” You don’t mind me being here right now? You don’t mind me being in your space unannounced, despite how many times you’ve pushed me away, despite how many times I’ve had doors slammed in my face? All this goes unsaid, but he knows the other is thinking it. Nothing is going to make him stop thinking that things haven’t completely changed- no matter how many times they do this.

“You think I’m going to send you out looking like that, nerd? The press would go ape shit.”

Izuku smiles meekly. “Thanks, Kacchan.”

After he’s clean they lie on the bed next to each other, staring blankly at the ceiling, and Katsuki feels that crushing weight on his chest again. He’s good at hiding it, but that doesn’t mean it ever goes away.

“Kacchan, why did you do it?” He knows what he’s inferring, he had hoped the other would let it go. It’s just a reminder that there’s this void between them still, this gaping hole where the past should be but he ripped it to shred years ago when he had said those unforgivable words and now the hole is bleeding out again or maybe it never cauterized in the first place-

“You know why,” is his response. The weight of those words is crushing- the implications damning, and he knows that deep down Izuku knows what the connotation is.

The shorter boy- man? Are they men now?- hums his reply. They lie there, their hands mere inches away from each other. They used to hold hands. When did they stop? Who initiated their last gentle contact? He knows the answer to that.

“Why do you keep coming back to me?” He whispers finally, almost hoping the other is already asleep. This question doesn’t mean the same thing it did their first year at U.A.

“You know why.”

Silence envelops them like an old friend.

----

The first year goes by and before he knows it he’s sitting on Shitty Hair’s couch with a cup of something in his hand, half listening to Sero go on about a villain fight he had earlier that week. Most of former class 3-A is here- Katsuki isn’t really keeping track- only knowing that a particular green haired nerd doesn’t seem to have arrived yet. He’s got his elbow on the arm of the chair, chin casually propped up in his hand, eyes slowly surveying the little party Mina’s gathered together. He doesn't know how exactly he ended up here- there was a bribe involved he thinks- but the alcohol is making his head fuzzy and he’s just grateful tomorrow is his day off.

“You know, you’ve sure mellowed out since we met.” Kirishima plops down next to him, drink sloshing around in his cup.

“The fuck are you sayin'?” He grumbles into his palm. Shitty Hair just laughs.

“See, if I would have said anything like that two years ago I would’ve gotten blasted in the face.”

“Too many witnesses,” he replies. They both know it’s a lame excuse- Katsuki’s never given a shit what other people think of him. Well, most other people.

“Yeah okay.” He grins at him. “I’m just saying, before you would have never agreed to come to a party with all of these ‘extras’. I’m really glad you’re here.”

“‘M gettin’ more booze,” is his reply, and he slightly stumbles his way into the kitchen where a makeshift bar has been set up. He’s just finished making his “cocktail”, if it could be called that, when he hears him.

“Sorry I’m late guys.” Katsuki’s not looking over at him yet, but he just knows he’s bashfully rubbing the back of his head. “I just got off my shift.”

He hears Round Face bumble on about something to him, and suddenly he feels nauseated. He wants to back out, change his mind about coming, make up some excuse about needing to leave, fake a villain attack, do something that removes him from this room that’s suddenly shrunk in size. He’s no coward, but the alcohol is muddying up his brain, settling uncomfortably in his stomach, and he doesn’t trust himself to act in his best interest.

He’s considering just escaping out the hallway window when he hears, “Kacchan!” spoken from across the room.

“Excuse me,” he politely says to his friend, his eyes crinkling in the way that makes Katsuki want to punch something. He approaches the other with a smile so genuine Katsuki is sure something's going to get punched now. “I didn’t think you were going to show up!”

He’s not sure how to reply. He calculates the answers in his head, formulating his options, knowing that the easiest is anger or irritation, but the default isn’t what he should choose. He wants to be defensive- he sure doesn’t want to admit the real reason he showed up to be surrounded by a bunch of people he doesn’t give a fuck about.

“N-not that I’m not happy you’re here! I’m glad you showed up! I’m just surprised because Kacchan usually avoids large groups of people, and he hasn’t been in contact with many of us since graduation. It’s interesting that he decided to come today, though maybe because it’s a special occasion and he wants to-”

“Oi, you’re mumbling.”

“Sorry.” He smiles shyly and scratches his cheek. “It’s… it’s nice to see you.”

Pain.

Chest tightening, breath faltering, palms sweating, throat closing- pain, why is there nothing but pain when I see you I can’t stand this pain anymore just stay the fuck away from me so I don’t feel this way I can’t do it-

He downs the rest of his drink. “Yeah, whatever.”

He doesn’t know why he stays. He should have left the moment he had the chance- he shouldn’t’ve come in the first place. He’s screaming at himself inside his head, but his body is moving on its own- he’s pouring more drinks, he’s sitting on the couch, he’s leaning in to conversations he has no right stealing, he’s laughing, he’s stumbling outside with him, he’s walking down the sidewalk, grabbing a scarred arm, pushing his body against the door, fumbling keys, stripping clothes, grabbing at hair, and why the fuck are you doing this you need to stop this why aren’t you listening you fucking idiot how could you do this?!

When he wakes in the morning he instantly runs to the bathroom to retch. Despite purging his insides, he still feels rotted out. He’s pathetic and disgusting and unworthy and selfish and he wants nothing more than to lay on the forest floor and let the moss feast on his rot.

Deku is already gone.

Read the completed fic here >

#bakudeku #bkdk #ktdk #katsudeku #AO3 fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction

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alarawriting · 4 years ago

Text

52 Project #39: Seista Nikita

Wow, my brain is a sieve lately. I just didn’t notice it was getting to be 5 pm until it was almost 6.

I wrote this story originally in senior year of high school, in a college creative writing course. Even if your political views don’t change over time, the culture around them does. The Culare was a mockery of ridiculous extremes of environmentalism and animal rights, a la PETA and suchlike. I wouldn’t write a story like this nowadays because the pendulum’s gone so far in the other direction, I wouldn’t see that worthy of mockery, even though I still disagree with such extremes as much as I ever did. I am very fond of the trickster heroine, though, so I’m publishing it anyway. It’s kind of a stupid story, but I still think it’s funny. There have been some revisions made, so if you note things that didn’t exist in 1987, that is why.

-------------------------

Once upon a time, in a distant province that never appeared on any map, probably because either a. it was too small to bother with or b. someone bribed the mapmaker, or possibly both, an evil beast called the Culare reigned. (It was pronounced like “Cool air”, but if anyone tried to spell it that way, the Culare would eat them.) Some said the Culare was an experimental mutation; others, an ecologist gone mad. The Culare was an intelligent lion-like being with teleportation powers who took the concept of “protecting the environment” to a degree so ludicrous, not even the most extreme environmentalist would support it. He refused to let the human beings in his province harm the native wildlife by picking it or killing it. That would have been reasonable, but he also wouldn’t let people pick anything they planted themselves, even on their own property. If the plant in question was native, he wouldn’t let them harvest it, and if it wasn’t, he wouldn’t even let people plant it, claiming it was an invasive species. And of course he wouldn’t allow anyone to raise animals for food. Not even unfertilized chicken eggs. (He also took a dim view of the cellophane wrapper industry.)

If people wanted to eat meat, they had to find roadkill, or something that had been killed by another predator. The problem was that the Culare thought that “protecting nature” meant preventing predators of any kind from killing other animals… which meant there were very few animals who’d died of anything other than starvation or disease as their populations exploded. If they wanted to eat vegetables or fruits, people had to find things that were lying around on the ground. In the beginning of the Culare’s reign, there had been shipments from other countries of rice, and bacon, and potatoes, and tomatoes, and whatever else people wanted to eat. But the Culare wouldn’t tolerate ships that consumed fossil fuels coming in to the ports, and the people of the small nation couldn’t pay enough to make it worth sending sailing ships. Also, packaging. If the food came in anything other than packaging made from recycled matter, which would biodegrade, the Culare would eat the people who brought it.

The Culare himself was sustained on sunflower seeds and papaya juice… when he wasn’t consuming errant humans.

(Some said the whole thing was a scam, giving the Culare an acceptably environmentally correct reason to eat people. None of them said it very loudly, though, or else they never said it more than once.)

One day, an old man who had once worked for a living making cellophane wrappers, and his 20-ish son Harold, were out, searching for rotten apples and fallen nuts to eat. It was hard enough to find such things, when the entire country was desperately trying to find the same things so they wouldn’t starve to death. It was made even more difficult by the fact that it was springtime. You might think that the reason springtime was an issue was that nothing had had a chance to get ripe enough to fall, and you’d be correct enough. But the bigger part of the problem was that Harold was in love, with a girl named Seista Nikita, and he seemed to think that he could live entirely off air, sunlight and his love. At least, one would suspect that from how much attention he was not paying to finding food.

The old man finally got ticked off at the way his son was paying next to no attention to the task at hand, and hobbled off.

“At last,” Harold thought. “That old geezer’s gone. Him and his stories about the glorious days of Saran Wrap! I’d much rather sit under a tree and think about Seista.” With that, he sat down under a tree and thought about Seista.

At the height of his romantic musings, he saw a bunch of flowers. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I could pick them and give them to Seista,” he thought, ignoring the fact that Seista would probably prefer nearly anything to flowers. Quickly, he looked around. He saw no one. His hand reached out and he plucked the blossoms.

Suddenly there was a burst of acrid smoke, and a huge lion-like beast appeared in front of him, kind of like the Wicked Witch of the West. “The Culare!” Harold babbled, and tried to hide the flowers.

“SLEAZOID,” the Culare rumbled. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO THOSE FLOWERS?”

“Well, it was – it was an accident, yeah. I – you see, I, I thought they were looking ill, that’s it, and I tried to lift them up to inspect them. Yeah, that’s it. And – and they accidentally came loose, yeah—”

“FOOLISH SLIMEBUCKET, DO YOU REALLY EXPECT ME TO BELIEVE SUCH A RIDICULOUS STORY?”

“Oh, please don’t eat me!” begged Harold. “I’ll never do it again!”

“THAT’S WHAT THEY ALL SAY. BUT IT ISN’T GOOD FOR ME TO EAT A HEAVY MEAL THIS EARLY IN THE MORNING. I’LL COME BACK FOR YOU AT SUNSET.”

With that, the Culare vanished.

Harold ran straight to Seista Nikita’s house and told her the news. “And so we must be forever separated, beloved,” he said, tears in his eyes. “For I am doomed! At sunset tonight, I am destined to lose my life at the hands of the Culare. The paws? The claws? I’m not sure ‘hands’ is the correct thing to say here…”

Seista sighed. “You would go and do something like this, wouldn’t you? Stop moaning like that, you sound like a dead cow. I’ll kill the Culare for you and save your idiot backside. Okay?”

“Okay,” Harold sniffed.

So Seista Nikita put on her very tall platform shoes. These shoes were easily a foot and a half tall. You wouldn’t think anyone would be able to walk in such shoes, unless maybe they went to clown college and learned how to use stilts. Seista was a very acrobatic and skilled young woman, though, so while she wobbled a bit, she managed to stay upright all the way to the nearest meadow, which was badly overgrown with wildflowers, pokeweed, ground cover plants, and about half a billion tiny mimosa seedlings. She began to pick flowers and toss them into the air.

The Culare appeared. “SLEAZOID!” he boomed.

“Come and get me, shag-face!” Seista yelled, which was a reference to his lion-like mane rather than some sort of rude reference to a private activity. She kicked off her shoes, directly in front of the Culare, and ran. The Culare tried to pursue, but he tripped over her shoes and broke a forepaw.

“Damn,” Seista said, after escaping. “Those shoes were big enough that he should have tripped over them and broken his neck.” The thought occurred to her that perhaps she should have factored in the fact that he had four legs, and therefore had better balance than she’d accounted for. “I’ll just have to think of something else!”

