#twitchy!toast

[pit-2-podium]

Q1

Yuki's DRS not working is not comforting (it got fixed like 10 mins later)

Hulkenburg doing a weird probably illegal start out of the pit lane

Albon trying to get out of Perez' way and hence going off the track? getting us a fun 'wtf is he doing from' perez

Logan Sargent spins out on turn 9

Lewis got knocked out first round of quali??

Daniel Ricciardo in 9th out preforming Yuki

Perez almost getting knocked in round one

Q2

Carlos spun the fuck out into the gravel and hit the barrier (had a very impressive save)

Sainz is back in the race after the a red flag and getting his front wing replaced (wild, slay ferrari)

Announcers reminding us that Ollie Bearman is still number 12 in F1 standings and doing better there than he is in F2

Hulkenburg & Bottas in Q3

Camera's keep zooming on this poor carlos fan who was crying like multiple times

Q3

Sauber pitstop slander (deserved)

Hannah Shultz showed (icon)

Alonso beating out a redbull

Oscar almost pulls a Carlos but catches himself, may have floor damage tho

Literally every driver got a provisional 2nd pole with massive time jumps and Max went extra fast just for the giggles of it?

redbull celebrating anniversary off their first win and 100 pole positions

[cordeliawhohung]

In Limbo [Chapter 15]

mafia!141 masterlist | In Limbo masterlist | general masterlist | taglist | playlist mafia!Simon Riley x fem!Reader

strings attached

cw: hurt, a little bit of comfort, lots of dialogue

wc: 3.7k

Breakfast is ready.

Simon’s message stares at you through your phone screen, and you can do nothing but stare back. Blank eyes, slow blinks. You could smell its arrival before it even buzzed. Sausage links, almost burnt toast, pancakes — or, maybe that’s waffles you smell? He’s been cooking for a while. Slaving over the stove with quiet strings of curses as various utensils clatter onto the floor. It’s similar to the events of last night, when you’re pretty sure you heard him burn himself on the stovetop. The kitchen sink didn’t run for too long before he texted you dinner was ready, but despite all his effort, you couldn’t bring yourself to eat. 

The screen turns black and you drop your phone onto the mattress. Pristine white paint coats the ceiling above you as you stare, eyes bleary with less than restful sleep. You attempt to recall the events of yesterday in a way that doesn’t upset your stomach too mercilessly, but it’s an impossible task. Uncovered secrets, acrimonious betrayal; Simon’s eyes. While he was assisting you in setting up his room for you to rest in, every time he looked at you all you saw was pain. As if, for once, he was the one hiding the wounds. Every time he looked at you, it was like rubbing salt in the gash. 

He hasn’t slept. You’re certain of it. All night long you could hear the droning of the television from the other side of the door where he rested in the living room. Every half hour he would rise and march off through the front door. When he returned, the strong scent of tobacco would waft into the room through some unseen cracks. Seeping through the space beneath the door as if it was a love note and not ash. After a handful of times, he stopped leaving. Instead, he stayed bound to the living room where you could hear the tiniest metal tinkering and quiet muttering. Fingers too twitchy to stay still. 

Guilt absumes you. Patiently and gradually. You think of Simon having to shove himself on some couch in his own home — how you had once fought against the idea only a few days ago — and your self hatred grows. It swells in your chest, expanding to the point where you’ll burst. It forces you to bury your face into the pillows beneath your head, but hiding from a man in his own bed only unravels you further. 

Every scrap of cloth that makes up this bed smells like him. Like Simon. Earthy and warm — if you would have known the very scent that comforted you in Manchester would only rip you apart once you returned to London, you don’t think you would have ever allowed yourself to become so attached. But it’s too late. You are swathed in it. It permeates the clothes you wear and the hair on your head, and you can’t escape it. You’ve never been good at running from the things you fear, let alone the things you love. 

Heavy footsteps drown out your sniffling as they approach the door. It’s sudden. Sneaky. Heart stopping, you hold your breath as you await something. You think Simon will burst through the door. Shake some sense into you. Spit out that you’ve had enough time to think through your feelings. Instead, there’s nothing but the gentle knock of china against the wood floor just beyond the door, followed by fading thumps. 

Your phone buzzes again. 

Food is at the door for when you’re ready, sweetheart.

Simon sets his phone on the coffee table and then stares at his food. He tells himself it’s nothing special, but it is. More effort was put into this meal than ones he normally makes for himself, and his heart aches as he stares at it. He wants to hear your fork scrape against the plate and your teeth grind the food. He wants to hear every time you swallow a sip of water; wants to feel your weight next to him. Instead, all he gets is the quiet sound of running water spewing through the showerhead in the master bathroom. 

Once it’s evident that you — once again — will not be joining him for the meal, he eats. Each bite is hesitant. Simon isn’t exactly a cook, but he knows he’s not terrible and nothing tastes how it’s supposed to. It’s not as vibrant or as welcoming. Some pale imitation of what food is supposed to be. Each bite slithers down his throat as he contemplates his options; the things he needs to do to keep you safe. His mind is frozen on the images of you from last night. Curling away from his touch with wide eyes — that betrayal scrawled over your face. 

Despite the churning in his stomach, Simon finishes every bite of breakfast. Heavy weights pull at his shoulders as he cleans up the mess he made in the kitchen. His ears stay perked for the sound of creaking wood. He yearns for it. The sound of you exiting the bedroom. The quiet rumble of your voice as you say his name. He gets nothing but silence, and that terrible void persists even as he goes to check the plate of food he left for you. Everything is just as he left it. Not a single crumb out of place. It goes into the trash. When you eat, he’ll make you something fresh; he wouldn’t make you scarf down something cold. 

