#this time around his owner must have feared he would come home dragging a bag with pampe inside or something

[hedgehog-moss]

Look, friends.

Do you think this is a post about my adorable baby succulents? No. Look harder.

It's about the GIANT HOLE IN MY FENCE that I had to patch up with cardboard.

I can't blame Pampérigouste for this one; the brutish nature of the damage is not consistent with her usual modus operandi. Pampe outsmarts locks like Arsène Lupin; she doesn't charge at fences like a bull who saw a red cloth. This is Pampe Pondering A Fence Problem:

No, the damage to my fence looked a lot more mindless this time. Boorish. Boar-ish. I'm blaming a boar. A deer would have destroyed the whole thing rather than just the lower half. Note that there is not a single tuft of llama wool on the damaged wire mesh.

(Note no.2: the boar's smile was originally meant to be a tusk but it really just looks like a sardonic smile)

I brought some chicken wire to patch up the hole—but there wasn't enough of it. Then it started raining and I felt persecuted and decided to just cover the hole with cardboard and go have my morning coffee and get back to this later.

This is not an Innocent Pampe post; there is no such thing. My temporary cardboard solution lasted 8 to 10 minutes. I'm not sure exactly when she got out, but by the time I went back outside to repair the fence there was a Pampe-shaped hole in the cardboard.

(Not really; she just kind of lifted or ate a corner then wormed her way through the very small opening. I think.) (See, this is how you recognise a Pampe escape: you're not entirely clear on what went down, you just know there was a llama inside and now there is a llama outside.)

It was still raining and I didn't feel like going after her, plus it felt pointless to bring her back in her pasture before the fence was repaired, so I went in the barn to look for my tools and rummage through leftover pieces of previously-destroyed fences, hoping to find something the right size.

Then I heard Pampelune's hyena shriek, aka the llama alarm call. It was followed by:

horrified chicken screams and frantic feather noises; the soundtrack of a violent fox attack

infuriated barking from Pandolf

very loud panicked braying from Pirlouit

basically, chaos.

I ran outside just in time to see Pampe emerging from the woods at a full gallop, pursued by a bear. I didn't immediately identify the animal that was chasing her as the giant dog that he was, because he was running with a weird gait, with his legs going everywhere like he was frolicking at top speed (I now know that this dog is a puppy that has learnt to run just a few months ago, but that didn't occur to me at the time because this puppy is the size of a calf.)

Pampe was running towards the cardboard through which she had escaped and she managed to squeeze through her small corner hole again (I assume—there were trees blocking my line of sight and I only saw her again once she was in the pasture, running for her life along with the other 2 llamas + donkey.) Meanwhile, the dog didn't see the corner hole and tried to power through the cardboard much like a boar, or was carried away by his momentum and didn't brake in time; I don't know. In any case, when I reached him, he was stuck.

My large piece of cardboard was tied to the fence posts and still holding strong, but the middle was a bit soggy with rain and not too solid, so the dog's head went right through it. The rest of his body didn't.

He could have probably finished breaking the cardboard quite easily, but for some reason he instantly gave up. On life. By the time I got there the dog was half-in and half-out of the pasture and he looked defeated. Which made my piece of cardboard look like a mediaeval beheading apparatus with just a hole for the head.

I went to lock an angry Pandolf in the barn and checked on the chickens along the way (ruffled & offended but fine); I was hoping the dog would figure out how to extricate his head from the cardboard in the meantime. He did not. I tried to call him in a friendly tone (from behind) to encourage him to free his head by stepping back, but the concept of taking a couple of steps backwards in order to extract his head from the hole might as well have been advanced engineering. He clearly had no idea where his head was, where his body was, how to make the two a coherent whole again, and he started whining pitifully.

I untied the rope I had used to attach the cardboard to the fence posts, then wriggled the piece of cardboard a bit to try and free the dog's head. The dog was alarmed by the wriggling and took several steps back—but I didn't manage to hold on to the cardboard so it just moved with the dog. He clumsily ran away, taking the cardboard with him, wearing it around his neck like the world's largest cone of shame.

He immediately got stuck between two trees.

I was starting to find the situation hilarious, but the poor dog did not—he lay down and started making sad broken noises like a malfunctioning dog-robot. He didn't look very threatening but he was still a very big (and stressed) dog so I felt a bit wary of touching his head to help him, and decided to run home to get a box cutter. I figured I could easily rid him of most of the cardboard and leave him with just a soggy cardboard collar that would soon fall apart. I heard my landline phone ringing from afar and ran faster, and it was one of my nearest neighbours, the retired lady who lives on the plateau.

"I've been trying to reach you!! I saw your llama in my garden earlier, I was going to give her a little treat—" (she loves Pampe, for some reason) "—but then my dog saw her too."

I know this woman's dog—he's a tiny thing with fragile nerves who thinks the whole world is out to get him, so I asked anxiously, "Did Pampe scare your dog?" and she said "Oh no! Domino is here with me; but I have a new dog. His name is Texas."

I thought of the gigantic puppy currently sobbing in my woods, held prisoner by two trees, a self-inflicted cone of shame and his total lack of reasoning skills.

"Yes", I said. "I've met Texas."

The old lady asked worriedly if he'd scared Pampe ("Il est un peu zinzin" she said—he's a bit crazy. "I wanted to call him Rex, but then I met him and thought—Texas!!") I told her I was pleased with her dog for scaring Pampe, because she needs to learn that her pasture is her only hope for safety in this cold uncaring world and as soon as she steps out of it she returns to her lowly status as a prey animal. Then I ended the phone call because I was worried both about Texas and about the large hole in my fence. Thankfully all my animals were still terrified and hiding far, far away from Texas.

Texas actually managed to free himself before I attempted to cut the cardboard, but he still thought of me as his saviour and was very happy to follow me through the woods back to his owner's place. Before we left I propped up the cardboard against the damaged fence, and despite the hole in the middle no llamas escaped in my absence; I think the whole area still smelled like Texas and fear.

I'll admit I was initially tempted to leave Texas with his head stuck in the cardboard in a more permanent capacity in order to patch the hole in my fence with this amazing anti-Pampe Cerberus. Like this

(I know this artistic rendering makes my llamas look like frightened carrots and my donkey like a bunny but I will not be taking constructive criticism at this time)

[lisinfleur]

Shelter

The request:

Author’s Notes | I took the chance for Day Felice’s new album and wrote it while listening to their song Shelter, if you guys want to listen to it while reading as well. I hope you guys enjoy it! (And the song too haha). Universe | Vikings Pairing | Ivar x Reader Info | Viking Age AU, requested by anon. Words | 1878 ⁑ Warnings: Mentions to child abuse and abandonment. Wounds, blood, and some angst.

His chariot noise was always something that would help his mind to ease after any kind of arguing. And with his wife, it wasn't different. This morning he’d left after a huge discussion with her.

Why was Y/N so worried about a slave child?

Ivar insisted several times she should just forget the thing and let it go. It wasn't their responsibility! And more: by taking leftovers and water for that child every night, she was only making the little thing's suffering longer!

"It would be dead already if it wasn't for you, feeding it every night!" he remembered trying to insist.

But Y/N's was stone-headed! Every single night, there was his queen, dressing her cloak and leaving his castle - once a former church - to visit the thing that now wasn't moving places, of course.

Someone was feeding it, helping it, all the time! Why would it be stupid and leave it behind?

Ivar was getting used to passing by that child every day as if the girl was some kind of door or local decoration. But not for his wife. Not his Y/N and her heart blessed by Frigg.

She was a natural mother. He knew that! It was one of the reasons he chose her the love Y/N would show for any child she could have around.

But when she came with that stupid idea, it went too far for him.

"I'm going to take her home."

A thing.

A useless thing that wouldn't serve not even as a slave, so thin it was.

They've discussed it for hours. Ivar screamed at Y/N she was insane, perhaps touched by some local spirit. Y/N yelled he was an insensitive motherfucker who could fuck himself out of her room if he thought she would let a child starve to death on her door.

As always, their love was intense but also was their anger. And whenever they would yell at each other, one of them would end up hurt.

This time, it was her.

"I don't fucking care about what you think! It's cattle, Y/N! Cattle die! And that's it! I won't spend my supplies with a thing that can barely give anything back to us!"

Or maybe not.

Perhaps... It was him.

"Fine then. Let us guide her to the woods and leave her to the wolves, Ivar. Isn't it what we do with useless things? Oh, wait... Wasn't it what your father did to you?"

Their words would always hurt each other deeper than they wanted to hurt. Their hearts would regret the words said at the moment they’d left their mouths.

But this time, her words forced his eyes to look out of his chariot. And Ivar stopped it by the street near where that thing was sitting, observing. Trying to understand why his wife was trying so hard to save that starving child.

Why was she comparing them as if there was anything in common between him and a Saxon abandoned child?

It was early in the morning. He watched as the little girl unwrapped the leftovers his wife had given to her the last night. At first, Ivar thought the little hungry thing would, of course, eat everything without care. But he watched with surprise as she fractioned the little portion, eating a quarter of it and saving the rest for later.

It was an intelligent move... She wasn’t a wild animal, after all.

That would be a cold day. Ivar observed as the little one looked up to the sky. The sun was born behind some heavy clouds - probably some rain would be coming at night.

He watched as the little thing looked around, smartly stealing a barrel from the trash of a nearby store, checking on its wooden pieces to place it properly as a shelter. She was young and thin enough to fit into it. It would serve for the night and maybe keep her warm.

The owner of the store, so as some people who were passing by, pushed her here or there, complaining about her attempts to move between them. And Ivar watched as the little girl looked up from the ground to the bigger people around her, fearlessly.

She wasn't such a defenseless little thing as he thought she was.

In fact, she was pretty smarter than he thought a Saxon child could be, hiding her barrel between the mead barrels of the same store, covering its problems with some mud, so the owner wouldn't see it wasn't one of his barrels.

She wouldn't have her shelter for the night thrown away or broken before she could use it.

Ivar lost track of the time he spent there, watching the girl moving here and there, gathering stones and mud to imitate the shop owner's way of stocking his barrels and preserving hers.

But the important matters of the town had to be more important than his arguing with his wife, and with this, Ivar moved away from that place.

His mind wondered if that was the reason why his wife was so sure he and that child had something in common.

The little girl was a fighter like he was someday, indeed. She was fighting her way to keep herself alive and, perhaps, his precious Y/N was right, and death wasn't exactly the fate that child had in this world.

Ivar tried to get himself occupied during the day. But the truth was that his mind never stopped lingering over Y/N's words, passing over and over the things he had seen that morning.

When the night was threatening to come, the sky broke in water as he thought it would. But curiosity dragged him away from the path to his home.

Ivar wanted to see if the little girl's plan had gone right and what was his surprise when he found the little one sitting away from the store under the heavy rain, with nothing but a rag to cover herself and wounds everywhere.

The barrel she'd tried so hard to protect was shattered near the store's trash, and a fence was placed by the owner around his barrels with some spikes near the place she was sitting before. It was preventing her from having coverage under his roof, even from the outside.

That angered Ivar a little. He'd seen her hard work! And, in the end, her plan had failed. She was clearly beaten and wet from her head to her toes anyway.

However, his eyes caught something he wasn't expecting.

After eating the last piece of what his wife had given to her, the little girl extended the leather over a hole he watched her carve with her bare hands on the ground. Treated, the leather started to catch water and fill itself, becoming a bag into the hole. The little girl caught the bag before it could lose its content, tied the leather with a strand of her ragged trousers, and created a canteen from where she started drinking the rainwater, relieving her thirst.

She was beaten down, defeated. Yet, she didn't give up. She didn't lay her pride down. And found herself a way to turn that rain into a chance for her to survive one more day.

There was determination in her eyes.

That little thing wasn't being sustained by his wife's crumbs. No. She was fighting to the limit of her strength to survive.

Like he'd done someday...

Ivar's eyes filled with surprise when he could see himself in that little girl's wounds, dragging himself through the mud when everyone thought he would never move.

Standing, when everyone was expecting his legs to break and let him fall.

She was a fighter. And, maybe, Y/N was right. Perhaps it wasn't about a Saxon child or a useless slave. Perhaps the gods were showing him they've chosen that little thing, to give her a chance, to reward her for the fight she was putting on for her life.

"Get in," Ivar's voice sounded.

The little thin thing lifted her eyes to see the mighty Viking looking at her from the chariot everyone from her people was taught to fear. Her wounded little body could barely reach the top of its wheels when she got up to look at Ivar.

Her eyes into his, instigating even more the curiosity he was starting to have about that little Saxon thing.

How fierce would she be if raised under his roof?

But the little thing didn't get up on his chariot at once. Instead, she lowered herself, gathering more stones with her muddy and wounded hands.

"I said get in! Don't you see you'll end up dying under this rain?" Ivar complained, annoyed he was standing under such heavy and cold waters for a thing that dared to turn her back on him, carving the floor and placing the stones in a way the rain wouldn't destroy her little monument. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I must do it, sir," she mumbled.

Ivar could recognize a small stone monument in that little girl's construction. His people were used to rising those little towers to pray for the gods or place small sacrifices and offers.

Was Y/N teaching her about the gods?

"Why?" he asked as she tried to climb up on his chariot, struggling a little with the height and her wounded knees.

"It is for the lady who comes here every day," she mumbled. "I promised if I ever was to leave, I would leave one of these for her, so she would know I'm not dead."

For his wife.

She was leaving a stone monument for Y/N, so she wouldn't be worried...

"I don't know where you're taking me, king Ivar," she said, showing she knew who he was. "But I don't want her to be sad."

Ivar's heart ached. There was indeed something in common between him and that child. But not only the fact that both of them were survivors.

She didn't want his wife to be hurt.

And so didn't he.

"Cover yourself," he said, throwing his warm cloak around her.

It covered her like a blanket in which she rolled herself, nestling with a grateful smile.

"She was right," the little girl mumbled as Ivar started to ride his horses.

"What?" he asked, and she repeated, smiling at him.

"The lady was right." She said. "The gods were watching me. Maybe I passed their test."

Y/N was definitely teaching that girl. And Ivar sighed, looking at the road.

Perhaps it was a test for himself as well. Or Skuld just had decided to use him as a feather to write that little girl's fate differently.

"Skuld," he said, catching her eyes. "We shall name you Skuld. To honor the god that wrote your fate like this."

"Skuld," she tried.

Pronouncing it perfectly.

"Sounds strong... I like it!"

What a petulant little thing, Ivar thought. As if she had any choice on how things would be from now on. A giggle filled Ivar's mouth.

Y/N was right and he would remember apologising after coming home that night.

The little girl wasn’t a useless thing. And he had to admit.

She was like him, after all.

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[creepypastaxmales]

Hidden (Ticci Toby/Reader)

Warnings: NSFW

Words: 2,757

You felt anxiety fill you as you trekked through the woods, the sound of fauna crunching underneath your shoes just put you more on edge. You chewed on your already chapped lips, wondering why you were even out here in the first place.

"Come on, you scared, princess?" You flushed at the memory, that had pissed you off. You were no princess, not even a prince, yet you found yourself accepting the challenge. You were sure he was nuts, he hadn't spoken to you in a few weeks then he suddenly turns up and asks you to go to the area where everyone disappears?

Not to mention ditching you the moment you turned your back, you could see the sun beginning to set in the distance. A cold feeling filled your body, you rubbed your hands up your arms to try and sooth yourself however it hadn’t helped much.

You wanted to call out his name yet you feared he wouldn’t be the only one to hear you, there were countless stories piling up about people disappearing in here, hell some where even snatched right out of their bed. You shivered at the thought, screw him if he wanted to die out here he had that right but you wouldn’t. 

The idea of some psychopath standing over you with a knife was enough to turn you sheet white and get your heart pumping. You turned tail and started walking back the way you came, at least you thought you were. Somehow it all looked different, you shook your head. That was impossible it was just your mind freaking out at the different angle. 

You froze, the blood running through your veins suddenly felt ice cold. You looked around, doing a complete 360 on yourself yet spotting no one. You took a few breaths, it must’ve been your imagination. You continued on the way you thought would get you out of the creepy forest. 

The feeling of impending doom slowly filled you, despite your best efforts to shake it off it felt like someone was watching you. Pretty closely too. You hugged yourself, hoping to bring some comfort to yourself. 

You stopped upon hearing another set of steps, it sounded like they were right behind you. You quickly spun around only to see no one in sight. Your breathing was coming out ragged, anxiety squeezing at your heart. “I swear to fucking god. This isn’t fucking funny, Mark.” You shouted out your friends name, feeling your anxiety turn into anger. 

Turning back around you stomped off, wishing more than anything you had told the arrogant asshole to fuck off. You wished you were at home, sat on the couch surrounded by junk food and playing some games. The thought of getting back and curling up with a controller kept your speed up. 

Too lost in your thoughts to hear the footsteps running up behind you until the owner had slammed into you, immediately pinning you down to the forest floor. You let out a cry, the impact took your breath away. You felt twigs and rocks scrape against your exposed flesh, hands more than likely cut up.

You struggled under whoever was on top of you, unfortunately they seemed to have a height and weight advantage. More like they felt pretty strong, he held you down with one hand between your shoulder blades. His legs caging your hips in, you felt like the canary the cat had just finally caught. 

“At least let me see who kills me.” You growled out, you wanted to see who it was so you could get some revenge in the afterlife, if there was one. A deep chuckle was heard above you. “Fi-ne, I’d prefer se-seeing the fear take over-er your face.” He seemed to stutter every now and then, you jumped feeling his hand tighten on your back and push you down. His hips suddenly jolting forward and grinding harshly against your ass, he also produced a loud noise that sounded like a twig snapping in half.

You couldn’t stop the gasp that left you, your face flushed and he flipped you onto your back. You looked up to see the wildest chestnut brown hair you had ever seen, he pulled his goggles back. They revealed the coldest brown eyes you’d ever seen, it was like they were completely devoid of light. He had deep purple bags under his eyes, almost as if he hadn’t slept in months. But that was impossible, he must barley sleep. 

His skin was almost translucent, the moon that now had started raising above the skyline reflecting almost off his skin. You found yourself shaking underneath him, you didn’t really want to die. He tugged his mask down, his lips were tugged slightly downwards. You could see a slight stubble graving his chin from the angle you were at.

Your eyes ran down from his face to his body, he was covered by a khaki green jumper with striped arms and a blue hood. You noticed two blood stained hatchets at his hips, you gulped feeling your Adams apple bob.

His legs were covered by ripped up bloody grey jeans, threading sticking everywhere out of holes that almost looked like knife slashes. The only word that came to your mind after taking in the guy was that he was definitely a killer.

A sudden crack and his head being thrown to the side had you wide eye’d and staring at him. He smirked at you. “I have toure-ettes.” You just nodded then gulped, remembering the hatchets and blood. “Please, don’t kill me.” You couldn’t help the shaky way the words poured out, your heart felt like it was about to explode any moment.

He titled his head, his dead eyes appeared to take you in for a moment. You suddenly felt shyness fill you, turning your head away and attempting to curl in on yourself with little to no luck.

You curiously took another glance at his face only to catch his eyes, his face covered by a smirk. “How muh-much is your life wor-rth? What ar-re you wil-willing to do?” Despite the stuttering his smirk was still full of confidence, even something in his eye’s seemed to have changed. 

You bit your lip, tugging on a peace of ragged skin. “Anything.” You spoke, if he wanted money you would give him every last penny you had. “How ab-bout you let me fuck y-you?” Your face flushed red, Toby letting out a chuckle, seemingly pleased with your reaction. 

You looked at his eyes, not managing to hold the contact for long before your pupils quickly darted away. He wasn’t bad looking, rather he was pretty cute. “Okay.” He grinned, quickly leaning down to press his lips to yours. His lips were pretty chapped, you would even say extremely bitten. 

You began moving against his lips, trying to follow his lead. Being gay wasn’t exactly new to you, but human contact sure was. He pulled away, his hands grabbing you up and pulling you into his chest. You flushed, he stood almost a head taller than you. 

He pressed your lips back together, hands coming to land on your hips while yours grasped desperately to his jumper, hoping to ground yourself a little. His hands suddenly pulled away from you before returning and leaving a sting behind. The sound of a sudden smack had your lips opening, letting out a whine at the burn, giving Toby the opportunity to stick his tongue in your mouth, quickly exploring around.

You didn’t bother fighting him, instead submitting yourself to him by relaxing against him. He suddenly broke away. “I kne-ew you’d li-ike it.” His grin was almost wolfish. You felt heat build up in your abdomen, it felt like there were small pangs going off in your stomach.

Every time Toby’s fingers began to dip under your shirt and apply pressure to your hips your stomach would leap. Despite it being night and being outside you felt extremely warm, Toby’s body heat drew you in. He was unnaturally warm. 

You couldn’t help but let out a moan every so often, it seemed like you had been kissing forever before he pulled back. Your mouth dropped a little to allow you to huff and pant, your hand coming to wipe the drool off your chin before Toby’s hand knocked it away.

Your eyebrows furrowed in question as you looked up at him, your hair a mess and cheeks covered in pink. Toby bit his lip, he never had a victim he had wanted to fuck before. He had the occasionally hook up with some random from a nightclub whenever Masky would drag him out, but he had never really found those people that attractive.

The sight currently in front of him had him harder then he had ever been in his life, his thoughts filling up with ways to take you, make you his. He felt almost feral, a part of him wanting to lock you away and keep you all to himself. 

He ignored those thoughts, hands sliding up along with the smaller boys shirt and jumper until the boys chest was exposed. Toby grinned, licking his lips before attaching them to one of your nipples. You tried to jolt back but Toby’s hands stopped you, they wrapped around your biceps and he used his thumbs to keep your shirt and hoodie up.

You couldn’t stop the little gasps and moans that poured from your lips, jumping every time Toby would pull back only to swirl his tongue around the sensitive bud. After a few moments it began to feel like too much, letting out a small cry of overstimulation. 

Toby laughed against your chest, keeping latched on for another few seconds before switching. You jumped and let out a gasp as the wind blew against your nipple, your eyes widening. You shook in Toby’s grasp while he gave the other nipple the same treatment, you nearly cried when he pulled away, the wind blowing against your already overstimulated nipples was almost too much.

He caught you off guard by pushing his fingers into your mouth, you let out a questioning moan around his fingers. You could feel the pads of his fingers rub gently against the back of your tongue, triggering your gag reflex. You would jolt and make a choking noise every time his fingers went too far down the back of your throat.

You tried your best to stay still and let him do whatever it was he was planning. His fingers suddenly left your lips, Toby took a second to take in the expression you wore. It was easy to see what he was doing to you, the drool that had dribbled down your chin while Toby had been finger fucking your mouth was definitely a pretty sight.

You’d look even prettier with Toby’s come all over that pretty face. Toby didn’t bother concealing the dark look that crossed his features. The boy had probably already seen his little friends blood covering him, he had no reason to hide anything now. 

Toby’s hands ran back down (Names) hips, instead of stopping their they kept going until they disappeared under the band of (Names) jeans and underwear. Toby let out a groan, taking two handfuls of ass and squeezing which caused you to let out a small gasp, getting pushed closer against the taller boys chest.

You let out a squeak, the feeling of your shirt rubbing against your nipples was almost sore. Toby let out an airy sounding laugh, it chilled you. For some reason you felt as if you weren’t going to die, but you weren’t going to be seeing anyone anytime soon.

You couldn’t find it in you to care once you felt his finger start to rub circles around your hole, you dove further into his chest letting out wreaked sounding moans.

No one had ever touched you there before, it felt nothing like when you had tried it. Back then it had just felt awkward and you had wound up giving up. What had changed now? You turned to face the brunet, looking into those almost manic eyes that seemed to be completely different from the cold, closed off ones you had witnessed earlier.

Was it because this man could kill you? You bit your lip, the thought did excite you. The idea that he could easily snap your neck or something while balls deep in you had you letting out another moan, Toby took it as a signal that he could burry his finger into your hole. 

Your face scrunched up and you let out a yelp, slight pain and discomfort filled you. He began circling his finger inside you, your body tensed as a foreign feeling began filling you. You wanted more, groaning you pushed back onto his digit.

Toby complied, almost too easily sliding in a second digit. Due to your saliva the fingers had little problem plunging into you, beginning to pick up speed. “A-ah!” You gasped out, seeing white as Toby’s finger grazed something deep inside of you. “Bi-ingo.” His voice seemed to deepen, his fingers speeding up and attacking your spot.

You threw your head back, back arching and stomach pressing flat against Toby’s. You suddenly didn’t mind, if he wanted you he could have you. If he took you back with him you didn’t think you’d put up a fight, not if he gave you this feeling.

It felt like something was beginning to build inside of your stomach, the familiar feeling of needing to come filled you. Yet you knew this was going to be the best one you had ever had, your hand not comparing in the slightest to what Toby was doing to your body.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull, mouth dropping open in a silent moan. Toby suddenly pulled his fingers out of you causing you to whine at the loss of contact. “Can-n’t get enou-ough huh?” He turned you around and pressed his cock between your cheeks, using his hands to spread your cheeks, the tip of his cock gliding over your hole.

The feeling of his tip catching against you had you moaning, you tried to grind your hips back but Toby’s hands prevented your movement. His finger’s were going to leave bruises, you couldn’t find it in you to care.

“God, please. I need more.” You begged, trying to push him inside. Toby grinned before tightening his grip on you, stopping you moving. You let out a broken sob, before getting cut off with the feeling of Toby’s cock stretching you. You threw your head back against his shoulder, your eyes drooping.

His cock was bigger than you had expected, it seemed to stuff you full. You swore you felt him hit your stomach once he was fully buried into you. All you could do was finish the moan that you had started. 

You found your body relaxing back against him, his arms coming up to wrap around you. Holding you close to him, you gripped onto his arms for leverage as he started an almost brutal pace. The feeling of his cock almost disappearing out of you only to slam back deep into you was mind blowing. 

You felt like you could go crazy from the feeling of him filling you up alone, never mind the feelings that swarmed you once his lips attached to your neck. He sucked big dark bruises into your flesh, he wanted everyone to see them.

His cock brushed against your g-spot and you shouted, probably alerting everyone in a ten mile radius but you couldn’t care. Toby easily manoeuvred you how he wanted, you felt like a ragdoll in his arms. Your brain couldn’t keep up, your thoughts melted away and all you could do was call out Toby’s name and moan. 

You could feel yourself getting close, it felt like a tsunami was approaching and all you could do was hang limp against Toby. “I-I’m gonna.” You cut yourself off with a loud moan, your loading shooting out. You fell back, boneless against Toby, thankful for his strength because you didn’t think you could stand.

The feeling of you tightening around Toby’s cock had him coming deep inside of you, you let out a weak groan at the feeling of his come coating your insides. “Mine.” He muttered, his words serious and laced with possessiveness. You nodded against him, feeling your eyelids start to close.

[purrincess-chat]

My Chosen’s Keeper CH3 (FINAL)

Here is the last chapter of the petty kwami AU. I have basically this whole week off because of Hurricane Sally, so I decided to go ahead and post the last chapter since I finished it up. I’m so happy you all enjoy this fic, and I hope you like the conclusion!

Read on AO3

Chapter 3

After a week, Lila stopped scheming against Marinette. In fact, she’d stopped doing much of anything. Every so often she’d look over her shoulder as if expecting someone to be following her, and she flinched every time she opened her locker or her bag.

Tikki was satisfied enough with their efforts, though she worried they’d gone too far when Lila spun around on poor Nathaniel walking behind her to his seat. Her goal was to inconvenience Lila, not scare her out of her skin, and now her stomach was churning too much to enjoy her morning macaron. She popped into Adrien’s bag where Plagg was dozing in an empty Camembert carton and shook him awake.