An hour later, after getting into sneakers and sensible clothes, she climbed a tall cherry tree, went up as far as she could before the branches could no longer hold her weight, and began to pick cherry blossoms. It wasn’t long before the Culare appeared. “YOU AGAIN?”

“Nah, nah, nah nyah nah!” Seista taunted. She was tall and strong and very acrobatic and fairly smart, but she was, admittedly, more than a little childish.

The Culare leapt at the tree and began to climb up. Seista waited until it had almost reached her, then dropped, letting go of the branch she was on… having already checked that there was another branch right below her. From there, she clambered down as fast as she could go. She figured that would hold him until he starved to death; the Culare was obviously a type of cat, and cats are terrible at climbing down trees.

So she went home to Harold, who was watching a Tarzan movie. It was an animated Disney reboot in 3D. “Well, I took care of that problem.”

“Really?” Harold turned, his 3D glasses sliding off his face. “O my beloved, my thanks know no bounds—”

“Skip it.”

A bulletin interrupted the Tarzan movie. “We interrupt this movie for an important bulletin.” This was impressively implausible, since the movie was on a streaming service and you wouldn’t think anything could break into and interrupt one of those.

The Culare’s face appeared on the television. “SEISTA NIKITA, IF YOU’RE OUT THERE, YOU’RE DEAD!”

Seista stared in shock, as the movie resumed. How had he gotten out of that tree? …oh yeah, he could teleport. She probably should have thought of that.

“I thought you said you took care of it!” Harold whined.

“Shut up, I’m trying to think.” Tarzan swung across the jungle floor on a vine. The 3D was powerful enough that he visibly swung toward Seista, despite the fact that she wasn’t wearing 3D glasses. “Oh! That’s it!”

“What’s it?”

“Harold.” She patted his very handsome cheeks. “I love you dearly but you’re too stupid to know what I’m talking about.”

***

Nearby, there was a ravine, where Seista found a tree on one side. With a very long rope, tied to an upper branch of the tree, and a rock tied to one side of it, she flung the rope to the other side, getting it caught on the other side of a bush. There was a bridge a few hundred feet away; she ran down to it, crossed it, and went back to the bush.

With the rope held in one hand, she picked a dandelion.

The Culare appeared. “THAT’S IT! YOU’RE DEAD!”

As he leapt at her, Seista grabbed the rope and swung to the other side. The Culare roared and leapt at her, apparently unable to see the cliff through the bush. It turned out he couldn’t teleport if he was in midair; he fell to his death in the ravine below.

She and Harold were married the next week. Three months after that, Seista left Harold to find herself, and ran away to a country where she worked as a stuntwoman in movies. Harold mooned over her for another month before finding his next true love. Seista herself never married again, having decided that being tied down by romance wasn’t for her… particularly since she seemed to be sexually attracted to idiots. She had many fun and satisfying sexual relationships with people whose stupidity didn’t have to impact her life very much.

#52 Project #comedy #trickster tale #fairy-tale-ish

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pastelpaperplanes · 5 years ago

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Calling in a favor - Part 1 - Cops and Mob AU

A plot bunny got loose last night and after checking with Pastel, I wrote the first part of what looks to be a multi shot. Be aware two of my OC's are gonna be characters her alongside those already established for this AU.

----

Slag was going to go sideways soon, and Megatron had borrowed time to try and prevent it.

It had all started with that new hire, that gorgeous siren with an aft that was just sculpted for high cut attire the entertainers at his nightclub wore.

Orion Pax.

A sweet, soft spoken mech who’d practically stumbled through the door one day in loose fitting yet still somehow fitting attire, and half begged for a job as if he was begging someone not to kill him.

At the time Megatron had thought little of it, he was young, the scene would scare him off in a day or two.

One night in and the young mech with lips perter than those he’d seen on some femmes, which became even more optic catching with that red lipstick, and he was the new favourite of his patrons.

Megatron hadn’t minded, more than happy to accept the uptick in patrons who wanted to see the new singer/dancer his club had to offer.

He’d joined his patrons more than a couple times now to admire the new view, and found his lap full of the young mech on more than one occasion, very eager to please his new boss this one, and the view was always so much better up close.

Once the patrons were gone, he’d made a habit of giving Orion one last drink on for the night, on his personal limitless tab, which he always got a rather timid ‘thank you sir’ from the bot who was always so much meeker and timid off the stage, from there just a couple words were exchanged before Orion was off for the night.

Megatron swore the mech shrunk when his stage persona faded away, or at least, he was always trying to make himself seem small, less likely to draw attention.

A good trait to have really.

Alas, it was hardly enough to keep Shockwave off the young mech.

Now again, Megatron was no fool, few tried so hard to get on his good side without ulterior motives, and there was a high chance he was a very dedicated to the act informant for the Elite Guard.

But there was equally a chance that he really was just a poor sod laid off from his old job by the current mess of an economy Iacon faced and in desperate need for the money to keep the tiny apartment that he lived in, the place had been scouted by some of his mechs to check the story, and everything came through that the mech was telling the truth about being just that desperate for a job.

Shockwave however, was not so easily convinced, and no matter how many times he’d warned the one opticed mech to not cause a mess with the new employee, it felt like he was pulling on a slipping lead, and Shockwave was the enraged hound he was trying to keep from slaughtering the poor innocent pup he had set his one optic on.

He’d caught the mech twice now threatening to make sure that no one would find Orion’s body right to the rightfully terrified mechs face.

He’d had stern words for the mech, but he could practically see them going in one antler and out the other as that one red optic glazed over.

Shockwave was unfortunately in that mindset of ‘he was right, and he’d prove it’.

A state that, in any other situation, Megatron more than welcomed, it certainly kept the spilt energon off his servos, but this time, when the mechs target was Orion’s fresh energon, well, he was having to put his pede down.

At the present moment he was locked in his soundproof office, he had shoved a slug of extra credits to Orion and told him to get a cab home instead of walking, using the credible excuse of the mild acid rain outside to get him safely back to his shoddy apartment as possible.

Then he’d kept Shockwave behind by giving him every menial locking up task he could, the shady dealings done for the cycle it was mostly cleaning up the nightclub.

Shockwave had vocalised his displeasure once during that time, a withering glare and Lugnut snarling from the main door the behemoth stood by swiftly shut him up.

Shockwave knew him hounding Orion had put him on Megatron’s ‘I tolerate you because you’re useful’ list, and he was going to have tread very carefully for a while to get back off that list… but it still stung to realise that his boss really was that far gone under the siren spell of that mystery bot claiming to go by the designation ‘Orion Pax’.

Eventually Megatron ran out of tasks for Shockwave to do, and finally released the mech for the night as well as telling Lugnut to go home, Strika likely had dinner ready for him, he passed them bot a slug of credits to pay for the over time before he retired to where he was now, in his locked office trying to figure out what to do.

He couldn’t keep this up, having to keep an optic on Orion and Shockwave each to make sure the later didn’t find a way to do in the former when he wasn’t looking. It didn’t leave much of his attention for everything else, and that could become very costly if he wasn’t careful...

He couldn’t get rid of Shockwave, he was too useful, and knew too much to just let go.

And he was not his brother, he would never kill a mech like Shockwave over something like this, it was a waste of use.

Orion was an innocent mech who just wanted to earn enough to keep his helm above the slag of this world, and he doubted he’d recharge well if he just let Shockwave have his way and offline the entertainer for the apparent crime of being able to do his job…

He brought the tips of his digits to his optics and rubbed, trying to get the residue buildup out of the seams around his optics.

As he pulled his digits away, his optics landed on the one picture frame he had on his desk.

It was a picture from his younger vorns, back when Megazarak ran the show and he was second in command.

Leaning on the back of each of his broad shoulders, where the two bots he knew that, through the molten slag of the pits, and the emptiness of space, would always have his back.

Sol and Neb, abbreviations of their longer full designations, split spark twins who he had befriended by happenstance when they had stumbled upon him beaten half into the slag of a gutter.

They’d been dressed all fancy, out for a night on the town to have some fun.

They’d been pulled into the fight Megazarak was still embroiled in when they tried to help him to his pedes, bleeding sparks he’d assumed at a time.

Then one of the mechs who’d way laid him had grabbed Sol by the neck and well…

That was the cycle he learned just how quickly an enraged femme could offline a mech with the heel of their shoe.

The stiletto had gone right through the optic and pierced the processor, dooming the mech to the Well right sharpish.

Neb hadn’t even missed a beat, put her shoe back on, just as her twin had pulled out a wicked looking switch blade that had some very nasty hooked edges to it.

The greying mechs friend didn’t take well to his friend being done in with a shoe.

He’d charged.

Now Megatron hadn’t been in the best state, and when things started to really move, it had become a blur he couldn’t follow, past a rather noticeable spray of neon pink as the mechs neck was slit across the front and sprayed all over a nearby wall.

He’d passed out completely from the helm trauma not much later, and had woken up in a very nice hotel room all patched up and Megazarak scowling and pouting on a very plush chair not far from the equally plush berth he was on, med-patches slapped on haphazardly, he had assumed as a result of Megazarak being a terrible patient and their ‘saviors’ not really having much experience with first aid.

They’d come in not long later, introductions had happened, and somehow, they’d never lost touch.

He quickly learned they were the all or nothing types, once they were on your side 100%, there was no wavering in their loyalty, and their morals were very flexible when they didn’t come to other femmes or sparklings.

Some of the things he’d seen them so easily do to mechs had floored him in a way that sometimes still put a chill down his back strut.

What really mattered was, when the time came to pick a side between him and Megazarak, they hadn’t even hesitated to stand by him.

Megazarak barely put up a fight, it would have just prolonged his death, and there was no point making the tragedy of the situation stretch out any more than it had to.

Not long after that though, they had come to them, and told him, rather flatly he remembered, that their sire, a famous starship captain, had been diagnosed with a terminal and rather fast acting disease he’d picked up when traveling with his mate and ship to one of the distant colonies.

They had at most an orn to spend with their creators before both returned to the well, their carrier would follow their sire’s spark at most a cycle after their mate passed.

He’d hugged them as tight as he could, and promised to stay in touch, they all knew what this meant.

The inheritance would come, and with it, the family’s starship fleet.

Saying the twins came from wealth would of been a laughable understatement.

But the facts stood.

Family meant too much for them, and it was their duty to follow the family legacy as the captains of the fleet, specifically the flagship.

A new one, built for them on orders of their sire.

They’d depart Cybertron within the orn of their creators passing, and likely only return to Cybertron, let alone Iacon, infrequently for the rest of their cycles.

He missed them dearly, but he was also happy for them.

They were the only two bots he knew, who’d been able to bow out in grace from the Mob, and not have anyone come after them.

Mostly because of how much terror they’d instilled into the sparks of those who lived through their time being his left and right hand.

The more he thought back on the good times, the more an idea formed in his helm.

He needed an outside opinion, someone's view of things that didn’t have a major bias in the current situation, but who still knew all the background context to understand the severity of the situation he’d found himself in.

He picked up his phone, and dialed the number he had long since memorised.

It rung twice before it went through, a bubbly, yet sultry voice coming over the line, if he was anyone else that voice alone would have had him smitten.

::This is Nebularburst, Co-Captain of the Transgalactic Flagship Polaris speaking, how may I… Mega! You called!::

He chuckled. “I see you noticed the call number.”

::Oh hush you caught me off guard! Normally you send me and Sol a com message saying you want to call first!::

That was true. “I apologise, I was in a bit of a hurry to call you… something has come up… and I need an outside opinion to help me make the right decision.”

Neb’s tone shifted from the happy babble she’d started with to a tone he recognised as her ‘down to business’ manner. ::I’m all audios.::

So, he relayed the situation, from hiring Orion Pax as an entertainer, to that night where he had to hold back Shockwave for over two joors to make sure the mech wouldn’t try and catch the poor scared half witless entertainer on his way home.