Things are still quiet by the time lunch rolls around. Simon’s thumbs tap away at his phone as he texts you another pathetic message over another ready meal. When he hits send, he scrolls back through his previous messages. How he informed you that breakfast was ready this morning and dinner the night before. How you ignored both of them. How it’s been nearly twenty four hours since you last ate. He’s been counting the hours. The minutes. The seconds. 

When ten minutes pass and you’re still locked away in the confines of his bedroom, Simon rises to his feet. Plate in hand, he approaches the door with attentive ears. For a moment he stands and listens for any sign of life: a sniffle, a shuffle, anything. Some proof that you’re there.

There is nothing. 

“Sweetheart?” He knocks on the door with a single knuckle and it still feels too loud. Too harsh. Like the sound alone will shatter you. “Baby?” 

He waits with bated breath for anything from you. Eyes wandering to the sandwich in his hands, he sighs before knocking on the door once more. 

“Chip… you don’t have to talk to me, but I’m not gonna let you starve yourself. You gotta eat something.” 

Silence stretches so long that his hand nearly shoots to the knob, fearing the worst. That you’ve vanished. That you’re gone; or worse. Before his fingertips even graze against the metal, the door opens with a small gust of wind from the force. The faint scent of your body soap washes over him and for a moment, all the frayed nerves sizzling in his body settle. He holds out the plate for you to take, and you stare up at him and his bobbing throat for a moment before you relieve him of the object. 

“Let’s eat.” Your voice is hoarse. Rough like the chords in your throat are too tight, but he doesn’t mention it. Surprised that you don’t just take the plate and run back into hiding, he nods, stepping to the side to lead you into the living room. 

Neither of you speak while you sit together, though Simon tries. His weight shifts on the couch as he pushes a glass of water your way, muttering something about you being dehydrated. He’s not wrong. Your tongue feels like sandpaper against the roof of your mouth and you can feel the way your skin shrinks around your body, pulling everything taut to the point of snapping. So you sip. Enough to wet your tongue and get your throat to stop sticking to itself. Enough that Simon’s shoulders slouch, no longer plagued by tension. 

Each bite is agonizing. Bland and tasteless — though you know it’s not because of Simon. Your sandwich is well prepared with meats, cheeses, and the works. It’s difficult to enjoy them when a raging nervosity ravages your stomach. Angers the bile until it’s jumping up your throat. You’re only able to eat half of it before your body begins to protest. Contracting muscles, breath hitching in your throat; you feel as if you’re going to be sick. 

“I have work tonight,” you blurt out. Might as well let the words spew from your mouth before the vomit growling in your stomach does. “Here in a few hours, actually.” 

Simon swallows the last bite of his sandwich before dusting his hands clean. “You should call out. Would be better if you weren’t workin’ for now.” 

You scoff. The words that leave his mouth sound utterly insane. You attempt to recall the last time you called out of work willingly. A time that wasn’t Bruce fathering you and forcing you to go home for your own wellbeing. There are bills to pay — debts you owe — and the thought of skipping out on work makes your stomach sink. 

“I can’t just stop working,” you retort. You speak to him like he’s a stranger. As if he’s overstepping further than he should. “I don’t exactly have an exorbitant amount of cash in my savings. I’ve still got rent and-” 

“I’ll take care of that,” Simon interjects. “Anythin’ you need. Money, clothes, food. I’ll take care of it.” 

If the previous words Simon spoke were insane, then this is barbaric. Hands gripping your plate, you look at him with narrowed eyes. “I can’t let you do that.” 

“It’s safer this way,” he attempts to assure. 

“So I’m just supposed to stay here? Under lock and key and pretend the outside world doesn’t exist? That’s not realistic and you know it.” 

“Andrei had pictures of you.” 

Everything goes quiet. So much so you swear you can hear your heart rattling in your chest. It echoes up your spine, along your neck, and reverberates in your skull like a wailing drum in the distance. You think of what he means by that: pictures of you. Then your mind wanders. Someplace dark and macabre. It wanders far enough that — for a fleeting moment — you swear you smell mint. Once more your throat goes dry and your fingers itch for the glass of water in front of you, but you aren’t brave enough to reach for it. 

“What do you mean?” you choke out. 

“That night in the alley? Andrei met up with someone who works at the club,” Simon explains, voice careful and even. “Some poor kid just tryin’ to make his way through uni. Someone Andrei probably cornered tryin’ to go into his shift. I talked to ‘im wantin’ to figure out what he wanted with you. Kid said Andrei was askin’ questions ‘bout why you were at the club, things of that sort. Even had pictures of you so the kid would know who he was talkin’ about.” 

“Pictures?” you repeat. 

Simon nods. “Didn’t see ‘em myself, but the kid said the pictures were taken through a window of what looked like a restaurant. Means they probably follow you ‘round more often than you think. Don’t feel comfortable with you bein’ there if they’re lurking. Harder to protect you that way. Best if you stayed well away from the club, too. Bastard’s have eyes everywhere.” 

He sounds so… nonchalant. Like these words have been rehearsed and thought again and again until every detail is ironed and neat. Twitchy fingers rise to his chin as he scratches at the stubble growing there, eyes finally finding you. The alarum raging in your stomach rolls off of your body in visible swirls. He sees the way it churns in your eyes; the gravity of the situation crashing down upon you. Its weight crushes you, and you choke on your own spit in an attempt to wet your tongue. 