“Plagg, do you think maybe we went too far with all of this?” She asked, but Plagg simply shrugged his shoulders and burped.

“Relax, sugar cube. That girl got what was coming to her.”

“Yeah, but she’s petrified now, and people are starting to notice,” she said with a nervous glance up at the open zipper. “I think we should stop.”

“Fine,” Plagg yawned, and Tikki prodded his side.

“I’m serious, Plagg. No more pranks.”

“Okay,” he said, and she sat back, antenna pressing low against her head.

“Good,” she said with a nod.

As the bell rang, Tikki slipped back into Marinette’s bag before her owner noticed her absence. She tried to push the whole situation from her mind, but when Alya leaned against Marinette’s neighboring locker, her nerves only worsened.

“Lila’s been acting super paranoid today. I wonder what’s bugging her,” Alya whispered, casting a glance at their classmate across the room.

“Nathaniel told me she thinks she’s being haunted,” Marinette said. Even she seemed concerned, and Tikki shrank deeper into her purse.

“I mean, a lot of crazy stuff has been happening to her, so maybe she is,” Alya said with a wince.

“I wouldn’t doubt if she’d made a spirit angry,” Marinette mumbled, and Alya leaned in closer.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“I feel kinda bad for her. I saw her dozing off in class earlier. She must not be sleeping,” Alya said, biting her lip. “Hey, why don’t we all plan a sleepover? Maybe if a group of us supports her then she’ll feel safe enough to sleep.”

“Uhh, yeah, sure,” Marinette said, sounding anything but willing. “You plan it, and I will definitely not think of an excuse not to go.”

“I’ll ask her this afternoon. It’ll be fun.” Alya nudged her with her elbow before they headed to their next class.

To Tikki’s horror, not only did Lila accept the sleepover invitation, but somehow, she managed to convince them to host it at Marinette’s house. Lila had a way of backing people into corners, and Marinette didn’t really have a choice in the matter. Tikki was equally as unenthused. Just what she needed—another reason to get involved.

“Plagg, what am I gonna do?” Tikki asked that afternoon in art class. “I know she’s up to something!”

“Do you want me to leave stinky cheese in her locker again?”

“No!”

“Good because it’s a terrible waste of perfectly good cheese.”

“Plagg! I’m serious. What if Lila does something to my owner tonight?” Tikki said, tugging his arm. “Help me!”

“I thought you wanted to be done with all of this? No more pranks?” Plagg said, and Tikki averted her gaze, antenna lowering.

“I do, but she’s coming into her personal home. What if she finds her diary and learns that she’s Ladybug? Or what if she just so happens to steal her earrings? Or what if-”

“Don’t worry, sugar cube. I’ll help you tonight. Lila won’t get away with anything, okay?” Plagg said, patting her head.

“You mean it?”

“Have I ever lied to you?” Plagg asked, and Tikki’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, bad question. I promise I won’t let you down—this time.”

“Thanks, Plagg.”

Later that evening, Tikki chewed her lip as Marinette tidied up for her guests. She’d helped remove any lingering Adrien pictures despite her friends all knowing about her crush, but Marinette was just as wary of having Lila over as Tikki. As a result, she was taking a few extra precautions like hiding her diary and anything else Lila could use against her. It eased some of Tikki’s worry, but not all of it.

“Are you really going to have that girl over?” She asked as Marinette locked her important belongings in her chest.

“I couldn’t exactly say no. Lila is too good at manipulating everyone. If I had said no, she would have made it seem like I hate her,” Marinette said, leaning against her fist.

“But you do hate her.”

“Yeah, but I can’t prove why I hate her to everyone, so I don’t have a choice,” Marinette sighed. “We’ll just have to be extra careful tonight. I doubt Lila will try anything with all of the girls over.”

“Yeah. Hopefully.”

Thankfully Alya arrived first to help set up because Lila was the first after her. She seemed surprised and slightly annoyed to find Alya there as well, and Tikki’s blood boiled at the sight of her. She popped up to the roof, tapping her paws together as she peered out over the street. The night was calm and quiet—a direct contrast to the storm brewing inside her. Where was Plagg?

“Ya know, you really worry too much.”

She spun around to see him lounging on the chair with a cheese danish from the bakery. Relief flooded her mind, but it was quickly replaced by annoyance. “Where have you been?”

“Relax, sugar cube. I was doing some important reconnaissance,” he said around a mouthful.

“You mean helping yourself to whatever your greedy stomach wanted?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You are so selfish!”

“Oh, then I suppose you already know that Lila has a lockpick in her bag?”

“She- you- oh…Well, then we should-”

“Already did. And her toothbrush just for fun,” he snickered, and Tikki lowered onto the chair beside him. “I’m a little insulted that you don’t believe in me.”

“Dinosaurs, Atlantis, the Black Plague…”

Plagg bit off a chunk of his pastry and chewed it grumpily. “We never talk about your mistakes.”

“Thank you, Plagg,” Tikki said, and he blinked, swallowing the rest of the danish whole. “For everything.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get all sappy on me.” He turned his back to her and waved it away, but she could see the smile tugging on his lips. “Now come on. We’ve got work to do.”

The girls were gathered in Marinette’s room when Tikki and Plagg snuck in and took position on Marinette’s bed. Marinette had strategically positioned herself on top of her locked chest, and partnered with Plagg’s disposal of Lila’s lock pick, it eased some of Tikki’s nerves. At least her secrets would be safe, but that didn’t mean Lila didn’t have other tricks up her sleeve.

After a while, they moved downstairs to watch a movie, and Mr. Dupain brought up homemade pizza. Plagg groaned beside her as the girls pulled apart stretchy strips of cheese, and Tikki restrained him from flying down and helping himself.

Halfway through the movie, Lila got up to go to the bathroom, and Tikki followed. Just as she feared, the moment the door closed, Lila set to work silently opening cabinets. Tikki had half a mind to spray her with the sink nozzle again, but after a few minutes of searching, Lila found what she was looking for—a metal nail file. She pulled a bobby pin from her hair and tucked them both into her pocket.

Back out in the main room, she announced that she was going to go upstairs and call her mom who was traveling overseas on some important ambassador thing, and she only had a short window in the evening to talk to her because of timezones or something. It didn’t matter the reason because it was a lie. Marinette’s glare followed her up the stairs with Tikki right behind it.

“Plagg?” She hissed, glancing around for that lazy black cat, but she didn’t have to guess where he was. “I told you not to touch the pizza!”

Plagg clung to the piece he was greedily stuffing in his mouth as Tikki tugged on his tail. “Oh come on! Mr. Dupain makes his own mozzarella. I couldn’t resist!”

“Lila is on the move! She took a nail file from the bathroom, and now she’s upstairs! Come on!”

Plagg caressed his slice of pizza one last time before Tikki dragged him up the stairs. Lila was already kneeling beside the chest, nail file and bobby pin at work.

“Come on, stupid chest. I know Marinette is behind all of the weird stuff happening to me lately,” she grumbled. “I just need something to blackmail her with to make it all stop. Just open!”

“Plagg, what are we gonna do?” Tikki whispered, and Plagg was already surveying the rest of the room.

“Follow my lead,” he said, darting for the nearest mannequin.

Lila nearly had the lock open when a stack of shoeboxes toppled over, and she jumped. Seeing that it was only boxes, she took a deep breath and turned back to her work.

“What?” She gasped when her makeshift lock picks were no where to be found.

“Lila…”

She startled, jumping up and spinning around, but no one was in the room. No one she could see anyway.

“Liiiila…”

“Very funny, Marinette. I know it’s you. It’s been you the whole time. I don’t know how, but you won’t beat me,” she said, but the way her eyes flicked frantically around the room betrayed her true fear.

“Leave her alone…”

The mannequin by the chaise, surged forward, and Lila’s scream filled the house. She scrambled for the trapdoor, but it wouldn’t budge no matter how hard she tugged. The girls rushed up the stairs, Marinette at the front. She pushed the trapdoor open easily to find Lila curled into a ball on the floor, tears streaming down her face.

“What are you doing?” Marinette demanded, and Alya crawled up to wrap an arm around Lila’s shoulders.

“The mannequin!” Lila wailed.

“What about it?” Marinette asked.

“It-It talked and moved and-and-” She pointed across the room, but the mannequin had returned to its original place. Even the shoeboxes had righted themselves. “But…”

“Maybe we should all just go to bed,” Alya suggested, and Lila grabbed her shoulders.

“But it did move! I swear I’m not making it up,” she said, gripping her shirt so tightly that Alya swatted her hands away with a hiss.

“I think you’re just tired-”

“Or crazy,” Marinette mumbled, masking it with a cough.

“Sleep deprivation can make you see weird things,” Alya said. “Come on. Let’s get you some sleep.”

As the girls moved downstairs again, Marinette eyed her chest, but her secrets were safe. Tikki still stayed up all night to make sure Lila didn’t try anything again, but their ghost stunt seemed to have scared her off the idea.

When morning light streamed in from the windows, Tikki sat back with a yawn. Curling in next to Plagg snoring loudly on Marinette’s chaise, she slipped off into sleep with the reassurance that Marinette was safe.

***

The Monday after the sleepover, Lila entered the school on a quest for vengeance. Dark bags hung under blood-shot eyes, and her whole demeanor was slightly unhinged as everyone hung out in the courtyard on break. Tikki knew she was going to target Marinette again, so she lingered close by—waiting.

Marinette was sketching on a bench by herself while a maintenance man repainted the railing to her left. When he reached a stopping point, he scooted the ladder next to the bench and took his break, but Marinette never looked up from her drawing.

“Hey, I heard about the sleepover. What happened?” Adrien materialized at Marinette’s side, startling her out of her skin. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Marinette relaxed. “I don’t know. I knew she was up to no good, and while we were all watching a movie, she went up to my room to ‘call her mom’ then she just started screaming and freaking out,” Marinette said, shooting her a glare across the courtyard. “I don’t really know what happened, but she swears my mannequin talked to her.”

“Do you think she’s doing it all for attention?” Adrien asked, but Marinette pursed her lips.

“I don’t think so this time. She seemed really freaked out when we found her. I think she’s actually losing her mind,” Marinette said.

“You don’t think she’s really being haunted, do you?” Adrien’s green eyes clouded with worry.

“I don’t know,” Marinette said with a shrug. “Maybe she is making it all up for attention, or maybe all of her lying is finally catching up to her.”

“Let’s hope this convinces her to start telling the truth whatever it is,” he said. “I’m just glad she didn’t do anything to you. I was worried when I heard she was coming to your house for a sleepover.”

Marinette’s cheeks flushed at that, and she took her eyes off Lila. Adrien was the perfect distraction, but Tikki wasn’t so easily deterred because Lila was watching them too. Their friendly smiles and close proximity drove her over the edge. When she dashed toward them, Tikki braced herself, but Lila wasn’t aiming for the bench.

Tikki glanced up at the paint can resting precariously on the top of the ladder beside them, recognizing the intent in Lila’s eyes.

“Oh no you don’t,” she said, flitting up to the bucket.

Lila rocked the ladder, but against the laws of natural physics, the can twirled around and dumped on top of her. The courtyard fell silent as the can clattered to the ground, and Lila wiped green paint from her face.

“That’s it!” She screeched, pointing a finger at Marinette. “This is all your fault!”

“Lila, Marinette didn’t do anything. I was talking to her the whole time,” Adrien said, holding up cautioning hands.

“No! Everything is her fault!” Lila stomped a foot. “I don’t know how you keep doing it, but I know it’s you!”

“Lila, what are you-” Alya started, but Lila lunging at Marinette cut her off. Nino and Ivan caught her, and Adrien took a defensive stance in front of Marinette.

“How did you do it, Marinette?” She growled. “I put those test answers in your schoolbag, but they weren’t there when Mlle. Bustier checked! I planted my necklace in your locker during lunch, but somehow you put it back! How did you do it?”

Marinette and Adrien cupped hands over their mouths as the weight of those words settled among their classmates. Confusion and anger snaked its way onto every face, and more classmates joined Adrien guarding Marinette.

“Wait, you tried to frame Marinette? But why?” Nathaniel asked, and Lila shot him a glare.

“Because I hate her! She’s always getting in my way and ruining my plans. I’d have you all eating out of the palm of my hand if it wasn’t for her!” She said, shoulders heaving. She ripped away from Nino and Ivan and kicked the paint bucket with a shriek.

“Whoa, so all those times Marinette said you were lying…” Nino said, lowering his gaze.

“She was right,” Adrien spoke up, and all eyes turned to him. “Lila is a liar. Nothing she’s ever said is true. She just wanted to use all of you for attention.”

“So, you’ve never met Jagged Stone?” Rose deflated.

“And let me guess. You’re not really bffs with Ladybug,” Alya said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Of course I’m not friends with that stupid insect! I hope Hawkmoth takes her Miraculous and rids the world of her stupid face!” Lila shouted.

“What’s going on here?” Mr. Damocles demanded as he and Mlle. Bustier approached.

“Karma,” Marinette said with a grunt.

Lila glanced between each face glaring back at her, the rage-induced fog clearing enough for her to see the damage she’d inflicted. Her eyes widened, and her shoulders shrank. For the first time since she’d stepped foot in their school, Lila was exposed. Powerless. Small.

“My office. Now.” Mr. Damocles barked through gritted teeth, and Lila followed behind him quietly. She had nothing left to say. No more lies to tell.

“M, are you okay?” Alya pulled her best friend in for a tight hug. “I’m so sorry I never believed you.”

“Yeah, we should have known better. You never trip out over anyone unless there’s a reason,” Nino said, ruffling her hair.

“We’re sorry, Marinette.”

“Yeah, we shouldn’t have doubted you.”

“It’s fine,” Marinette said, cutting everyone off. “Really. I’m not mad at you. Lila manipulated all of you. It’s not your fault she can’t tell the truth.”

“Marinette…” Alya cooed, and all of their classmates huddled around her.

When the bell rang, they all dispersed, heading to their next class, but Marinette excused herself to the bathroom. Tikki slipped back into her purse, relieved that it was finally over and that she hadn’t been caught. Or rather, she thought she hadn’t been caught until Marinette ripped open her purse and dumped her out into her waiting hand.

“I thought kwamis weren’t supposed to meddle,” she said, quirking a brow, and Tikki shrank guiltily.

“I’m sorry, Marinette! I just knew she was up to no good, and I couldn’t let her frame you,” she said, pressing her paws together.

“Putting the test answers back and moving the necklace are like you, but exploding milk cartons and mannequin ghosts?” Marinette cocked a hip. “Plagg, I know you helped too.”

A sinister chortle echoed above them as Plagg floated down beside Tikki. “I couldn’t let sugar cube have all the fun.”

“We’re really sorry,” Tikki said, lowering her head.

She braced for her punishment, but instead, Marinette lifted the two of them to her lips and planted a soft kiss on each of their heads. “Thanks, you two.”

“You mean you’re not mad?”

“Nah, Lila deserved it,” she said with a shrug.

“I’ll accept my reward in the form of one of those tasty cheese danishes your dad makes,” Plagg said, puffing his chest out, and Marinette scratched under his chin with a giggle.

“You can have all the cheese danishes you want,” she said. “It’s nice to know you two have my back.”

“Of course,” Plagg said, draping an arm over Tikki’s shoulders. “If someone wants to mess with the Bug, they’re gonna have to go through us.”

“We’ll always make sure you’re safe,” Tikki added, and Marinette held out a pink with a smile.

“Bien Joué!”

[7wanderingpaws]

Always, yours (3)

Pairing: Baekhyun x reader

AU: professor Baekhyun, domestic AU, family AU, triplet craze AU

Word count: 4.8K

Warnings: none

tags: @geniusloey​ (let me know if you want to be added!)

Masterlist / story masterlist

<--Previous��- Next -->

You were crying and everything was a disaster. The baby corner was full of onlookers and you never hated your life as much  as you did in that moment.

Upon hearing small gurgles of your son, you ran the remaining distance, taking your scared, crying son from Sonhee’s hold. She handed Jun without any question and you quickly cuddled Jun to your chest, your tears of fear and worry rolling down your cheeks without you realizing.

You were mad at yourself. So, so mad. How could you leave the weakest baby alone with a stranger? How could you forget to tell them not to feed him without your presence?

You bit your lip harshly as you heard Sukyeong sending everyone away. She was then talking to someone quietly but you wouldn’t pay attention. Jun was now a whimpering mess, his ear-piercing screams coming to a halt when he felt your presence.

“Oh, what a young mother,” someone muttered from behind you, a hushed whisper still caught by your ears. “No wonder she isn’t doing well yet without experience.”

More tears welled up in your eyes. Even though you couldn’t see clearly, you looked at Jun’s face, his father’s eyes looking back at you. How come baby’s tears could be so big? They were rolling down, taking up a huge space on his small, red cheeks.

“It’s okay, mummy’s here,” you murmured quickly kissing the tears away. Carefully cradling the back of his head, you brought him to your neck so he wouldn’t be exposed to other intrusive eyes. Juna and Junhee were restless as they were held by Sonhee and Mrs Lee in the meantime.

What to do? You were thinking frantically. The only thing that came to your mind was to go home. Obviously staying in this gym wasn’t doing you nor the kids any good.

“Sukyeong,” you muttered, not turning. The wall you were facing was a pastel blue but it didn’t do anything to calm you down. “I’m going to go home. Can you bring me my stuff?”

“I’ll take you-“

“I’ll take you home,” a familiar male voice spoke up out of nowhere. 

Slightly turning, you saw Lee Junho looking at you with worried eyes. When you didn’t respond, instead holding your son closer to you, he added: “I’m the owner of this gym and I feel responsible. Please let me take care of this by giving you a lift.” He turned to Sukyeong who was a little taken aback. “You may go back and resume the workout with Kanghee, she will finish the class for me.”

“But she is my best friend, I’ll take care-“

“I insist.”

You wiped your eyes, realizing you’d been shedding tears the whole time with your heart broken. Jun was finally quiet but he managed to pee himself in the ruckus so you nodded quickly, agreeing: “Go finish the workout Sukyeonga. I’ll take up on Mr Lee’s request.”

“Are you sure?”

You nodded and reached for the baby bag you always carried around. “Yeah. It’s no problem. I’ll be back, I’ll just change his nappy and clothes. Please watch out for the girls until then.”

</3

“I thought you were just a university student,” spoke up Junho as he was driving slowly towards your home. “You are so young I-” he stopped himself, growing speechless as he gently shook his head.

Jun was tied to your chest in the baby carrier while both girls were in the backseat, safely in their baby carrier baskets. It was a headache to install all of it in Junho's car but you didn't mind as long as he would take you home and you wouldn't ever see him again.

Only now, as you were seated with some time to think were you reminded to look at your phone. You wanted Baekhyun to come downstairs to help you with the kids, only to feel like crying again when you finally read his messages he sent you before you started your class but didn't read.

I know you know it but make sure to remind them not to feed Jun just in case we never know when the reflux hits again  and I'm worried about him since you won't be there

“Sorry, I keep blabbering,” laughed awkwardly Junho and you looked at him. He was staring ahead, sometimes looking out his window as if unsure where to look. “So you're a mother. Of triplets. Wow… Anyway, how many months young are they?”

You heaved out a small sigh and managed to smile, liking to talk about your munchkins. “They are only three months old. And before you go and judge me about leaving them alone, I double-checked with the baby corner whether they are able to take care of the kids.”

“Well, my mother - Mrs Lee - is in charge of the baby corner. She is an expert when it comes to babies,” he said and you felt even worse that he was blaming himself when in fact it was all your  fault. “Sonhee is also great with babies.”

“It isn't their fault at all. It's mine,” you admitted and looked down at Jun's face. He was sleeping peacefully, cuddled to your neck, his gentle baby smell and baby powder you used calming down your senses for a minute. “I should have mentioned he has problems with accepting food.” Plus, the words of a stranger woman came back flooding your already beaten up mind. Oh, what a young mother. No wonder she isn’t doing well yet without experience.

“I can only imagine how difficult it must be for you,” murmured back Junho, not wanting to disturb the babies. “Sorry if I am being too nosy but what about their father? Did he leave you?”

“Oh, no, he is at work. Well, he should be home by now,” you said quietly, frowning. “But he usually works a little late so-”

“-so you're alone with the kids the whole time,” finished Junho, his voice somehow accusatory.

You stole a glance his way again, catching the tighter grip on the steering wheel. “Well, someone has to feed us.”

This time, Junho looked at you and caught you gazing down at your son. “Many men just do that - knock up a woman and then let her take care of the mess while they live freely.”

You frowned. “I know my husband for many years, Junho,” you told him in a cold voice, a little disappointed he thought of you or Baekhyun in such a way, let alone thinking of your blessings as a mess, “and he does his best for me and our kids.”

Junho was once again shocked, shooting you a wary glance. “You're married, too?”

“Yes,” you snapped, “I don't wear my ring for the workouts, you know?”

“I'm sorry-”

“It's fine,” you sighed, running your hand through your messy hair.

“I misjudged.”

“I thought people like you shouldn't be so fast to judge.”

“You're right. It is just worrisome to see you so young with triplets alone.”

“I wasn't alone,” you reminded, “I was with Sukyeong.”

“But it should be their father who is by your side.”

You only hummed, not wanting to talk about your personal life with a stranger. Sure, a handsome one but he was a stranger. When you recognized the neighbourhood, you unlocked your phone quickly, kissing Jun's temple in the process. With a little shock, you noticed your hands shaking. It must have been the stress. “I'll call my husband so he can come downstairs.”

Junho was silent but he nodded nonetheless. Baekhyun's phone rang four times already but he wasn't picking up. Frowning, you were about to put the phone back down when he suddenly picked it up. The background on his side was so loud, you accidentally pressed the “speaker” option, Baekhyun's voice filling up the whole space in the car.

“Sweetheart, I'm not home yet, sorry!” he said and you heard some clinking of cups in the background. “I was dragged to dinner with my colleagues but I'll try to come home soon, alright?”

Your throat restricted, lump rising as you tried to put it back to silence.

“Are you home, yet?” asked Baekhyun when you didn't reply.

“Yeah, I finished a little earlier,” you told him and finally managed to put the volume down. Pressing the phone to your ear, you saw Junho speeding up to enter the underground carpark. “Don't worry, I'll be waiting home.”

“Is all good?” he asked, his voice more serious.

Your eyes were hurting from the burning tears so you closed them, praying you wouldn't start crying again in front of Junho. “Yes! All is fine!” you replied, too cheerfully. “See you soon, honey.”

“Alright, I trust you,” he added with emphasis. It was supposed to be a small threat in case you wouldn't be telling the truth and you knew you would hear it from him once he'd find out you lied, but you couldn't care less in that moment. “Love you, baby.”

You swallowed. “Love you, too.”

As soon as you ended the call, Junho said: “I'll help you with the kids.”

You nibbled on your lower lip. “Thank you.”

</3

It was an uneasy feeling; arriving into an empty apartment with the lights off. The heat of the summer evening was hitting the space which made you head straight for the air conditioner in the living room, Jun in your tight grip.

“Don't worry, you can come in with shoes,” you said hurriedly to Junho who was shuffling at the entrance, trying to take off his trainers while having a baby bag over his shoulder and two babies in the carriers.

“It's okay,” you heard a smile in his voice and by the time you appeared in the corridor leading to the entrance door, he was already walking in, looking around with focus and unhidden interest. “You have a really nice apartment.”

You smiled, saying a small thank you, and headed to the baby room, telling him to follow you. The gentle smell of baby powder welcomed you when you entered and turned on the lights. “You can just put them down here and I will take care of the rest.”

Junho clicked his tongue and lowered the carriers on the fluffy carpet, but he proceeded by crouching down and unbuckling the sleeping babies. “How could I just go? Let me at least help unpack.”

You stood unsurely above him. You knew as a mother you should be fast to take charge and get everything done according to your rules, but for some reason, you couldn't. Junho was very careful with the babies as he undid the belts and when he looked up at you, he froze. “What?”

Almost rigidly, you shook your head not wanting him to misunderstand whatever he was interpreting in his mind. “No, no, nothing! I mean - thank you for coming all the way up here and of course for driving me home.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” And just like that, he brought sleeping Juna out and with one questioning glance, you navigated him to put the baby in the crib, soon following with Junhee's sleeping form. “Do you want me to put these somewhere?” He pointed to the now empty baby carriers.

You smiled gratefully. Junho really seemed to want to help.  “That's fine, I'll do it.”

He nodded and soon enough, silence spread over the baby room. Jun was awake but as usual, he didn't make a sound and only this once you wished he would, so that you'd have a good excuse to start moving around and do what you originally intended. Jun needed feeding despite vomiting everything before.

“I'm going to go then,” he said after a small while. You already felt bad for not being able to host him properly enough but with Jun still on your mind and worried eating you away, you couldn't bring yourself to do it.

You nodded and when he moved out of the room, you spoke up. “I am not going to come anymore. I mean - to exercise.”

Junho turned around with a little shock. “If it's about what happened today, then don't worry about it. It's only normal.”

“No, it isn't normal,” you sighed, dejected. “Babies are still too young and Jun is quite sicklish. I forgot to tell the babysitter not to feed him. I'm so irresponsible.”

Junho was fast to spot the utter guilt in your eyes and the way you avoided his gaze. Frowning on the ground, you pursed your lips while gently running your hand over Jun's butt. He would always thought you looked beautiful and cute in that moment with the baby, but he knew it must have been difficult on you as a mother of triplets at such a young age.

“I don't know much about you,” he started gently, “in fact I wish I knew more because you seem to be interesting. But you are doing everything by yourself. You spend days alone with them and you probably have a head full of worries and three kinds of checklists that you mentally tick off. I won't judge nor mind if you don't want to exercise anymore. But maybe once your little ones grow bigger you can come back and I will gladly make the best work-out routine for you. Your body is your everything. Don't neglect it.”

Even though he could have saved that last sentence, Junho's words made you think; even more so that they were more accurate than you would have expected from a man who didn't have kids yet on his own. At least you thought he didn't have.

“Thanks a lot,” you smiled again, but the more the meeting prolonged the less you felt like it. A good cry was what you needed. “I'll reach out once I will be ready again.”

He nodded and started to put on his trainers. “I wish you all the best,” he said once he straightened up to his full length.

You nodded and let him out of the apartment. “Take care.”

He turned around just in the last moment, startling you. “I'll be waiting for you.”

Breath hitched in your throat and you could only manage to look at him speechlessly.

“At the gym! Of course at the gym!” he added quickly, laughing when he saw the expression on your face. He looked incredibly handsome when he laughed and his awkwardness made you heave out a little laugh as well.

“Okay, I'll meet you much later at the gym,” you replied, still smiling.

“That's good enough.”

</3

It was quite late when Baekhyun arrived home. The apartment was dark and quiet and he mentally cursed for not being on time again.

He went straight to your shared bedroom, not wanting to wake the triplets by accident and when he opened the door, your dim bedside lamp greeted him. With it you lying on your side and next to your chest a peacefully sleeping Jun. He was surprised to find the baby with you in your bed.

“Baby, I’m home,” he whispered, hoping you weren’t asleep yet.

You hummed, opening your eyes to see his suit-clad figure. He walked over to your side and hovered over you, looking at Jun and then at your side profile. He trailed his hand over your arm soothingly.

“Baby, why is Jun here?” He looked over his son again. “Did something happen?”

“All is good,” you said, your voice heavy with upcoming sleep.

Baekhyun understood you didn’t want to talk. He expected you to be hurt or even offended that he didn’t let you know on time about his delay. He always felt guilty for leaving you to be with triplets the whole time by yourself.