Neb dutifully listened to the whole sworded tale, and waited for him to finish before she spoke, and the moment she did, he knew she had an idea.

He’d known her too long not to know how to read her by her voice alone, they’d been able to do little else for decavorns now.

::You have his work contract in your office right?::

“Of course, I have it right here… why?”

::Is it the same kind of contract we’ve been using since Sol suggested it?::

Oh, oh now he saw where she was going, he checked the fine print, there it was, tucked away innocently enough. “It is… tell me Neb… I wish to cash in a rather large favour from you... when will the Polaris next be docking on Cybertron?”

::Within six cycles actually… we were hoping to surprise you with a dinner while Polaris is taken through the motions. But this situation is more important than a nice meal out to catch up…::

“Next time perhaps… if we do this, you’ll keep him safe?”

::Of course we will! Hmmm… wait… hold up… Sol’s just saying something over the bond… oh… oooh! Oh my Primus! Mega! We’re so proud of you!::

He wasn’t going to lie to himself, her sudden burst of excitement over the line startled him.

“What?! What are you talking about? Has something happened?!”

::Happened? … Oh… Oh Megaaaa… don’t you see what’s happened? No… no of course you haven’t… you’re pride and work have gone and given you a blind spot again... :: She paused to sigh. :: I guess I’ve got to spell it out to you over the com and not get to the see the face you’re about to make when I say it…::

That wasn’t good, he was already flinching back a bit, bracing for impact.

::Hmm… Mega, my dear old bricks for a processor friend… you’re… in… love…::

----

Hope you like it Pastel!

#I HAVE #NO WORDS #NADA #ZILCH #OTHER THANBBBRBRUH #this is perfection ommmmmmfg #you really REALLY out did yourself jesusFIVKINGCRHIST #you talent is just off the shits i hope you know that #god.DAMNB #THANK YOU #transformers #fic #submission #cops and mobs creations

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dr-skellington · 4 years ago

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And The Winner Is...

So I was hella bummed to miss HIV/AIDS Awareness Day... So I wrote this for National HIV/AIDS Testing Day but I feel like it can emcompass both

anyways happy National HIV/AIDS Testing Day! If you’re sexually active y’all better go get tested! 😜

This is being posted to both my main and nsfs blogs because all of us nsfs content creators are guilty of (more often than not) creating content that doesn’t portray safe sex, which is the only way to prevent STDs and AIDS. For all my followers out there, please use condoms when engaging in sexual activity and if you don’t want to get pregnant, use some form of contraceptive as well. Stay safe. Love you guys <3

Please reblog the version with links

Fandom: Sanders’ Sides

Pairing: Loceit

Words: 2,899

Summary: Janus has been in the epicenter of the AIDS pandemic since it began. He’s seen more death, felt more loss, and heard more pain than any human should just within the last seven years. He’d all but given up on family, friends, forming bonds of any kind, because he knew they would just be taken away from him.

Until he met Logan Abbott.

Tags/Warnings: death, character death, HIV/AIDS, takes place in the 80s, specifically ‘87-’89, mentions of ballroom culture, descriptions of illness, descriptions of delirium/fever, descriptions of unintentional minor starvation, this is not a cheery fic guys just keep that in mind and be careful

December, 1987

“Number 37?”

Silence.

“Number 37.”

People glancing around. Logan nudges Janus. “Janus, that’s you.”

Janus startles slightly when Logan nudges him, blinking. He’d been completely zoned out, staring at the white wall opposite their chairs. “Ah, yes. Right. Thank you, I’ll be back in a moment.” He stands up, meeting the nurse’s kind smile with a blank look and following her back to the doctor’s office.

Janus shuts the door behind him, the click of the deadlatch nearly deafening in the silence. He takes a seat across from the doctor in a stiff polyester chair, shifting his weight nervously and crossing one leg over the other. Janus folds his hands in front of him and gives a slight nod.

The doctor smiles at him, opening up his file and looking over a page as she speaks. “So, are you ready to hear the results of your test?” She looks up, one of her eyebrows slightly raised.

All he can manage is a nod, his heart hammering in his chest. Please let it be negative, please let it be negative, it has to be negative.

“You tested positive, Janus. I’m sorry.”

Janus sits in numb silence for a moment, his mind screeching to a halt, the sound of his racing heart unheard past the ringing in his ears. Positive. He had HIV.

“Run the test again.”

He doesn’t even realize he spoke until the doctor is replying, a sympathetic frown pulling at her lips. “We’ve run the test twice. I’m sorry, but that’s the result.” He shakes his head, looking at her with wide, frantic eyes.

“I can’t have HIV, I can’t die! Not yet!”

The doctor raises her hands in an effort to placate him. “Janus, you aren’t going to die. This doesn’t have to be a death sentence. There are options; treatments, support groups. There’s AZT. You don’t need to fight this forever, you just need to fight until a cure is found-”

Janus jumps to his feet, pushing the chair back. “What cure?! No one is looking! The world wants us dead!” He’s bordering on hysterical; shouting, trembling with his racing heartbeat, tears streaming down his face. He wasn’t an idiot. Doctors may promise help and support and solutions but the facts were that no one cared enough to even look for a cure and the only worthwhile treatment killed as many people as it helped. He’d seen the effects of AZT, seen how it can make your body shut down. He was just as well off not doing anything, in his mind.

His doctor sighs, lowering her hands. “I understand that this is hard to accept. I’ll give you a moment to yourself, I’ll be right outside if you need me.” She walks past Janus and shuts the door quietly behind her, leaving him in silence.

It lasts for all of ten seconds before he’s falling back into his chair and hiding his face in his hands as sobs wracked his body. In the span of thirty seconds his entire life had been thrown up in the air, all plans for the future shrouded in a veil of futile hope that he’d even live long enough to see them happen.

The virus had swept through the gay community like the final plague of Egypt, claiming countless lives in the last seven years and looming over thousands more. It had become apparent very quickly that there would be no help. Not from the president, or any governors; no one. Hospital staff would do their best, but even they could only do so much and due to lack of knowledge many of them were afraid to get too close to those on the downslide, afraid of catching the virus themselves. It was the kind of plague that left even the most healthy man riddled with anxiety. It was the kind of plague that didn’t care about sex, race, gender, religion; it only cared about spreading death.

It was the one thing in this world Janus was afraid of.

Janus had been only nineteen when the pandemic began. He remembered hearing of it through rumor, how so-and-so’s brother/cousin/son had become mysteriously ill, only to die months later. He remembered when it was no longer a rumor and people in his own backyard began to drop like flies. He remembered friends locking themselves away, ending relationships, never leaving the house in fear of catching it. He remembered moments of silence in ballroom and the absence of it on the television. He remembered the first house he had joined and the exact number of days it took for him to be the only one left standing. He remembered burying friends, brothers, sisters, mothers.

And now Logan would have to bury him.

Oh god, Logan. How could he tell him? He knew the pain of watching the man you love withering to nothing before your eyes while no one offered help. Now that he was on the other side, though, nothing terrified him more than Logan not being there, being left alone to rot in a hospital bed while this virus stole his life from him. But Janus was not a cruel man.

He had to tell him. He had to give him a choice.

Janus took another moment to collect himself, wipe the tears from his face, and stood. He left the doctor’s office without a word and made his way back to the hall Logan was waiting in like countless others from their community. The way Logan straightened up and looked up at him with hopeful eyes when Janus finally turned the corner crushed his heart in his chest. This may be the last time that he gets to see that face, hold those hands, kiss those lips.

He walks up to Logan, who’s stood up to meet him with an expectant look. “Well? What’d she say, Janus?”

Janus takes Logan’s hand in his, squeezing it gently. Logan’s expression morphs into one of pain and sadness.

“I’m positive.”

“Janus…”

Janus takes a breath through his nose and lets go of Logan’s hand. “I’ve been on your side of this too many times to ask that you stay in good conscience. If you… If it’s easier for you to leave, to move on now before things get bad… I understand.”

“Ten, ten, ten, ten, ten! The winner is Janus from the House of Fidelity!”

Janus Jackson was twenty-three when he met Logan Abbott. By then he had buried half of his house and five boyfriends, and had decided life would be more tolerable if he stopped forming close bonds with other people. Despite this self-declaration, anyone you asked would claim that Janus was an open, kind, charismatic young man. He could make the terminal men laugh, gossip with the most effeminate queens, and trade beauty tips with all the trans women without making anyone feel awkward, out of place, or invalidated. No one knew his whole story, but everyone loved to fill in the blanks. This was just as well, in Janus’ mind, as it made it nearly impossible to tell which parts were fictional gossip and which were the sad tale of his life.

Logan was a twenty year-old nobody from out of state. He’d moved to the city for a change of scenery, or so he claimed to anyone who would ask. Janus could tell there was more to it though, and had he cared at all about making friends he might have pried. He assumed Logan came out and got shamed by his community, as was the story for many of the people in the ballroom scene. It was their home, their refuge where they could be themselves when the world told them they were a mistake, a disease, a cancer. Logan had taken quickly to the ballroom scene, finding like-minded people to watch the night’s categories with.

Logan blinks, his eyebrows furrowed and lips slightly parted. “I… Janus, I would never leave you just because you have the virus. You mean more to me than that. I love you.”

Janus sighs, relief and sadness washing over him; he was thankful he had met Logan, that he wouldn’t have to go through this alone, but the guilt of putting Logan through the same pain he’d gone through would weigh him down until his dying breath.

“I love you, too.”

At some point during the night, be it during a category Janus was participating in or just idle chit-chat, someone had pointed Logan his way. Janus swore he would find out who it was and make them suffer, but for the moment he had to uphold his reputation and make Logan feel welcome. Logan had come wandering over like a little lost lamb, taking the chair next to Janus tentatively and glancing at him.

“Are you… Janice?”

Oh, this bitch.

Janus rolls his eyes. “Janus.”

Logan blinks. “That is what I said.”

“You said Janice. My name is Janus. J-A-N-U-S. I can hear the difference.”

Logan looks at his lap. “I see. I apologize. Though admittedly I feel a little better not having had the chance to accidentally misgender you.” He casts a glance around the room; gay men, a few lesbians, trans women - some more obvious than others - and those you couldn’t label at first glance.

Janus snrks. “Oh honey. You better watch those comments before you offend the wrong people. This isn’t the suburbs, where you can gossip and slander behind closed doors.” He sighs through his nose, crossing one leg over the other as he gives Logan a once-over. “But I can’t fault you for not knowing. Yet. What is your name, pup?”

“Logan,” he says, just loud enough over the emcee to be heard. Janus leans in with a soft smirk.

“Well Logan, after the ball you’ll be coming to my house and talking to mother. We can’t have a cute thing like you living on the streets.”

Logan blushes and nods, and the two turn their attentions to the next category being walked.

(∩ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)⊃━☆ﾟ

In the spring of ‘88, Janus got a bad flu. Janus and Logan had just buried their house mother the week before, leaving the two of them and Roman - their newest and youngest house member, a gay Latino boy who was barely older than eighteen - in their house. Roman had been debating leaving to join another house, but his loyalty to Janus as an older brother-now-house-father (oh, the irony) kept him in that dingy apartment. Roman and Logan did their best to look after Janus, checking his temperature every few hours, feeding him soup and helping him drink water, helping him bathe when he was too weak to stand on his own. The flu lasted nearly a week before his fever finally broke. Once it did, Logan was hopeful that Janus would recover quickly, but he never fully did.

As the months went by, Janus seemed to have less and less energy. By the beginning of fall his diagnosis had been moved from HIV to AIDS, and he had stopped walking the balls. If he was having a particularly good day, he would still show up and show support for friends in other houses. Roman had even walked a category on one of Janus’ good days to cheer him up, earning the House of Fidelity their first trophy in almost a year. Janus had cried when Logan wheeled him down the runway to accept the trophy at Roman’s insistence.