“Okay. Fine, so I stay here then,” you give in. Your attempt at sounding strong and sure of yourself fails the moment your breath shakes. “But I’ve still got my apartment to worry about. All those bills, paying Marco back…” 

“I’ll take care of it,” Simon reiterates. “All of it. Any damages left at your apartment, the debt Marco forced on you, all of it.” 

You scoff, but your bottom lip is trembling. “I know better than to get tangled up in shit like that. There’s not a single bit of coin in the world that doesn’t come without strings attached.”

“You wouldn’t owe me anything. I don’t work like that.” 

“Yeah, but Marco does. Look, I get it. I know Row asked you to look after me, and I’m sure John’s little mafia, or whatever, has more resources than I can fucking imagine but… I don’t think you understand. You keep saying that you’ll get me out of this mess or that we’ll work through it together but I know better than that. I don’t just get to go on living knowing the things that I do, Simon. There’s not a chance in hell that he’d let me go that easily.” 

“I got Tommy out of his mess with Marco, I’ll get you out of yours.” 

There’s a brief moment where Simon’s words refuse to properly string themselves together in your mind. Tommy. Mess. Out. Marco. Disconnected and disjointed. Raddled, you shake your head like you can’t understand a single word that left his mouth. 

“He went after your brother?” you ask in disbelief. 

For the first time since you met him, Simon looks away from you. Leaning back, weight settling into the couch, he stares at the television with empty eyes as if the images flashing before him are not the ones he’s truly witnessing. Your fingers interlace with one another, as if you don’t know what to do with your hands if you cannot hold or be held. 

“I used to box back home in Manchester. Illegally,” he begins. “Underground sorta shit where people would place bets. Every time I won, I got a cut of the pot which I’d give to my mum. Tommy was into drugs at the time. He would beg her for money and she’d give it to him because she loves him. She didn’t wanna see ‘im out on the street, but I didn’t wanna see her wastin’ away, so I did what I could. 

“Price approached me one night after a match. Said he liked my skills. Wanted to hire me, and I knew exactly what he was talkin’ about. Didn’t want any part of whatever the hell he was doin’ so I told ‘im to fuck off. Bastard gave me his card anyway. Dunno why I held onto it. Came in handy though ‘cause Tommy ended up getting into the shit with Marco’s boys. Was workin’ as a butcher at the time and he came stormin’ into the shop beggin’ for money like some goddamn vagabond. Turns out he was actively on the run from Marco’s men, and they followed him to the shop. Pulled a knife out, ready to gut him.”

Simon stares at his hands. Wide palms roughened from old work and new work. Still stained with viscera and blood like a noisome odor that he can’t wash away. 

“What… happened?” you question cautiously. Pulling your legs up onto the couch, you turn to fully face him. He’s never spoken to you like this before. As if he’s in the past. Telling you some story. Sharing the parts of him that haven’t seen the light of day in eons. 

“I fought. Hard as I could. Tommy might be older, but I’ve always been bigger. Too strong for my own good. It all happened so fast, things like that always do, but I ended up killing one of them. He was gonna pull a gun on us and I… I don’t regret it. I’d do whatever it took to save him. Cops came, determined everything was done in self defense, let us off the hook, but Tommy wasn’t safe. I knew he wasn’t. They’d just keep comin’ and comin’ so I called Price. Took his offer. Hardly started workin’ for him and he gave me the money Tommy owed like it was nothing. Seventy five thousand quid like it was fuckin’ pocket change.” 

Eyes widening, something flickers inside of you. A sputtering sanguinity that sparks and wavers, trying so hard to tear tinder from your bones and ignite into a blaze. It buzzes and vibrates until you can hardly sit still.

“And they let him go? Once everything was paid they just…?” You try to choke the question out, but the idea of freedom is so foreign to you that it refuses to dance on your tongue. 

Simon’s lips press together as he shakes his head. “Course not. They always want more. But I did it. Settled his debt, and got Makarov’s men to fuck off outta Manchester. Been over six years and they haven’t so much as looked his way.” 

Nodding, you swallow. “What… What more did they make you do? To fully forgive the debt?” 

A commercial blares over the television. Advertisements always seem twice as loud than the program they play between, and you nearly flinch at the upbeat music and overly joyous narrator. Simon doesn’t. Steady as a rock, he continues to stare at his hands. Stiff fingers clench and unclench, joints aching with abuse. 

“Nothin’ good,” he answers truthfully. “Doesn’t matter. I’d do it again. I’d do all of it again. No one messes with my family. No one messes with—” my girl “—you and gets away with it.” 

For a moment, you believe him. That you can get out of this mess. You think of how he fought Andrei and won. How those hands broke a man’s nose and then turned to gently lead you to safety. You think about how those hands held you in Manchester close to a warm chest, how those scarred lips pressed against the crown of your head, and you think — for the first time in a long time — that you might be okay. That you can finally exist without strings attached. 

“Thank you.” 

Those words finally pull Simon’s attention away from his hands. He looks at you tenderly as you curl into the couch; some feral stray finally settling into the warmth he brings. 

“I’ve got work tonight. I’ll talk to Price, assumin’ he’s back from his trip. See ‘bout getting gettin’ the money and we can take it from there,” he says with a curt nod. 

“What?” you breathe. “No. No, no you can’t tell John about this. Or Row. Anyone. Please, promise me you’ll keep this between us.” 