“I’ll go shower, you sleep,” he mumbled eventually when he didn’t receive more of an answer. A hum met his ears and he pressed a small kiss to the side of your face before taking off the suit jacket. He was unbuttoning his shirt when you took Jun into your arms, wanting to bring him to his crib.

Without sparing Baekhyun a glance, you walked past him and he took a hold of your waist gently, stopping you from leaving. Your tired eyes met his before you let them look at his exposed chest, the shirt still hanging off his wide shoulders. “You’re mad, right?”

“I’m not mad, Baekhyun. I’m tired.”

He sighed, running his hand through his hair. “I know I promised you that I’ll be home by-“

“You didn’t promise anything,” you interrupted him quietly. “You said you’d try to make it home earlier and I'm sure you did.” You hesitated. “Let me put Jun into bed. I need to lie down, too. It's late.”

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry,” he said in a hushed tone and he sighed.

You managed to smile and shook your head before walking ahead and out of the bedroom, Jun still in your tight grip. Maybe it was the shock of the day that you didn't want to tell Baekhyun what happened. But you were certain you were mad at yourself more than at anyone else and you were positive Baekhyun would be extremely dissatisfied if he found out how irresponsible you were. You had a heavy heart and you wanted to keep to yourself for the time being. Jun was all fine, thankfully, which was the only reason you could put him to sleep separately from you. The idea of something happening to him again while you weren't present was probably the first issue that would come to haunt you in the future as a mother. This was how it felt like; leaving your kid and always hoping they would be fine without you.

By the time you came back, Baekhyun was in the shower. The constant buzz of the running water quickly lulled you to sleep, your mind and body completely exhausted from the day’s events. This one time you couldn't wait up for him. You were practically a walking zombie when you landed on your side of the bed.

Even when your husband joined you in bed, rushing to scoop you up in his arms so he could envelope himself around you like a koala to his eucalyptus tree. He sighed in content but he knew he would have a talk with you in the morning.

<3

It was only by Saturday when you actually talked. Baekhyun didn't want to wake you after being woken up on Friday early in the morning to feed, and then you slept yet again when he was about to leave for work. Your quietness was very unusual to him.

He made sure to bring the monitor to his side and tried to sleep as lightly as possible so that if the munchkins were up, he'd be there first. The bags under your eyes, and your eyes themselves not having the typical spark made him very worried. You needed to rest and he would try his best to let you.

Currently, he was having a good chat with the triplets, even though one was already crying - Junhee, of course - because he was trying to feed Juna who started the ruckus first. Thankfully, he closed the door to the babies' room, so he didn't have to worry about their wailing waking you up.

But boy, was it difficult to satisfy them. He opted to heat up another bottle of milk and he was now balancing them in both hands, trying to safely feed both of the hungry mouths. Baekhyun prayed Jun wouldn't follow his sisters' lead as he observed him for a moment before focusing back on his daughters.

“Are you always giving this much of a hard time to mummy whenever I'm not here?” he murmured but an affectionate smile stretched his lips. Juna and Junhee were adorable as he was staring down at them, their eyes wide open while looking at their father. Their cheeks were pinkish and puffy, their soft hair a little messy and pressed in funny ways from sleeping  which made Baekhyun's heart swell with love. Whenever their small fingers tapped on his long fingers, he would try to caress their hands with it.

“After this, it's nappy-change time,” he told them seriously. “No exceptions, okay?”

Juna was gulping down like crazy, and whenever she swallowed hard, she exhaled loudly and Baekhyun eventually chuckled. “You are definitely daddy's little girl. Daddy also eats too fast but watch out - don't want your tummy to hurt, hm, little Juna?”

When he was sure that both babies were well-fed, he threw a small glance at Jun who was still too peaceful. He wasn't asking for food and neither was he asking for attention. “Junnie, what's wrong?” he asked quietly, worry laced in his voice, and lifted him out of his crib. “Why are you so quiet? You don't want some yummy milk?” He brought the bottle up to his face, pressing the pacifier to the top of his lips. Jun was only bulging his eyes at his father, as if unsure what to do with the bottle. “You don't want a sip?”

Jun averted his gaze, observing everything around him in quietness. He was moving around in Baekhyun's arms, most probably meaning he was a little restless, so Baekhyun put him back down into the crib, hoping he would make a scene, but Jun only looked at the small toys that he had hovering above him. To make it more interesting for him, Baekhyun pushed a few of them, letting them dingle gently and taking Jun's attention.

Baekhyun sighed, unsure. While the babies were still in their peaceful mode after changing their nappies, he left them and went straight back to the kitchen to wash up the bottles and prepare some breakfast for the both of you, wanting to surprise you with breakfast in bed.

Of course, he underestimated the whole situation. It was now way past 8am and you were up, and rubbing your eyes at the bar table separating the kitchen from the open living room. “Honey, why didn't you wake me?” you asked, your voice still heavily laced with sleep.

Baekhyun turned his head to the left as he was washing the tomatoes. “Sweetheart, go back to bed. I'll bring the food to the bedroom,” he told you and turned the water off.

Not listening, you tapped over to him, observing and trying to decode his recipe, but Baekhyun put down the vegetables, turned to you and held you by your upper arms. “You. Bed. Now.”

“I'm fine, honey,” you insisted tiredly. “Let me just help you out- oh, and what about the triplets?”

“I took care of them,” he said somewhat proudly, happy that it was finally him attending to them while you could keep on sleeping.

You sighed. “You should be resting. You work a lot during the week-”

“And you cannot escape your work at all,” cut in Baekhyun, frowning. “I'm not going to ask you what has been bothering you the past couple of days, but let me at least help out like this.”

Instantly, you felt guilty. You were so tired you managed to forget your heavy emotions in your deep slumber. They all came back to you, taking a good, comfortable seat in the depths of your chest, no signs of leaving whatsoever. Not until you resolved them at least.

“I don't want to lie down,” you still protested and Baekhyun observed you for a moment, trying to see through you. Without another word, you stepped closer and hugged him, your arms stretching so you could connect your hands on his wide back. He didn't hesitate, and brought you to him, pecking the top of your head.

“What's the matter, hm,” he hummed softly into your ear. “You haven't been yourself.”

“I messed up,” you murmured into his chest and when he wanted to pull away, you squeezed him tighter, making him groan in mock hurt. “No, just stay like this a little longer.”

He brought up his hand to your head and gently caressed your hair. “How did you mess up?”

You took a deep breath. “I am a bad mother, Baekhyun. I can't do this.”

“No, sweetheart, that's nonsense and you know it, too,” he said, this time really trying to pry your arms away from him but you wouldn't budge, persisting on holding onto him. He tried again, but gave up when you shimmied yourself closer, causing him to step backwards. He sighed affectionately, his hand going back up to caress you.

“Jun got sick while I was working out and well… yeah, that happened. So I had to come home earlier on Thursday.”

Baekhyun tensed slightly at your words, but was fast to ease up. His son was alright now. There was no need to overreact. “Did Sukyeong bring you home then?” he asked, trying to sound unbothered.

It was your turn to tense up now. Baekhyun felt it, but did not comment, instead waited patiently for your answer. “The trainer brought me home,” you mumbled and he desperately wanted to see your face, but you were still glued to his chest. “But don't worry. I'm not going to work out anymore. Not until the munchkins are bigger at least.”

“Let me look at you, princess,” Baekhyn requested, tapping your butt gently. “C'mon, don't hide.”

You squeezed him one last time before slowly disattaching yourself, your big, sad eyes looking up at him while your lower lip was trapped under your teeth. “I'm sorry for disappointing you.”

He gave you a gentle smile as he cupped your face, breathing a kiss on your forehead. “Is this what's been bothering you?” You nodded, still bulging your eyes at him. “I'm such a jerk,” he sighed eventually, “it should have been me who brings you home on Thursday. Instead I came home super late and had you deal with everything by yourself.”

You started to shake your head violently. “No, Baekhyun, no, this isn't your fault.”

“Did the trainer come up here?” he shot quickly, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at you.

You shrugged. “He helped me bring the triplets up. So he had to come in.” You went on to explain to him what actually happened that day, keeping Baekhyun's eager eye contact the whole time. “I forgot to tell them,” you admitted, devastated. “I'm so frigging irresponsible.”

“That's why you had Junnie with you when I came back?” he asked quietly, brushing your hair behind your ear.

You nodded, pressing your lips together in anxiety.

Baekhyun sighed. “Let's take him to the doctor's, hm?” he suggested and when he saw you nod again, he brought you back into a bear hug, your arms immediately sneaking around him. “And then you, little lady, will go to the doctor's about your breast milk, got it?” he asked, more seriously. He still didn't let the topic go but since you were both dealing with the problems now, he wanted to bring it up. “You're leaking too much and it's causing you discomfort. I don't care if you don't want help, but you need to see the doctor to make sure everything is in normal with your body.”

You pouted up at him and he chuckled softly, caressing your cheek. “Okay, you're right,” you eventually gave in and Baekhyun's smile grew even more, very much satisfied with your answer.

“That's my baby girl,” he breathed, pecking you on the lips.

“Sorry for not telling you sooner.”

“You needed time to process, there is no need to apologize for that. It's my fault for letting my colleagues drag me when I knew I had responsibilities.”

Once again you cuddled yourself to him, and Baekhyun laughed again, humming in satisfaction when he had you like this. It was only until there was a knock on the entrance door, with it the doorbell ringing through the quiet apartment. If that wasn't enough to surprise you, the babies' reaction to the doorbell wasn't good, either, for at least two babies woke up right away, their whimpers coming in through the monitor.

You separated, moving to tend to the babies while Baekhyun went for the door. You were shushing Junhee, the forever crybaby, only calming down when she was finally in your grasp. Too curious as to who was the unexpected guest, you went to the room's door, peeking over the door frame just to completely freeze.

Baekhyun was facing Lee Junho, your trainer.

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

A/N: Did you figure out the usage of "<3 and </3" ??? Huhu ^^ 

[tweedlydumbtweedlydoo]

Spencer Reid x Reader

Request: Spencer has made an enemy with an unsub. The team believes it’s over after they catch him, but they don’t realize one big detail; unsub isn’t working alone and that partner has gone after Spencer’s girl. Will Spencer make it in time to save her? 

// Anon request: can u do one where reid saves the reader from getting kidnapped or shot pls🥺🥺 //

// Anon request:  ok this might be confusing but can u do one where the team goes on a case, but like the unsub actually had a partner back at reid and the readers apartment and kidnaps her and he gets super like protective and cute and like awe reid is so baby🥺🥺 // 

A/N: sucker for angst. So I combined these two requests because they’re so similar. I steered away from the request a little and may have gotten carried away while writing it, but I’m kind of proud of this one. Thank you both for your request! I hope you enjoy :) xx 

**MASTERLIST**

Requests: {OPEN} CLOSED

I am currently taking requests for:

The Vampire Diaries/The Originals

Elijah Mikaelson

Damon Salvatore

Criminal Minds:

Spencer Reid

Derek Morgan

Supernatural (I’m only up to season 2, so please don’t request something with spoilers)**

Sam Winchester

Dean Winchester

********************************************************************************************NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNER

WHO GAVE HIM THE RIGHT TO LOOK THIS DAMN SEXY UGH 

Finally, the BAU team tracked down the unsub. Currently he is in custody, chained to the interrogation desk. This was the man who’d taunted the BAU team for months. He’d sent them on numerous goose chases and they finally caught up to him when he made a mistake, which then led to his capture. This man got under Spencer’s skin the last time they faced him and since then Spencer did everything in his power to find him and take him down.

The first time they had caught up to the man at his home, they were all shocked to the core, Spencer specifically. Inside the home, the team found a room dedicated to photos of him and his wife, in their home, his wife at the grocery store, the two of them on dates. The man had been following them, taking photos of them, invading their privacy. Spencer was sick at the thought and since then, he couldn’t sleep until he knew his wife was safe. Until he knew the man was put behind bars.

The man had killed numerous women, up and down the coast. They caught up to him outside of Georgetown and when they arrived at his home, he’d already slipped away into the darkness. The man had laid low for a few weeks, then the murders began again, this time, the women favoring Spencer’s wife. Spencer and the team knew exactly who was behind these murders. He was back, this time in a small town on the coast of South Carolina. After the 3rd woman, the man made a mistake and slipped up, allowing the team to finally put an end to this.

However, the BAU team made a mistake, a very big one. They’d missed key information, that could potentially put the woman Spencer loved in danger.

Spencer stood across from the man that had tormented him and his wife for months, anger boiling inside him. It took everything he had not to reach across the table and strangle the man.

“This is the end for you. You’re facing charges for over 20 women up and down the east coast.” He slammed his hands against the metal table, “You’re facing the death penalty. You will get what you deserve!”

The unsub smirked, “Oh but Dr. Reid, this isn’t the end. You really didn’t think I would leave without making sure your suffering will continue?” He sits a little straighter in his seat, leaning forward, “Tell me Dr. Reid, have you spoke to your wife today? Told her you loved her?”

Spencer straightens, fear washing over him. He hadn’t spoke to you today. He was caught up in the case to bother to call you. The unsub began to laugh wickedly, seeing Spencer’s fear. Spencer then stormed out of the interrogation room, the rest of the team waiting by the door. Hotch already on the phone, “We need officer’s at (you and Spencer’s address) right now!”

The team was in South Carolina, you were back at your home in Quantico. He checked the time. It was Thursday, 5:43 pm. You would have been on your way home from work by now. You would have stopped by the grocery store on 4th to get groceries to cook dinner. Thursday’s were chicken night. He knew you probably would have splurged and bought a bottle of wine for yourself along with cookies. Cookies were your weakness.

Spencer’s hands began to shake, “How could we have missed this?” He roughly runs his hands through his hair. How could he have missed that this unsub had a partner? How could he be so stupid?

“Reid, calm down. Hotch has officer’s on their way to your home now.” Morgan tried to calm his friend, but all Spencer seen was red.

“I’m going to kill him.” He mumbles. Before anyone can act, Spencer has barged into the interrogation room and has thrown the unsub into the wall, his hands wrapped tightly around his throat.

“Reid! Stop!” Hotch and Morgan are grabbing at Spencer, trying to pull him off the man.

“You sick bastard!” Spencer’s hands tighten and he can feel the life draining from the unsub.

“Reid if you kill him, we have no way of finding her!” Hotch yells, ripping Spencer off the man. Morgan’s arms wrap around Spencer’s body, holding him back, “Kid, you got to calm down!”

“Get him out of here!” Hotch yells at Morgan, who begins dragging Spencer out of the room, the door clicking shut behind them.

“Morgan, he’s got her… he’s got y/n..” Spencer’s body goes limp in Morgan’s grip and begins wracking with sobs.

 ~

You push open the door with your foot, your hand full of groceries. You only needed a few things for dinner, but you hoped Spencer would be home this weekend so you two could spend the weekend at home, binge watching tv and eating your weight in junk food. You grunt, setting the grocery bags on the counter. Slipping your shoes off by your bedroom door, you enter the kitchen and begin putting away groceries, continuing to play your playlist you were jamming in the car to.

Your body tenses as you feel the cold barrel of a gun pressed against your back, “don’t move.”

Your breathing becomes rapid and you slowly raise your arms, “Please.. please don’t do this.” You whisper.

The man puts a cloth over your mouth and you thrash, trying to keep it away. “No!” You throw your head back into the man’s nose and groan. That hurt more than you thought it would. The man staggers back against the counter, holding his nose, “You bitch!”

Your head throbs and spins as you slip passed him and head for the door. Just as your hands grasp the door, the man grabs you, throwing you into the wall, the mirror falling to the floor and shattering. Your body falling into the broken glass.

 You whimper as he grabs you by your hair, your hands going to his, “Let me go!” He drags you along the floor into the living room, tossing you into the coffee table. Pain shoots across your body, but you ignore it grabbing a vase from the side table, hitting him in the side of the face. He falls to the ground and you stagger to your feet heading for the door once more, but you never make it.

A gun shot rings through the home you and Spencer shared. The last thing you see is the smiling photo of you and Spencer on the wall. It was your wedding photo, taken moments after you two promised to love and protect each other.

 ~

Spencer and the team were on the jet within the hour, heading back to Quantico. Back to you. When the police arrived at you and his home, they found the door opened, broken glass and a trail of blood out the door, but you were no where in sight.

He stares aimlessly at the wall in front of him, the gears in his head running a mile a minute. He racked his brain wondering how it come to this. He had caught the unsub that had terrorized you two. He promised you after he was caught, this would all be over. You two could live normal lives. Now, the unsub was locked in cell somewhere, but you were gone, disappeared. The only thing left was a blood trail out the door.

“Kid.. we’re going to find her.” Morgan says quietly, his hand going to Spencer’s shoulder.

“We won’t stop until we do. She’s family, Reid.” Emily says, taking a seat next to him.

He figured he was in shock. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t function. When they arrived at your shared home, he could see you put up a fight. Those self defense classes must have helped. He glances at the kitchen counter, the groceries still there, untouched. Sure enough, there sat a bottle of wine and a box of cookies. He’s broken from his trance as Hotch’s cellphone rings.

He’s nodding, listening intently to what someone’s saying. He looks up at the team standing in the living room, “That was the sheriff from next town over. Said he just received a call about a woman stumbling up onto a porch, bloodied and beaten. Thinks it could be y/n.”

~ 

Spencer’s heart was beating out of his chest as Morgan drove to the hospital. The sheriff informed Hotch, they took her to the hospital immediately. She suffered extensive injuries, but kept telling people she escaped, that a man had kidnapped her and kept muttering that she needed to speak with Spencer Reid.

He practically ran into the hospital to the room where the unknown woman was. His heart dropped when he entered. It wasn’t you laying on the bed. He slowly walked over to the bed, the woman’s head rolled over to face Spencer, wincing as she sat up a little.  

“Are you Spencer Reid?” The woman asks. Spencer only nods in response.

“Your wife…” Her voice is hoarse, “She saved my life.”

“Y/n? How? What happened?”

“The man brought her in, there was blood everywhere. I thought she was dead. But he left her in the room with me. I rushed to her side and she had a pulse. He’d shot her in the side. The bullet grazed her. I patched her up with what I had. Which was only a few t shirts. She finally woke up later that night. She told me that she knew where we were, she’d woken up long enough during the ride. We were in the middle of the woods, not far from civilization. So, we thought of a plan. She knew she couldn’t run so she told me to run and get help. She would attack the man when he came in. She made me promise if I got out, to tell them I needed to talk to Spencer Reid. It was late that night, the man came into the room and she attacked him from behind. I was able to slip out the door and I ran to find help.”

Spencer was quick to get on the phone with Penelope with the information. She worked her magic and soon there was a location.

Swat and the BAU team had the small cabin surrounded. There was no way out of this for the guy. He knew that. When he entered into the room, he was panicked. You used that to your advantage and was able to fight the gun from him, getting a clear shot through his chest.

Spencer’s heart stopped as the gunshot was heard. “Move in!” Swat yelled and begin closing in on the home.

Morgan was the one who saw it first. The door began to open and a figure limped out of the door. “Hold your fire!” 

It was you. You were safe. Before he knew it, he was running to you, his body colliding with yours.

“Spencer!” You cried. The collision sent pain through your body, but you ignored it. Spencer was here. You were in Spencer’s arms and that is all that mattered.

Spencer’s body wracked with sobs and he held you, “Oh god… I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

You shook your head, “I’m okay. I’m fine..” You pulled away to look at him. He looked rough. Bags under his eyes. His face was red and wet from crying. A tear slipped down your cheek and you wrapped your arms around him again.

“I love you so much… god I love you.” He says into your hair.

“I love you too…”

Spencer carried you to the ambulance and he never left your side, riding in the ambulance to the hospital. He never let go of your hand either, scared that he would lose you if he were to let go. He finally had to let you go as they took you into the hospital. He didn’t want to leave your side then, but your reassured him, you would be fine. You were safe and everything would be okay.

*******************************************************************************************

[mrslittletall]

11 for Postman and Louise from Nier Reolicant please ^^

Title: Fleeting Rest Fandom: Nier Replicant Characters: The Postman, Louise Word-Count: 1.596 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33815986

Summary: Hans, the postman, isn't feeling very well, but he's the only one looking after Louise, the girl from the shipwreck. He can't make her wait any longer for food despite his poor condition.

(Author's note: I don't think that the postman would think of himself as the postman, so I looked up his name and it's Hans, so the postman is referred to as Hans. This is my first fic for Nier Replicant for characters I didn't even expect to get, but I am satisfied with how it turned out.

This is completely based on the story in the game, not on the story “The Mermaid Princess”. I am not too sure if the postman having the black scrawl is canon or a headcanon, but I went with it.)

Prompt: Bed Rest @sicktember

Even though Hans had been feeling ill for the last few days, he couldn’t postpone visiting Louise anymore. The last time he had brought her food had been more than three days ago and the way she was scarfing down any food he brought here… he couldn’t let her suffer like this again. Who knows how long she had stayed on this ship, floating through sea, before it wrecked on the Seafront shore? He had to get some food for her and see how she was doing.

His leg was hurting a lot when he left the post office. He knew it was the beginning stage of the black scrawl. He knew that his days were numbered, but he would make the most out of them. He only wished that Louise had taken up his offer on coming with him; having a daughter in the post office would make his days so much brighter. Maybe she would change her mind once she got used to seeing light again.

He limped to the tavern to get some fresh bread. When the tavern owner saw him, he expressed quite some concern.

“You know I would be glad to deliver your food to you. The post office has done so much for the town. It is only fair that we give something back.”, he said.

Hans only shook his head as he paid for the bread. “I appreciate it, but this food isn’t for me. I… have to get it to someone else.”

The tavern keeper gave him a questioning look. He probably assumed that it would be the lighthouse lady, but she had been dead for a while now. Luckily, he didn’t ask any further questions and handed Hans the package.

“Whoever you are helping out this time, I am sure they cherish it.”, he said and waved him goodbye. Hans reciprocated the greeting and limped outside, heading for the shipwreck.

Even on good days the way to the shipwreck wasn’t easy with his bad leg. It was why he so often wasn’t able to deliver the mail and was more than glad when the young man with the white hair appeared and helped him out. Still, walking to the shipwreck was a lot easier than going all the way to Popola’s village, fearing that the shades on the way would tear him apart.

He was bathed in sweat once he arrived at the shipwreck, the bag with the bread clutched to his chest. Now he only needed to enter the shipwreck and find Louise, who probably was staying in as deep as possible as always. She really was afraid of blinding herself by the daylight. It didn’t surprise the postman, he also would be reluctant to step into the daylight when he would have lived in the dark for who knows how long.

As he entered the shipwreck and made his way to Louise, Hans noticed how much worse the smell had gotten in that place. He really should talk Louise into getting used to the daylight soon, when this place was rotting from the inside, there was no guarantee it would hold up for years. Still, the smell hadn’t been that bad three days ago… could the shipwreck really rot that easily?

Whatever it was, Hans had a different thing to be concerned about. The symptoms of his illness were rapidly getting worse the longer he was up and out of bed. The bad smell didn’t help at all and soon he was coughing on his way, having to drag his bed leg behind him. He probably wouldn’t be able to stay around long and spend some time with Louise today…

In the meantime, Louise had stayed in the ship and tried to practice her writing. It was so difficult. He had shown her how to form letters to build words, which would allow her to communicate with him. Because she was a shade, he couldn’t understand her words… she wanted to speak the same language as him. Louise wished so much that she could be human to be with him. He had looked so sad when she declined his offer to come with him… if only she could walk under the sun…

She already feared that he had left her alone. He hadn’t been here for days. He used to come daily… why wasn’t he here? Had he figured out that she wasn’t human… Louise feared nothing more than being left alone again. Everyone always left her alone when they saw her real body…

“Louise? Where are you?”

It was his voice! She shot up from her chair and hurried to him, she was so glad to see him again. Her joy turned into deep concern though when she heard a heavy sound, like if something or someone had hit the ground and to downright horror when she saw him lying there, clutching a bag with food (for her, he always brought food for her), and he didn’t move or react to her at all.

He looked so ill and weak. There were sweat beads in front of his face and he was so pale, even paler than usual. She knew that he had trouble walking, he always would limp, but she didn’t know it was that bad.

Had he dragged himself here just to see her? Louise instantly had a weird feeling welling inside up her chest… how could she have thought that he abandoned her? He never would do that. He was the first one who was ever kind to her! How could she ever have doubted him?

Though, right now he needed her help… humans normally would rest in bed when they were feeling ill, right? Louise walked over to him, hesitating when she reached the light of the sun that filtered through the holes of the shipwreck.

She could take it. The sun would hurt her, yes, but she could easily heal the damage. Besides, with him being unconscious, he wouldn’t notice the true nature of her body. As Louise stepped into the light of the sun, a low hiss escaped her when her body started to burn. She walked over to him and tried to lift him up.

She couldn’t do it. This body that she was inhabiting… it was too weak. He was so much larger and heavier than that body… she despised having to do it, but…

Louise let part of her shade form take over, her arms turning into tentacles, having to pinch her eyes when the unfiltered light of the sun hit them, making the burn so much worse. Though her pain was nothing against the pain he must be in, he had come only to see her, even though he was feeling unwell. She would endure every pain for him.

With her tentacle arms, it was a piece of cake to lift him up and carry him into the sole bed she spent her time at when she didn’t have anything better to do. She sighed when she stepped back into the shadows, grateful that the burning pain of the sun wouldn’t affect her anymore. She gently lowered him down and tucked him in, stroking over his hood with one of her tentacles, before looking at it in disgust and hiding it in the shadows.

When Hans opened his eyes, he was lying down. Apparently, he also was lying somewhere soft, as opposed to the hard floor he had felt when his consciousness had left him. When he looked to the left, he could see Louise standing there, her face obscured by the shadows, like always, but that long black hair and the bow he had brought her, it was unmistakably her.

“Louise…?”, he said and pulled himself up, only to get hit with a cloud of dust which prompted another coughing fit. As he was busy coughing his lungs out of his body, he felt how Louise gently but firmly pushed him back into bed.

“Oh woah, you are pretty strong…”, Hans murmured. She looked so frail and small. How had she even been able to carry him here? As he looked at her with questioning eyes, she took a step back and began to cower away from him. She always did that when he talked about something she was afraid of.

“Hey it’s okay, I… won’t ask…”, he said. “Thank you for taking care of me, Louise. I am afraid I was a bit weaker than I thought… I should head home and rest…”

As he pulled himself up again, ready to get out of bed and limp back home, he got pushed back into bed a lot more firmly this time, with Louise stepping back into the shadows right away after he had been forced to lie back down.

“You won’t let me, hm?”, he said, a faint smile on his lips. “Alright, you won, I guess I'll rest here until I feel well enough to go back to the post office.”

Louise stayed in the shadows for a while longer. Hans already wanted to stop looking at her and close his eyes to rest up, when she stepped closer… and began singing. The tune he had hummed to her. The lighthouse lady’s tune.

She was singing in her rough, broken voice, likely from a throat too damaged to form more coherent words, but for him, it was the sweetest sound he could imagine.

He smiled as he let his eyes close and lull himself back to sleep, murmuring: “Your singing has gotten better, Louise…” (Author's note: And this was the fourth of the sicktember prompts. It was surprisingly fun to write the monster in hiding. Louise is a character that certainly should get explained more.

I have the feeling I made the replicants a bit too nice, because in canon almost all of them are kind of shitheads, but hey, canon is painful enough, let us have a little bit of kindness in fanfiction.)