The days began to grow colder and Janus never left the apartment. If he even got a cold, he could die, so he and Logan decided it would be better, safer, to stay indoors with the heat on. It didn’t last too long; November rolled around and Janus was admitted to the hospital with an infection. He couldn’t sleep, had trouble breathing, and would only eat if Logan was there to make him. No one thought he would live to see Christmas. Even after his infection cleared, Janus stayed in the AIDS ward with the other men who were too sick to leave. The place smelled of chemicals, with a backdrop of hacking coughs, desperate prayers, and crying. He hated it there, but Roman and Logan made sure to visit as often as they could to keep him company.

(∩ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)⊃━☆ﾟ

On Thanksgiving, Logan walked into Janus’ room to find him gripping the pole of his IV stand, walking the length of his room like it was a runway. His eyes were unfocused, swinging his arms around in a delirious attempt at vogueing. Logan carefully approached Janus, gently guiding him back to bed, his heart beating anxiously in his chest. Janus sat on the edge of the mattress and looked up at Logan with a soft smile.

“What are my scores, baby?” He asked airily. Logan swallowed, his eyes burning with tears.

“Tens across the board, my love.”

(∩ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)⊃━☆ﾟ

“Everyone misses you in ballroom, dad. Every night I got people comin’ up to me and telling me they hope you’re doin’ okay.”

Janus gives Roman a small smile, patting the teen’s knee as he sits before him on the bed. “And what do you tell them, Roman?”

Roman grins. “I tell them my dad’s the strongest guy there is! Just watch, spring’s gonna come and you’re gonna get better, I just know it.”

“I’d love to see the looks on their faces when I walk into the room like nothing happened.”

Logan smiles, running his fingers through Janus’ matted hair. “I’m sure you will, love. You just need to rest up.”

“Rest up later, it’s Christmas!” Roman shouts, bouncing a little. Janus chuckles.

“Yes, yes it is. Logan, did you bring the packages I told you about?” Logan nods and hands Janus two sloppily-wrapped presents. Janus hands the blue one to Logan, and the red one to Roman. “Merry Christmas, you two.”

Roman grins and snatches the present out of Janus’ hand, ripping the paper off. “Oh, bitchin’! Thanks, dad!” Roman holds up the leather jacket to inspect it, showing it off to Logan. Logan nods in amusement, watching Roman put the jacket on before he carefully unwraps his own present. He gasps as he looks down at the picture of him and Janus laughing together as they sit next to each other, Janus’ hand on Logan’s knee.

“Just in case. Don’t want you forgetting how hot I am,” Janus jokes lightly. Logan looks at him with teary eyes and takes his hand, squeezing gently.

“Never.”

(∩ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)⊃━☆ﾟ

“I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry, Logan,” Janus sobs, his body shaking as tears make their way down bony cheeks.

Logan shakes his head, taking Janus’ hands and looking him in the eye. “You have nothing to apologize for, my love.”

“I-I didn’t want to d-die alone, I’m sorry, I’m s-so selfish.”

“You couldn’t have gotten rid of me if you’d tried.”

The pair sit in silence for a moment, Logan rubbing Janus’ knuckles as Janus cries. It was one of those days where a fever made Janus overemotional. Sometimes he thought it was still 1987, and when he realized it was almost 1989 he would lay there and cry, apologizing for trapping Logan with him. It was the same conversation every time.

“I don’t w-want to die.”

“You won’t die, my heart, not for a long time.”

“I should h-have taken the AZT, I should have tried e-everything I could.”

“You said so yourself, there is a significant chance that taking AZT would have shortened your lifespan even more. I’m thankful that we’ve had this time together, I wouldn’t want to change a thing.”

“I-I’m so sorry.”

“... I know.”

(∩ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)⊃━☆ﾟ

Janus Jackson passed away on January 2nd, 1989, just twenty minutes after his boyfriend Logan had left the hospital. He’d passed away in his sleep, having been well looked-after and held in the arms of the one he loved until he drifted off. The funeral was a week later, and something told Logan that he would need to find a big space to hold it in. True to thought, the day of the funeral the entire church was full of people coming to say goodbye to Janus and celebrate his life, drawing a crowd so big that it spilled out the front doors. No one had known that Janus was religious. No one except Logan.

Logan tested positive for HIV just two months later. He’d sat in the doctor’s office in contemplative silence, nodded, and thanked them before leaving the room. That day, he’d walked the streets of Brooklyn and thought about his time with Janus; all the laughter, the excitement, and the tears. The one thing that kept coming back to mind was all the nights he would sit by Janus’ side in that hospital bed, listening to him cry and apologize, listening to his regrets. Logan returned to the doctor the next day and got a prescription for AZT.

Logan Abbott lived to the age of fifty-four. He had a small number of boyfriends in his life, a few after Janus’ passing, and had buried almost all of them. Shortly after testing positive he had joined ACT UP, leaving behind the balls that Janus loved so dearly to instead fight for his community’s life. When he finally passed on a cool spring day in his own home, Janus’ gift in his hands, he found he had no regrets, looking forward to seeing Janus once again.

#not safe for sanders #death tw #aids tw #hiv tw #illness tw

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nmikaelsonimagines · 5 years ago

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Numb To The Feeling: A Klaus Mikaelson Imagine

Request from Anon: this is kind of a request but also sort of not... if you could do something inspired by/following the song “numb to the feeling” by chase atlantic that would be amazing! i personally think it’s a really good song for any of the mikaelsons but i just don’t have the motivation to write something for it myself. xxx thanks love! hope your day is well!

Hope this is okay for you lovely, and enjoy x

Want to hear the song? Find a link to it just below:

Numb To The Feeling

Heard you got a heart, let me see I need you to split that thing with me

At this present moment in time, Y/N Y//L/N was struggling to see how Klaus Mikaelson could possibly be capable of loving anything. Then again, she didn’t exactly know what she had expected.

It’s not like she had never seen him kill someone before, never seen the blood coating his hands like a second skin, watching as he licked it off his hands, enjoying every moment as each drop sent a thrill through his taste buds. But it was the first time she had seen him do so since she realised she was in love with him.

He’d made her one of his a long time ago, using her as nothing more than his own personal slave for his own personal gain. Over the years, her hatred for the hybrid growing, she had contemplated turning off her humanity more than once, hating what he had made her, hating that she was now feeding on those whom she had once considered peers, hating that he found it amusing, telling her to lighten up and enjoy immortality.

But it was her friendship with his younger sister, with Rebekah Mikaelson that had swayed her. It was her friendship with Rebekah, the talks that they had shared, that made her realise that the adrenaline she felt when she was around Klaus, the thumping in her chest, wasn’t anger nor the desire to fight him.

It was love. Uncontrollable, unpredictable, impossible love.

For how could she possibly give into her feelings for him when he was the monster that she had spent years studying, the monster that cared about nothing than that that benefitted him?

Heard you're skipping meals, losing sleep Well, I've been doing the same honestly

At this present moment in time, Klaus Mikaelson was struggling to see why Y/N Y/L/N looked at him like she did. Then again, he didn’t exactly know what he had expected.

It’s not like he had expected her to embrace vampirism with open arms, wanting to give into the urges that accompanied the disease that was so easy to spread, the one that he had wanted to give her from the moment he had seen her. But it was the first time he had seen her refuse him when he offered her the food that she often desired with an urgent haste.

He’d made her one of his a long time ago, only because he had fallen for her in an instant. He had wanted to give her immortality, wanted her to be by his side for as long as they both lived. Over the years, he had noticed her hatred for him growing, learning from Rebekah that she had considered turning off her humanity more than once, a stabbing pain in his chest never quite dulling when he realised that where he loved her, she wanted nothing more than to see him dead.

Yes, he loved her. Uncontrollably, unpredictably, impossibly.

For how could he possibly give into his feelings for her when he was the monster that she had spent years studying, the monster that she hated with every fibre of her being?

Well, I look like a fucking walking corpse, girl Say the words, "R.I.P." 'cause Over the week, Y/N noticed that Klaus was behaving less and less like the psychopathic hybrid she had come to know and love. He looked tired, and as much as she wanted to ask what was wrong, she couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling in the back of her mind that he would kill her on the spot, having become familiar with the idea that she was nothing more than an object to him.

So, she did as she was told, hating that she was fighting her urges to help, hating that she was in love with him of all people. Why couldn’t it be someone normal for once? Why did it have to be the most dangerous creature of all time?

And so she stayed with her mouth shut, knowing the damage that words could do, knowing that they had the potential to put her in the ground for eternity. She loved him by herself, loved him in her dreams, in the silence of the night when she knew he couldn’t read her thoughts, knew he couldn’t laugh at her out of pity and amusement at her humiliation. My tolerance is going up And I'm getting numb to the feeling, yeah

Over the weeks, Klaus noticed that Y/N was quieter than usual. She avoided his eyes, her usual tenacity gone; she no longer spoke back to him like the girl he had come to know and love. She looked tired, and as much as he wanted to ask what was wrong, he couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling in the back of his mind that she would start thinking he wanted something, that this was just a ploy to get her to do something for him, having become familiar with the idea that he was nothing more than an employer to her.

So, he carried acting like a tired psychopath, hating that he was fighting his urges to help, hating that he was in love with her of all people. Why couldn’t he be someone normal for once? Why did he have to be the most dangerous creature of all time?

And so he stayed with his mouth shut, knowing the damage words could do, knowing that they had the potential to lead to his downfall. He loved her by himself, loved her in his dreams, in the silence of the night when he knew she couldn’t read his thoughts, knew she couldn’t laugh at him out of pity and amusement as his humiliation.

And I've been abusing drugs I'm getting numb to the feeling, yeah

It was surprisingly easy to become immune to unrequited love, as Y/N soon found out. All she had to do was bury herself into her vampirism, into her parasitic urges to kill and feed. Soon enough, she reminded herself of the man she loved, of Klaus Mikaelson and the horror stories that were his history. She found herself laughing, finally understanding why she thought he had turned her.

Finally getting what she thought she had been missing.

She could pass him now without wanting him to push her against the wall, for his lips to clash against hers, for his hands to wander. She could speak to him without straining her voice, without pain cutting her to the core when he looked at her with cold eyes.

Abusing her supernatural side made it better. It made her forget how she felt.

It made her forget that she was destined to be with Klaus Mikaelson, whether she liked it or not.

I need you to show me love 'Cause I'm getting numb to the feeling, yeah I'm getting numb to the feeling

It was surprisingly difficult to become immune to unrequited love, as Klaus soon found out. He couldn’t bury himself into his vampirism, into his parasitic urges to kill and feed. Soon enough, he reminded himself of the woman he loved, of Y/N Y/L/N and the gentle nature that were her history. He found himself dejected, finally understanding why he thought she hated him.

Finally understanding what he thought he had been missing.

He couldn’t pass her without wanting to push her against the wall, his lips clashing against hers, his hands wandering. He couldn’t speak to her without straining his voice, without pain cutting him to the core when she looked at him with cold eyes.

Abusing his supernatural side made it worse. He couldn’t forget how he felt.

He couldn’t forget that he was destined to be with Y/N Y/L/N, whether he liked it or not.

Masterlist

#the vampire diaries #TVD #tvd imagine #tvd imagines #the originals #to #the originals imagines #the originals imagine #klaus mikaelson #niklaus mikaelson #klaus mikaelson imagine #niklaus mikaelson imagines #klaus mikaelson imagines #niklaus mikaelson imagine #klaus mikaelson x reader #niklaus mikaelson x reader #Joseph Morgan

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erable-writes · 4 years ago

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Prucan Week Day #5: From High Above, The World Looks So Small.

Day 5: No Control, Clinging to Control, Bad Luck

“Birdie, you have to stop this.”