Brows furrowing together, Simon shifts on the couch. “They’re not gonna hold this against you, sweetheart.”

“I got Row’s dad killed,” you retort, voice fracturing. The words shatter in your throat. Bleed all over your tongue. The taste makes you sick. “She can’t… I couldn’t face her if she ever found out. If she ever put two and two together knowing about Marco’s involvement. If you tell them I’m in the shit with Makarov- fuck, she’s too smart. Simon, it’d fucking kill me. I couldn’t… I couldn’t ever face her with the truth.” 

“You said it yourself. You were just a kid,” he attempts to rationalize. 

“It doesn’t matter.” Your words are sharp. Honed enough to slice the molecules in the air. Surprised the very air itself hasn’t ignited, you stare at him with wide eyes as you try to suck in the breath to continue. “It doesn’t matter. All of this, it stays between us. Please. Tell me you’ll keep this secret.” 

All rationality leaves Simon the moment your voice begins to warble. Eyes glistening with fat tears lurking in the corners of your eyes, his fingers twitch. His thumbs crave the moisture. To wipe at them until they’re nothing but a memory. Then he remembers yesterday — how you flinched at his touch — and he keeps his hands to himself. 

“Okay. Just you and me, then,” he confirms. “It’ll take me some time to get the money then, but we’ll sort this out, yeah?” 

It feels like forever since he’s last seen a smile flicker along your lips. It’s puny. Hardly noticeable, but it’s there. 

“Thank you,” you choke out. 

“Anythin’ for you, sweetheart.” 

Simon rises after that. Towers to his feet where he bends to grab the dirty plates sitting before you on the coffee table. He makes no comment about your half finished sandwich, but he does motion toward the unfinished glass of water. 

“Should drink up. Last thing you need is to be dehydrated,” he fusses. 

His footsteps grow quiet as he leaves the living room and you are left alone with nothing but the company of the television still droning in front of you. Water gushes through the faucet in the sink, and you hear the gentle clinking of china as he washes up. The domesticity of it all isn’t lost on you, and for once it isn’t agonizing to experience. You can sit there on that couch and reach for the glass before you and not feel the hot breath of obligation down the back of your neck. All Simon has ever done is give and give, and never once has he taken a single thing. 

When you raise the glass to your lips, you realize things feel lighter. Not enough to keep from crushing you — not enough to cleanse you — but enough for you to notice. It’s contradicting. Subtle, yet glaring. For the first time since you got in this mess, you realize you finally have another shoulder to bear this burden. Hands to dust you off when you fall to the ground; to pull the glass from your palms and bandage them. A heart to listen to when yours refuses to quell. 

Finally, you are not alone, and what a terrifying thought that is.

[red1culous]

Comme Ci Comme Ça. 

Steve sits in the bustling cafeteria tapping his fingers on the brim of his coffee cup. He felt tense, twitchy, like he just wanted to get out of there as fast as he could. His restlessness had nothing to do with the 3 cups of coffee he had inhaled. 

“She does have childbearing hips” you whisper nudging him with your elbow. 

“Y/N!” He groans aloud before shushing you for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning. “She’s gonna hear you!” he shout whispers hiding his face in his hands. You see the tips of his ears turn crimson red and you chuckle inwardly. 

“Isn’t that the point? I mean if we left it to you nothing would happen” you say as you take a sip of coffee from your mug. He groans one more time sinking into his seat attempting to make himself as small as possible. “Or I could just go over there…” you say while making to get up before he grabs your elbow and pulls you harshly back down into your chair. He wraps his arm around yours to ensure you don’t go anywhere. 

“Don’t you dare!” he says through gritted teeth. You laugh at how red his face his. 

Just then Natasha walks by and stops in front of your table. She quirks an eyebrow seeing Steve almost wrapping himself around you. Slowly she puts her tray of food on the table and slides into the seat opposite you. You smile at her and she returns it warmly before focusing her attention on her breakfast.

After a moment or two she clears her throat. “Steven” she says and his posture goes straight as a rod. She pauses for emphasis before continuing. “Mind telling me why you’re holding my girlfriend” she points with her knife, “like that?” 

“I uh I—“ he stutters as he untangles his arm from yours in haste. Natasha continues to cooly spread butter on her toast as if she didn’t (most definitely) threaten to scalp him with it a few minutes ago. 

“Baby don’t be mean” you interject taking pity on Rogers who was still tripping over his words. You were worried he might bite his tongue off and lose the ability to speak. “I was helping matchmake ol’ Steven here with Stella over there.”

Natasha follows your gaze turning her head and neck to look behind her. “Stella?” she asks confused looking back at you. 

You hum. “Mmm the one with the blue pencil skirt.”

Natasha looks again this time twisting her entire body to face Stella. This time she’s met with Stella’s staring right back at her. Nat gives a small wave which Stella awkwardly returns. She swallows before facing you and Steve a knowing look on her face. 

“Oh Stella with the hips?” she asks taking another bite of her toast. Steve groans again and drops his head onto the table with a thud. 

“That’s the one” you chuckle and steal a large crumb that had fallen onto her plate. 

“She’s cute” Natasha says. 

You nudge Steve again. “Told you she was cute.”

Nat clears her throat and you give her a wistful look. 

“Nothing compared to you of course” you quickly add. She hums and you chuckle in amusement. You take her hand from across the table and lightly kiss her knuckles. 