[chaoticallysapphic]

just the start chapter one

summary: It’s such a sweet beginning and such a horrible end. Before you die for someone, you have to love them with your very being. You have to see just how much this world needs them despite their doubts and you have to be happy up until the very end. If not for you then for them.

a/n: I give to thee part one of the just a scratch prequel. This is a series that I will most likely very slowly update because tgt has my full attention and this is all I have for it so far. Please tell me your thoughts on it and as always thank you @medeliadracon​

word count: 3k

Your kids are going to be the death of you. It was meant to be an easy, minimum stress day where you handed the kids a test you’d been helping them study for over two weeks. Afterward, it was a lesson on the creation of the Earth Kingdom and its early history,  but ten-year-olds never like to make things easy on you. You caught three of your students trying to cheat off of one another and two forgot to bring pencils to school. Someone tried to feign illness to get out of it, which led three others to try their luck as well.  

Another one of your students decided to continuously interrupt what was meant to be a painless fifteen-minute lesson into a thirty-minute lesson that had everyone groaning in their seats towards the ends. You did not get paid enough for this.

You may have been a bit harsh by assigning them more homework than normal and it would come back to bite you in the ass when it came time to grade them. The problem is that if you yell at them or call them assholes you’ll lose your job so instead you decide to punish them with more work and you finally leave the classroom with a tense demeanor and a need to see your favorite person. 

You usually don’t let work get to you like this, you're known as the sweet teacher that everyone adores so on the days when you snap or hand out extra work your students know they messed up big time. But last night you may have lost track of time as you read a new book you had purchased the day before. 

You couldn’t help how it sucked you in and locked you inside its pages until late into the evening, so you woke up late with the book lying flat against your chest and your head laid in a weird angle on the arm of your couch. You weren’t able to eat any breakfast as you ran to school with half of your shirt untucked and your hair messily pinned back.

It’s early evening now and you know she will most likely stay late at the office so you decide to bring her some of her favorite food from a fire nation food cart. By now the owner knows you by name and happily whips up the usual as you tighten your coat around you. Summer is slowly saying goodbye and in its wake autumn is bringing a chill as the sun goes down. Soon enough it’ll be the best kind of weather to cozy up inside with a mug of tea and a novel. 

You’re suddenly thankful for your outfit choice, a pair of dark brown loose slacks that button at your waist with a white long-sleeved blouse tucked into the waistband. You do regret the pair of burnt orange heels you paired with the outfit, school required women to wear them which you felt was incredibly wrong with being on your feet for the majority of the day. 

Usually, you’d pack a pair of flats to change into but this morning you forgot it along with your scarf. So as your feet ache you decide to strike up a conversation with one of your favorite people.

“How are you doing today?” Kaito, the food cart owner is a sweet old man who you’ve been coming to way before you met Lin. It’s only a block away from the school so when you first started working there you’d rush out during lunch to get something to eat in hopes that food would calm you down. 

“I’m doing okay, although I must say the local gossip has kept me entertained today,” he places the boxes of your food into a paper bag as you hand him the yuans for the meals. You quirk a brow with an amused smile and ask “and what is the gossip today?” 

“The Avatar has come to Republic City!” 

“Wow, are you sure about that?” You grab the bag of food from the cart and wait for his reply before leaving. 

“Well, my buddy told me, said he witnessed it himself and I believe him.” 

“I’m putting my trust in you Kaito. If that’s a lie I’ll be very sad,” you say teasingly before taking a step back to walk away. He calls after you, claiming he’d never lie and while you know he’s telling the truth you still decide to playfully stick your tongue out at him over your shoulder. “Have a nice night!”

Those around whom don’t know you, which is everyone except for Kaito, watch in bewilderment at the thirty-nine years old woman who acts like a child towards the elderly cart owner. 

That little encounter helped ease your nerves a bit as you walked towards the police station, cars zoomed past as the streetlights flickered on to illuminate the streets. Lin had been talking to you about needing a mode of transportation, she hated you walking everywhere for fear of getting mugged, but you enjoyed walking. It gave you time to look back on your day and think about what needs to be done before your head hits the pillow. 

Some overpriced car will slash that time in half and with it your moment of silence. That being said it would be nice on your feet and back. You jog up the long stone steps in front of the precinct, a few officers are filing out for the night, all of which have slowly pieced together who you are. 

They throw smiles your way as you hold the door open for them before walking inside. Ishi, the lady who runs the front desk smiles as she watches you walk past with the bag of food in hand. Everyone here likes you, which is no surprise, especially since anytime you visit Lin is left in a good mood for the rest of the day. 

Phones are ringing as you walk through the main office where desks are lined up, a couple of the detectives and rookies offer a hello in between flipping through pages of paperwork or dialing the phone. Without knocking, because at this point you know it’ll just result in Lin yelling, you open the door to her office. 

You find her hunched over her desk with her glasses resting at the tip of her nose. She’s got papers scattered across the desk with her chin resting in her hands. At the sound of the door opening, she glances up and lets out a sigh of relief at seeing you instead of some officer. 

“Thought I’d bring you an early dinner and hopefully rip you away from your work for at least a few minutes,” you say as you set the bag down on the desk. She pushes away from the desk and, taking off her glasses, collects the mess of papers to help prep the desk for the meal. 

“You know you didn’t have to do that, right?” She asks you this as she moves past you to put the stack of papers on the couch. You shrug and begin to pull out the containers of Komodo sausage and spicy fire noodles. “I wanted to, besides I know you probably skipped lunch.” 

At the site of the containers from Kaito’s Lin shakes her head with a smile. “You know, one of these days I’m going to make you eat something other than Kaito’s food.” 

“Hey!” You look up with a playful scowl, chopsticks in hand. “I eat my own food and that meal you made me.”  

She rolls her eyes and comes up to pull you into a brief kiss, you smile as her lips touch yours and lean closer to her. Any ounce of stress left from your workday vanishes just as it always does when it comes to Lin. 

“Fine,” she says, her lips gently brushing against yours, she’s smiling too. “I’m going to make you eat something other than our home-cooked meals and Kaito’s.” 

“Never,” you whisper before pecking her on the lips. You pull yourself away from her, truly you want to stay in her arms and kiss her until you're breathless but you know she needs to eat. Plus you don’t want this food to get cold. “Now c’mon, eat up and tell me about your day.” 

You hand Lin her chopsticks as you sit down on the leather chair opposite her desk, she rolls her desk chair to sit beside you and picks up her container of sausages and pours them over the noodles. With your legs crossed over one another your foot brushes against her leg as you do the same. This is a routine picked up long ago, just at the start of your relationship actually. 

Most days you’d come here for dinner or drag her out of the office to eat at your apartment. She was grateful for your care, to be honest at first she tried to push you away, to keep you at arm's length, but she couldn’t. Lin gave up within two days of knowing you and has ever since been enraptured by your mere presence. 

“It was…” Lin sighs, “the Avatar has come to town and destroyed public and private property along with interfering with Republic City Police business. I’ve been neck-deep in paperwork ever since Tenzin came to bail her out.” She stabs her chopsticks into her noodles with a scowl and swirls them around to gather a bunch of noodles around them. 

“I heard about her coming to town but I didn’t know she did all of that.” 

“Yeah, and she tried to tell me how to do my job!” Setting your container down you reach over to rub your hand up her arm in a soothing manner. You tend to let off steam by reading or spending time with others whilst Lin bottled it up and let it twist into something akin to resentment.

 Thankfully she recently started opening up to you and somehow she was surprised by the fact that you actually listened to her. “She’s some privileged teenager who knows nothing about this city or the law, and she tried to tell me how to do my job.” 

“Lin you have to think about what you were like as a teenager. What she did was wrong, but they tend to be a bit entitled at times. Once she finds out how much you really love this city she’ll take it back and respect you.” 

“Well, thankfully she won’t have to because Tenzin said he’d take her back to the South Pole.” 

You roll your eyes at the mention of Tenzin, not being able to help yourself. You are a nice person, really you are and you try not to let people get to you but fuck does that Airbender get on your nerves. When he found out Lin was dating someone, a woman on top of that, he freaked out and somehow tried to make it about him. 

When Lin said she happened to like men and women he stood with his mouth open in confusion. You know how hard that was for her to say. You were the second woman she had ever been with, the first some one-night stand she had met some years ago in a smoky bar. But you were the first woman she had ever dated and for her to finally admit it was a big step. You had stood there with her hand in yours as you tried to silently support her. 

He shut up when she said she loved you. She hadn’t told him until a month ago so your irritation was still warranted, but you knew it was probably time to get over it. It just upset you that he expected her to spend the rest of her days alone while he happily creates as many airbenders as he can with the woman he cheated on her with. Due to him, Lin still held back to some degree regarding your relationship, which you understood and didn’t hold it against her. But you did hold it against him.

“C’mon, I know you hate him and I definitely don’t like him but at least he’s getting rid of her.” Lin sets her container down to thread her fingers through yours. You nod and gently squeeze her hand twice, a little thing you came up with a month ago. She squeezes back twice and you smile, she smiles back. 

“You’re right, at least he’s doing one good thing.” Lin can’t help but laugh at that, she slowly lets go of your hand so you both can go back to eating. For a while, it’s comfortably silent as you both chow down. Lin didn’t realize how hungry she was until the delicious scent of Kaito’s cooking wafted through the air. 

You’ve been happily in a relationship for almost a year, with your anniversary just days away it makes Lin wonder what these kinds of days were like before you. She can’t seem to remember, all the memories of this office that she can conjure up involve you in some way. 

Lin already made sure to have time off for that day, she scheduled herself to leave early and has even been scoping out the best restaurants and jazz clubs in the area. She’s surprised herself with how much effort she’s putting into planning this. To be fair Lin Beifong never does something half-assed but even when she was with Tenzin their anniversaries were a bit simple, and she let him plan them. 

“By the way can you be ready by six on Saturday for me?” You bite your lip with furrowed brows as you try to think up what's happening Saturday. With your muddled brain, it takes a few seconds for you to remember your anniversary, which is surprising seeing as you wrote it down in your calendar two months into your relationship. You even found a present for her last month. 

“Hmm,” you tap your chin as you try to fight off a smile. “I don’t know, what’s Saturday?” You quirk a brow and Lin knows you’re teasing her by the look on your face. 

“You know what’s Saturday.” She stares you down with an exasperated expression and sets her empty container on the desk. Biting your lip you try to continue playing dumb “I don’t think I do, can you help jog my memory?” 

Your chair is close enough to hers that she can easily grab onto it and pull it until your knees are touching. In a swift motion that you could definitely never succeed at doing on your own, Lin grabs you by the hips and pulls you off your chair until you're straddling her lap. The last of your noodles go flying to the floor, not that either of you notices, as you let out a shriek of surprise. 

“What happened a year ago on Saturday?” 

“Y’know I think I rearranged my bookshelf that day, it was life-changing if I’m-” You begin to laugh as she scowls, “being honest.” 

“You’re impossible,” she huffs. You lean down to peck her lips, your free hand going to cradle her scarred cheek. She leans forward to kiss you back but you teasingly pull away and watch as she chases after your lips. 

“Hmm, did I go on a date with someone almost a year ago?” 

“Y’know what I am perfectly fine going back to being single.” Lies, she doesn’t know how she’d cope without you in her life. You’ve added color back into her world and reminded her what it feels like to be happy, to feel loved and secure. It terrifies her if she’s being honest. Everyone she’s ever loved has disappointed her, she doesn’t know what she’ll do if you end up leaving her too. 

“Okay, okay! Yes, I know what Saturday is.” You reach behind you to place your container on the desk, it falls onto its side due to the awkward angle but you’ll just clean it up later. Now with both hands-free, you gently cradle her face between them. Lin’s hands rest on the curve of your hips. “What kind of outfit should I wear? Something elegant or something you can easily take off?”

“Why not both?” She says with a smirk. Lin pulls you into another kiss, this one is slow and less innocent than the others. Her lips slant against yours as she pulls you closer by your hips. 

You kiss her back at the same, slow pace, neither of you pushes further than the kiss. For a few minutes, you both lazily kiss one another, you missed her. Yesterday was so hectic that all you could do was call her when you finally finished grading some papers. 

Reluctantly you pull away, you’re all for going further, but just not this second. You want to keep teasing her, you just can’t help it. Lin doesn’t hate your playful side, if anything she adores it which surprised quite a few people. You were this cheery woman with a bounce in your step who looked at Lin like she hung the moon. 

Grumpy, bitter Lin, or so she thought. In your eyes she was amazing, she had a dry sense of humor that caught many by surprise, and she was so incredibly gentle with you. Before you even started dating she let you hold her hand or pull her into a hug, even if she did grumble about it at first. 

She wouldn’t tell you then, but she secretly loved how you kept coming back despite her trying to pretend like she wasn’t totally head over heels for you. It made her feel desired and important.

“Now you’re just being greedy.” 

Lin shakes her head at your words, her eyes locking in with yours once more. “I can show you greedy.” 

You slowly move your hands from her cheeks to softly scratch her scalp, she lets out a relaxed sigh at your ministrations. You smile as you move them further back, her usual simple hairstyle is messed up in the process, but she doesn’t mind. It’s easy to fix. 

“I’d like to see that.” You know you’ve egged her on, challenged her, and she does not back down from a challenge. Perhaps you could help relieve some of her stress on the couch before dragging her out of the office for the night. 

The idea of teasing her and dragging this out flees from your mind as Lin pulls you into a heated kiss. You can’t help but think when she slips her tongue into your mouth, this woman will be the death of me.

[princessjungeun]

Cat Ladies: Lisa X Reader

Request: may i please request one where the reader doesn’t like cats but she’s lisa’s girlfriend and lisa is determined to show the reader that cats aren’t scary so she takes her to a shelter and they volunteer with kittens and weeks pass and eventually the reader ends up adopting a cat that she got attached to 🥺

It was absolutely no secret that Lisa loved cats and kittens. She was literally a cat lady, have four of her own. Everytime she saw you she had a new picture of Leo or Lily to show you, or a video of Louis and Luca.

The one thing was, you absolutely hated cats. It all stemmed from one bad experience with a cat as a child, and you’ve never quite recovered from it.

You were about six years old when your neighbor asked you and your older sister to cat sit while she was on vacation. You were in charge of changing the litter box, your older sister tricking you by saying that it was like a treasure hunt. I mean she wasn’t exactly wrong...it was just a really gross one.

You had been in the bedroom where the litter boxes were all by yourself. Your sister keeping the one kitten busy with toys while you sifted through mountains of kitty litter. A low purr resonated through the silent room, coming from right next to the bed. You knew the older cat was grumpy and actually quite mean. Your neighbor went telling you not to mess with him for too long.

On their first day you realized maybe the old cat wasn’t as fun as the little kitten, especially after he hissed at you when you tried to pet him.

Nevertheless the stepped closer to the bed, looking for the old grumpy ass cat. As you wondered if he was hiding by the pillows you felt something sharp scratch your foot underneath the bed.

You didn’t give it a second thought, running out of the room with the small bag of litter box waste in one hand. As you cried loudly, your older sister threw away the bag in your hand, trying to get you to tell her what happened. When she found out, she just laughed in your face. After all you were perfectly fine, it was just a small scratch, even a bandaid would be over dramatic.

Since then you have sworn that you’d never be in the presence of a cat by choice. When you met Lisa and she told you she had cats, you were actually considering telling her that the relationship wouldn’t work out. But she wasn’t the type of person to let that happen.

So she would always put her cats away in whatever room when you came over. After about three times you felt bad, especially hearing Lily’s soft meows from the other side of the door.

As a result, you told her to just come over to your place. The only pet you had was a little turtle so it wasn’t like you had to lock her up somewhere.

It had been Lisa’s goal from day one to get you over your fear of cats, or at least kittens. Which is exactly why your girlfriend brought you to an animal shelter that focuses on caring for abandoned and abused cats and kittens.

“Lisa where are you making me drive to?” You asked, not taking your eyes off the road.

Your girlfriend replied, “stop asking questions and drive.”

You told her, “I swear Pranpriya ‘Lalisa’ Manoban if this address is another fricking cat café- I will literally bust your knee caps.”

She threw her head back in laughter as she remembers the time she’d dragged you to a cat cafe. You sat outside the cafe as she was inside enjoying herself surrounded by cats.

She put her hand on your clothes thigh, “it’s not. So don’t worry.”

When you arrived and read the sign above the door you told her, “I better be reading the sign wrong. If I walk in there and there’s a bunch of cats...Lisa I swear to God you know I can’t do cats.”

She could tell by the tone in your voice that you were actually scared and not mad at her. She told you, “this is my favorite place to come when I can. It’s a shelter for cats and kittens that have been victims of some sort of mistreatment or abuse. All of the animals here are so sweet. To be honest...unfortunately most of them will probably be more afraid of you than you are of them.”

You nodded, “alright...but if I don’t like it I’m gonna come back and sit in the car and wait for you.”

Lisa nodded and said “alright are you ready?”

You nodded and followed her out of the car, her hand in yours as you walked into the building.

“Hi Mrs. Kang!” Lisa chirped to the woman behind the desk.

The older woman smiled, “ahhh Lalisa! It’s so good to see you, and I see you brought someone along this time.”

Lisa nodded and said, “this is my girlfriend Y/N. Y/N this is director and owner of the shelter Mrs. Kang.”

You smiled and bowed, the woman doing the same for you.

She told Lisa, “we got two new kittens early this morning. One is at the vet right now but the other is in a pen by herself. She’s still very small, but very friendly already. Other than that you can go on back and play with the older cats. A few litter boxes might need to be cleaned as well.”

Lisa nodded and put on an apron, handing one to you as well. The second she walked through the large doors that opened to the back of the shelter, you felt your hesrt sink in fear. There were so many cats of all breeds and sizes.

Your girlfriend pulled you to her side, lets go find the baby hmm?”

No nervously nodded and followed her, stopping at a small pen where the sleeping kitten was. The name plate over the pen reading:

Clove: Russian Blue (pink)

Delta: Russian Blue (purple)

Lisa looked at the hot pink collar around the kitten’s neck, “hmm Delta must be the one that’s away right now then.”

She opened the pen and picked up the other kitten gently, immediately she curled into the warmth of her body. Your girlfriend cooed and rubbed the kitten’s head, almost dying of cuteness.

“Do you wanna pet her?” Lisa asked, moving closer to you. You hesitated but then decided one little pat couldn’t hurt.

It was less of a pat and more of a poke, right on the side of the little kitten’s head. She let out a soft meow and your heart instantly melted.

Lisa handed you the towel she was wrapped in before passing her to you. You held the small kitten in your arms and mumbled to her softly, “you’re not so scary after all huh?”

Your girlfriend pointed you to a chair and made sure you were set before moving around to do whatever work Mrs. Kang threw at her. Lisa worked quickly, as if she actually did work here full time. She knew the other people and volunteers that worked there and they knew her. They cracked jokes as if they’d been friends for years and worked well together like colleagues.

At the end of the day you were sitting outside, the kitten still in your arms. Lisa came and sat next to you.

Your girlfriend asked, “soooo...kittens aren’t so scary huh?”

You shook your head and said “no, not at all. I like this one. She’s cute.”

Lisa replied, “well it’s time to say goodbye, we have to head home now. I’m glad you had fun with Clove today though. And i’m very proud of you, you came a long way in 8 hours.”You nodded, smiling as you still looked down at the little kitten in your arms.

•

•

•

Weeks passed and you found yourself going to the shelter to volunteer a few times a week. Each time you went you made sure to visit Clove and Delta for a bit. The kitten’s both took a liking to you, and you quite frankly adored them.

You brought up adopting Clove and Delta to Mrs. Kang a few times and she was more than happy to help you with that process. It wasn’t until you saw someone come and take a look at the two kittens that you realized you needed to adopt them.

So you did, and no, you did not tell Lisa.

You called you girlfriend over the day you adopted them, not able to contain your happiness any more. When she walked through your apartment door she walked straight past Delta and Clove, not noticing them at all.

Until she heard a soft meow, and felt a tail brush her ankle. She looked down then up at you, “oh my god, YOU STOLE CLOVE AND DELTA?!”

You sighed and said, “Lisa- I- You- NO! I didn’t steal the babies, I adopted them dummy.”

She exhaled and said “oh...well that’s less fun. WAIT- You actually adopted them? They’re yours now?!”

You nodded happily as Clove climbed up onto the couch and into your arms, Delta settling in Lisa’s. Your girlfriend stated, “I guess we’re both cat ladies now huh?”

[yatorihell]

In The Darkness Chapter 82 - Silence

Noragami x Harry Potter AU

Words: 8,000

Summary: For the Ratchat, who witnessed this very first HP AU scene being written, and made it my legacy.

Also available on Yatorihell AO3

The Snatchers hadn’t been sure if he was Yato, but the spell Hiyori had used proved useless as they were still being led to the Sorcerer.

Their hands had been bound and wands taken before they Disapparated into a small country lane in the middle of nowhere. Dusk cloaked them as the Snatchers pushed and shoved them into up a lane no bigger than an alley.

Yato could barely see, his face swollen and puffy from the jinx Hiyori had blasted him with, but he had heard Kazuma had also been Snatched. He heard Yukine cursing him briefly before being ordered to shut up. Their bags had been searched and taken. One of the Snatchers – a man who seemed to be stuck halfway between human and werewolf – carried the Sword of Gryffindor, using it every now and then to prod them along like cattle.

They trudged silently before being brought to a halt. Lamplight illuminated a hazy image of black and grey ahead of him, and Yato pried his eyes open. Black, wrought iron gates in the shapes of serpents latticed together stood before them, dark and tall and imposing before them.

Yato felt his heart stop. He knew those gates; they were once his prison bars.

The creak of metal sounded in their ears and the gates melted away, the snakes slithering away into the stone arches to allow the Snatchers to push their prisoners up the gravelled path. A looming shape appeared up ahead, but Yato didn’t have to squint to know what it was. A stately home – a castle, really – lay cloaked in darkness, save for the few lamps that shone on the porchway to shine down on visitors. The windows were dark with inactivity, but inside he knew there would be life and death.

The lead Snatcher banged three times on the black door, ignoring the serpent knocker. After a few moments light spilled over them, cutting through the darkness and burning Yato’s sore eyes.

“What’s this?” A gruff voice said.

“We’ve come to see the Dark Lord,” the Snatcher rasped. “We have Yato.”

A hand gripped Yato by the scalp, pulling his head back to present him to a blurred figure surrounded by the gleaming light of the manor.

“Doesn’t look like him,” the voice said. The blurred shape of a head moved to peer around Yato. “But I know those two – friends of his. Bring them in.”

It took Yato a moment to recognise the owner of the voice; he hadn’t heard it since they killed Professor Tenjin. Kugaha.

What was he doing at Father’s house? Yato thought briefly. A shove propelled him forward, stumbling through the threshold followed by Hiyori, Yukine, Kazuma, and the rest of the Snatchers.

Kugaha led them the way through the mansion, white marble gleaming on every surface. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling every few meters, dazzling his eyes painfully under the swelling. The hallway blurred from dark to light as they passed, but even without his full sight, Yato knew the walls were lined with portraits of great witches and wizards.

They passed what Yato remembered to be the drawing-room where Father took guests late at night. The fireplace was barely a flicker, but numerous lamps and candles had been lit on the mantlepiece, enshrining the portrait above it of Salazar Slytherin.

“If this is Yato, his sister will know,” Kugaha said to no one in particular, not bothering to turn his head.

Yato felt his heart twist in his chest. They were led into a vast room that Yato recognised as the main parlour, though it was more the size of a ballroom. The chandelier seemed to not have been lit in years, hanging on an iron chain above the center of the room. The fireplace was roaring, licking at bits of wood that servants – or slaves – fed into the flames. Beside it stood a girl dressed in white.

She turned at the sound of footsteps marching into the room, echoing off the empty walls. Her eyes grazed Kugaha, then flickered to Yato’s deformed face. There was a moment's confusion, but it was swept away the instant she saw Hiyori and Yukine stood behind him.

“Nora, come here,” Kugaha ordered.

Nora made no move, her profile flickering in shadow and flame as she stared at Yato. She knew exactly who he was, and it terrified him.

Kugaha ripped Yato from the Snatcher’s grip and dragged him forward towards the firelight. “Is this your brother?”

Nora didn’t reply, and Kugaha pushed Yato forward in response. He avoided eye contact, and it seemed Nora was doing the same. She looked smaller, shrunken into herself as if parts of her had been chipped away since leaving Hogwarts.

“Well?” Kugaha pressed.

“I don’t know,” Nora murmured. She stole a glance at Yato, feigning interest, but looked away just as quickly.

“Look closely!” Kugaha urged. “If this is him, the Sorcerer, your father, will reward us beyond our dreams! If we call him and it’s not him…”

“If it’s not him, it’s not him,” the half-human called from behind. He had propped the sword on his shoulder, his other hand on Yukine. “Leave his ugly mug in the dungeon and question these two, since they’re meant to be his friends.”

“Is this his girlfriend, Nora?” Kugaha gestured for Hiyori to be brought forward. she stumbled to catch herself as she was hauled up beside Yato. “And that blond boy? Are these the ones?”

“I – they were friends…” Nora mumbled, perhaps hoping that the words would be lost, and they were when the doors on the other side of the room slammed open.

A woman’s voice pierced the air, sending their hearts beating even faster. Her robes billowed around her, hair loose from its usual style though the beads remained entwined in some strands. The darkness of the room only accentuated the paleness of the skin and the fire highlighted the mad glitter in her eyes as they fell on the prisoners.

“What’s all this about?” Oshi barked.

It may have been the swelling, but Yato swore he saw Kugaha puff his chest out in pride. “The traitors, my lady,” Kugaha replied.

Oshi circled Yato and Hiyori with wary eyes. Her gaze roamed Yato’s face, taking in the pink scarring and the swelling which was beginning to lessen around his eyes. She looked between the two, noticing Hiyori’s avoidance to meet her eye. Her gaze went over their heads to Kazuma, and then Yukine.

“Oh yes, this is definitely Yato,” Oshi smiled slowly and sweetly. “He has his Mudblood pets with him.”

“I told you it was him!” Kugaha hissed to no one in particular. Nora’s eyes slid away from Yato, guilty: a silent witness to their sentencing.

Oshi raised her sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark, indelible on her arm. Her fingers hovered above it for a second, to summon her master, before Kugaha caught her wrist.

“I will be the one to inform the Dark Lord,” Kugaha said smoothly. “They were found under my watch –.”

“Actually,” the half-human cut it, “We were the ones who found them, so we will be claiming the gold –.”

“Gold!” Oshi shrieked with a manic smile, shaking Kugaha’s grip from her arm. “Take your gold, you filthy mongrel. I seek only my…. Lord’s…”

Oshi’s eyes dropped from his fanged face to his hand. Kugaha took the chance to pull his sleeve up his arm, the Dark Mark scarred but irremovable on his arm as he moved to summon the Sorcerer.

“STOP!” Oshi screeched. “DO NOT SUMMON HIM!”

Kugaha froze and the room hung in silence.

Oshi brushed past Yato, a finger raised. “What is that?”

Yato risked turning his head to the side. Despite his clearing vision, it was hard to make out that Oshi was addressing the wolf-man who held the Sword of Gryffindor.

“A sword,” he grunted.

“Give it to me.”

“Finders Keepers.”

There was an immediate flash of red and a thump of flesh on marble. There was a roar from the other three Snatchers, releasing their captives and drawing their wands to face off Oshi.

“Are you mad, woman?” Kugaha roared, all pomp and circumstance gone.

They were never a match for her; she was a witch, mad and skilled and without conscience. They all fell where they stood, laying on the marble in various degrees of injuries.

Oshi bent and picked up the sword, the hilt glimmering in the firelight. She held it before her, examining the blade. A groaned cough came from her feet. The Snatcher who had held Kazuma wheezed and tried to roll onto his back, but Oshi placed her foot on his throat and pressed down.