Canada tips his head down to look at the speaker. It’s Prussia, of course. Lately he’s always found something to complain about. Canada sighs softly, adjusting in his chair so he can peer coldly down to the prussian guard. It isn't hard, with his vermillion throne seated high in The Citadel, letting him look down over everyone else.

“Please, Birdie, just hear me out. Bitte.”

Canada’s nose wrinkles upon hearing the foreign word, but relents, motioning for Prussia to continue.

“You’re hurting us, Canada. I know you’re trying to help, I know you think you’re right, but this isn’t helping anyone. we’re suffering-”

Canada abruptly rises from his seat, instantly silencing the Prussian. He glares fiercely now, pushing his deep scarlet cape back to expose the ice-grey armour he wears. The metal gleams like the reflection of a glacier, cold and stoic. Canada snarls, pacing angrily, though his Byzantium-purple eyes stay locked on Prussia.

“Suffering? you claim to be suffering? I have rid the world of poverty, of hunger, of preventable disease and death, and you dare to show your face in my throne room to claim you suffer? You have not suffered in a century, not under my reign.”

Prussia flinches back, eyes widening as he watches the calm man lash out. Canada used to be quiet and withdrawn, often slouching and hiding to avoid trouble. Now that he was in power, he stood at his full height, which made him seem more formidable, more in control.

“I don't mean me, Birdie. My brother... he’s been unwell as of late. his people are hurting, but he wont swallow his pride and talk to you, so I’m here in his stead.”

Canada’s eyes soften, if only a touch, but Prussia knows that his message resonates. Canada has his own brother, after all.

“Prussia. Come up here and talk to me.”

Surprised but hopeful, Prussia ascends the staircase to Canada. From the elevated perch, the world seems incredibly small. Prussia can see the surrounding cities, each one assigned to a different nation to oversee. The Citadel is central to everything, with a sprawling community of its own. It reminds Prussia of the medieval days. the nations are lords, in their own rights, while Canada is their king. Canada smiles at Prussia, holding his arms open in invitation. Prussia accepts gratefully, burying his face against Canada's shoulder as the latter speaks again.

“Your brother is a smart man, Prussia. I know you are sympathetic to his cause, but he certainly would not send you to preach for him. He does not trust me.”

“Nein, he did not send me. I came on my own volition.”

“Why?”

“I told you already. My brother is unwell.”

Canada suddenly shoves Prussia back. Prussia stumbles, trying to regain his footing as he nearly topples from the platform they stand on.

“Wa-”

“Do not lie to me! I can sense your brothers well-being. I thought perhaps you were ready to be honest with me, but clearly you are not. Shall I send you to work in the Arctic Circle?”

Prussia hastily shakes his head.

“Then tell me! Why are you here, lying to my face?”

“...The people are unhappy, Birdie. I know that you try very hard to keep everything orderly and peaceful, but its costing us freedom. The people don't like this system anymore. They never have.”

Canada is quiet, observing Prussia. Prussia gets the distinct feeling that his very soul is being judged.

“There's talk of rebellion, Schatzi. But we can change that! We could-”

“Enough.” Canada raises his hand, palm flat out,signalling Prussia to stop. Prussia’s jaw practically snaps shut. Canada’s eyes narrow as he processes the new information.

“...They want to rebel? Well, they can certainly try. Crushing their little uprising will make an excellent example for everyone else. Disrupting the Peace of the world will not be tolerated.”

His eyes flick back to Prussia, a warm smile coming over his face. Prussia feels dread in its purest form.

“Thank you for informing me of this, cher. I will make sure it's dealt with.”

As Canada walks away, Prussia wonders what doom he has brought.

-----------------------------

I’m Late! My apologies, I got busy. This one was very fun to write! I liked the idea of Canada becoming so obsessed with bringing peace, he becomes the greatest threat.

#prucanweek #prucanweek2020 #prucan #hetalia prucan #hetalia prussia #hetalia canada

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keelywolfe · 5 years ago

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FIC: The Elephant in the Room ch.3 (baon)

Summary: Jeff has started working at the Embassy. He’s got a new job, a new car, and a new place to live. Now if only the rest of his life could fall into order, that’d be great. Any time now…any time at all…

Tags: Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationships, Prejudice Against Monsters, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Past Suicidal Thoughts, Mental Health Issues, Friendship

Notes: Red, you little cryptid, why can’t you ever let anything be easy? Then again, if Jeff was hoping for things to be straightforward, he picked the wrong brother.

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

It was worth the long sit-down in the kid’s office, twiddling his thumbs in the dark as Red waited for the door to open. Worth it for that one moment to see Andy have to bite back a scream when he saw Red at his desk. Give the kid credit though, he didn’t piss himself, which had been known to happen. That was always funny as shit, but kinda annoying, because then Red had to wait around for whoever to change their pants. He was busy, for fuck’s sake, and there were plenty of other places he needed to lurk. Tell the truth, he’d been a little surprised to hear the kid was looking for him. Surprised and frankly intrigued. Andy’d only been working at the Embassy for a week, how much trouble could he have stumbled across already? And it was definitely trouble, no two shakes about it. No one came looking for Red because they wanted to share a kit kat, such a fucking pity. Jeff was still standing in the doorway, doorknob in hand, staring at Red like maybe he was expecting a pit to hell to open up beneath him and swallow him back down. Could happen someday, Red supposed, but today was not that day and he was gettin’ bored of waiting. “you can come in,” Red said magnanimously, gesturing him inside. “whatever diseases i got don’t transfer.” His grin widened as Jeff sat in the visitor’s chair rather than drop-kicking him out of the desk like his bro would’ve. Nervously little twerp, wasn’t he. But Red wasn’t much fooled by that; he’d seen Andy boy step up for the people he cared about, more than once. Kid had a soft soul, for sure, but a good one. Like Papyrus. Like Blue. This world could use a coupla those and it was up to souls like Red’s to keep the world from fucking them over. One more dinky scar on his was nothin’, but if Red had his way, Jeff’s was never gonna need so much as a band-aid.

Fucking liabilities. “Hi, um, it’s just,” Jeff stammered a bit and Red only looked at him, let him wriggle a little longer on the hook. He kept his approval under wraps when Jeff took a few breaths, calming himself, and said, “Earlier today, Stretch and I were downtown.” “uh huh,” Red slouched back in the chair, let his eye lights roll back. Looked like he was reading a teleprompter off the ceiling, but the truth was, Red kept all his info in the safest place Above or Below ground, all filed away neat and tidy in his own skull. “classic books, owned by thomas meyer, immigrated in 1965 with his folks. his pop owned the bookstore and thomas took it over a while back. does okay, the rare book gig helps keep him afloat. did even better when monsters popped up, they love books and ain’t so tied to amazon.” “What?” Jeff blinked at him in a mixture of surprise and awe, “I didn’t know any of that.” He looked a little too damn impressed by a little googling and a lot of patience, and fuck if this kid didn’t pick some bad role models. Shit on a shingle, if Red had a windowless van, Jeff would probably be climbing on in it hoping for some free damn ice cream, no self-preservation at all. His bro sure knew how to pick a liability, this kid was something else. “i know plenty,” Red tapped his gold tooth with one sharp-tipped finger. “so what about it? gimmie some news i can’t get from the paper.” “Well, it’s just that Thomas hired someone to replace me and he’s very…uncomfortable around Monsters.” Jeff was leaning forward, bracing his hands on the desk and probably didn’t even realize it. He looked like the lead detective in an eighties movie as he asked, “Why would someone who doesn’t like Monsters want to work somewhere that is friendly to them? Thomas even has one of those ‘Monsters Welcome’ stickers on his front door.” Wellie well well, now this was interesting. Course, Red already knew what the kid was talking about. Steven Baker, recent graduate of Ebott University. Garden-variety xenophobe, didn’t have any special plans scuttled away on his laptop or some raggedy notebook plastered with MAG stickers. He just needed a job and chose poorly, was all. Some people didn't adjust to Monsters too well and that was fine; Red pretty much didn't want those fuckers around anyway and so long as they stuck to the other side of town, wasn’t much his concern. But the ‘book haus’ reject, eh, that was all dull shit; Red had a lockdown on that info three days ago before that little fucker ever stepped behind the register. What was interestin’ him now was Andy. Here the kid was, bubbling with suspicions like a junior detective, and who did he Scooby Doo to? Not Edge, not Stretch, not even his boytoy. No, he brought that info right to Red, didn’t he, like a cat with a dead bird, eager to show off his prize. Yeah, Red was liking this. Aloud, Red said, “i know all about steve, did a background check when tommy boy hired him. we monitor all the businesses that have the official stickers.” “Oh,” Jeff slumped back into his chair and Red couldn’t help but be amused. Kid looked like he’d unmasked the bad guy and found that it was Old Man Jenkins again. He didn’t stay down though, sat up straight again and asked, “You monitor all the businesses? Why?” Curiosity, good, and even if Andy ain’t exactly ready to share friendship bracelets with Red, he wasn’t letting his nervousness keep him from asking. Red grudgingly pulled his estimation of the kid up another notch. “two reasons.” Red held up two bony fingers then folded one down. “one, to make sure they aren’t getting harassed and feel they need to take it down. monster-friendly business won’t stay that way if they’re afraid to go to their cars at night.” He folded down the second finger. “and two, to make sure they mean it. ‘bout the last thing i ever want to happen is some monster and their kiddies heading into a place expecting a warm welcome and instead leaving in a paper bag.” Jeff nodded slowly, cringing a little at the Red’s description. “Makes sense. I should’ve known you were already on it, guess I was being paranoid.” “no such thing,” Red countered. And wasn’t that a swig of sugar-syrup, the kid had faith in him. "you were right, it is off. that’s good instincts, kid. we’ll be keeping tabs on stevie, don’t you worry, make sure he stays on the right side of the line. you, now, you come tell me anytime you see something or someone who seems off, yeah? anytime. thinking you’re overreacting is how people get hurt, and some people in our company can’t take much of a hit, you get me?” “Yeah, I do,” Jeff said determinedly. Andy had some spine to him in there beneath all the meat. That was the fella who’d decked a stranger on the bus for harassing a Monster, yep. The door opening made him tense, but it was only Antwan, peering in through the crack. He pushed the door open further and stepped inside, “Hey, security said you were here.” Watching the kid light up when he caught sight of Antwan was gag-worthy, but Red managed to choke it down. Being around his bro, the honey bun, and their fucking PDA had helped him build up a tolerance. “Hi, yeah,” Jeff said, “Red and I were talking.” “yep," Red agreed. He wagged his foot lazily where it was propped on the desk. "we’re about done now. thanks for stopping by, sweetheart. see you around.” “Okay,” Jeff said easily, like this wasn’t his office, heh. Kid was a little too easy-going, but that could be fixed with a judicious amount of assholery. Or maybe he was still too distracted by his boytoy, to care because he was all hopeful eyes and sweet-talk when he asked Antwan, “See you tonight?” “Yeah, I’ll meet you at Blue’s,” Antwan said, distractedly. He was pretty busy trying to glare a hole into Red, not an uncommon reaction but not one he was used to from Antwan. His drinking buddy about had steam coming out of his ears and didn’t notice that Jeff’s smile faltered, fading out as he mumbled an agreement and left. Curiouser and curiouser, as some brat once said. “What the fuck are you up to?” Antwan asked bluntly, the second the door swung shut. “dunno what you mean,” Red went through his mental list of annoying vocal tones and went with breezy on this one, but truth was, he really didn’t. And he didn’t like that, not one fucking bit, he liked a clear idear of what was going on around him at all times, and if Antwan had a bug up his ass, Red wanted to know why it crawled up there and what kinda nest it was making. From Antwan’s glare, that bug was pretty far up there. “I mean, why are you calling my boyfriend pet names?” To have that piece of puzzle snap in so easily, Red almost busted out laughing. That was what had Antwan’s panties in a wad? “eh, i do that with everyone,” Red said lazily. He licked his teeth deliberately, running his tongue over each and every point as he enjoyed the rising fury in Antwan’s eyes. “aww, honey, what makes you think i’m interested in your personal meat bag?” “The knowledge that you fucked your way through Europe the last time you went traveling with the diplomats?” Antwan snapped. “I heard plenty about that!" “maybe i had some fun,” Red allowed, and gave him a wolfish grin. Unless Antwan was chatting it up with Sans, he hadn’t even heard the half of it. “dunno, i don’t see your name on andy boy. not a ring or maybe a pretty little collar. gotta say, that might be a good look for him—“ “Stop,” Antwan said, through gritted teeth. Pretty impressive the way wrenched himself back, all that hot anger dropping down the thermometer to icy calm. “Your brother is my best friend, he wouldn’t like it if we killed each other.” Red snorted. This was fun and all, but a slap upside the head with a little realism was probably due. “cute that you think there is any ‘other’ about it. dunno, doesn’t sound like you trust your boy.” “What?” Antwan looked pretty taken aback by that, which was a fine, fine thing. Cause if there was a chance this entertaining lil’ tantrum was about Antwan thinking Jeff was trying to get a late afternoon bone-on, he and Antwan were about to talk real close up, make no mistake about that. Jeff wasn't a cheat, Red had a little file tucked away in the back of his head with plenty of data proving that.