A rousing chorus of laughter erupts from the table next to yours and your attention is pulled to a surprise birthday celebration. 

Natasha dabs her lips with her napkin. “Steven” she says, “are you expecting an alien attack or some dangerous criminal to come bearing down on you?”

He starts. “Huh? What?”

She shrugs. “Why are you so tense? It’s as though you’re waiting for something bad to happen.”

He rolls his shoulders and lets out a long sigh. “I’m fine, really.”

“Look,” you offer. “Let me go over there and tell her you like her and want her number.”

“NO!” he says a little too loudly catching Stella’s attention. She quickly averts her eyes when she catches his eyes on her. “She might not even be into me.”

Nat snorts. “I sincerely doubt that” she says as she gets up from her seat to approach Stella. 

The end.

----

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[yun-jin-noona]

When you wake up next to him (in the middle of the night)

.

It wasn't invited in, you promise.

But...it wasn't necessarily shooed away either.

Mark was a dick, he knew it, you knew it, everyone outside the relationship also knew it. He wasn't like that from the start, he was a nice man- romantic gestures and dates were aplenty, and he never asked for more than he gave.

Then he pulled a ring out.

It was a complete 180 after the engagement, it was like he was someone different- someone far, far worse.

Now it's happened again. But this time it's...strange.

Mark seems to have forgotten a whole lot. About you, about him, about us. He always denied it when his abuse was brought up, but now its like...he genuinely can't remember?

Not to mention his speech is so...weird, now. Stunted, as if he somehow had a stroke that nobody knew about.

But the change is fine, he doesn't hurt you anymore- doesn't hurl insults for the smallest things, doesn't stop you from going out, he's even letting you make new friends! Well, letting is a strong word, he actually isn't stopping you at all.

But today, he just seemed...off. He was twitchy, but also lethargic. His posture was worse and he seemed not to talk so much.

You thought he was just having an off day, but then you heard something outside- it sounded like an animal, crying out.

You're not sure why you felt compelled to investigate, maybe to save the creature if you could?

The sight that was presented was...not anything you'd imagined, not in your wildest dreams.

The raccoon was dead, yes. But hunched over it was...Oh my god, is that Mark?

But he's different, his body is contorted, it looks broken, and- oh hell, did tentacles just come out of his goddamn back?

He, it- whatever the fuck, turns to you as you begin to dry heave, its a miracle nothing came up, really.

"Sorry...sorry...you weren't.. supposed to...see...this." He says. Its not Marks voice anymore, but it also...sort of is?

You don't know what's going on, but when he begins to rise and step closer to you, everything goes black.

You wake up the next morning, still cuddled close to what has to be Mark, there's no way he's anything else. It's not as if there's actually something out there that snatches people's bodies and pretends to be them and-

"Good morning sleepyhead~"

Speak of the devil.

"How'd you sleep? I think you had a nightmare last night, do you want to talk about it, love?"

Bullshit. No way that was a dream. Your throat still hurts from trying to evacuate yoru stomach contents.

"I...I can't quite remember, sorry."

He frowns- more like pouts, comically, and kisses the top of your head, patting your side gently where his arm curls around you.

"C'mon, at least let me make you breakfast, I went to the butchers on the way home yesterday- what do you say to some sausage?"

"I think I'll pass, my stomach doesn't feel quite right- I'll just have some toast."

He looks genuinely concerned. "Oh? Do you want me to go pick up some medicine?"

"No- I'm sure it's nothing, just feel uneasy is all."

Mark pets your head with his other hand. "My poor sweetheart, take it easy then today, alright? If you need anything, call me, work isn't as important as you."

He seems genuine. He seems to care. You almost think he loves you again.

"Alright, thank you."

You swear you can hear a cracking as he gets up out of bed- it's probably just his spine, right?

[echo-goes-mmm]

Ambrose and Elliot #20

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: briefly mentioned past torture

Ambrose said snow would be falling soon, and Elliot was terrified. The weather was colder here than his old master’s land. The wood floors wouldn’t be so bad when winter came, but snow was snow and snow was deadly.

Once, his old master had thrown him outside as a punishment. He nearly died from the cold and ice, and had to beg until he passed out to be let back in. The doctor said it was a miracle of the gods he hadn’t lost any fingers or toes. 

Elliot had more clothes than he’d ever had in his life now, but would it be enough?

He had two blankets, woolen socks, gloves and mittens, a great big coat, everything. But the fluttering hollow of anxiety inside him wasn’t satisfied. 

He got up early, before dawn, to sneak wood into his room. Ambrose didn’t come in often, so he hopefully wouldn’t notice the pile of extra wood in the corner.

What else would he need? 

Elliot remembered the tiny closet his old master locked him in. It was the best place to be in that horrible house when snow fell. It warmed him up because it was so little and stuffy. Ambrose didn’t have a closet that was both big enough for him to sit in and small enough to trap heat.

Elliot stole a blanket from the linen closet and lined his wardrobe with it. If it got cold enough, he could hide from winter inside it.

He began to squirrel away food and water under his bed. It was bad of him, but he needed it. He couldn’t take another winter hungry and freezing. Elliot had gotten two glass jugs and filled them with water. He also wrapped up some smoked and salted pork Ambrose had stored away downstairs. He tucked several apples into a small sack, and stole a jar of pickled veggies and a tin of nuts from the storeroom. Master Ambrose had made dozens of jars and had been smoking and salting meat for ages. He wouldn’t notice anything wrong. 