“Where did you get this?”

Her voice was no more than a whisper that would’ve escaped them if the room hadn’t been so quiet. A rasp came from below, and her foot pressed tighter.

“Where?! This sword is meant to be in my vault!”

“In… the girl’s… bag…” the man wheezed.

Oshi snapped her foot to the side and a crack resounded in the room. When she moved away, dark robes willowing, they saw the man’s neck bent at an unnatural angle. Yato’s heart thrummed again as he realised Oshi was heading back towards him… but her eyes weren’t on him.

They were on Hiyori.

“What does it matter they stole the sword? We have it now,” Kugaha asked, but Oshi threw up a hand in disgust to silence him.

“Shut up, I need to think,” Oshi ordered. “The Dark Lord cannot know about this, he cannot know that anything was stolen from the vault.”

Her gaze fell on Hiyori again and Yato felt her arm flinch against his.

“If this is Yato, then he must not be harmed. The Dark Lord wishes to kill him himself… But if he finds out… I have to know….”

Oshi trailed off and turned to Kugaha. “Put them to the cellars with the other one.”

“The Dark Lord –,” Kugaha argued.

“DO IT! HE’LL KILL US ALL IF I DON’T FIX THIS!” Oshi screeched back. “DO IT NOW!”

Yato felt a chill roll over his body. His eyes weren’t as swollen now, and he could see the pure, unadulterated madness and fear in Oshi’s eyes. She clutched the sword in her fists in front of her, knuckles white.

Kugaha’s jaw clenched but he didn’t argue. Holding out his wand, he gestured for Yato and Hiyori to walk ahead of him and join Yukine and Kazuma by the pile of bodies.

“Wait.”

Yato and Hiyori froze. Kugaha raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Except… except for the Mudblood.”

Kugaha’s lips twitched into a smile. He caught Yato by the arm, pulling him away from Hiyori. Oshi had her wand trained on her, a malicious glint already forming in her eyes.

“NO!” Yato shouted, his mouth cooperating with him despite the tingling swell of his lips returning to normal size. “YOU CAN HAVE ME! KEEP ME!”

A blow struck Yato across the face, hard, and the word went muffled. Between Yukine’s shouts for Hiyori, he heard words murmured in his ear.

“Welcome home, Yaboku.”

~

The cell door slammed shut behind them and the lock clicked into place. Kugaha’s footsteps echoed and receded up the stairs until silence enveloped them.

Yato gripped the bars and shook them, but they held fast despite their aged rust. He swore under his breath, turning back to Yukine and Kazuma, eyes adjusting in the dark.

“We need to get out of here,” Yato said.

“What is this place? Why have they brought us here?” Kazuma asked, wringing his hands.

“This is Father’s house,” Yato said darkly.

The gravity of those words was lost on Kazuma, but Yukine knew exactly what that meant.

“Why are we here? Where is he?” Kazuma asked.

“Hell do I know,” Yato grumbled, running a hand through his hair. His mind raced with memories: The death of his parents he couldn’t even remember, the ‘recruitment’ for Father’s army that led to nothing. Meeting Nora. The endless days where they were giving punishment worse than death for defying Father. The dying screams of those who would not surrender. The feeling of losing himself to something much stronger; a connection forming between him and Father which could not be broken.

“Do you know a way out?” Yukine asked, but Yato shook his head.

He glanced around the room, familiar and cloying with dampness that clung to his clothes. One of these dungeons had been his home for a time when Father took him, and he had no intention of staying prisoner again. Not when he knew of what may be waiting around the corner.

A scuff came from somewhere in the darkness, and they froze.

Yato reached for his wand, but cursed when his fingers remembered it had been taken by one of the Snatchers. They waited with bated breath and strained ears as a figure emerged from the darkness, stepping into the slivers of light cast by the cell door.

“Kazuma?”

Bishamon – dirty, her hair matted at the ends and completely filthy, and alive – looked at them with wide, reproachful eyes.

“Bishamon!” Kazuma cried.

Kazuma surged forward and took Bishamon’s face in his hands, not noticing the way she flinched at the contact. From the look of her, it seemed she hadn’t eaten properly in weeks, and her skin was littered with cuts and fading bruises.

“What are you doing here?” Bishamon whispered, pulling herself away from Kazuma’s embrace. Her eyes finally slid away to the shadowy figures. From the look on her face, she knew exactly who it was despite the slight swelling.

“What is he doing here?!” Bishamon exclaimed.

“He sold us out!” Yukine spat, shoving a finger at Kazuma.

Bishamon looked aghast. “What?!”

“I’m sorry!” Kazuma begged, but Yato couldn’t meet his eye. His gaze fell on the slivers of light that shone down through the cell bars. Yukine folded his arms across his chest, eyes brimming with hate.

Kazuma whirled to Bishamon, eyes pleading. “I couldn’t take it. You’ve been gone for months, I didn’t know if you were dead! I had to get you back. What have they done to you…?”

Kazuma reached a hand to touch her face again, but Bishamon knocked his hand away aggressively.

“You should’ve known not to do this! How could you turn the only hope we have of killing the Sorcerer over?!” Bishamon exclaimed.

“I’m sorry!” Kazuma begged. “We can get out of this. It’s just a few of them-.”

Yato briskly crossed the room to the cell door. He wrapped his hands around the bars again, searching the perimeter for a weakness as he did so often as a child, a chink in the rock that could work the hinges free, but found nothing.

“There isn’t a way out,” Bishamon said softly. Months of captivity had taught her that much.

A beat of silence passed between them.

“Where’s Hiyori?”

Yato’s attention snapped back to Bishamon. The realisation that Hiyori wasn’t among them gave Bishamon a sudden chill of fear. Hiyori – her friend, her teammate, her disciple – was not with them. She looked between their faces, looking for grief, but Yukine jutted his head skywards.

Fear filled Bishamon’s eyes. “Why?”

“We have the Sword of Gryffindor. Apparently, it’s meant to be locked up in Oshi’s vault?” Yukine said.

Kazuma nodded. “At Gringotts. She sent it away after we tried to steal it, to keep it safe. How did you steal it?”

Yato recalled the high halls of Gringotts bank. He’d been there a few times, but he never had reason to open a vault with his pittance of money. He had nothing worth a dragon guarding. “We didn’t steal it, the sword appeared to me.”

There was another beat of silence.

“Let’s hope that Oshi believes that,” Bishamon answered.

Yato frowned. “Why wouldn’t she? Gringotts is impenetrable. No one can steal from it.”

No one could answer that question. Not because they didn’t know of Oshi’s madness, nor because they didn’t know of her ruthlessness.

The question went unanswered because of the screaming.

~

The screaming lasted what felt like hours but could have only been five or ten minutes. It was enough to drive Yato into a frenzy.

“HIYORI!” Yato bellowed up the staircase that descended to the cell, his knuckles white as he thrashed against the cell door. “HIYORI!”

Bishamon had begun to weep, snuffled breaths against Kazuma’s shoulder. Yukine cried silently, knowing it was useless to throw himself at the bars the way Yato did.

Eventually, an eternity after the screaming stopped, footsteps echoed above them and approached down the stone steps. Grey robes appeared, and Kugaha’s face appeared at the bars.

“You fucking bastard!” Yato spat. “What have you done to her?!”

Kugaha didn’t reply. He swiftly pulled his wand from the folds of his robes and hit Yato with a spell, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Yato’s head spun, barely aware of the sound of the cell door clicking and grating open. Kugaha raised his wand against the others, herding them backward until he stopped with Yato at his feet.

Kugaha dragged Yato to his feet by his collar, pinning one arm behind his back and pressing his wand to the side of his neck.

“There’s something we want you to see, Yaboku,” Kugaha said wickedly with a manic grin on his face. He roughly pushed Yato forward and up the stairs to the hall where they had been brought to hours ago. The cell door clicked behind them with a wordless spell.

The injured Snatchers stood around the edge of the room, Nora amongst them but half-hidden in the shadows. On the ground in the center of the hall, Oshi straddled something with her wand drawn.

“Oh look, there’s our Yaboku,” Oshi smiled sweetly, surveying his face now that the swelling was gone. “Welcome home.”

Kugaha shoved Yato to the ground before he could reply, his body hitting the cold, pristine marble with a crack. Looking sideways, he squinted past the stars that had formed in his vision, and his blood ran cold.

Hiyori lay unmoving beneath Oshi, a wand pressed painfully hard into her throat. Her watery eyes stared petrified at the ceiling, arms pinned down by the knees of the witch above her.

“Hiyori?” Yato whispered shakily.

Hiyori’s eyes darted to him, terror evident in her eyes as she saw he had been dragged into whatever they were about to do next. She moved her head slightly, her lips parted slightly to speak as fresh tears leaked from the corners of her eyes before she was silenced by a slap across the face. Hiyori’s sharp gasp was following by quiet sobs, shoulders shaking as she tried to contain them.

Yato hastily moved to push himself up, seething at the witch who had made him listen to Hiyori’s agonising screams, but Kugaha’s foot planted itself into his back, pinning him down. Oshi smirked at him before slowly leaning down to Hiyori, making her flinch and try to shrink away from whatever twisted idea she had in mind.

Her lips brushing against Hiyori’s jawline up to her ear as she relished in the scent of sweat and fear, whispering quietly into her ear.

“Oh, look. Your boyfriend is here. Want to give him a little kiss?”

Hiyori gave a small shuddering sob as Oshi abruptly sat back up, bursting into a happy laugh as if she had told a funny joke. Grinning, she tilted her head to Yato who still lay trapped on the ground, his teeth gritted as he stared daggers at her.

“Well, now that you’re here, Chosen One, we can begin,” said Oshi said sweetly, her malicious eyes boring into him.

“This is how it’s going to work. You tell me how you got into my vault, else your little girlfriend here,” Oshi pressed her wand harder into Hiyori’s neck, a trickle of blood seeping out of the puncture she created. “Won’t be your girlfriend for much longer.”

“You… bitch,” Yato said heavily, trying to move his head so he could face her, but a hand fisted in his hair, pinning him back down. “Let her go.”

“Tut tut, that isn’t how you speak to your masters,” Oshi said mockingly. “I’ll have to punish your little friend for that.”

Oshi moved swiftly and gripped Hiyori’s left arm, plunging the wand deep into her flesh.

Hiyori’s head turned immediately back to face the witch, allowing Yato to see her face. Her guttural scream echoed through the hall and reverberated through the manor. Her back arched in pain and her face contorted in agony as she heaved for breath.

“STOP IT!” Yato screamed, thrashing desperately as he tried to escape his captors. Another boot kicked him in his side, winding him. Unable to move or breathe, he continued to hear Hiyori’s screams.

Tears running down her face, she frantically tried to pull free as the wand carved into her, but was subdued by the point being pressed to her throat once again as she heaved through the pain.

“Do I make myself clear, Yato?” Oshi asked him. “If you don’t answer, she gets hurt. If you haven’t answered by the time I’m done, she dies. Now, how did you get into my vault?”

“Torture me instead!” Yato pleaded, “She doesn’t know anything!”

“Wrong answer.”

She drove her wand into Hiyori’s arm once again, carving. Hiyori screamed louder than before, voice on the edge of breaking.

Yato pleaded for it to stop, uselessly twisting himself around onto his back where a fist connected with his jaw. His right temple smacked back onto the floor, blurred eyes meeting the sight of Hiyori’s legs kicking wildly as she tried to throw her torturer off of her to no avail.

When it had stopped, her head fell to the ground and lulled to the side, empty eyes looking at the blood which streamed from the growing wound.

“Stop it,” Yato whispered. “Don’t hurt her.”

“THEN ANSWER THE QUESTION!” Oshi screamed. “HOW DID YOU GET INTO MY VAULT?! WHO TOOK YOU THERE?!”

Yato fell quiet, breath rasping as he looked at Hiyori. Her unfocused eyes were looking at him, but they looked lifeless. His throat hitched at how she looked exactly like Sakura when he killed her. He felt as if he was being crushed, not by the weight of Kugaha whose weight immobilised him, but by the realisation that he was slowly killing the person he loved.

Bishamon was right; no matter what the truth was, Oshi would not believe it. Hiyori’s screams when he was locked in the dungeon was proof of that.

“Magic,” Yato croaked, hoping that the change in answer would protect Hiyori from further harm. “We used magic.”

“THAT’S ONLY HALF AN ANSWER,” Oshi screamed, losing patience with how long it was taking. “I’LL STOP WHEN YOU’VE TOLD ME EVERYTHING.”

Her hand squeezed on Hiyori’s arm, forcing more blood out and opening the wounds wider. She plunged the wand into the skin, again and again, dragging it harshly through the soft tissue as she carved her way down her arm.

Hiyori thrashed harder than before, the pain more intense as the witch branded Hiyori as what she was. She released strangled screams with every breath, her voice becoming weaker and more cracked as it went on, begging for it to end.

Yato fought weakly against Kugaha, his fists missing his target, and punches raining down on him as they asked the question again and again. Trying to push himself away, another pair of hands pinned his hands above his head to stop him from fighting or protecting himself. A great weight lay on his chest, stopping him from moving. Even if he could move, he would drag himself to Hiyori’s side and let himself die in her place.

Minutes passed and the screaming became weaker and weaker until there was silence. Hands going slack, Yato allowed himself to be beaten as his heart plummeted, oblivious to nothing but the silence. The punches slowed to a stop and a heavy silence hung in the air.

Twisting his head to look at Hiyori through blackened eyes, he could see her brown eyes staring blankly back at him but did not show any signs of their usual brightness. Slowly, they closed.

Dried and fresh tears stained her cheeks and starred her lashes, her mouth hanging open slightly as if still gasping for air. Blood trickled from the injury on her arm which had splattered blood white marble. The tarnishing streaks of blood from the brand engraved into her arm like ink on parchment read a word - a word he had come to hate.

One word that marked her as unworthy of the wizard life.

Mudblood.

Her name barely made it through his cracked lips at the first few attempts. Perhaps because he’s been beaten senseless, or perhaps because the mere sight of what he’d done to her.

“Hi... yori,” Yato said breathlessly, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth as he spoke her name.

Oshi stood up and smirked, kicking Hiyori’s body so she rolled over to face Yato. Wiping the blood off her wand, she walked away, happy at her handiwork. Hiyori lay still, her limp body turned towards him. Blood had slowly stopped seeping out of the wounds on her arm and neck.

“HIYORI!” Yato choked, wrenching a wrist out of his captor’s grasp and thrashing wildly. A wand was instantly pressed to his heart, but still, Yato fought to reach Hiyori’s side.

“Let him go,” A quiet, familiar voice sounded from the edge of the room, from whom he did not know.

Reluctantly, Kugaha pressed his knee harshly into Yato’s stomach as he pushed himself up, leaving him alone on the blood-splattered flagstones. He rolled himself onto his stomach, straining as he began to drag himself pitifully towards Hiyori, leaving bloody marks on the floor with each movement.

Reaching her side, his arm reached out shakily, pulling her broken frame into his protection. He gently touched her cheek, but she did not react.

“Hiyori! Wake up!” Yato whispered, voice thick with emotion and tears beginning to spill. “Hiyori! We can go home now… just like you wanted...”

Yato's eyes looked into her face, praying that there would be some sign of life, but she may as well have been dead in his arms. His fingers trembled as they slid up her face and into her hair, his other hand wrapping around her waist pulling her against his chest. Her head and torn arm rested on his shirt, blood staining the fabric.

“We can go home…” Yato repeated, voice cracking. He closed his eyes and put his lips against her forehead. His hand trailed from her hair down her neck and to her back, where he held her in a gentle embrace, afraid that she would shatter entirely. “Let’s go home.”

“You killed her, Yato,” a voice said mockingly after a few moments of silence. “If only you answered the question, she would still be alive.”

Yato opened his eyes, tears distorting his vision. He turned to look at who had spoken, seeing that Oshi was taking delight in his anguish.

No, Yato thought, but it was a desperate thought that slipped through his fingers like sand. Hiyori wasn’t dead, she couldn’t be dead. Not like this. Not here.

“Take him away, we’ll start over with one of the others.”

Yato snapped, panic rising as Kugaha and a Snatcher moved towards him to drag him away from Hiyori.

“No!” Yato tried to scream, but his voice was too weak and broken to raise. He wrapped his arm tighter around Hiyori, desperately holding onto her so they wouldn’t be separated. Hands grabbed his arms and hair, trying to pry him away from her, but he wouldn’t let go.

Never.

“Petrificus Totalus.”

Yato’s muscles locked into place. He was picked up easily and slung over Kugaha’s shoulder, unable to resist or scream.

“We’ll give you some time to decide if you want to tell us or not,” Oshi called after him. “If not, we’ll start over with that little kid you’re so fond of.”

All Yato could do was look at Hiyori’s fragile body getting smaller and smaller as he was taken away.

~

Yato had been dumped back in the dungeon where his companions waited in terror, hearing the screams from above suddenly cease. They rolled Yato over, trying to ask him what happened when they saw bloodstains over his clothes.

Yato’s eyes frantically searched their faces, trying to show them that he was paralyzed. But when they asked about Hiyori, pain tore through him again and tears burned behind his fearful eyes, unable to fall.

Kazuma was beside himself. He had become a bigger mess than Bishamon as he realised the full weight of his actions; that he had led them to their torture and deaths. He begged forgiveness, and the anger that had raged inside them turned to grief and hopelessness.

Trapped in his mind, words in his Father’s voice haunted Yato.

Look how much you’ve hurt her, he taunted, you couldn’t protect her. She’s dead now because of you. You only had to do one thing, and she would have been safe.

Poor Yaboku, you just killed another. Did you love her? Did she love you? Does she hate you for not saving her? You’ll never know. Because you killed her.

All you desire is possible. All you dread is inevitable.

The thoughts tortured him endlessly, hissing sweetly about how much she must have suffered, how relieved she must have been when he arrived, thinking that he would stop the pain. How terrified she must have been when she realised, he didn’t love her enough to save her.

The curse eventually wore off and Yato weakly flexed his fingers as he worked the muscles loose.

Yukine sat him up against the wall, asking what happened. Finding his voice, still weak and cracked, Yato began to tell them what happened. Shock, anger, and fear filled their faces as they listen to what they endured, disbelieving that Hiyori could be dead. The fears that Father knew to play on had become common knowledge, and it had been used against him.

“She isn’t dead!” Yukine cried out desperately, fingernails digging into Yato’s arm, trying to cling to evaporating hope. “She can’t be dead!”

“Yukine…” Yato said brokenly, bowing his head and biting his lip as the tears threatened to spill. He couldn’t let Yukine see him like this.

A sting of pain struck Yato’s stomach, his earlier beating catching up to him and forcing him to clutch himself and double over. He felt something solid in his pocket pressing against his hand.  Realising what it was, he pulled Sakura’s two-way mirror – now cracked and missing a few pieces – from his pocket.

Yato held it up in front of his face. It was a child’s wish – one he didn’t believe he would ever outgrow – but there, a large green eye looked back at him.

“Help us,” Yato whispered, not knowing to what or who he was begging.

The eye vanished from the reflection, and Yato’s hand fell into his lap. They sat in silence, no words to console him or even offer a plan of escape. Minutes ticked by. Footsteps on the staircase alerted them of Kugaha’s return.

“Well, Yato, what’s your answer?” Kugaha asked.

“They don’t know anything. Take me to Hiyori and I’ll tell you,” Yato demanded, determined to keep his friends from harm for as long as he could.

“That’s not the agreement,” Kugaha said nastily.

The door opened and Kugaha strode across the room, wand pointed at Yukine. He roughly grabbed his hair and began dragging him towards the door. Yukine yelled in protest, hands clawing at Kugaha’s wrists as Yato tried to stand up to protect him. Falling, he grabbed Kugaha’s leg, clinging onto him like a child.

A bolt of light hit Yato’s back, making him cry out and release his grip. Kugaha’s aimed his wand at Bishamon and Kazuma as they stepped forward to stop him, grinning happily at their powerlessness. Yanking Yukine outside, Kugaha locked the door.

Yato gaped for breath as he pathetically tried to drag himself to the iron gate.

“I’ll be back when we’re finished with this one,” Kugaha’s receding voice called out to him. “Can’t make any promises that he won’t end up like your girlfriend. You better hurry up before we kill the other ones too, Yato.”

Yato collapsed on the ground, his hand stretched out to the locked door. He weakly called after Yukine, but his voice had shattered from grief.

Kazuma kneeled next to him, softly speaking words he did not hear. They’re going to die because of me, Yato thought to himself. Defeated, he lay his head on the ground, wishing he had never dragged his friends into this.

And then someone Apparated in the room.

~

Kugaha released his grip on Yukine’s hair and shoved him to the ground.

Yukine shielded his head with his arms, his curled-up body hitting the ground hard. After a moment he moved his arms apart slightly. A pair of feet lay a few meters in front of him. His head moved slowly to take in the person lying before him, sickness setting in his stomach as he saw Hiyori’s unconscious form. Bloodstained her clothes and face, skin pale as marble.

“Hiyori!” Yukine shouted, frantically scrambling towards her. He knew she couldn’t be dead; it was just a sadistic ploy. Hiyori couldn’t be dead…

A fist in his stomach stopped him from reaching her, his body crumpling to the ground as the breath was stolen from him. He knelt on the ground, head pressed against the ground as he clutched his stomach as he gaped for air, blurred tears distorting the dried streaks of blood in front of his face.

Fighting for breath, a hand grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him to his feet. Slender fingers dug into his chin, forcing him to face his friend’s unstirring body.

“That’ll happen to you if you don’t answer me,” Oshi hissed in his ear.

“Let me help her... I’m begging you!” Yukine choked out, legs weak as he noticed the word carved in Hiyori’s arm.

“How will you save a dead person without magic?” Oshi sweetly asked. A lump rose in Yukine’s throat as he realised that he was powerless to save her.

Something hard pressed into his spine, bringing his mind back from the edge.

“Crucio.”

~

Yato stared disbelieving at the short figure that had Apparated into the cell.

It was impossible. No one could Apparate into the cells – or even this house, as he had found out all too soon as a child – yet Ebisu stood before them.

“Ebisu?” Yato asked quietly.

“I have come to rescue Master Yato,” Ebisu shuffled his feet, unnerved to have so many eyes on him at once.

Yato looked at him, agape. The mirror, the eye… did Ebisu have it all this time? The questions were short-lived in his mind as Yukine’s first cries drifted down to them. Yato felt his heart shudder. They needed to be quick.

“Can you Disapparate from this room?” Yato asked quickly.

Ebisu nodded.

“Can you take humans with you?”

A nod.

Another scream reached them, and Yato’s plan bloomed to life. “Ebisu, I need you to Apparate us out of here, to… anywhere. Take Kazuma and Bishamon first -.”

“No chance, we’re not leaving you,” Bishamon interrupted.

Yato hesitated for a second, but more hands would make escape easier. “Fine. We need to get our wands and bags back from the Snatchers, then get Yukine and Hiyori.”

Ebisu nodded and reached his hands up. Yato held Kazuma’s shoulder, and he and Bishamon took them hesitantly. A second later they were at the top of the stairs of the dungeons. Yato looked around and realised they were only a few rooms away from the great hall, though Yukine’s cry and Oshi’s voice would’ve easily directed them. Yato silently beckoned them forward, sticking to the edge of the hallway, which was filled with wide, draped windows.

Yato stopped short and ducked out of sight behind one of the heavy curtains, dawn breaking over the fields in the horizon and temporarily blinding him. Ebisu tucked himself beside Yato, and Kazuma and Bishamon hid behind the other curtain. Yato twitched the curtain and peered further up the hallway.

Two Snatchers had emerged from the great hall, talking quietly to themselves at the bottom of the staircase just out of sight. Yato looked over to Kazuma and Bishamon, who nodded silently in response.

They crept forward on silent feet, leaving Ebisu beside the curtain, thankful that they were looking the other way. Yato flung himself at the taller Snatcher, clamping a hand over his mouth and hanging on as he thrashed. Kazuma had hit out at the other Snatcher in an attempt to knock him out, but it seemed that his punch had landed awkwardly.

Yato cursed inwardly. if they made any noise, someone would come looking and they would be back in the cells, or under Oshi’s wand. Kazuma’s Snatcher reared back, wand in hand and a warning call rising in his throat. A metal pitcher was against his head and the Snatcher fell to the ground in a thump.

Bishamon breathed heavily, setting the pitcher back on the small table she’d found tucked beside the staircase.

Yato rummaged in the Snatchers pocket, hands finding stickiness and finally three wands which he recognised as his own, Hiyori’s and Yukine’s. Beside him, Kazuma emerged victorious with his own wand, and Bishamon picked up the Snatcher’s fallen wand.

They crept along the hallway, looking back over their shoulders to make sure no one was there, but there was not a soul in sight. Yato briefly thought of Ebisu before the air was punctuated by another of Yukine’s cries, and Yato’s heart somersaulted again.

They pressed their backs against the doorway’s arches, wands to chests. Yato slowly peered around the door. Oshi straddled Yukine in the same fashion she had tortured Hiyori, who still lay in the center of the room. Kugaha and Nora stood to the side of the room, flanked by two Snatchers.

Yato noticed three new figures in black robes on the opposite side of the room, their arms tucked into their sleeves. The only woman among them wore an ornate headpiece unlike her companion’s black hats, but Yato instantly recognised the man to her left. His slate grey eyes watched Yukine’s torture with no sympathy: Mitsuguri, the man who had read Tenjin’s will to them. One of Amaterasu’s traitorous advisors.

Yato quickly scanned the woman and the other blond-haired man. Mikagami and Mitama, the other advisors who betrayed the Minister of Magic for the Sorcerer. They were here. Why?

Yato felt a chill run up his spine. Had the Sorcerer been summoned? Was he on his way now? No, it couldn’t be. Oshi was so desperate to know how they had acquired the sword that she wouldn’t dare bring the Sorcerer here until she could hide it.

Yukine’s broken voice pierced the air again and Yato snapped back to attention, finding Kazuma’s and Bishamon’s eyes on him, hands tensed and nostrils flaring. With a nod, Yato gave the order.

“Stupefy!”

Yato, Kazuma, and Bishamon surged into the room, wands blaring in a multitude of green and blue light that bounced from the walls, windows, and the chandelier as the room descended into chaos.

Oshi was on her feet in a second, teeth bared and wand spitting green blasts in their direction as they dived for what little cover the room offered. Nora pressed herself to the wall, mouth agape, as Kugaha slipped his wand from his sleeve. He drew his arms wide with a wicked smile, glad to finally have some fun.

Yato threw himself to the floor, his and Yukine’s wands clutched in his hands as he fired a blinding spell towards one of the Snatchers that advanced on him. In the madness he saw three plumes of blackened robes Disapparate, leaving an empty spot where the advisors had stood.

Yato swore inwardly, but Oshi’s cry caught his attention. Yukine had kicked his leg out, scattering Oshi to the floor and sending her wand spinning around the cool marble. She snarled at Yukine, but he was already up and on his feet, arm hanging by his side and limping furiously towards Yato. Yato was relieved to see no blood on him, but he could see the fury and fear in his features. Yato pressed the wand into Yukine’s hand and together they entered the fray.

The two Snatchers had engaged in a duel with Kazuma and Bishamon, spells and sparks flying as they defended each other and attacked in sync. Nora and Kugaha were moving towards them. Kugaha stepped over Hiyori’s body like she was a fallen tree, a grin on his face, but Nora looked back over her shoulder like she wanted to run.

Yato’s eyes flickered to Oshi who had grasped her wand, eyes glittering with malice, and tore at them like a wildcat.