Antwan didn't seem to notice, he only snapped out, "This isn’t about him, it’s about you. I know you too damn well. Leave him alone.” Well, this a slice of something different. He’d never much had anyone worried he was gonna seduce their honey away. Refreshing change, that. Sans was gonna laugh his ass off. “not much of a threat there.” Antwan’s smile was coldly humorless, whew, bet that went over real well in court, probably had a more’n few defendants pissing themselves. “No threats. I know better than to give you advance warning.” “better," Red let his grin widen, licked his teeth again deliberately, "could always make it a threesome.” Now that was a hell of a look. That was fifty shades of no, such a shame. Antwan only sputtered out, “I…what? No!” "pity," Red sighed. He kicked off of the desk and stood, groaning as he stretched with bone-popping force. "cool your jets, i ain’t trying anything with your boy, he had a security issue was all. ask him, he’ll tell ya. now that we've established that i’m not trying to poach, hit bricks.” Antwan only stared at him, visibly fuming, oh, yeah, he was plenty pissed, looked like he was trying to chew off his damn tongue. But Red was done playing nicey-nice for the day and it looked like Antwan was keeping cosplay as the fool aside for Andy. He turned on his heel, ready to storm back out the way he came and it was probably gonna lose him his drinking buddy, at least for a while, but Red couldn't help adding, sing-song sweet, "not trying yet, anyway." The door slamming told Red everything he needed to know about that. Red shook his head, started to pull out a cigar. He'd wait to light it when he got outside, no reason to stink up the kid's office, especially without his bro here to bitch and moan about it. Oh yeah, those two were meant to be. Just like the boss and Stretch, it was almost like a fucking aura around 'em, and Red didn't do Judgements anymore, but he'd never given up Seeing. He was never one to let a gift go to waste and he'd known fucking ages before his bro that he was meant to be with the honey bun. And just like those idiots, these two might need a little nudge in the right direction. That was fine. Red was pretty good when push came to shove.

~~*~~

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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arabellaflynn · 4 years ago

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I am so fucking over this plague thing. More accurately, I am so fucking over everybody being paranoid of this plague thing. Leaving the house isn't giving me panic attacks because of covid, it's because of all the goddamned people.

Look. I understand why people are afraid. When covid goes bad, it can go really bad, like 'intensive care with invasive ventilation' bad. It's just that this amount of fear is incompatible with also getting on with your life in any meaningful way, not to mention it's out of proportion with reality. Hospitalization rates of people with a confirmed case of COVID-19 (so, not counting people who never bothered to get tested, or people who have been exposed and fought the virus off, or people who have never been exposed) is about 82 per 100,000, or 0.082%. Condoms, when used properly, have about a 2% failure rate. If you trust in condoms to keep you childfree, you can trust reasonable, non-paranoid precautions to keep you from dying of covid.

If you catch covid, and you're an otherwise healthy non-elderly person, your experience is overwhelmingly likely to be like the one I had with chicken pox. I was born in 1981, so my prime years as a disease vector were before the varicella zoster vaccine. I caught chicken pox when I was 8 or 9. It blew. I was off school for two weeks, and I spent every moment of that itching like a motherfucker. But, like 59,999 out of 60,000 chicken pox sufferers, I got over it, and I'm still here. This doesn't mean that it's pointless to try to avoid catching it, and it definitely doesn't argue in favor of holding "chicken pox parties" so you can give it to other people on purpose. That's just idiocy. But it does mean that going to Howard Hughes-esque lengths in order to avoid ever coming into contact with it is maybe a little bit of an overreaction.

"Flatten the curve" was never meant to keep us all from catching COVID-19. The novel coronavirus is now endemic in the human population. Everyone is going to get this. Probably not every few months, like rhinovirus-driven colds, but more like pre-vaccine influenza, where if you had common sense and a bit of luck, you'd have a sucky few weeks once or twice a decade. The idea behind "flatten the curve" was to keep everyone from catching it at the same time, so that the number of cases that did need hospitalization never exceeded the number of available hospital beds. Believe it or not the news did explain that part, in tiny words, but everyone seems to have forgotten.

I had to hike into the next town over to pick up some stuff the other day. One of my roommates gawped in horror when I mentioned that I only wear a mask when around people. The Commonwealth of Massachusetts requires face coverings when indoors or when maintaining a distance of at least six feet from other people is impractical. That's fair; those are the circumstances under which cloth masks impede the spread of droplet-borne viral illnesses, be they COVID-19 or some other crap you've picked up. I had a mask, because I was going to talk to another human, and a good chunk of my route went through a populated area where I was likely to meet other people on the sidewalk. But a good chunk of my route also went through parks and quiet suburbs. I was outdoors, a place with notoriously good ventilation, and it was easy to stay 10+ feet away from the few people I saw. Under those conditions, masks have no effect. As long as you handle them by the ear pieces -- because you have been breathing damp schmutz all over the face part -- you can in fact take them off to cool down and breathe, and re-set them when you see people approaching again.

Said roommate wears a mask from the instant she exits the front door to the very moment she gets back in. Even when walking the dog in our wide-open neighborhood, where there is so little traffic you can dodge the other dog-walkers and joggers by walking down the middle of the street if you want. The neighbor kids bike and play games in the road all the time. You can wear a mask under those conditions if you want to, but I can't. I already have a hard enough time not being able to breathe when exerting myself in hot, humid weather. At that point, it's not doing anything physical. Its sole purpose is to act as a talisman to allay your own anxiety about all things covid. Not just anxieties about catching it, but anxieties about not displaying the correct amount of conformity and community-mindedness. I'm not really surprised; virtue signalling is something of a local sport. But that is what's going on.

Another roommate has taken to disinfecting all the groceries. He started out using wipes but then we ran out, so now he's just got a spray bottle of Clorox and water sitting on the kitchen windowsill. I have politely gone along with this for the most part, but I also intercept my own deliveries, lest he get it into his head to bleach my raw produce. Dr Fauci does not bleach his groceries; I know, because Colbert was a wiseass and asked him on national TV. It's possible to get covid from contaminated surfaces in the same way it's possible to get herpes from a toilet seat, in the sense that it doesn't contradict any known laws of physics, but it's so unlikely that if you can actually demonstrate that it happened you will get written up as a case study. And frankly it doesn't matter what kind of terrifying things are on the outside of your packages as long as you wash your hands.

For those of you who do not have a psychiatric diagnosis, this is what's called an anxiety spiral. Something makes you anxious and you start to see it in terms of risks to your safety, so naturally your response is to start thinking about how to avoid it. You make a plan. But then you start noticing that your plan may not reduce that risk to zero, or may present risks of its own, so you make a second-order plan to plaster over those. But then that plan has holes, so then you need a third-order plan, and so on and so forth quite literally ad infinitum if you can keep it up that long, or until you decompensate rather spectacularly if you can't. The less reliable, concrete information you have about what's going to happen, the worse it gets. If you let it continue to the point of pathology -- which I am starting to see among the general population -- you eventually dig yourself in so deep that you can't get groceries without involving a contingency plan in case of nuclear first-strike from Canada. This, understandably, fucks up your life. I've seen this both first-hand in my own brain, and in being raised by a woman who suffered from such a massive unacknowledged anxiety disorder that she blocked off the front windows of the house for fear that someone walking down the street outside might see that she had the living room lights on.

Your risk of contracting SARS-CoV-2, now that it exists, is not zero. It will never be zero. A vaccine will not bring it down to zero. Technically, your risk of contracting smallpox is also not zero, because there are still a few vials of it lying around somewhere. Your risk of unintentionally spreading it -- which is what the cloth masks are meant to do; if it's not an N95 mask it does nothing to keep you from catching it -- is therefore also not zero. But there comes a point where it is low enough, and you have to just accept that it exists as part of the background chance that you might get run over by a car or fall in the shower or discover an anaphylactic allergy the hard way or keel over from an undetected aneurysm or any of the other ways you can die without warning.

The BLM protesters are doing it right, I think. That's an important thing that has to get done, so they're doing it. They're spending hours in a large crowd of people, so they try to keep a 6' distance and wear a mask, because that's not always feasible. You can't let your fear immobilize you, and there is a finite level to which you can let that fear prompt you to make yourself uncomfortable. Risk tolerance differs from person to person. My housemates are welcome to freak out over the idea of taking the trash out without a mask; I'm not, and I'm not putting one on to spend two minutes out in the side yard at midnight.

And anyone who froths over "kids these days" referring to it as "the 'rona" can cool their jets. This is basically a pandemic tradition. You get a shot every year so you don't catch "the 'flu" -- which, yes, was how it was typographically styled in 1917-19 -- so shut the fuck up.

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admiralty-xfd · 6 years ago

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Culmination

This is Chapter Two. If you missed chapter one, check it out first.

CHAPTER TWO- EXPECTATION

MULDER

(Pilot)

“...Hi.”

He definitely isn’t expecting to see her at his motel room door, in her bathrobe, standing there in the rain. It’s not an unwelcome visit, but he’s unprepared. She’s visibly shaken, upset.

“I want you to look at something,” she says. This isn’t a social call, and he quickly rebukes the notion that he was hoping it might be.

“Come on in.” He opens the door and she rushes inside. The room is dark due to the blackout, and she turns around, facing away from him. Suddenly she’s dropping her robe, and he can see the curves of her body in the candlelight, and for a brief moment his mind wanders to a place he knows it shouldn’t go. But she’s truly afraid of something, and his concern for her outweighs his libido for the moment.

The robe falls down to her waist, revealing her naked back to him. She does it without hesitation, exposing far more in this moment than her bare skin; she’s showing her vulnerability. She’s so trusting in him he feels humbled.

She indicates a couple spots on her lower back, spots that he has to admit share a remarkable resemblance to those found on the teenage abductees they’d discovered in the woods earlier that day. Her voice is trembling.

“...What are they?”

He slowly crouches down to get a closer look. He can tell they are mosquito bites right away, and he wonders how she couldn’t see it for herself. Fear can get the best of anyone, he supposes. He tries to absorb the significance of Dr. Dana Scully’s very real fear that she might have contracted some sort of alien abductee disease, but he’s distracted by how smooth and perfect her skin looks and he lingers near the small of her back for a few seconds too long, he knows it. He can’t help it.

“Mulder! What are they?!”

Eventually he allays her fears and she flings herself into his arms with relief. At first he thinks the entire thing is kind of funny, but then he feels her body shaking. She seems genuinely afraid.