___________________

Elliot thought he was being sneaky, but Ambrose knew something was off right away. It just took him a few days to figure it out. 

He was going to use those two jugs to make mead, but oh well. Elliot’s little stash was all shelf-stable, so he wasn’t going to discourage him. 

The wood wasn’t a problem either. In all honesty, Ambrose probably should do the same thing. It would save him a lot of trips outside.

Ambrose didn’t have to wonder for long why Elliot was so twitchy lately. He kept glancing out the window at the sky, poking around in the fireplaces, making hot drinks and steaming meals.

He didn’t want to think about why Elliot was so scared of the cold. Ambrose was certain it stemmed from something horrible. Elliot’s quirks were almost always some coping mechanism to avoid pain.

Ambrose didn’t know how cold it would get this year. But Elliot would be fine, even without his secret cache of food. He wasn’t going to try and talk him out of his fear, it didn’t work like that. Winter would always have some level of danger, so there was no use reasoning with him. Ambrose could only hope Elliot would relax when he realized he would be alright.

___________________

The snow fell down gently, in large flakes. It was pretty, but the bubbling anxiety in his chest kept him from watching for long. He got through his chores as quickly as possible and retreated to his bedroom.

He closed the curtains. He didn’t want to see the proof of winter looming outside. The room was warm and toasty and he was content to curl up and wait. If he had to spend all season in here, then so be it.

“Sweetheart,” called Master from behind the door, “I made some hot chocolate. I’m going to toast some marshmallows downstairs. You can join me if you want.”

Hm. That did sound pretty nice. He pulled a blanket over his shoulders and peeked out into the hall. It didn’t seem cold. 

He made his way downstairs, and there was a roaring fire in the dining room fireplace. Ambrose waved at him from a chair sat in front of the fire. He felt a little more settled, and he eyed the steaming mugs of hot chocolate and the tray of cheese and crackers. 

Ambrose was, in fact, toasting marshmallows. He ate one right off the stick, and Elliot found himself smiling as he went to sit next to him.

Ambrose handed him a prepared stick with a marshmallow on it. It was fun to toast them, and Ambrose showed him he could plop one into his mug and it would get all melt-y.

It was pretty hard to remember how scared he was when they were eating snacks and sipping on sweet drinks all afternoon. 

Maybe winter wouldn't be so bad this year.

taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain @secretwhumplair @paintedpigeon1 @whump-blog @whump-em @thingsthatgowhumpinthenight @starfields08000 @littlespacecastle @mylovelyme @whump-cravings @zeewbee @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @keepingwhumpwiththekardashians @fanastyfinder @roblingoblin285 @whumpzone

[nott-another-sideblog]

autistic! theo nott hcs because i want to

in first year he claimed a table at the library and sat at it so many times he couldnt sit anywhere else. one day he comes in to see some random sitting in 'his' seat and accidentally pops the poor lads inkpot out of rage. there was a hasty reparo from theo and a very quick exit after that

has broken so many quills from bending them between his fingers its unreal. he buys them in batches of ten or twenty and has broken all of them by terms end

hates getting his hair cut but also hates feeling his hair on the back of his neck. every month or so its a constant internal turmoil

really likes potions but hates touching the slimy ingredients so often ends up compromising with his partner with him doing the "boring stuff" like precise weighing or stirring to get out of touching the awful textures.

hates divination bcs there are no solid rules. the phrase "its up to interpretation" puts him into fight-or-flight mode

once stupefied someone as a reflex when they grabbed his shoulder. he was very deep into a good book and it scared the shit out of him. do not grab him ever

has learned how to use silencing charms that follow him so he doesnt have to hear the loud noises in the corridoors. this also makes it very hard to get his attention

uses sarcasm often but half of it is by accident. he just doesn't tell them its accidental

"hey, wanna go to x?"

"well. doesnt that sound exciting?"

"no need to get snarky, theo. i'm just saying it could be fun"

*was being completely serious* "fine, then. i suppose there's no harm in trying it"

brilliant poker face purely because he forgets to show emotion half the time in any way thats noticeable if you arent either used to it or looking for it

very twitchy. like, he cannot sit still. he can try. but it wont last long.

'quiet kid' until you ask him about time travel or something he's interested in. then you can't get him to shut up. i am a firm believer in theo nott who wanted to be an unspeakable but was put off by the confines of the ministry so decided to research mad shit by himself

loves the dungeons' low light level. no light means less headaches.

has the exact same breakfast every day: two toasts and a tea. except on holidays and his birthday, in which he has fruit pastries, or on sundays, where he has jam and toast

only found out he was autistic bcs a random kid he was working with asked him if he was 'on the spectrum' and he was so confused on what 'the spectrum' was that he fell down a research rabbithole and realised, oh

"sorry if this is overstepping, but are you on the spectrum?"

"the what"

"yknow, the autism spectrum"

"pardon my english, but what the fuck is an autism"

*two weeks of looking into it later*

*staring into a mirror* "ah"

hated the yule ball.absolutely despised it. went anyway because it was a once in a lifetime thing, but mainly hated it apart from the bit at the end where everyone left.

does that thing where if one side of him taps something, he. has to tap the other side to feel balanced again. if you do it you'll get what i mean, if you dont doit im sorry i cant explain it

loves pressure. sleeps with two blankets so he can feel properly buried

[descendantofthesparrow]

Pray it away(i swear, ill never be a saint, no way)- Jeff the Killer x reader - P1

The last of us! inspired fic-based off the infection in the last of us/using that infection cuz i can/its the only one i understand like-at all.