Without a word, Yato and Yukine threw themselves forward.

The spells deflected off the shields they threw up, the onslaught of three witches' firepower pushing them back and barely giving an inch for them to fire. Oshi cursed every murderous hex she could think of at them, and Kugaha bore down on them.

On the other side of the room, one of the Snatchers had fallen, leaving one more facing down the unstoppable power Kazuma and Bishamon presented as a team. A particularly well-aimed from Kazuma sent his wand flying from his hand, and the Snatcher was knocked out by Bishamon.

Yato’s eyes flickered to Nora. She was stood back a bit, her hand raised with her wand protecting them, but when their eyes met, something in her waivered. For the briefest second the shield slip, Yukine’s stunning spell got through and hit Oshi straight in the chest, sending her flying backward and landing in a heap. Kugaha’s smile turned to a snarl and he redoubled his efforts, but it seemed that Nora’s protection was gone now. Yato hit Kugaha with a freezing spell and he fell to the ground stiff as a board.

“Drop them.”

Yato’s eyes snapped to the middle of the room. His heart stopped. Oshi held the unconscious Hiyori up to her chest, a sliver of a silver blade pressed to her neck.

“Drop them,” Oshi growled. “Drop them or she dies.”

Yato heaved, anger and desperation rising in his chest, but lowered his wand. Beside him, he saw Yukine, Kazuma, and Bishamon lower their wands too.

She snapped her head to Nora. “Summon you father!”

After the briefest internal struggle, Nora raised her sleeve, face contorted, and Yato saw the ugly scar of the Dark Mark on her arm begin to rise and coil underneath her wand.

He’s coming…. The voice from the wedding echoed in Yato’s head. They needed to get out of here. Now.

“DROP THEM!” Oshi screeched again, knife pressing further into Hiyori’s throat and drawing the barest whimper.

Her voice echoed around the room. The reverberation faded away, and a dull squeaking filled the room. Oshi’s eyes clouded for a second in confusion, as did the rest of the room.

Slowly, their eyes went up.

Ebisu clung to the thick iron chain that suspended the chandelier above Oshi’s head, his hands methodically twisting the fastening. Dust and cobwebs rained down on them, and a second before they could react, the chandelier came crashing to the ground.

Oshi threw herself backward, knife clattering to the ground as she and Hiyori fell inches away from one of the pointed edges. Yato and Yukine surged forward over Kugaha, a blasting spell knocking Oshi even further back away from Hiyori. Yukine grabbed Hiyori by the shoulders and hauled her up into his arms.

Yato crashed into Nora, sending them both sprawling the ground. He rose up over her, seeing the Dark Mark contort and writhe as if the serpent had come alive in her flesh. Their eyes met for the briefest of seconds before Yato wrapped his hands around Nora’s wand and wrenched it from her grasp. The Dark Mark sunk back onto Nora’s arm, shifting over the pale skin.

Yato kicked his way back up and stumbled to the back of the room, hearing Oshi stirring behind him and the sound of metal scraping stone. Ebisu stood on the fireplace with Kazuma, Bishamon, and Yukine with Hiyori in his arms.

Ebisu snapped his fingers and a second later he was holding a wand – Oshi’s wand. Shock registered in her face which was quickly filled with rage and disgust.

“How dare you take a witch's wand!” Oshi screeched. “How dare you defy your masters!”

Ebisu drew himself up taller, eyes glittering in the remnants of the fireplace and the breaking dawn through the windows. “I have no master. I am a free elf!”

Yato felt the clamp of a small hand on his shoulder and instinctively reached out for Yukine’s and Kazuma’s hands.

As the world spun and turned to darkness, he caught a glimpse of Kugaha’s frozen face, Nora’s tears, the redness of blood, and the silver of a dagger.

~

The world came back in the form of a grey sky and a biting wind that stung their cuts with saltwater. Yato stood alone, staring at the bleakness of a grey sea far from shore and an old cottage stood on the tufts of grass that edged the beach.

Bishamon and Kazuma were a few feet away, clutching each other and just as disorientated. Beside them was Yukine, untangling Hiyori’s limbs from him and laying her on the beach, frantically looking into her face. Yato took a step forward, questions on the tip of his tongue.

"Yato..."

Yato spun around, the small, weak voice catching his attention. Nothing but grey overcast skies met his view. Until he looked down.

Ebisu stood hunched over, the ornate handle of a dagger lodged in his stomach. Blood smeared his small hands and bled dark red droplets into the wet sand below as he took faltering steps forward.

Yato dived forwards, catching Ebisu as he collapsed. His mouth hung open in unmasked horror, eyes fixed on the bloody weapon buried to the hilt in Ebisu’s stomach.

"Y-you're okay, it's okay," Yato hushed, trying to keep the panic from his voice. He turned to look at Kazuma and the others. They watched him silently, morosely, already accepting what Yato could not.

"Kazuma... there must be something... that bag..." Yato’s eyes fell on the backpack slung over Kazuma’s shoulder, remembering all of the potions and salves they had. One of them at least, just something to stop the bleeding, anything. He looked back up at them, silently pleading for Ebisu's sake.

Yukine turned away, biting his lip as he stared down at the unconscious Hiyori. Bishamon's eyes were glassy as Kazuma gently shook his head.

"Yato..." Ebisu's hand gripped onto Yato's shirt as tightly as he could, mustering the last of his life force for a farewell.

Yato looked down at them, breaths shuddering and blinking away tears as he looked at his pale face.

"I'm... glad that I... met you…" Ebisu forced his sentences, staring at the sky, clinging to what remained of his time left in the world. "I don't... want to die."

Ebisu final words were stolen by the wind. His green eyes still observed the sky above, even after they dulled and didn't move again. If not for the way his body went slack, or the way his hand loosened its grip on Yato's shirt, Yato may have been able to pretend that he was only sleeping.

If not for that, Yato would have believed that he hadn’t killed the last of his family.

[iwannaseeyainakia]

The Moonlight Circus

This was a story I was commissioned to write by an anonymous tumblr user. Thought it would be good to show my writing and see how it changes over time!

trigger warning: gore, smoking, religious and supernatural themes, death, minor profanity

The heel of Morgan’s boots clicked against the checkered flooring of the circus. She made her way to the center of the stage, her stride casual. She readjusted her gray beanie as she climbed up the steps. The plastic name tag below her collarbone wobbled with each step. The words “Moonlight Circus” in Courier New font rested above her first name.  The floor of the stage was filthy; ash and soot smeared into the once pristine black and white pattern. Her pale green eyes followed a line of ash leading to a rusted cast-iron cannon. The smell of burnt flesh lingered in the air.  

She exhaled softly, reached into the pocket of her ‘Metallica’ pullover, and pulled out a lavender lighter and a worn pack of Newport cigarettes. She yanked one out of the box and shoved it in her hoodie again. Her black bitten nails struggled to start a flame before she victoriously held it to her cigarette, finally lighting it. A pewter gray smog released from the very tip, emitting a bitter comforting scent. She lifted her hand to her face, the cig clenched between her middle and pointer finger. As the paper touched her pale lips, the once vermillion embers shifted to a startling violet and the musty gray smoke suddenly turned a mauve tone. Morgan took a long drag of the strange purple cigarette while taking in her surroundings.  

The massive tent surrounding her was a striped pattern of burgundy and eggshell white.  The fabric was contrastingly cleaner than the stage of the ‘Moonlight Circus.’ The seating for guests was discolored bleachers; the aluminum being stained and scratched away by years of usage and lack of cleanliness. Many hot dogs drenched in mustard and bags of popcorn must have been dropped on it. There were multiple stacked on either side of the tent. The elevated stage had an outer ring surrounded by dark crimson foam. A round indoor pool was 15 feet away from her, the bottom of the pool a dirty yellow tint. Scales and confetti floated at the surface of the tainted water. 

 Large LED stage lights were set up at the ceiling of the canvass. Each was about the size of a child and contained a lens of different hues. They dimly lit the stage white. The tent was held up by dozens of rods with a singular large black pole at the center. The fabric bunched together and pulled up; it looked almost as if the very top of the tent was a tunnel that led nowhere, the stripes creating a dizzying optical illusion.  

The circus itself was located in a cheap amusement park; the locals treasured this place. It was affordable and held plenty of memories dear to their hearts. The Moonlight Circus was the main event, the park's pièce de résistance if you will.  

They had crowds of people flood the show every day. Bright smiles beamed on the faces of children and content parents awaited a trip down memory lane, nostalgia a pleasant high. After all, who wouldn’t be entranced by real-life monsters? 

Morgan released a puff of amethyst smoke, gently laying the cigarette between her lips again and keeping it there. She proceeded to stuff her hands in her pockets before an elegant voice called out to her, disrupting her daze.  

“Are you ready for the next show Morgana?” The feminine voice was gentle and motherly. She spoke each word with a grace that held centuries of wisdom. Her thick French accent was gorgeous; her voice matched exactly how she appeared. Morgan casually turned around and sent the woman a closed smile. Guinevere was a being of beauty, a true spectacle to behold. She was a small woman, approximately 5’2, petite but with a stance that conveyed raw strength. Her billowing pitch-black gown strewn behind her as she sashayed her direction. Her arms gently swung at her hips, an opera-length cigarette holder between the dainty fingers of her left hand. The skin of said hand was a pale blue-gray. The center of the long pipe was a silver fading into an intense black; a cigarette burning blood red at the end of it. Morgan glanced at her long dark hair. It was bone straight and swung behind her waist. The fringe of her locks covered her right eye, but Morgan could still make out a piercing iris a startling shade of red.  

“Hey, Gwen. Yeah, pretty much. Is everyone in the dressing room right now?” She inquired as the monster woman stood in front of her. Gwen gripped the edge of her large ebony sunhat, cigarette holder still between her fingers. The brim of the apparel was big enough to cover most of her hauntingly beautiful face. Lace hung half an inch off the seams and thin royal purple sticks of dynamite adorned the outer ring. While the entire hat was an eye-catcher; a nod to her part in the circus, the true emphasis of the hat was the large skull littered with cracks and yellow stains from tobacco. 

“Yes, and they’re taking damn long if I do say so myself.” The skull quipped judgmentally. Morgan chuckled. Gwen was not so amused by her husband’s comment. 

“Hush Pierre. No need to be snippy.” Guinevere jutted her hip out and placed her right hand on it to convey her sass. The skull instead, haughtily laughed at his wife. She rolled her eyes but could not contain the fond smile that grew on her lips, exposing her sharp fangs.  Despite all the time that’s passed, she still couldn’t fight how easily Pierre made her grin ear to ear. “Don’t mind him, Morgana, we’d best be on our way to prepare.” Gwen gripped Morgan’s wrist and tugged her along in the direction of the dressing room. 

Guinevere was the owner of the Moonlight Circus. A wonderful boss indeed, she felt more like a friend she’d known all her life than her superior. She also was a woman with a dream: to unite humans and monsters through entertainment. Humans used to fear the supernatural, loath it with their very being, but in this day and age, they take great pleasure in the abnormalities of the differing species. Harmony is built in this circus; humans come for entertainment and to admire the beautiful, violent specters, and the monster women give it to them. Gwen, a vampire, found joy in making others happy with her performance and her performers. 

 She often sat with Morgan under the night sky, gazing at the stars with a fond expression, spilling her life story to her. 

As a young girl, Guinevere was dazzled by monster kind. Born human, she felt there was so much to be discovered in magic and mythology. She felt it a shame that humanity was so quick to turn a blind eye to something so beautiful due to its differences in appearance. Her inclination in performing arts made her dream of a world where she could use performance to change a deep-seeded ideal within the societal structure. She’d sit next to her window sill, eyes twinkling with delight, wishing upon stars that someday her dream would become reality.  

For a woman such as herself, an objective of that nature was unheard of; impossible even. Nonetheless, she persevered. She wanted to tell the world that as a woman she would create art like no other and she would make a change for the supernatural of all origins. With a cigar between her lips, she rolled up the sleeves of her dress and got to work. She specifically sought out other women of mythological backgrounds for her acts. By 1890, she’d created the “Moonlight Circus” with the help of supernatural people she’d met along the way. In a small corner of Paris, France, it stayed. Given that monsters were still looked down upon by mankind, they’d been spit on, leered at, and dismissed by the public. As decades passed without much luck, her hope slowly began to dwindle. 

Gwen spent many restless nights wandering the streets of Paris, desperately trying to spread word of the big top containing wonderous spectacles to no avail. Just as she was close to giving up an aspiration she’d clutched tight since childhood, an American traveling carnival approached her. The owner, a large man who was only ever seen adorning a velvet suit, believed there was promise in her bazaar. He saw something no one else but Guinevere considered possible: an opportunity for change. In a society where her family within the tent were nothing but social rejects, outcasts; they along with everyone like them could be so much more. The man, kinder than Gwen could have ever hoped, opened up about his beliefs and desire to have her circus as an attraction in his fair. And she accepted with insurmountable glee.  

So, a new chapter for the big top began. With this foreign carnival, she traveled and built up her crew from nothing but sheer will. She continued her exploration and found many monstrous beings with the same ideology to join as performers. Word soon got out of the fantastical bazaar that made its way around the world. As opinions of the inhuman began to evolve with new generations, so too did their desire to know more. And eventually, they had a crowd; an adoring audience astounded by the display of otherworldly figures. Now, the carnival has made its permanent home in New Mexico, USA, and the circus by extension.  

“Think it’ll be packed tonight, Gwen?” Morgan already knew the answer, but figured it would be polite to make small talk.  

“Yes, absolutely my dear.” Guinevere continued to drag her to a slit in the circus tent. She placed her cigarette holder between her lips and used her palm to gently spread the opening, revealing a backstage area. It was renovated to be a dressing room; gothic aesthetic to match the theme, for all the performers pre-show. It was a much smaller canopy structure installed into the side of the main show tent. Despite the ground being grassy terrain, the room itself was well done. Dark oak vanities covered the walls, steampunk and alternative costumes littered any free space, and makeup laid atop every flat surface.  The spherical bulbs lining the mirror of the vanities were all lit a dim white light, illuminating the room enough so it was not pitch black.  

Light chatter and giggles filled the room as everyone who performed in the circus continued to get ready. 

The first person to notice Morgan’s sudden appearance was Gwen’s daughter, Victoria. Her eyes instantly brightened and a large Cheshire grin grew to meet her eyes. Vicky’s poofy raven black dress bounced as she sprinted towards her. The ivory petticoat underneath made the lace skirt fuller and frilly. The undead theme seemed to run in the family; Vicky being the zombie to her mother's bloodsucker and her father's skeletal remains. Her skin and teeth were rotten and oozing. Her hair was almost floor-length, and unbelievably matted. The knots at the base of her skull were so large you could have mistaken them for golf balls wrapped inside her tresses. A pair of filthy copper goggles rested on her forehead, the lenses murky and caked in blood. Between her toothy smile was a large cigar. There was no way to pinpoint the brand, as it was only labeled with a strange rune Morgan had never seen before.  Apparently, she had been taking a drag from the cigar, because smoke began to leak out of the holes in her skin.

Vicky launched her small form into Morgan’s arms. Morgan struggled to grip her as the foul stench her rotten flesh emanated was near unbearable. Swallowing down an audible gag, she smiled at the little girl before placing her gently back onto the grass.  

“Morgan! You’re going to love my act tonight.” Victoria loudly claimed, holding her fists to her chest with a grin still plastered upon her lips. Morgan couldn’t help but return the expression. Vicky was a sweet girl. A demented undead one, but sweet nonetheless. “I’m sure I will, Vicky. You’ll kill it tonight.” She seemed to have chosen the right words, because Vicky’s grin only got wider as she bounced up and down, skirt floating with her movement. She made gestures referencing explosions and tried to explain how her act tonight would go, but her words were so jumbled they were not understandable in the slightest. Her enthusiasm continued to increase alongside her violent movements before her mother placed a hand on her small shoulder.  

“Now, now Victoria, you’re talking so fast no one can understand you, dear. She’ll get to see your performance soon anyway, so let's keep it a surprise.” Gwen chided her daughter sweetly. “Ok, mommy.” Vicky heeded her mother's words and scurried to the side to search for her favorite lighter, cigar bouncing between her decayed teeth.  Cigar smoke trailed behind her figure. Gwen shook her head at her daughter’s antics, gripping the cig holder between her lips to take in a puff of nicotine. 

Victoria was the product of forbidden love between Guinevere and Pierre, a formerly vampiric man she’d encountered while searching for spectacles to join her circus. The traveling carnival had traversed Europe and decided to take camp for a while in the French countryside. Gwen had been overjoyed to be in her mother country again. She languished in the smell of the air and the sounds of nature like music to her ears. On a particularly stormy night, a vampire man with hair as light as wheat and skin as pale as snow knocked at the door of her bedroom within a quaint little inn. She opened the door to see him drenched in rain. The revenant, Pierre, gave her a goofy smile and asked for a part in her monstrous sideshow. 

While puzzled, she wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity. Pierre and Guinevere grew close the more they worked at the fair together. They both had a passion for performing and magic. Romance blossomed; eventually, they eloped and she became pregnant. It was uncommon for vampires to conceive children, let alone with one of mankind. Guinevere was a woman of adventure and risk, so she took this new development in stride. In the excitement of her family growing larger, she decided to have Pierre turn her. Neither realized the possible problems that would arise from changing her into a vampire while bearing a child.  

And so, when Victoria was born, she was sickly and frail in every sense. Her genetics were corrupted by the change her mother took on while carrying her. Her personality, though, could be described as nothing but robust. Vicky as a toddler would often act as if she were not terminally ill; watching the acts in her mother’s circus with enraptured eyes, even participating in the choreography herself from time to time. 

Guinevere often spoke of a time in which Vicky had climbed into the cannon without anyone noticing and failed in trying to light it with one of her old cigars. She had rushed over in a panic, tearing her from the barrel before the flame grew closer. She checked over her body and, once assured she was not injured, inquired what she had been thinking. Victoria, the overzealous little girl she was, could only laugh with a large smile plastered on her face. “I wanted to fly mommy!”  

As she grew older, her body deteriorated. By age five she could barely walk. By six she couldn’t at all. At seven, she no longer had the energy to speak. At the young age of eight, she could only watch the performing women with a blank smile before she passed. For days they grieved over her. They left her cadaver laying on her satin bed sheets as she was before her death, in anguished hopes they could find a way to bring her back to them. After tirelessly searching for any form of necromancy that could revive her, Guinevere entered Victoria’s bedroom to adjust her as she did every day. Only to be startled by her daughter sitting upright and speaking to her.  

“Mommy, can I go play at the circus now?” Victoria bounced off the bed with newfound strength in her rotten limbs. Gwen could only rush to hug her baby who was with her once more. Undead, but with her despite everything. From that day on she allowed Victoria to become a full-time member of the bazaar. The human (zombie) cannonball. With a body that could be put back together, no working pain receptors, and a passion for explosives and theatrics, she fits the part flawlessly.  

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

The smaller tent was filled with a variety of supernatural women, the circus only having female staff. While most continued with their activities, some turned her direction and welcomed her. The parts in the circus were relatively small compared to most other acts, but the integration of monsters and mankind made up for it.  

Every single person handpicked by Guinevere herself, the cosmetologists, background musicians, and stage crew were all fairies. They each had varying sizes and shades of iridescent butterfly wings, and tight thigh-length dresses made from leaves and spider silk. While not as small as fae are typically depicted in human literature, they reached only about 3 feet and hovered above ground with a light flap of their appendages; they had the grace of hummingbirds. Faes are known for their artistic and musical capabilities. There were twenty-three pixies on set, all of them being gentle girls with a heart of gold. Their love of all life made them a wonderful asset to this circus promoting coexistence. Currently, they fluttered around tidying the room and freshening up the faces of the main performers.  

The ‘clowns’ of the act were all young shapeshifters. All fifteen of the women were from different cultures, shapeshifters being in a large majority of mythology; making them unique despite the similarities in capacities. Their abilities were used to shift them from playful clowns to dangerous animals to be used in other’s acts. While their personalities were all very different, each of them loved performing at the Moonlight Circus. Some spoke amongst themselves, shimmying into tight leotards and fixing their updos. A few of them, though, struggled to keep Victoria from swallowing handfuls of gunpowder. Especially with a lit cigar in her mouth.

“VICKY NO-” A wet splat hit the wall and a giggling head rolled at their feet. The shifters looked in disgust at their blood-stained clothes and scolded the decapitated head of the little girl. The others just laughed at the normally terrifying sight. 

 Morgana turned her eyes away, cringing internally, but knowing full well she’d be back on her feet in a few minutes. 

The main acts were very typical of a circus; the women enacting them were anything but. The designated tight rope walker was an Arachne woman named Magnolia. Her form was that of a tall human, her body could only be described as pear-shaped. Despite her form being humanoid, she had skin that was a smooth charcoal black and a spider abdomen attached to her lower back. The abdomen was a sunshine yellow covered in symmetrical white spots on either side. The pedicel connecting it to her body was the same tone as her skin. She also had eight spindly appendages protruding from the middle of her spine, each striped black and yellow. Magnolia had shoulder-length wavy hair a banana color with frayed strands of spider webs tangled within. Despite the frightening six extra eyes lining her temples, she was a kind eccentric woman. As the aerialist, the tightrope she walked during each performance was a magnificent braided rope made of her webbing. Magnolia was sitting on a cushioned stool, twisting her thread into a complicated bracelet, only glancing up to grace Morgan with a polite smile and greeting.  

Delane and Clio, however, wasted no time in rushing to make conversation with her. 

“Yo, Morgan! We’ve been looking for ya. Can you help me into this wetsuit?” Clio loudly proclaimed, simultaneously carrying her lover, Delane, in her arms bridal style. The duo is the aquatic performers of the show. Clio is a water nymph with connections to the Greek god Poseidon. She willingly took on a human female’s appearance, but that could not hide the divine aura that radiated off her very being. She had a lean build but still held all the strength a creature with holy connections such as herself should have. Her head was bare of hair and her ears pointed in an elf-like fashion. She stumbled around in a limp bedazzled wetsuit pulled up her hips halfway, the skin of her upper half an olive tan.  

“Seriously dude, I’m struggling here.” 

Delane was a mermaid, a perfect match to Clio’s Nereid. Her Prussian blue scaled tail hung limply over her girlfriend’s arm. The trawl half of her body closely resembled a koi fish. The caudal fin was long and thin, like fine silk flowing with the movements of Clio’s jerks. A dorsal fin ran down the back of it, getting smaller as it reached the end of her tail. She also had multiple pelvic fins running down the sides; the fins at the top were much larger than the ones at the end. They were all light cyan. The scales from her tail ran up her stomach, becoming much more scattered as they reached the dark skin of her breasts. Her hair was a short black pixie cut with a shaggy top, ending at the gills just below her chin.  

“Yeah, uh, maybe hurry before she drops me, please.” Delane nervously spoke. She wore a necklace composed of seashells and stones from the shore of her home, matching Clio’s own as a symbol of devotion between them. Together, they enacted a beautiful water-based act that captivated every audience we had.  

Morgan laughed at Clio’s predicament before moving to help her into the suit. Just as she got a grip on the neoprene material a strong voice halted them.  

“You could’ve just asked me, Clio. Here I got you.” Large calloused hands assisted her in her efforts. Morgan turned her head to Anastalia. Anastalia was the strong woman act of the circus. Like many of those hired here, a part of her resembled that of mankind, but she was very obviously not human. Her upper half was the build of a shredded woman: pulsing muscles, large bulging breasts, defined abs, intimidating biceps. She looked as if she was carved by the gods themselves. Her bottom half, while just as muscular, was that of a black stallion. Her four large hooves clapped against the ground in a deafening display and her dark tail broke the sound barrier like a whip. The hair atop her head was a dark brown with a sheen that made it glint in the light. Her long straight locks cascaded down the flesh of her shoulders a similar shade, reaching the small of her back.  

Anastalia peers up from the suit to bicker teasingly with Clio. She galloped gracefully in circles around them, admiring her handy work. “Eh, to be honest, I think it needs to be a bit bluer at the hips.” She quipped thoughtfully. Clio and Delane exchanged a glance and giggled in unison. Clio responded, “You’re one for detail, but let me tell ya, you don’t look it.” She lets out a boisterous laugh, keeling over slightly, causing Delane to screech in fear of being dropped and grip her shoulders tighter. Anastalia only rolled her eyes.  

“Har har, laugh it up, I’m not just a brute. I’m also an artist.” She struck a pose that had Clio cackling harder and Delane protesting louder. Morgan shared a laugh with them, her sides aching. Loud footsteps behind her turned her attention away for a moment. “C’mon Lanira, hurry!” Vicky, seemingly back to normal after spontaneously combusting, ran and jumped in a very abstract dance with her friend. Lanira, an incorporeal little girl resembling that of a cartoon witch floated around her at a much slower pace. “I’m going as fast as I can Vicky.” Lanira’s tone was much less enthusiastic. She had a slight cockney accent. 

Her dark flowing gown had no shape to it, more like a sack made of cotton. Her sleeves puffed out and tightened below her palms that gripped onto a translucent 19th-century broomstick underneath her. She twirled around with Victoria, who was still jumping around and flailing in her interpretative art form. Her wide-brimmed hat had a large peak at the top that dipped down at the very point. It was navy blue and held a wide variety of jewelry and trinkets that dangled down. Bits of cloth hung off the edge with pearls woven into it.  

Lanira had become a ghost after a ‘mishap’ with one of her spells backfiring. As the magician of the big top, she experimented with plenty of dangerous enchantments. One moment she was but a mangled corpse of a girl with crippling insomnia, and the next she was a spirit with large eyebags, continuing with her act as if death had not just occurred before everyone’s eyes. As the specter of a young talented sorceress, she must have expected this possible outcome and kept a few “tricks” up her sleeve. She kept with her act even after her untimely demise, even increasing the intensity now that death was no longer a possibility.  

Morgan took a long drag of her cigarette and continued to gaze in amusement. Lanira half-heartedly attempted to keep up with Victoria, the zombie child still lost in her own little world.  

“Alright, everyone! It’s time to get this show on the road once more, as they say.” Gwen chuckled at herself lightly. The room erupted in conversation and scrambling to get in costume in time. The pale woman approached her once more. “Will you please start allowing entry, dear?” She nodded at her, cig between her lips bobbing. “Of course.” She smiled and made her way out of the dressing room.  

The flap quietly closed behind her form as she made her way to her ticket booth. She could still hear the loud conversations and shuffling from inside the room. Her steps echoed throughout the stage. The entrance to the inside of the show floor was a large rectangular cut-out with a flap hanging to the side that could be zipped up. The outside of the tent was the same striped colors as the inside, illuminated by the setting sun. The tent performed almost all day, but their largest and most spectacular show was always right after the sunset. It was also the most packed of all their performances.  

The ticket booth was a wooden structure painted red and white. A gigantic sign in the shape of a ticket was placed on the roof displaying the name of the circus. It sat in front of a zig-zagging gate that led to the entrance. She opened the door and stepped inside, admiring the long line that had already formed. The crowd was a diverse amount of people. Some were singular people showing up alone for the show. Some were human couples on a date or parents with their ecstatic children bouncing with joy. There were even some couples that were interspecies; a human and a not-so-human person lovingly interlocked their hands.  

She opened the window of the booth and started accepting tickets from each person. One by one they approached the stall, handing in their crisp voucher, and making their way through the gates to pick up snack food and be seated. The sound of kids giggling and adults speaking with a grin in their voice was heartwarming. Memories were being made here time and time again; the atmosphere never changed. She never got tired of seeing happy faces coming to experience the wonders of the Moonlight Circus. A small crescent moon adorned each ticket that she received and stashed away in a box beside her.  