“I need to sit down,” she admits. She wraps the robe back around her body and sits in one of his chairs, breathing heavily.

“Take your time.” Mulder sets the candle down on the table by the door and takes the seat opposite her.

“I’m sorry for barging in on you, I think... I just overreacted, I guess. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He’s having a hard time believing she had been that afraid of something she dismissed so completely only a few hours earlier. He’s starting to wonder what’s really underneath her layers. It excites him, fascinates him. “These cases can get a little spooky. You’ll get used to it.”

She looks over at him, her hair slightly curling from the dampness. She hasn’t looked any less than put together the past couple days, but it’s funny… right now is the first time he’s really noticing how beautiful she is.

Stop it, he tells himself. He can’t be thinking about this. It’s utterly unprofessional. And inconvenient.

“You know, Mulder, you’ve got a way about you. Your... earnestness, your devotion. It’s a little contagious, I have to admit.” She smiles at him.

“You really didn’t know those were mosquito bites?” he asks. “You are a medical doctor, right? You’re not pulling my leg?”

“It was hard to see from that angle-" She narrows her eyes, a tiny grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. She’s not quite used to his sense of humor yet. “Shut up, Mulder.”

He laughs, gets up, offers her his hand. “Come on, you can stay in here if you want. We only have so many candles.”

“No, it’s okay, I’ll be fine.”

“I insist. Lotta big mosquitoes out there.”

She scrunches her face up and takes his hand as he helps her out of the chair. He walks over to the closet and pulls down a fleece blanket, handing it to her. “Here, you get warm first. You can take the bed. I’m used to the couch anyway.”

She hugs the blanket to her chest, eyeing him. “Mulder. I’m not going to take your bed.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s against Bureau regulations.”

“You don’t know me very well yet, but you’ll learn soon enough that the Bureau regulations and I don’t get along very well.” He eyes her mischievously. “But try any of that Tailhook crap on me, Scully, and I’ll kick your ass.”

Smiling, she crawls onto his bed, pulling the blanket around her. “You know, I could have you written up just for mentioning that.”

“But you won’t,” he grins.

“No, I won’t,” she admits. “You don’t seem like the type.”

“The type to sexually harass my female peers? Or the type to make jokes about it?”

“Neither, really.” She props her head up on one elbow as he plops down against the bed at her feet. “Quite frankly, I imagine you just don’t have the time or the energy.”

“You’re probably right about that.” He stares up at the ceiling. The rain pounds against the windows, picking up in intensity.

“What are you thinking?” she asks him, after a couple minutes of silence have passed.

“I’m thinking… that I feel like I can really trust you.”

She’s silent for a minute, and their eyes somehow meet in the dark room. He can tell she knows he’s serious, that this means something to him. “I want you to trust me, Mulder.”

He hesitates, but something in him is telling him she’s the one, the one he can confide in, the one he can tell. He’s been waiting for this person his entire life. She will listen. She will believe him. He feels it deep in his gut, in his heart, everywhere he can feel it.

“I want to tell you something,” he says.

“You can tell me anything.”

He exhales loudly, knowing he’s taking a great risk. She could laugh at him. She could roll her eyes. She could ask to be reassigned. All these things cross his mind in this moment, but the one thing outweighing everything else is the part of him that’s saying trust her. You can trust her.

So he does. He tells her everything. And she doesn’t laugh. She doesn’t roll her eyes. She hears him. He’s not certain if she really believes his sister was abducted by aliens, but he knows on this night they’ve made a vow, a silent unbreakable bond to always hear each other.

To always trust in one another.

It’s more than he expected, and much more than he hoped for. On this night he makes a choice, a decision, to place his trust in Scully, his new partner.

He’s been uncertain about many things in his life, but in this he believes.

SCULLY

(Shadows)

“Proclaim LIBERTY Throughout all the Land unto all the Inhabitants Thereof.”

Scully reads the inscription on the bell. She squints at the type, wishing she had her glasses from her carry-on bag back at the motel. Mulder is watching her, leaning against the railing, sans tie and jacket, top button undone. It’s as casual as he’d prepared to get on this trip.

“You know, that’s a Bible verse, Scully.”

She leans forward a bit to inspect the bell and cocks her head towards him. “Gee, thanks, Mulder, but I knew that.”

“Of course you did.” He pops a sunflower seed into his mouth, grins at her expectantly. He knows she’ll say it. She can’t help herself.

“Leviticus 25:10, actually.”

“Ah!” he rolls his head back and looks skyward, then looks at her smiling, shaking his head. “No one likes a know-it-all, Scully.”

She shrugs. “What can I say? I’m an endless fountain of information, some useful and some not so useful.”

“All of it’s useful if your objective is impressing your partner.”

“Anyway, it says it right here.” She walks around the bell and points to the inscription. He comes around behind her to look.

“Well, I never pegged you as a cheater.”

“I didn’t cheat. You don’t grow up a Catholic Navy brat without knowing some of these things,” she explains. “Besides, I’ve been here before.”

Mulder does a low, exaggerated bow. “Right. Well I appreciate you powering through this again for me, Scully.”

As they wander around the bell, she decides to impress him a little more. “Did you know that they have no way of knowing if this particular bell was ever actually rung at the reading of the Declaration of Independence?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean," she explains with a smile, "there’s no proof, not really. There’s no way to know. All we have are the accounts of historians and their best guesses. We just have to take their word for it.”

Mulder thinks for a moment. “That’s interesting. So you’re telling me we raced across town to get here before they closed, waited in line for forty-five minutes and the damn thing may have never even actually been rung?”

“Sorry.”

He shakes his head. “Well, that would be disappointing if I wasn’t so completely used to that kind of disappointment in my everyday life.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” she smiles.

“But that’s an interesting perspective. How many things that we think are true, and don’t even question, are based off what other people have told us? Are we expected to prove everything to ourselves or is it reasonable to just… take someone’s word for it?"

“I suppose it’s a matter of trust. Deciding who to place your trust in. I place my trust in science.”

“...And I trust no one,” he smiles conspiratorially. “Maybe that’s why I never get anywhere in this line of work?”

“That’s definitely something you should reflect upon in your more pensive moments, Mulder,” she suggests with a smile.

A family passes by them, a small child having a minor meltdown. Scully thinks of her own godson, and wonders how tolerable he’d find a visit to the Liberty Bell at almost eight o’clock in the evening on a weeknight. She remembers fondly the dozens of vacations and trips her own family went on to visit sites just like this. Her father was a huge American history buff, and that in itself was enough for young Dana Scully to consume as much knowledge on the subject as she could.

“You know, you never answered my question from earlier today, Scully,” he suddenly says, interrupting her reverie.

“Hm?” she replies absently. “What question?”

“Whether or not you believe in an afterlife.” He’s leaning back on the railing again, and she joins him.

“Honestly, I don’t think about it all that much.”

“You must have some thoughts on the subject,” he presses, a slight nod at her gold cross necklace. He casually pops a seed into his mouth.

She pauses, considering his motives. There’s no superiority, no condescension in his eyes. Just warmth and friendship and genuine curiosity. So she decides to divulge.

“I know, as a scientist and a rational person, that much of what’s in the Bible simply can’t be taken as fact. But... I don’t know, something in me takes great comfort in the idea that maybe there’s something or someone out there watching over me and the people I care about. So, I guess… the idea of an afterlife is a comfort, too. I’ve always thought that since I was a child. Maybe it seems crazy, but it’s tough to shake, you know?”

He looks at her pointedly, working a shell around in his mouth. “I do know.”

They share a smile and a silence hangs between them for a minute.

“Well, Mulder, we’ve got something in common after all. Neither of us can prove what we believe.”

“So you do believe it.”

She sighs. “Would it be incredibly cheesy of me to say that I want to believe?”

“Yes, yes it would," he smiles. "But I like it.”

“Well, what about you, Mulder?”

He shrugs. “I don’t have anything too interesting to reveal. As far as an afterlife goes, I obviously believe ghosts are possible. So some kind of realm beyond our own is something I imagine could be possible, too. But I’ve just never found a compelling reason to believe there’s some singular God, a higher power in charge of everything. The world is so beautiful in its randomness, and full of intricacies with so little rhyme or reason. Not to mention its endless inherent cruelties. It’s too difficult for me to acknowledge someone is responsible for all of it.”

“Yeah, but ... aliens?” She can’t help it.

He tilts his head to one side. “Look, Scully, I have the same doubts you do. But to me it seems all too possible, even probable, that we aren’t alone in the universe. And it definitely doesn’t sound any more far fetched than the concept of an all-powerful, all-knowing God.”

She looks away, uncomfortable. She can’t quite explain this feeling that comes over her whenever someone brings up the believability of God. The constant battle waging inside her mind on this particular topic never seems to abate. So in general she tries to avoid it entirely.

He continues. “We can disagree on pretty much anything, Scully, but I need you to know I’ll always respect your opinion, and I’ll always want to hear it.”

“I do know that, Mulder,” she says quietly. “Contrary to what you might think, you should know I feel the same way.”

He smiles and nods, an understanding between them. She really feels like, at this moment, nothing more needs to be said. So they stand next to one another in silence for awhile, looking at a large bell with a crack in it, wondering about the knell that may or may not have been.

After a minute he speaks again. “I’m glad we did this, Scully.” She knows his meaning is layered; the visit to the Liberty Bell, but also the opportunity to have a conversation about life, one that isn’t mandated by the Bureau.

“Me too. Thanks for talking me into it.” They start to exit as a group of tourists pass around them, forcing them to swim upstream for a bit. Mulder places his hand on the small of her back to guide her out of the observation area. As usual, she gets a tiny rush from the contact and as usual, doesn’t know what to make of it. Then, as usual, she feels a slight pang of disappointment when he moves his hand away.

“I’m starving,” she suddenly says. “Want to go get something to eat before we head out?”

“Yes. That would be a yes,” he answers. “Please say you like Philly cheesesteaks, Scully.”

“I was going to say,” she grins.

Thanks for reading! I’ll be back tomorrow with chapter three, or you can continue reading on A03.

#txf #fanfic #fanfiction #msr #the x files #mulder and scully #baby agents in love

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thiswaycomessomethingwicked · 5 years ago

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"😓A misunderstood character is ostracized, perhaps even threatened, for their peculiar habits, interests, or studies" - this is gonna be v specific but like.... Drabble where vetinari and downey giggle about people gossiping about vetinari being a vampire? Perhaps? Pls?

Thank you so much for the ask! i’m not sure if this is quite what you were hoping for, but I hope you enjoy.

Midnight and Downey hears clicking so he’s half-awake, then fully awake and thinking there’s someone in the room with him. He can’t see them but knows a presence when it is felt, only: he can’t move. The clicking increases, an insect-noise, as something prowls near his head and he does not wish to look over but does, because he can’t help it, and there sits a monstrous creature poised with stinger above his face and the weight on his chest holding him down reminds him of that one poor man accused of witchcraft, or was it being vampire?, all those hundreds of years ago who was pressed to death in the main square. The rocks they put on his chest were later used to build the base of the Brass Bridge. When you walk over them you walk over his ghost.

And now Downey is awake. Awake and sitting upright, which means he can move, but he’s still seeing the insect so there remains whispers of the dream. It is a dream, he reminds himself, because he has had such before and, more importantly, he knows all the insects on the Disc and the one he imagined next to him is not one of them. If he is going to go and discover a new species it won’t be whilst half-asleep in the middle of the city.

He rubs eyes, looks to pillow beside him and finds it empty.

Sinking back into bed he pulls the eiderdown up around his head and burrows in an attempt to reclaim even a shred of disturbed sleep.