Warning; blood, zombies*, cursing, guns, violence, death.

(y/n) and Jeff are both 17 at the start of the infection. both 27 after the time skip, though i do try to not mention ages so you can place (y/n) at any age, Jeff is 27 tho.

=

May 13th, 2014. The day the world went to hell.

The day started off normal-you were getting ready for school, making a quick breakfast for you and your siblings as your dad nearly slept through his alarm. You heard your brother slam on his door twice, waking your old man up. “Alarm!” Colin yelled out, chuckling as your dad just let out a loud confused groan.

He quickly jogged down the stairs, stealing your glass of orange juice as he squeeze past you to take his egg burrito. “hey!” you yelped, reaching around and attempting to steal it back, huffing as he just gulped it down. “Jerk, I was drinking that.” He burped, setting the glass in the dishwasher and grabbing one of your chocolate milks, opening it and setting it beside you. “Thanks,” you muttered, he was an asshole-but hey at least he wasn’t a total butthead.

Colin just nodded, downing his burrito and shoving a rice crispy treat in his mouth. “Gotta get to work-see ya (y/n)! don’t drink my soda!” you waved him off and he was out the door, quickly heading to the bus stop that would take him to work.

“wakey wakey eggs and bakey!” you yelled out as your oldest brother, Justin, came slumping out of his room, sniffing as he took his plate of eggs and bacon from you. “No waffles?” he asked with a tired grin, and you shook your head, starting to make your batch of eggs. “no, dad used the last of it on Sunday, and we’re not going grocery shopping till Saturday.” Justin nodded with a hum, sitting down at the breakfast table and pouring syrup on his eggs.

You took your dad's egg sandwich out of the maker and set it aside, starting up his coffee as he came down the stairs, fixing his button-up. “Thanks sweetie,” he muttered, kissing the top of your head as he took his sandwich and finished making his coffee, nodding as you mentioned he would need more English muffins as you broke into the ones from the freezer. “okay, Justin eat up, im taking you to work-(y/n) drive safe, okay?”

You nodded, sliding your eggs onto a plate and buttering your toast, tossing the empty bag of bread into the trash-you had narrowly missed the expiration date so you were happy to have finished it off. “yeah, have a good day!” you called out, locking up as they left and rinsed off all the dishes, collecting your backpack and heading outside to your car-it was a 2001 Oldsmobile-the paint old and the ceiling crumbling; but it got you to school and around town-so you couldn’t complain.

“Hey (y/n)!” you turned, seeing Leon-your neighbor and friend-waving out to you as he started to head out to his school. “you wanna play some Mario kart after school? My place?” you nodded, giving him a thumbs up; laughing as he fist pumped. “wicked-see ya!” and with that-you were off.

-

School was normal, droning teachers, nosey teenagers, stupidly funny friends, lunch from home; the only thing that concerned you-when you looked back on it-was how your history teacher kept looking at his phone. Looking paler and paler each time he glanced at the screen.

You noticed Jessica was more twitchy than usual, and Kevin-the kid who never got sick-was coughing, a small rash crawling up his neck. He went camping a lot with this dad-so you thought maybe he got into a patch of poison ivy.

When you got out, you heard the roar of jets above you; seeing fighter jets soaring across the sky. You frowned, wondering if there was some sort of show going on, but your brother definitely would’ve tried to have gotten the day off if there was one. You licked your lips, feeling a pit in your gut-telling you something was wrong. You brushed it off, heading towards your car and back to your neighborhood, pulling your car into your driveway and heading over to Leons.

“Hey, Leon’s mom!” you called out as you entered the house-taking off your shoes and resting your bag in the cubby in the hall. She gave you a small smile and bow of her head, turning and going back to what she was doing. You walked into Leon’s room, smacking him harshly on the back as you came up behind him. “(y/n)!” he coughed out, smacking his chest to free his lungs of sudden water, “Dude I was drinking!”

You just laughed, sitting on his bed and grabbing the controller he had set out, leaning back as he turned on the Wii and sat on the floor in front of you. “Notice anything weird at school today?” you asked quietly after a few matches of Mario kart. Leon paused the race and looked up at you, his brows furrowed. “no…why?” he turned, resting his elbows on his knees.

You swallowed, looking down at the controller; fiddling with the buttons. “I dunno…just-I’ve got a bad feeling….it’s probably nothing” you chuckled, gesturing for Leon to resume the game. He slowly nodded and turned back to the tv, resuming the race. To which you won-again~.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, bye!” you yelled to Leon as you left the house, bidding his mother goodbye as well, closing the door behind you and heading back to your house. You looked up at the clock, seeing Justin and dad would be home soon-Colin wasn’t due for another hour or so. You got busy doing homework and some chores, taking a glance at your dads dinner calendar for the week to see what was for dinner that night.

“Lasagna, cool” you muttered, knowing it would take a while to make and everyone would be home and hungry by the time it was ready. You grabbed the box from the freezer and started up the oven, cleaning up your snack dishes and getting on Justin’s ps4 till he got home, messing around in your completed save file of infamous ss.

When 6 rolled around, you got worried-your dad was either home by now-or at had least called to tell you he was on his way home. And Colin hadn’t asked you to come pick him up yet, nor had he texted you he had gotten a ride. That pit in your gut got stronger, your leg started to bounce as you tried to distract yourself with the game.