It took a good long while before each person who had previously bought a ticket was granted entry. She let out a sigh and sucked in some more smoke. She released a lilac cloud into the evening air. The sky was a dusty orange making way for the black of night. She continued to smoke while idly wondering if a storm was brewing. It seemed as if their best shows were when it was pouring rain and thunder broke through the cheers. The sound of Guinevere’s muffled voice over a speaker broke through the silence she’d been basking in.  

“Ladies and gentlemen! I thank you for coming to see our fantastical performers tonight! We hope to amaze you just as every crowd before.” Her words were a cue for Morgana. She laid the cigarette between her lips once more and strode her way into the tent. The tips of her fingers graced over the edge of the tent fabric for a split second. The control panels for the lighting were tucked into another miniature tent attached to the side of the main structure. She could see the sprites flying above and moving the large spotlight from the cameras beside the panels to follow Gwen’s moving figure. The stark white luminescence made her look more ethereal than before.  She continued on, cigarette holder still wedged between her thin lips. 

“We have an awe-inspiring act for you all!”  

“This beautiful lady here did most of the work.”  

Her husband quickly added to her dialogue. “Hush my love.” The crowd quietly chuckled.  

“It’s true.”  

“Pierre!” 

“Sorry, sorry!”  

The audience roared with more laughter.  

Under the dim lighting of the rest of the stage, she could make out the two fluffy skirts of the little girls waiting for their first part in the choreography. One was fidgeting and prancing around in the dark, not only disguised by the lack of light but the cloud from her cigar. The other floated just above the ground, flying around the other body in circles. Morgan placed her fingertips on the switches and pushed them up very slightly. The area brightened enough for the stage to be somewhat visible but kept the two hidden from their awaiting audience.  

“Each of our performers is a woman with grace, power, and most of all, a love for their part here.”  

Recovering from her husband's unethical interruption, she made her way up to the round platform on the stage. The spotlight followed in sync. She turned suddenly to face the stands, her skirt twirling above her feet.  

“We give you our best and only our best!” Gwen spoke into the microphone with glee, her visible scarlet eye piercing the crowd. “The Moonlight Circus has been our pride and joy for many decades. Tonight, we strive to show you exactly why!” She gave them a beautiful motherly smile.  

“Now please.” 

“Stay seated and enjoy the show!” She and the skull of her husband atop her head spoke in unison. She extended one arm behind her, bent the other in front of her middle and bowed.  

“Hey, hey! Careful please!” Pierre screamed as he slipped down slightly. The audience responded with laughter as before. The spotlight shut off and the stage was dim once again, other than the shine of Guinevere’s red cigarette. The crowd went silent. Her footsteps echoed on a different part of the stage. She could very faintly make out dainty shoes running up the steps and hopping into the cannon. One of the two figures was missing from their spot to the side. 

Morgan’s fingers danced on the panel, letting excitement coarse through her. She couldn’t fight the adrenaline rush before each performance commenced. She hadn’t been working there for more than two years, but this circus had become her family. Her home. Each person here has proven to her that the impossible is only so if you believe it is. And each show was a testament to how far they’d come. This circus act alone has been a large part of the progression that’s been made between the supernatural world and human society. They’re more than just a tent of sideshow freaks; they’re artists embracing their bodies and talents to better their lives, and many others.  

She grips the lever with resolve. She knows that to an outsider they may be passing entertainment. But that was progress by itself. This place is a part of her now. And she wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Morgana pushed the handle forward. It clicked in place. The stage lights flicked on in a magnificent spectrum of colors. Gwen’s right hand is extended to the wick of the cannon, holder lighting the end. Her daughter’s tangled mane of hair is just barely visible from the lip. A deafening boom shatters the atmosphere and the show begins.  

[boneandfur]

Time After Time 2/2

TWO

Note: the characters demanded smut. There is a link to the NSFW version on ao3 at that point. tumblr won’t let me load the moodboard. I’m very frustrated with this hellsite.

Women aren't doctors at the Front, Miss... what did you say your name was again? Ah, Miss Valentine. American. That explains it... But we do need good quality nurses... You'll be sent to France right away on account of your prior training... Jolly good, just sign the dotted line... 

"I assume you'll have the watered wine, Rookie." Ramsay leans across the table, lightly tugging the menu from Helena's numb fingers. Every little boom makes her shiver, though she's adopted the English habit of keeping a stiff upper lip. Her grandmother has told her stories to curdle your guts, about standing on a hill at Gettysburg and watching her lover ride hell for leather into battle. And I followed him, didn't I, chick? 

"What brought you here? To the Front?" Helena cocks her head at him, and Ramsay's brows raise nearly to his hairline. 

"You're bold as brass.” Ramsay snaps his fingers. “I like that. Knew it as soon as you stepped out of that line of nurses that you wouldn't turn into a shrinking violet at your first amputation." Ramsay turns to their waiter, a Frenchman of elderly years with an ear trumpet. "We'll take your best watered wine for the lady, and a bottle of whiskey." 

Helena coughs lightly, and addresses the waiter in seamless French. "(What is the special today?)" 

The old man looks sad. "(I am afraid we do not have anything special. Just some eel ragout, and fresh bread my wife baked this morning.)" 

"(Then we will take that, and your best bottle of Merlot.)" 

When the owner has gone, Ramsay smiles broadly at Helena, showing white teeth against three days shadow of a beard on his jaw. "By God, you're a marvel. Never learned much French myself, besides what I've had to behind the lines." 

"Oh, my governess despaired of me." Helena shrugs, but cannot help smiling in return. "I can speak enough French to get by, you know, but I could never pass for a natural." 

"Well, you are an American." But it does not sound like an insult.

The eel comes, and she eats ravenously, less like a lady and more like the girl who downed seven glasses of champagne and then raced her brother from Boston to Concord on horseback. 

And Ramsay drinks. Thoughtfully. Mindfully. She does not remember, afterward, nor for many years, what they said, only how she had smiled and smiled until her cheeks hurt, and the ticking of the pocket watch. 

One two, one two. Tick tock. Eleven hours. Ten hours. Nine hours. Eleven minutes and eleven seconds.

No more standing to in trenches,//Only one more church parade. 

"I had a patron who paid for me to go to medical school, a well respected chap named Naveen.” Ramsay nurses his whiskey, rolling the glass with purpose between his palms. “After school, I joined the army to make something of myself, and went to India. My wife deserted me for another man while I was gone. She didn't like the army life, you see." 

Helena reaches out, laying her hand over his. Ramsay startles, but does not move his hand away, and instead flips it over, laying his palm flat against hers and caressing her wrist with his rough fingers. She drags in a breath, the sudden widening of his pupils making her lower abdomen flutter. "I ran away from home. No one knows I'm here, or I'd be dragged back to Boston to marry a Stirling and pop out an heir and a spare before the war has even gotten started." 

"You don't even want to know about what this war will look like if it keeps going, lass." Ramsay drains his glass, and pours them both another. "I'd tell you to go back to Boston, but I can see by that look in your eye that you'll see this thing through. I respect that." 

Helena does not trust herself to speak. The wine is making her thoughts slow, but she does not want this moment to end. 

Ramsay rubs a hand over his jaw. "That was back in '09. I hung my boots up, moved to Scotland, and threw myself into practice in Edinburgh. Then that damn fool shot a Prince, and well, here we are." 

Steady, silent. Their eyes meet and the watch ticks on. Helena feels as though she is drowning. His mouth moves and she only feels the heat of his palm against hers, her cheeks ablaze. 

'Nurse! Nurse Valentine! Are you dumb or are you just deaf?! Hand me those scissors, and bring me another scalpel... These damned orderlies don't know what they're doing...'

Their eyes meet across the bloody operating table. The soldier is mercilessly unconscious, a bloody piece of shrapnel in his thigh. He'd been screaming since he came in off the ambulance, a boy of no more than nineteen, a Tommy named Elijah... 'Mum, Mum, water, water...'

'That's a Blighty, Rookie. Your first. Are you going to faint on me, lass?' Ramsay's eyes lock on Helena's. She feels the flint of his gaze go straight to her spine, and straightens up. 

'No, Doctor. I'll be fine, sir.'

'I told you Americans have brass, Ramsay!' The surgeon, Lahela, winks at Helena in passing, but she does not notice. Her gaze does not falter under Ramsay's. 'Pass me the tweezers.'

His mouth quirks, just a shade. 'Good girl.'

"...Good God, Rookie, will you drink the whole bottle? I promise my company isn't as bad as all that." Helena feels Ramsay tug at her wine glass, and relinquishes it. The lamp has begun to burn low, and from the outside of the cafe is the sound of drunken laughter. "You shouldn't walk out there alone. Come on, I'll walk you back to your billet." 

"I don't have one," Helena confesses. She pats her bag, shamefaced. "I spent my money for the hotel on books... I can sleep on the truck." 

Ramsay shakes his head. "No, no, that won't do. We can't have you more dead on your feet than usual. I have a solution. It's a bit unorthodox. Do you trust me?" 

Eight hours, three minutes, seven seconds. 

•••

Helena does not know why, but the lights from the star shells, all green and gold, make her grip Ramsay's arm tighter, and press against his side. At the corner, he stops and gazes down at her, a strange and wild new thing in his face, something she dares not name. 

Don't forget me, Helena Valentine. When this lousy war is over, I'll come back, you see... 

"Tell me..." Ramsay brushes a curl back from her brow, his broad fingertips sending a crackle across her bare flesh. "Why did you become a doctor, Rookie -- Helena?" 

"I read a wonderful book." Helena ducks her head, and looks up at Ramsay from under her lashes, illuminated by the lamplight. Behind them, to the east, she hears the screech of a Minnie, and his hands tighten on her fingers. "It was written by a Scottish doctor who had served in India, on the Northwest Frontier." Her gaze skitters away. 

People said when we enlisted,//Fame and medals we would win.

"Ah. I knew a chap who served there, in his younger days." Ramsay tucks her cold hand through his elbow. The snow is falling thicker now, and they are nearly to the hotel. A quick word from Ramsay to the proprietor -- she hears the words une chambre pour les jeunes mariés -- He knows French after all -- 

And before she knows it, she is sitting in a delectably steaming hot hip bath, strewn with lavender and rosemary. She washes her hair and cannot remember the last time she felt such luxury. 

Nine months, two days, thirteen minutes...

When this war is over, //No more soldiering for me. 

"You can have the bed. I'll bunk down with Medical Officers Gayle and Nguyen, from the -nth Platoon." Ramsay stands in the doorway, his cap in his hands, avoiding looking directly at Helena in her muslin shift. "We wouldn't want you to lose your reputation and have to leave the war so soon." 

"Stay." She feels her eyelids drooping, and pats the quilt next to her. "Please, stay." 

"You know I can't do that." Yet, she hears the floorboards squeak as Ramsay settles next to her on a chair. The inn rattles like a whizzbang and she grasps Ramsay's hand, clutching at it until the clattering of the teacups subsides. "Only a little longer, then, Rookie. Until you're safe." 

•••

Ethan watches Helena Valentine fall asleep. There is nothing he'd like more than to climb next to her in that big bed, to feel her lithe body against his. But it would be wrong, even though nothing will ever be right again after the war is over. But if he can keep her safe -- If I can keep her alive -- he dares not finish the thought. 

“You wouldn't remember me, Helena Valentine, but I was the guest speaker of honor when they hung the plaque for your grandfather at the Royal Hospital, in Edinburgh.” Ethan whispers the words, barely a murmur. The whiskey has given him courage, here in a small hotel near the Ypres front. 

Ypres, the Race to the Sea. Generals called it a triumph, but the only thing the war has given Ethan thus far has been insomnia for thirty-six hours, a hatred of mustard gas and a pair of fine German boots from over the top. 

“He was an old surgeon, a medical man, who fought in the American Civil War, but he did great things for Scottish medicine, too, back in his youth.” Helena's fingertips tighten on his palm, and Ethan fears he has said too much. But he goes on, like a schoolboy at the confessional, for who can say when they shall ever have this moment again? And hasn't the war taught him by now to leave nothing unsaid? 

“You must have been not more than twenty-one, then. You were still unmarried, with a vast inheritance that folks said you'd squandered on medical school. I knew right then and there that Jonas Valentine would have been proud of you. I wanted to introduce myself right there and then…” 

But I was too tongue tied by your beauty, and couldn't find the words. Later, when I saw you again in Ypres, I couldn't believe my own eyes. I didn't want to tell you how I felt then...

(But that will keep, until this war is over.)

Her grip loosens, and he knows she is sleeping. She sighs in her slumber when his lips brush across her dainty brow, and it is with everything inside of him screaming at him to turn around that he walks away. 

When I get my civvy clothes on,/Oh how happy I shall be.

•••

Forty-five minutes, thirty seconds. 

The books are too heavy. Yet, Helena, an oasis of blue with a red cross on one arm in a sea of green uniforms, settles in with Sherlock Holmes. Rookie... She snaps the book shut, watching the landscape go by from the army van. 

I shouldn't... We shouldn't. Ramsay cups both sides of Helena's face in his hands. The book drops to the floor. They are both damp from the bath, and his skin smells of cedar and lavender soap. 

copy and paste into your tab:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/29957496/chapters/73743633

Later, she will remember the exact way the quilt felt as he pulled it over her shoulders, tucking her in, embers in the grate and his lips ghosting across her forehead. 

•••

Twenty years on, when a new war is brewing, this is what Helena Valentine remembers: 

The air, so still and warm, with not a single lark singing. The earth smells of flowers and death, and she is sharing sterilizing duty with VAD Nurse Varma, whom she'd come over from London with. 

"I suppose you think you're better than me, being a real doctor and all, but..." Jackie's lips move, but Helena cannot hear what she is saying. All she can hear is a buzzing sound, a ringing in her head. 

One two, one two. 

Her hands tremble with fatigue over the medical instruments. 

Thirteen minutes and forty-seven seconds. 

Tick, tock. 

The table begins to shake and she looks at Jackie, their eyes wide as they clasp hands -- and then they are running -- and the bridge is shaking, it's shaking Dr Ramsay, you shouldn't be out here, it's wartime you know -- 

No one can know about this, about us. You know that, right? 

I know, Dr Ramsay.

He cups her chin in his hand. They say you're a grasping American chit, but you're my American chit now, and I won't hear anything against you. Oh -- and don't check your bag until you're on the truck back to the lines. I left something there for you. 

Then you have this -- keep it until the war is over -- it was my grandfather's and it's over a hundred years old and it's still ticking on. 

His mouth is warm on hers, tip of his tongue pressed against hers for a surprisingly electric surge.  

-- "Nurse Valentine! Valentine!" --

Helena wakes in the morning with the ashes cold in the grate, Ramsay's greatcoat draped over her. It smells of peat and whiskey, and the faintest whiff of mustard gas. Her thighs are wet and she looks under the quilts and realizes her cycle has started, and she does not know why, but she begins to sob, whether from relief or terror she knows not. 

One two, one two.

(Twelve hours, seventeen minutes, and thirty four seconds.)

Tick, tock. 

People said when we enlisted,/Fame and medals we would win,/But the fame is in the guardroom,/And those medals made of tin.

[honestsycrets]

The Whore and the Roach || [Geralt x Reader]

❛ pairing | geralt x fem prostitute!reader

❛ type | oneshot

❛ summary | ❝ she doesn’t want to be a prostitute. she just doesn’t know how to get out. he can help.  ❞

❛  warnings | whorehouse, prostitute, minor violence, geralt being a big good bully, protective!geralt

❛  sy’s notes | this is my first shot. it’s SFW. just a little sweetie shot mostly. gif by thewitcherdaily.

A soft wooden brush shifts over the study back of the muddy horse. He chomps on his supper of concentrate and hay to the swift rack of a brush over his back. His tail flicks periodically as he eats, suggesting that perhaps he has relaxed some over his long stay with you while his owner made a visit to Temeria. Your hand shifts over his long tail-- and you replace the soft brush in favour of a wide-toothed comb.

“Much better,” you say, standing off to the side of the horse. With one hand holding the top of the section, the other combs through his tail. The horse kicks out, and you’re suddenly a lot more happy that you were to the side of him rather than directly behind. “Keep still. You haven’t been combed in a while! Tell the Witcher he’s slacking. Better yet, I’ll tell him.”

The Witcher in question slips into the warm cozy stable. His large hulking body walks past you to settle his large hand on top of the chocolate strands of his horse’s mane. You glance to him, perking a small smile.

“You could at least brush him. It’s not enough that he has a foul-smelling Witcher on his back.”

“The pimp,” he states his question. You recognize the White Wolf for having come in some time ago. He spent three nights with someone else.

“Off with Mildritha for the night,” you gesture back. A long hmm slips from his lips. His large fingers weave through the horse’s mane, running his hand upon the side of his horse’s face. Roach, or so he affectionately calls the poor thing, looks up.

“Give this to him.”

The Witcher holds out a cloth bag. One look upon it and you realize it’s the missing coin. If you took it, you knew exactly what would come of it. No way were you taking that. Not on your life-- if something happened to it, you would be the one settled with paying off the Witcher’s debt. From the looks of it, it would be substantial.

“I can’t take that,” you say, the word seeming to snap off of your tongue. The Witcher deadpans and closes his glove around the bag of coin again. He prepares his things over Roach’s back and loin, unmoved by your words. It occurs that this man is perfunctory in every sort of the word. Once settled, he walks toward the door of the stable.

“Wait. Witcher!”

He stops, not bothering to turn. He’s listening, at least.

“Stay until morning. You could stay with me.”

He takes a step forward, clearly denying your request.

“You don’t know what it is like when he is angry. He’ll make me work again!” You say, like an absolute idiot. Living in a whorehouse wasn’t known for being a life of luxury, despite what the slinky red gown would tell others.

“So leave,” he rumbles.

You’re momentarily stunned. “It’s not that easy.”

Most women found it empowering: taking men for the coin they had. Maybe you would too, if there was no pimp to dictate how often you worked. So when your cunt was chafing and aching, you wouldn’t feel your teeth gritting like two hunks of rock sanding a sword. The best thing you could do that night was look exhausted and hoped men looked over you.

“Well. I mean. Some of us can’t choose our destinies,” you gesture humorously toward him. “Some of us are well renown Witchers. Some of us are whores in a house with an angry father. This is my life. I could never leave.”

He stops. Then turns to face you. In a way, meeting his brilliant amber eyes is something that gives you pause. Your eyes shift and falter, falling to the ground again. He lifts you under your arms and settles you up on the horse.

“What are you doing?”

“Keep her steady, Roach.”

It’s now, here, or never. Geralt walks out-- over to the whorehouse, forgetting everything you’ve said in the past. There’s a loud hey! from the inside. “What is he doing?” you whisper out loud-- then sit upright. The scuffle only becomes louder when your plump older father is corralled out with the Witcher lackadaisically, as if this whole ordeal is nothing to be really concerned about. You glance toward him, dressed in his unbuttoned dusty slacks and nothing else.

“Get off,” he motions, glancing over his shoulder. “Hurry the fuck up!”

Between his words and Geralt’s piercing gaze, you know which one of the two you’re paying attention to. Geralt seizes the reins and walks slowly toward the exit of town. There’s something to be said for the pimp’s stubbornness. “You can’t just-- you didn’t pay for her! Hey! Did you hear me, you dirty fucker!”

Then, he makes the wrong choice when he grasps at the other side of Roach’s reins. His chocolaty head jerks, clonking the old man in the face. Geralt stops with the loud splash of his head hitting a deep puddle, just enough to explain himself… somewhat.

“You have your coin.”

From there, there is no response. The town shrinks as Geralt walks on. Every wooden tavern, home, and whorehouse snuffs out their lights. Out of your age old home, there’s a moment. Just a small, lingering moment of uncertainty. You put out those thoughts with the fear and turn back around to the Witcher.

“You paid him for me?” you ask.

Geralt glances toward you. “Yes,” he states. Then, nothing. He’s not much of a talker, and maybe it’s your fault for being a prostitute. Most men only came to prostitutes for one of two reasons. Something told you-- Geralt had his fill of company a few nights ago.

“Then you’ve bought me. Why did you buy me?”

Nothing more than a dull hmm, a noise that indicates he’s at least heard you. Gone from one man to another, your eyes settle over Roach’s mane. Another thought hits you. The wind whistles through the trees on an otherwise quiet night.

“Where are we going?”

“A forest.”

“You’re dangerously talkative, you know. Seems to work out for you.” You glance over. Geralt glances at you at long last. He mounts Roach-- his strong muscles shifting around you to grasp Roach’s reins. His body affords the safety that you’ve gone without for so long, but you don’t want to give into safety. All safety was short lived.

“And what’s in this forest, anyway? Treasure? Another creature?”

“Women,” he answers. “The forest is full of them.”

Maybe he was a Witcher with a one-track mind. You think he has to be to be constantly on the move hopping place. The creaks of the forest aren’t every man’s friend. Unless you were something like him-- something that everyone despised. The bright lights of the town become dimmer and dimmer until they are specks in the dark forest surrounding you.

“That’s not it,” he rumbles.

Woop! There goes that.

“The women there will take you in,” he reasons. “You can’t come with me.”

A gamut of emotions ran through your face-- unsure which was worse or better. Living in the forest with no one you knew? Not even Roach? Though, if you had to guess, being used until your body was dry of the ability to have children was not the best life. You wonder, would the pimp have killed you after that point?

“That’s not exactly a great investment of your coin,” you say. “Buy a whore for nothing?”

“Losses and profits. Is that what you’re worried about?”

“Y-- well, no. It’s not my fault if that’s what you’re thinking.”

He’s unreadable. Partially because when he hovers behind you, with his warm and brawny chest behind your back, you can’t see his face. Maybe it was better that way-- being unable to see his deadpan expression, because some times, it’s like looking into the mirror.

“He was my stepfather,” you say. “Been with mother since I was a babe. I thought he cared, y’know, like a father?”

“Seems not,” he clips short. “Caring fathers don’t whore their daughters out for coin.”

No point arguing there.

“For someone that doesn’t have much company, you sure are a know it all.” You grumble, glaring off to the side. Your hand strokes over his mane, not really knowing if its at all for him, or soothing for you. Probably you. Roach doesn’t seem to give a shit one way or another. You carry on like that, making small quips he doesn’t pay attention to until he stops abruptly.

“What?”

“Stopping for the night,” The Witcher grumbles, pulling you off of Roach. He sets you down on crunchy leaves. You glance around, looking toward the tall arching trees, and you follow them to kiss the dark peppered sky. You had never slept outside before. Somehow it was more freeing than sleeping inside.

He’s quick to set up a makeshift camp. Nothing takes too long with the Witcher-- and you suppose that’s out of demand of a man who must run and rush wherever he goes. You stretch out by the crackling fire he’s arranged, glancing over tentatively when he crumpled beside it. It’s cool. Much cooler than you thought it would be. You run your fingers together, pulling your cloak around yourself for added warmth.

“Come over,” he rumbles.

“Come over?” you repeat as if your brain is as empty as the wind that carried through the leaves and chilled your skin.

“You won’t shut up,” he acknowledges from the ground, turning over to pierce you through with his amber eyes. “You’re cold. I don’t want to hear it all night. Come here.”

You lift, trudging his way to sit beside him. It’s not particularly warmer here, if only a little, but just as you gave it that thought, the Witcher dragged you down beside him. The ground is unforgiving. Harder than your back is used to. Maybe, in time, it would become accustomed to a rougher lifestyle. If it meant not being forced another another man, it was worth it.

“There,” he mutters, allowing you to rut close. His chest heaves slow, very low. You listen to the slow beat, his body serving as a shield from the small wind that carries through the forest. Your eyelids become heavy, unusually comfortable with a man. The Witcher-- even. “Now go to sleep.”