But it’s gone. His mind is already going fast-fast-fast there are so many things he must do as Term moves into exam season and holiday festivities must be planned and budgeted for and rooms prepped for new students joining them for Winter term after Hogswatch. Then there’s City Council matters and Guild matters and three jobs lined up, hasn’t he already decided he’s too busy, tired and old for this?, and then there’s the never ending social calendar. Which he enjoys. But, it can be a bit much.

Bedroom silence is as maddening as his racing mind. He’s staring at the thin pool of moonlight on the floor. It’s autumn, so skies are a perpetual grey with only a weak sun to splash watery gold and pink across horizon at morning and evening. The grey continues into the night obscuring stars. So everything is a shadow of its summertime self.

He is restless. His nerves are up. He has spooked himself and remains half-convinced there’s someone in the room with him. The presence, he repeats to himself, was the dream and the dream was made of stress.

He rolls around for a bit. Then, out of a sense of paranoia, he retrieves a blade from between mattress and headboard, and prowls about his room but finds nothing and neither do Alsace nor Harold. He ought to be content if not pleased.

Fear is an anathema to him. One of the first rules of performing assassin is knowing that you are the most dangerous thing that walks the streets. And if you don’t know it in yourself, for certain, then at least exude it to others. Smoke and mirrors &tc.

One autumn, as a boy of seven, he developed a deep fear of vampires. They can turn into mist, slide into bedrooms through keyholes and hide under the bed or in the closet. They drink your blood and make you one of them whether you wish it or not.

The fear left him as he grew up. At first, because he learned how to kill them. Then, later, he met a few, became friends or an approximation of friends, with a few. Olivia Hunter, one example, said, it’s being damned for a sin you’ve no part in. People look and say ‘We know your kind’ when they know nothing of anything. What is my kind? Genuan? Black? Woman? Secretary? Vampire? Omnian?

And that’s a sentiment he understands, was raised to understand, for his grandmother would talk about the bad old days in Brindisi when she was a girl and they had to leave, which happens sometimes, because people decide they know your kind and whatever it is, it’s unwanted.

He dresses. Alsace and Harold become very excited at this sudden change in events. As always, he takes a circuitous route through the city to the palace. He weaves through alleys, up and down stairs and closes, trots this way and that across streets. For a time, he loiters on the Brass Bridge and peers at different stones. The foundation stone’s date has worn away with time so when you trace fingers over it there is only the merest indentation. Was this the stone that finally killed that man all those years ago? He’s never seen a witch stoning and has no desire to. There are some violences and brutalities that go too far.

The palace is shades of moth-wing grey. Downey slips in between shadows and up to the patrician’s bedroom where, as expected, Vetinari is up. The man is seated at his desk half-dressed with robe wrapped around him and a blanket over shoulders.

‘Have you considered a brazier?’ Downey asks upon entrance. Vetinari flicks a look at him. ‘It would help with your consistent lack of heating.’

‘I am quite content, Downey. If the temperature was comfortable people might wish to stay.’

Downey feigns offence. He drapes himself across the bed and stares up at canopy. Alsace and Harold make themselves at home by the meager fire next to Mr. Fusspot who remains unphased by the sudden presence of dogs easily three times his size. He snores on in peaceful slumber.

‘May I be of assistance?’ Vetinari’s voice drifts over coupled with the ruffle of paper.

‘Oh no, you’re fine.’

‘Is there a reason you’re here?��

‘Must there always be a motive for my coming? I had a desire to be mildly chilled and to stare up at your canopy.’

Vetinari makes a noise, a scoff or snort. Downey smiles at the fabric above him.

‘We didn’t have plans,’ Vetinari says, quietly, to himself and his desk. Downey does not respond. Vetinari’s penchant for exact order crops up time to time. They are both men with strong affinity for order, but applied in very different areas of their lives.

Downey orders butterflies and beetles and natural and manmade poisons. He also orders accounts, aligns the debit-credit column of the guild, his wardrobe, his drinks cabinet. He does not order his personal life. He doesn’t need to, Vetinari orders it for him.

‘You know,’ Downey drawls as a thought occurs. ‘Your desire to have cold rooms and no creature comforts is probably why people think you’re a vampire.’

A cough from the direction of the window.

Downey props himself up and looks over. ‘Tolerant of extreme temperatures? Lack of expected, human reactions to circumstances? Patience of a rock? Never seen sleeping?’

‘You have seen me sleep.’ A lofty, disinterested expression, ‘and you can attest to my ability to react appropriately in certain, ah, circumstances.’

It’s a lascivious grin on Downey’s face. Vetinari tells him that he is being lewd. Downey replies that he is not being lewd at all. Vetinari says, ‘very well, your face is making lewd insinuations.’ Downey begs his pardon with great animation, delighting in the other man’s long suffering sigh. He delights in most things Vetinari does, including his more obsessive ticks. It’s a pleasure to know there’s someone who won’t judge you for talking to your plants and will understand the extreme stress of holding one’s tongue when someone is wrong about biology in public. Which happens with great regularity.

A huff, Vetinari decants from his desk to the bed where Downey, who has pried boots off and deposited cloak, scarf, hat, gloves, frock, and so on, on the floor, happily scoots beneath covers.

‘And you have very cold hands,’ Downey continues.

Vetinari snorts, ‘the people of this great city really have nothing better to do than speculate upon my supposed inhumanity?’

‘I think it’s an improvement over their wildly inaccurate speculations about your manhood.’

Vetinari’s face is a portrait. Downey kisses it.

He continues, ‘I would correct them, of course. But that would cause more grief than it’s worth. Now, you as a vampire on the other hand, I can see their reasoning.’

‘I’ve eaten food in public. I drink…wine.’

Downey snorts, ‘Mr. Warrender at the Cloak and Dagger believes it all to be an elaborate ruse.’

‘I see,’

‘He was going on about this the other night,’ Downey begins plucking at Vetinari’s robe which he considers an affront as it is another layer of clothing to take off. ‘I think he managed to make a few converts to his cause. He says that he’s never seen you handle coin before therefore you’re avoiding silver. You don’t attend religious ceremonies because of holy ground. Your robe is annoying me deeply. And you rarely go out, uncovered, in daylight due to discomfort in the sun.’

‘I’m not sure Mr. Warrender would have any opinion on my robe. Downey, I’m quite busy tonight.’

‘Yes, I’m here now. Your metaphorical dance card is full for the remainder of the evening.’

Vetinari stares. Downey stares back. Vetinari opens his mouth to reply, apparently reconsiders it, and sighs. Downey kisses him again as it seems the right course of action.

Downey rolls Vetinari over to his back, snaking a hand beneath robe, down, pulling up nightshift beneath. Vetinari liftst hips to allow the clothes to be hitched up, ‘why are you here, Downey?’

Downey raises an eyebrow. Looks down at their bodies then back up.

‘That’s not why you’re here. This is a symptom, not the cause.’

‘I dislike that. Being associated with disease isn’t something I enjoy, but I’ll save my annoyance for tomorrow. I was awake and restless.’

‘Right.’ A beat. ‘My apologies.’

‘Thank you,’ Downey hums. He cannot think how to explain: I had a dream and spooked myself. So he chooses not to. He continues with vague answers and determined exploration of Vetinari’s body, a boney, you’re-a-bit-of-a-shut-in sort of experience. Being opposites in most regards, Vetinari has nothing spare, all strung together with skin and only the amount of muscle needed to operate a body compared to Downey’s more, as he puts it to himself, comfortable, frame.

As teenagers, therefore posturing with great energy and determination, Vetinari once said: I’m an aesthete. Downey hadn’t been entirely sure what an aesthete was so made some general scag-dog-botherer related insult and went off to ask Ludo what it meant. Ludo explained asceticism with a wry expression. Downey then spent the remainder of the day mocking Vetinari for being a nerdy prat.

Downey thinks that to be fair to sixteen-year-old Vetinari the young man hadn’t been wrong. He was, and is, very much an aesthete. But, Downey adds on, he was also a nerdy prat.

Not that he, himself, was a joy and pleasure to be around at that age. Eleven to five-and-twenty, he thinks, those are terrible years where no one is at their best.

Vetinari scoops an arm around Downey’s neck and leans up, pressing their mouths together. ‘Would you still be here if I was a vampire?’

‘Yes. Though, there’d be very strict boundaries.’

‘Naturally.’

‘’I’ve no desire for immortality. The one thing I wonder is,’ Downey settles on his side. ‘Would you still be you if you were one? It’s a rude question so I haven’t asked anyone I know.’

Vetinari shrugs. How does never dying change a person? How does not tasting, not needing sleep, not bodily changing, shape an individual? Would that change be any different from the normal changes all people go through as life forms them forever into something new?

Neither choose to answer the questions. Downey figures they were rhetorical more than anything. But even if they weren’t, he has no answer. He likes his humanity. He’s content with being merely mortal. There is a thrill to life that he thinks wouldn’t be there if you knew you weren’t going to die. Pleasures would lose their meaning. He likes luscious fox fur, richly patterned cambric, heavy brocades because he knows they are his but for a limited time. When he dies they’ll be of no use save to cover the body until it’s cremated. But doesn’t that limitation of enjoyment make it all the sweeter? There will be a finite end to champagne and oysters and music and dancing and gold and silver.

But as a vampire, at least with regards to the clothing and objects, you would have it forever. One fades, buy another.

Perhaps they find meaning in other things less worldly than clothes and beautiful things.

What a terrible concept.

‘You had a mistress who was one, didn’t you?’ Downey asks.

‘Mistress,’ Vetinari’s bemused by the word. ‘I wouldn’t go that far.’

‘What was her view?’

‘On how she was before? She didn’t speak of it much, but I think she takes the long view of things. So time is both fast and slow. She said that because relations with humans are so fleeting she found them more precious.’

Downey pulls a face. See, finding meaning in less worldly things. Vetinari flashes a smile, returns to his usual impassive self.

‘I don’t think it’s life that would suit you, Downey.’

‘I’d have to become philosophical, which is a horror. I would be required to place value in things other than material wealth. Absolutely terrible.’

Vetinari props himself up on an elbow and takes to considering Downey’s face with great intent. Downey looks away. He frets that Vetinari is going to say something about him being more than what he intends himself to be. Which Vetinari tends to do because he enjoys telling Downey home-truths.

Life delivers. Vetinari says, ‘I think you hold things beyond material wealth as important. A limited amount,’ he amends. ‘Perhaps a very limited amount. But nonetheless, they exist.’

This is too much, Downey can feel a flush crawling up his chest and neck so leans up, gives a messy kiss, then rolls over in search of his clothes. He says he should go back to the Guild. It’s late, he has much to do in the morning. Vetinari sits up and watches him dress. Downey swans about, makes it a bit of a theatrical moment, then the final flourish, he places his hat on.

‘I will see you tomorrow,’ Downey says.

‘You will. Or today, as the case may be. We are well into the small hours.’

At the door Downey pauses. Behind him is the sound of Vetinari dressing. The shift of linens, bare feet on soft, wooden floors.

‘I don’t think it would be a life that suits you either,’ Downey says to the doorframe. His palm rests flat against it, a profile to Vetinari’s line of sight.

‘Immortality, or vampirism in particular?’

‘Both.’ Or maybe, Downey doesn’t think, he wishes to believe that for his own sake. He doesn’t like to think of Vetinari going on, existing as some lonesome, grey rock in the midst of human life for any longer than he already has.

‘Possibly. Quite possibly you’re very right.’

Downey sucks in a breath through teeth then, because he enjoys hurdling head first off cliffs from time to time, ‘I’m glad things are working out, you know. Between us. Despite the fact that you’re a nerdy prat, Dog-botherer.’

He’s gone before Vetinari can reply though he imagines he heard a soft exhale of a laugh. One of those dry ones Vetinari gives when amused but feeling many things at the same time. It’s a ghost of a sound and follows Downey through streets homeward. He wishes to remember it forever.

#lord downey #vetinari #writing #ask #reply #gothic prompt

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