@kingniazx​

[jessicalynnhepner]

What Every Parent Needs to Know About Child Sex Trafficking

For most police officers, this scene is a familiar one—a young kid gets mixed up with the wrong person and finds him or herself on the wrong side of the law. In virtually every case, this would be the end of the story. The young girl would get a slap on the wrist and be released into her parents’ custody where they could, presumably, set her straight. And, at this point in our story, Officer Scott was prepared to do just that—to trust the overwhelming testimony of prior experience and process this girl out so that he could get on with his shift. But, something was different this time… Discerning the SignsAs Officer Scott sits down to file his paperwork, he’s reminded of last Tuesday’s roll call.  His Sergeant, having recently attended a training seminar on human trafficking, used that day to teach his officers how to identify potential trafficking situations. All of a sudden, alarm bells start going off in Scott’s mind: The Fear — Sure, a kid’s going to be afraid of the consequences. But, this girl seems to fear for her physical safety. She’s acting like there’s something worse waiting for her than an angry mom and dad at home. The Stolen Merchandise – Why did she need a Red Bull and a pack of condoms? Scott recalled that traffickers use starvation to control their victims. Usually, their only choice is to steal the bare necessities. The Boyfriend – Per the owner’s description, this guy was at least 10 years older than she. What were they doing there together in the first place? A New ApproachWith these things in mind, Scott calmly invites the young lady out of holding and brings her to a quieter part of the station, away from prying eyes and menacing glances. She looks cold, so Scott hands her a sweatshirt. As he does, he notices a small tattoo of a crown with the name ‘Hugo’ scrawled beneath it—likely a brand to show who ‘she belongs to.’ They start to chat. This time, he speaks less like a cop and more like a friend. Clearly, she hasn’t had anything to eat for quite a while. Moments later, a female officer appears with a bag from McDonald’s. The three make their way to a private lounge. As they talk, the girl lets her guard down. Scott listens as she describes her broken home life, struggles with friends at school, and her constant search for belonging. All the while, her phone continues to buzz. “Your boyfriend?” “Yes. He just wants to make sure I’m ok.” He really is a great guy, she explains. He’s been there for her when her parents weren’t. He shows her the affection and attention she needs. She feels protected. He loves her……only, sometimes he makes her do things—things she would ordinarily never do. TrustHaving earned at least a glimmer of trust, Scott asks if she would slide her phone over. Reluctantly, she does, and he begins to scroll through the text messages. Wisely, Scott checks his emotions before he begins to read. It doesn’t take him long to realize these are not the supportive words of a loving boyfriend. No, they’re the verbal assaults of a degenerate thug bent on belittling her into submission. Scott does his best to hide his disgust as he reads about threatened consequences for ‘missed quotas.’ Horrified, he sees insults that no human being should ever have to endure, capped off by threats against her little sister for talking to the cops. Officer Scott thanks the young woman for her trust and politely excuses himself to make a call. He can read the writing on the wall: this girl is clearly a victim of trafficking. She needs someone with much more experience than him to help regain her freedom. He picks up the phone, dials his Sergeant, and together, they get to work. What Made the Difference?This story, though generalized in some ways, is rooted in the accounts we hear from police officers every day. The first part of the story is common enough. But, what about the second when, in Scott’s eyes, the girl goes from ‘shoplifter’ to ‘trafficking victim’? Not so much. So, how do we get from A to B? How do we help police officers learn

to look at each ‘punk kid’ as a potential victim, to ask deeper questions, and find the real story lies beneath the surface? Just as in Officer Scott’s story, that turning point comes when an officer recognizes the signs, trusts his or her gut, and decides to unravel that thread. It all starts with that one officer—a soldier on the front lines of the underground battle to set captives free. This can only happen when officials at every level of law enforcement learn to detect the signs and receive the tools they need to bring trafficking victims out of the cruel darkness and into the liberating light of day. National Human Trafficking Law Enforcement Training ProgramAt ERASE, one of the most impactful things we do is train police departments so that they produce more officers like the one in this story. It’s our mission to educate officers to detect the warning signs, identify potential victims, and safely lead them to freedom.  Your donations make this possible. Source Child Sex Trafficking-Not My Child Mom shakes her head and Dad raises his voice. Their 16-year old daughter storms up the stairs. As the bedroom door slams, she collapses on the bed with phone in hand. She’s ready to vent her frustrations one status update at a time. With every angst-laden tap of the keyboard, she lays bare her soul: “Nobody here gets me.” “No one understands!” “I feel unloved.” 📷An hour later, a boy from the next town over reaches out. She doesn’t know him, but they’ve got a few mutual friends, so it’s probably no big deal. He’s cute and thoughtful. And, he seems to understand what she’s going through better than anyone else. For the next two weeks, they exchange messages every day. He’s sweet, a digital shoulder to cry on when nobody else seems to care. They decide to meet up in person, so she borrows Dad’s car “to meet some friends at the mall.” That night, Daddy’s little girl doesn’t come home for dinner and Mom sits up all night. The next morning, they call the police. An officer searches her computer and finds evidence of the girl’s new relationship. Turns out, the boy she thought she knew didn’t exist. And, just like that, she’s gone.Reality check about child sex trafficking At ERASE, we hear heartbreaking tales like this all too frequently. Stories from average families dealing with everyday stresses when out of nowhere, their child is lured right out from under them. Whenever we tell these stories, the most common response goes something like this: “Child trafficking is something that happens to those types of kids out there. We live in a great community and our neighbors are good people who look out for one another. Something like that could never happen to one of my children.” This is the kind of response that makes us cringe. If only parents knew what we know, they wouldn’t be so quick to ignore this real and pervasive threat. Sadly, that very ignorance is what traffickers count on most when looking for children to target. The danger is far more imminent than most parents recognize. If we’re going to protect our children, we need to be clear on the real threats child traffickers impose. Traffickers are Smart, Motivated, and Tech-SavvyA dark and horrific market has grown up around the purchase and sale of human beings. Researchers estimated that, in 2007, Atlanta’s underground sex economy alone brought in $290 million. Even in a far less “saturated” market, sex trafficking in San Diego enables a pimp to pull in over $11,000 per week. Fast forward 10 years and there’s no reason to think that number hasn’t grown. Innocent children aren’t given a pass here. Instead, the most vulnerable among us are routinely bought and sold like property—many of them up to 15 times a day. With business booming, traffickers are working harder than ever to keep up with demand. Leaving no stone unturned, they use social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat, to research, target, and groom children for sexual exploitation. In fact, 77% of sex trafficking victims

report having been initially approached online. Just as a skilled marketer uses sophisticated keyword searches to identify his audience, traffickers monitor social media for anything at all that would suggest an easy target:Children with social media profiles open to public viewing Teenagers posting introspective status updates about feelings of insecurity Boys and girls who are venting about arguments with their parents Like a lion crouched in his thicket, a predator will scan through lines of text looking for vulnerable children to drag off into the tall grass. How many of those lines will have come from one of your children? Yes, your child can be a victim of sex traffickingThe children that traffickers rip from their happy homes aren’t pretend characters on television or disembodied faces from the evening news. They’re our kids, the ones we work hard to raise and the ones we hope to see grow up happy and healthy. They’re the kids we teach to be smart, to mind their surroundings, and never talk to strangers. And yet, we give them free reign to explore every dark corner of the internet via their cell phone. We must do betterLittle more than half of parents closely monitor their children’s online activity. So, when a stranger asks to connect on Snapchat, it’s nearly an even shot that no one will be looking over that kid’s shoulder. You can count on a child trafficker to take that bet. Do you know which platforms your children are using or who they connect with online? Do they have any secret accounts and how would you find out if they did? If someone asked to meet in person, would they do it? Can you be sure? These questions may seem intrusive and even overbearing. However, considering the reality of child trafficking in the United States, we have to ask these questions.  Every day, thousands of children disappear into slavery. We’d like to hope our kids could never be victims but the facts simply don’t allow us that option. Understanding the facts of child trafficking is the first and most important step in prevention. There is HopeGood people around the world are standing up and fighting back against this great moral evil. You don’t have to live in constant fear for your children. The story we shared at the beginning of this post doesn’t have to be your story. And with some common sense and the will to step intentionally into your kids’ digital lives, you can protect them from becoming a victim of sex trafficking. The question is: will you? At ERASE, we want to educate parents on how best to protect their children from online predators. Please take a look at our tips and best practices pages to see how you can teach your children to be safe online.Juvenile Delinquent or Victim of Human Trafficking? Blog Story of a Human Trafficking Victim It’s midnight. Officer Scott pulls his patrol car into the lot of a small, 24-hour convenience store. As he approaches, he peers through the decal-laden glass door to see a middle-aged man struggling to restrain an agitated 16-year old girl. The store owner had caught this young woman and her boyfriend stuffing items into a small handbag. Her companion—a ‘white man in his late 20’s’—had bolted out the door without so much as a backward glance. The last thing on Officer Scott’s mind was “human trafficking victim”. Scott had seen this before. Some young teenager, looking for thrills, decides to pocket a few items from the local bodega and gets grabbed by the watchful owner. As he escorts the girl to his police car, Scott’s treated to an earful. She can’t stop going on about what a jerk he is, how he had violated her rights, and how much trouble she’d be in if he didn’t let her go right away. “Just wait until I call your parents,” he thinks. 📷 The Same Routine When they arrive at the station, Scott walks this young woman to his desk. She can hear the snide remarks of a few men handcuffed to chairs nearby. As they leer conspicuously at her, she shrinks further into herself.  Scott starts in on his typical line of questioning: name,

age, address, and so on. The entire time, her phone buzzes with one text message after another. She begs Scott to let her reply, but he refuses. “There’ll be plenty of time to talk to your parents later.” “I’m not worried about them,” she snaps back. “They don’t give a crap about me, anyway. They’re too busy arguing to even notice I’m around.” Not sure what to make of that outburst, Scott begins to sort through the items she had attempted to steal: a sleeve of Hostess Cup Cakes, a Red Bull, and a box of condoms. “Must be one heck of a boyfriend to leave you there like that, huh?” “You wouldn’t understand. He loves me. He takes care of me.” Angry and frustrated by this girl’s bad attitude and ignorance about that poor excuse for a boyfriend, Officer Scott escorts her to a holding cell and prepares to process her out.Is This the End of the Story?

https://whateveryparentshouldknowaboutcps.blogspot.com/2020/08/what-every-parent-needs-to-know-about.html

[deepwaterwritingprompts]

ooh ask day! are you working on any of your own writing at the moment? what excites you about it? is your writing similar to your prompts in any way? or do the prompts fulfill something else for you?

mainly im working on getting my first novel published, which you can read about HERE. otherwise, the sequel, an adult fiction project, and an urban fantasy type YA about a town called florida. in florida. Florida, florida.

Florida project, working title BORDERLINE, is the most in line with my general prompt vibe here. a little cosmic horror, bent reality, just generally odd.

I never write stuff based off the prompts, but I DO write prompts based off my own stuff, very occasionally. for me, writing prompts is like scales for a musician. keeps my brain well oiled.

*still taking asks, no requests please*

anyway, ive been working on Florida project a lot lately. have an excerpt:

Backpage:

Lin O’Leary was born and raised in the town of Florida, Florida, tucked away into a corner of the state’s forgotten coast. All the locals know Florida is a strange place, rumored to stand on a borderline, where the veil is thin and mysterious forces wander alongside the human population. The daughter of Irish and Mexican immigrants, Lin knows you can only find trouble if you go looking for it, and like the rest of Florida’s residents, lives comfortably alongside the supernatural. This is before Momoko Kasahara disappears into thin air, frightening the town of Florida into a new, ultra-cautious existence. Five years after Momo’s disappearance, Lin is seventeen, a highschool dropout now working at a convenience store, her once vibrant town still plagued by fear. The days drag by, mundane as they come in Florida, occasionally punctuated by unpleasant visits from Bo Kasahara, brother to Momo and full time asshole. Then, one fateful late shift, Lin sees the missing Kasahara twin standing in the aisles, gone as quickly as she appeared. Meanwhile, a stranger arrives from California, claiming to be a paranormal investigator hellbent on uncovering the mysteries of Florida, and suddenly Lin is faced with a choice. Be smart and keep her head down, or dive headlong into the strange mist that so often covers Florida, to rescue Momo Kasahara, and return her town to the way she remembers it.

1. 100% humidity feels like breathing underwater.

L I N

Florida ate Momoko Kasahara on the most miserable day of the year, and washed her down with a thunderstorm. A lot of other important things happened that day, but Momo’s disappearance overshadowed them all. Momo was the coolest girl in our class. She had shiny black hair that ran down to her waist. She liked to wear a different flavor of lip gloss every day of the week, and could sing in Japanese. I was on my way home from the beach when I saw the police cars in her driveway, and her twin brother sitting on the porch, painted purple in the twilight. 

He shook his head, at me, slow, and all the sound seemed to drain out of the world. The flashing police lights distorted his face, as bright white clouds passed too quickly above us. The whole scene drove a stake of wrongness hard into my chest. Sometimes even now, I dream about it. Bo and I watching each other. The dead silence. The purple light. The too white clouds. And Momo, eaten.  For the first time in my life, I was afraid of my own town. 

My name is Lin O’leary. I live in Florida, Florida, a nothing sort of place crammed into an extra forgotten corner of the state’s already forgotten coast. Some days I can forget about Momo, and everything that happened in the hours before she vanished. Heff says I’m good at keeping my eyes closed, even when they’re open. 

I really wish he were right. 

2. Cloudy with a chance of hotdogs (haunted).

J U L I E N

I was standing in front of the worst building I had ever seen. Slab grey and full of sharp edges, additions had been slapped onto every side until it resembled an impossible puzzle piece. The front windows were crowded with signs for cold beer and hot food, but the glass itself was opaque. It was a convenience store from hell, a collection of stationary parts so nonsensical I was worried it might grow a few new alcoves if I blinked. Above the door, an unintelligible sign in complicated neon cursive flashed electric blue. There was a neon clock too, flickering wildly, just striking twelve.

I must have walked halfway across town, and as far I could tell this was the only place that sold food at all, let alone past three in the morning. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to go inside. My stomach was a mess, and haunted convenience store hot dogs could only make it worse. I fished my phone out of my pocket, but the little service I had was, like the midnight clock above me, barely clinging to existence, my map application nothing more than a collection of beige squares. There was no one around. The sky was intensely dark, a pitch black blanket of clouds. Water hung thick in the air, the night time street so quiet I could almost hear beads of sweat sliding down my already slick face. No, there was nothing for it. I needed directions. 

The bell above the door made a strange, flat sound as I pressed inside. If the building was weird from the outside, that was nothing to its interior. The shelves, tall and numerous, had been arranged like maze walls. The overhead lights were blinding, stark white, and every other tile on the floor was mismatched. Some were squares of carpet. The only thing really visible from the entrance was the register, a fortress made of dark wood and surrounded by lottery advertisements. Behind the counter, a girl was reading something intently. As I got closer, I saw it was the back of a box of oatmeal.

“Hi,” I said, adjusting the duffel bag that had been crushing my left shoulder for an hour. 

The girl nodded, but didn’t look up. She had thin black hair, pin straight and chin length. Her skin was a warm, golden brown. Her shirt said something in miniscule writing, but my glasses were a little foggy, so I would have had to practically press my face to her chest to read it, which didn’t seem like a great first impression.

“Can you help me? I’m looking for the Fahrenheit Motel. I think it’s supposed to be around here.” 

Finally, she glanced at me. 

“It’s just around the corner. See the glasses store across the street? Go straight past that and make the second left, you’ll run right into it.” 

She pointed out the window, and I realized they were one way. 

“Who built this place?” I asked. 

She shrugged. 

“We’ve had a lot of owners. Everyone adds something new.”

There was something off about her. Like we were talking, but mentally she was still 

reading the box of oatmeal. 

“I’m Julien,” I said, sticking out a hand. She raised her eyebrows before taking it. 

“Lin,” she said, with another small nod. 

Her face was round, but her features were knife sharp. I wondered what she looked like angry. Maybe that was a really weird thing to think. 

Not wanting to ask for a second set of directions, I wandered around the store for thirty minutes before returning to the counter with a gallon of chocolate milk and a bag of seaweed flavored potato chips. 

“I can’t believe you have these. I didn’t think you could find them outside of California.”

Instead of replying, Lin held up the chocolate milk. 

“There’s no fridge in your room at the Fahrenheit. You know that right?”

“I was told on the phone… ” I started.

“There’s a fridge, but it’s in the lobby, communal. Kimmy’ll drink this.” She gave the milk a little shake before scanning it. “Just warning you.”

“Thanks,” I said, as she stuffed my things in a smiling shopping bag. 

I paused on my way out.

“Goodnight,” I said, “Or, good morning I guess.” 

Lin stared at me, then glanced at the box of oatmeal and back. 

“Morning,” she said, with a sigh.

***

I followed Lin’s directions, and wound up at last in front of a long, low building sporting a vacancies sign. Even in low light I could see about a hundred sad looking plastic flamingos had been stuck all over the lawn, the bushes, even the gravel path that led to the front door. I had to pick my way around them on approach. 

There was no one at the front desk. The reception area was lit only by the green blue light coming from an enormous fishtank that didn’t seem to have any fish in it. As I approached the counter, I noticed someone had left the key to my room out for me, next to a scrap of paper bearing the wifi password. I picked up the key, old and brass, then watched the fishtank for a second, before turning around and experiencing heart failure. 

A very old woman with wiry black hair was standing there in her nightgown, arms crossed and frowning at me. She didn’t apologize for nearly sending me to my grave. 

“I’m up. I can check you in properly,” she said, shuffling past me. “I’m Kimmy, but you can call me Miss Kimmy. You got ID?” 

I dug it out of my wallet while she opened a dusty guest book. 

“The reservation is for Julien True,” I said. 

Miss Kimmy glanced at the ID I had just handed her. 

“That’s not what this says.”

“I know. It’s a stage name,” I admitted, “everything else is correct.”

She raised an eyebrow to herself, but didn’t ask any more questions. 

“Now listen,” she said finally, shutting the guest book with a snap. “I’ll be honest, there’s not much to do around here. There’s a bus runs to the state forest during the day, and the beach isn’t going anywhere. If you’re hungry that’s too bad for the most part, unless you feel like walking down to Morton’s.”

“Is that the weird looking building? One way windows?”

“That’s the one. Midnight Morton’s, never closes. This late at night you’ve got Lin at the counter, nice girl.” 

I don’t know what I would have called Lin, but it probably wasn’t ‘nice girl’.

“Thanks,” I said, glancing around for the hallway that led to my room.

I bid Miss Kimmy goodnight and lugged my things to Room 7, at the very end of the dark hall. Inside was simple, but stunningly clean, which I had in no way expected. The bed had a sunken spot in the middle, and there were a lot of paintings of tropical fish on the walls. Home sweet home. I changed into pajamas, and took a huge swig of chocolate milk before glancing at my duffel, still full of equipment. 

It could wait. I was exhausted, sweaty, and more alone than I had ever been in my entire life. 

3. Welcome to my grocery store how may I assist you.

L I N

“I want to drop out of high school,” said Roach. 

We were sprawled out on separate tartan sofas, both angled towards the ancient television. It was after midnight, and the only light in the room was coming from the nature channel.

“No you don’t,” I said. “You’re not even in high school.”

Roach was a weird little girl. Eleven years old, she wore oversized thrift store t-shirts, and big chunky glasses, and cut her own hair. I loved her the most in this world.

“Yeah, but when I get there, I want to drop out. You did.”

I sighed. 

“You’re smarter than me. You have to finish school and work in a laboratory anywhere but here. Those are the rules.” 

Roach crossed and uncrossed her skinny legs without arguing. I knew she just wanted to hear me say she was smart. 

We continued to watch the nature channel in silence. A documentary on the arctic ocean was playing, which I found devastatingly boring, but Roach was clearly glued to. I could hear dad snoring upstairs, a pleasant sort of nightly white noise, and tuned out completely until Roach clapped an inch from my face. 

“Jeez,” I started, pushing her hands away.

“You were way out there. It’s freaky.”

I had been practicing my zone out since I was Roach’s age. On my best day, I could have an entire conversation without hearing one word the other person said. Call it a life skill.

“You’re doing it again!” said Roach. “Don’t you have work soon?” 

That snapped me out of it. I looked at my watch. 

“Oh, yeah. Thank you.” 

I rolled off the couch as Roach sat back down with a huff. The arctic documentary was ending, and she picked up the changer to scroll through a long list of similar recordings. Roach loved animals, all of them, even fish that ate your insides, and grubs, and parasitic worms. Especially parasitic worms. 

“Don’t stay up too late okay?” I said, tugging gently on her massive ponytail. Roach got dad’s curly, reddish brown hair. I got mom’s.

“Mmhm.”

I glanced in the hall mirror to see if there was any food on my shirt. Then I stepped into the mosquito ridden, muggy Florida night, and headed to my shift.

***

You might be thinking: where does a seventeen year old high school dropout work after midnight? And the thrilling answer is: the grocery store, sort of.

You might be thinking: what? 

But that’s Morton’s. 

The sliding doors opened smoothly for me upon arrival, which was always a good omen. I straightened the newsstand and went to look for Barry.

My manager, a small, Dominican man who loved to party, was in the produce section with a woman I assumed was his latest girlfriend. He was chucking the moldiest vegetables into an open trashcan.

“Our fresh produce is a travesty,” I said. “When was the last time someone bought an eggplant here?”

“I’m thinking of moving the veg,” said Barry, “they don’t like the energy in this corner.”

Barry was constantly moving things around the small labyrinth that was Morton’s. At least once a month he would take an hour long stroll from shelf to shelf, while I wrote down what was going where. I made a new map of the store for every big move.

“What are you guys up to tonight?” I asked, as Barry followed me to the register, bag of moldy vegetables in hand.

“Dancing,” said his date, with an endearing round of jazz hands, as Barry broke into a stationary samba while he gave me a list of stuff to work on. He treated me to his own enthusiastic jazz hands, and a few notes of a Juan Luis Guerra song as he samba’d in the direction of the door. As it swung shut behind them, I let the intense silence of Morton's wash over me. The fluorescent lights hummed gently. The food sat well behaved in slightly crooked rows. I turned my brain down to its lowest setting, and consulted my list.

...

[haberdashing]

The Archivists

Elsewhere University’s Archivist meets The Magnus Archives’ Archivist.

on AO3

The Archivist was inside their office, the door cracked open, when they heard nearby footsteps and rushed outside to take a closer look.

The man prowling the Library’s stacks was not from here, that much was evident from his wide eyes and the confusion crested upon his brow. If the Archivist had to choose one word to describe the man, it would be dark. Dark hair, dark clothes, dark eyes with dark bags underneath them, dark skin covered in dark scars. So unlike the Archivist, whose form (such as it was) was translucent to the eye, light and color refusing to cling to them any more than was needed to provide a bare outline of themself.

The Archivist didn’t concern themself with the man at first, though they did watch his meandering out of idle curiosity. That sort of thing was better left to the Pages, after all. One of their number would find him in time, they were sure of it.

But before that could happen, before the man was no longer visible in the library stacks that stretched and stretched and stretched, the Archivist heard a high, cheery voice call out “Archivist!”

The Archivist, naturally, turned their head to follow the sound, in order to spy who was calling them, who wanted their attention and perhaps their assistance.

They were a little surprised to find that the strange man wandering the Library turned his head to do the same, their movements nearly synchronized as the both of them looked over at the new visitor.

The Archivist recognized the speaker before long as she approached. It wasn’t the first time Timber had come to the Archivist, likely with another trinket to trade away--and sure enough, as Timber grew closer, the Archivist could see that her hands were cupped, that she must be hiding something within them. The Archivist wasn’t sure where she got all of her little charms--some seemed handmade, but others were more likely the product of other trades with beings likely to be less benign than themself.

Not their business, though. They were there to be a resource, to trade and give to those in need and to tell stories of those who came before,  not to lecture those who either already knew or already should know the danger they were putting themselves in.

As Timber met the Archivist, she opened her cupped hands to reveal what looked to be a paper flower, well-made but otherwise unexceptional.

Of course, the Archivist knew well enough that looks can be deceiving.

“I come bearing a charm to trade you, Archivist!” Timber said.

The Archivist merely raised an eyebrow; that much seemed evident enough already, but some people do insist upon following their internal scripts just the same, and this wasn’t the first time that Timber had proven to be one of that ilk.

“It may appear to be a rose made of ordinary notebook paper, but its form is firm and unyielding as stone.” Timber demonstrated by poking and prodding the flower repeatedly in a way that would crinkle or rip ordinary paper, but left the paper flower unharmed. “And if you smell it-” Timber took a deep, theatrical breath in through her nose, then held the flower up so that the Archivist could do the same. “-it always smells of a filled cranberry bog just before harvest.”

The Archivist nodded, a thin smile appearing on their face. “A fascinating charm, though I fear whoever made it may earn the ire of the Courts for so commingling their blessings. I know just what to trade for this, one moment...”

A quick pop into and back out of their office, and the paper flower was safely stored away, with the Archivist holding out a thick red pen in exchange.

“For paper, a pen. The indigo ink of this pen flows of its own accord, and it will only ever write exactly what its current owner needs it to.” Timber eagerly extended their hands, and as the Archivist handed over the pen, they added, “Do note that need and want are often very different things indeed.”

“Of course, of course.” Timber said, though her tone wasn’t a terribly solemn one, and the Archivist was less than convinced that she had actually taken their warning to heart. “I do appreciate the trade, Archivist.”

“As do I.” The Archivist responded, adding a slight nod of the head as Timber bounced back towards the building’s entrance.

Truth be told, the Archivist had almost entirely forgotten about the strange visitor to the Library during the course of their exchange with Timber, and they were thus more than a bit startled when the man, who had apparently been standing in place watching them the entire time, asked, “What is this place?”

There was a certain urgency to his question, one that could be found not in its volume nor its tone but in something else entirely, something that made the Archivist’s speech rise up before they could think their words through.

“The Library of Elsewhere University, though further in than most students will ever wander.” And they recognized what had happened, knew the stranger’s trick for what it was at least broadly, so they added, a bit curtly, “And for what it’s worth, my tongue will flow freely enough without your assistance in the matter.”

“I’m sorry.” The man said. To his credit, he looked like he meant it, looked like he truly did regret invoking whatever magic that had been, the picture of contriteness. He also looked scared, though, scared of the Archivist of all things, like their meager semblance of a body was going to lash out at him any second, like a half-being like them could strike real physical harm.

“Apology accepted, no debt owed. And do be careful about handing out apologies so easily; some on these grounds would not dismiss a potential debt so easily.”

“...sure. Thank you.”

“I’d avoid thanking people as well if I were you. ‘Please’ is also a dicey one, for the record. But I suppose you’re not accustomed to the Rules, now, are you?”

“I don’t even know which rules you’re referring to... I’m not from around here.” The man let out a bitter laugh as he added, “Really not from around here, from what I can tell.”

“I gathered that much already; the Library does have a way of picking up strays from time to time.”

“Strays.” The man laughed again, shaking his head as he did so. “Interesting term for it.”

The Archivist shrugged noncommittally.

“So you’re an archivist, then?”

That strange, unnatural urgency from before wasn’t present this time around, and the Archivist hesitated before they answered, weighing their options carefully. They knew well enough that their title was growing perilously close to a Name as their time in the Library dragged on, but... but the man had already heard Timber refer to them as such, could put the pieces together easily enough even if they tried to skirt the question, and even if their title was nearly a Name at this point, it was unlikely that he would know how to do harm with it.

“I’m the Archivist, yes. That’s been my role here for some time now.”

“The Archivist?” The man shot the Archivist a weak smile. “Funny, people call me that too. And not-people, sometimes. It gets annoying, really, I do have a name-”

“Best keep that to yourself, then.”

“What?”

“Names are valuable property, here. Better not give them out to any who ask.”

The man nodded, starting to speak with a “tha-” before stopping himself and taking a breath before restarting. “Alright. I’ll keep that in mind.”

The Archivist looked at the man again. He’d said he, too, was called the Archivist? Well, they had received a few inquiries clearly intended for another with that title, heard a few stories not about them but about another who shares their role... and as they gazed upon this man, upon the scars that criss-crossed his skin, upon his eyes that shone with an unnatural gleam, the Archivist began to put together some of the pieces.

“Other Archivist.” The man met their gaze, then, and oh, there was fire in his eyes, a sign of something burning deep within. “I may have heard your story before. Or pieces of it, at any rate.”

“Oh?” The man raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

“You are the Archivist from across the multiverse and across the pond, the one who watches and is watched in turn, the one who Knows too much and yet too little. Is that right?”

The other Archivist let out a laugh as dark as the rest of him. “That does seem to sum things up pretty well. Though... do you always speak like you’re telling a riddle?”

His eyes lit up, and some of that unnatural urgency was back, but it went away with a glare and a curt “Often, yes.”

“I didn’t mean to, I’m s-”

The Archivist cut him off before he could make another unnecessary apology. “Words are valuable here, too. Loose lips sink ships, or so they say. One should be either very specific or very vague in speech, lest the wrong thing slip out, and many here, yours truly included, find the latter to be easier and safer than the former.”

“I... I think I understand. Sort of. Isn’t this-” He paused. “This place has a strange sense of logic, I suppose.”

The Archivist shot the man a tight smile. “Between your appearance in the Library and what I already knew of your story, I suspect that you might well be able to say the same about the place you call home.”

“You’re not wrong.” His laugh sounded a little less bitter this time, a little more genuine, but there was a hunger behind his eyes. “You already know the big picture of who I am, it seems. I- I would appreciate it if I could learn the same about you.”

The Archivist’s smile widened. He was learning.

“I was human, once, long ago, lifetimes ago. I was a sailor, back them, and I drowned upon the Unsea.”

The other Archivist silently mouthed the term “Unsea” shortly after the Archivist used the term. Not a familiar one, then? Not a huge surprise; the world of the other Archivist sounded like an unfamiliar one indeed, and it was only fitting that their world would be equally unfamiliar to him.

“Fog rolled in on the Sargasso Sea, and none of us knew what it presaged. Drowning on the Unsea was like drowning on a true sea, but also like nothing you can know. It was like nothing. I washed up on the Unsea’s shores, and I was preserved, such as I am now. But much was lost along the way. Much of myself was lost. I freed myself, I sought shelter within the Library, I became the Archivist of this place.” The Archivist paused for a moment before adding, “Such is my story, or at least the grand outline of it.”

A minute or two passed where the only sound to be heard was that of the man’s breathing, neither especially shallow nor especially heavy for a human, or one claiming to be so.

“You were human, you were drawn into something much bigger than you knew, and becoming Archivist was both a gain and a loss, a role to be played in a strange new world...” The man shot the Archivist a wry smile. “I think the two of us have more in common than merely our titles.”

The Archivist tilted their head to one side and pondered this for a long moment. “Perhaps.”

“Much as I appreciate meeting you, though, I really should be getting back. There are people that need me back home.” Another bitter laugh. “Or that need an Archivist, at least.”

“Go back the way you came, then. The Library is vast indeed, but searching enough will lead back to where you started. If you need more detailed instruction than that, I can try to hunt down a Page for you.”

“No, no, that should do just fine, th- I appreciate it.”

As the man turned to head back into the depths of the Library, he waved and called out behind him, “Goodbye, Archivist.”

The Archivist nodded, a smile on their face, as they echoed, “Goodbye, Archivist.”