7 came around. No calls. Something was wrong. The Lasagna had long been done-slowly growing cold in the oven that you had turned off nearly a half hour ago. You licked the inside of your lip, switching from the ps4 to the cable, drawing your legs up as you switched to the news channel.

‘no word from the police about a rise of violent incidents across the city, some speculate it could be a new street drug-more at 9 after we return from break.’

You jumped as your phone went off, and you quickly picked it up, swallowing as Colin’s voice came through the receiver. “(y/n)! are you home?!" you nodded, then realized he couldn’t see that and told him you were. “Good, go into my room-get my gun-“ you froze, what? get his gun?

“Colin what the fuck?” you nearly screeched, gasping as something exploded outside. “What the fuck!?” Colin called your name and told you to lock everything up and get his gun. “Stay inside! Somethings wrong, like-zombie wrong.”

Oh god you felt sick, what the hell was happening?! “(y/n)! make sure everything is locked and get my gun! Now! We’re locked down over here, dad and Justin haven't responded to me at all. Stay safe-don’t get bit.” you dropped your phone as he hung up, stumbling towards his room and grabbing his pistol from his bottom drawer, tears in your eyes as you quickly went around the house-locking all the windows and double-checking the doors.

“What the fuck what the fuck” you whispered repeatedly to yourself, terror piercing your core as jets flew overhead-shaking the house as you heard screams echo from outside. You jumped at the sound of something slamming against your front door, and then it started…whimpering?

You knew that whimper-Krusher! You carefully unlocked the front door, letting the year-old rottweiler-shepherd in, quickly looking around for anyone before closing and locking the door. “hey bud, are you okay?” you asked gently, getting to his level and letting him press into your side,  the young pup shaking and crying-though his protective instincts didn’t leave your back un-guarded. “what's going on buddy?” you asked quietly, flinching as your phone and the tv sounded with a loud alarm. You quickly went back into the den-swallowing harshly as you looked at the message on the tv.

‘nationwide emergency-do not leave your homes. Stay inside. Do not let anyone in. Law enforcement and emergency services are in the area-and will be in contact with further instructions. Repeat; nationwide emergency-‘

“Oh my god,” you whispered, feeling your hands shake as you carefully held Colin’s gun, you double checked to make sure the safety was on and picked up your phone, desperately calling your mom, dad, and brother-none of them answered. “oh-oh please, oh please oh please,” you sobbed, feeling tears trail down your cheeks as Krusher stayed close to you, the hairs on his back raised.

You nearly screamed as your phone rang, seeing it was Cindy-Krushers owner. You quickly picked it up, eyes on the mud-room door that led out to the driveway. “Cindy? What’s going on?” you cried out quietly, crouching down as something echoed from outside-sounding like a gunshot. “I dunno kid-are you home? Is Krusher with you? He jumped the fence and ran off.”

You told her he was, setting the gun down and rubbing his side, his eyes glued to the mud-room door, growling. “He’s-he’s on edge though” you whispered, slowly standing and grabbing the gun again, seeing Cindy walking up your driveway, only living two doors down. “What the hell is happening?”

“Doomsday kid, everything is going to shit-before the alert went off, news was going off about people starting riots, physical attacks with biting n’ all. Zombies it sounds like” you sobbed, getting up to meet Cindy as she stepped up to your front door, knocking on the mud-room door to let her know you were there.

She hung up and quickly jogged over, stepping inside and locking the door behind her, Krusher leaping up to practically hug her as she set her rifle down and rubbed his head. “any word from your dad?” she asked, quickly checking through the house and turning off all the lights, drawing curtains and raiding your dad's supply closet.

You shook your head. “no, nothing from him, or mom, or Justin. Colins the one who called me first-told me to get his gun and stay inside.” Cindy nodded, tossing your dads rain jacket at you, and pointing down the hall towards your room after she finished raiding the main hall closet. “go get dressed, pants, closed-toed shoes, good t-shirt, pack what you can in a good backpack, we have to get out of here.” you stood still for a long moment, flinching as she yelled at you. “go! (y/n)!”

You quickly did as told, Krusher following you into your room. you quickly texted your parents and your brothers that Cindy was packing you up and leaving with you, that you would be safe, and hoped they would be too.

Colin was the only one to text you back. “okay, leave a house key somewhere I’ll be able to find it-don’t pick the place empty. Stay safe, I love you (y/n).” you froze at the end of his message, he had never said that before….fuck this was serious. You quickly texted him back, telling him you loved him too, texting the same to your parents and Justin before shrugging your backpack onto your back and following Cindy outside, leaving the house key in the hanging plant in front of the kitchen window.

Pam, Cindy’s partner, was loading stuff into their truck and a large motor home connected to it, making eye contact with you for a moment and nodding, seeing Krusher at your heels. Cindy went to check on Pam and you slowly followed, eyes on your neighbor's house. They were an old couple, very sweet, and had practically been grandparents, you wondered if they were okay.

Krusher suddenly started growling, and you felt him push against your legs-moving you towards Cindy and Pam. “Krusher?” you asked quietly, turning the safety off on the gun and looking around-seeing nothing Krusher would be guarding you from. “what do you see?”

The hairs on your neck raised and you whirled around-eyes widening as you saw Leon, his eyes hollow and white veins crawling up his face, a bloody bite mark on his upper neck. “Leon?” you whispered, your hands shaking as he groaned and huffed, his head snapping around at the smallest sounds.

Then he saw you, and he started to hobble towards you, snarling growls erupting from his chest. Krusher started to bark, warning him to back off, pushing you back towards Cindy and Pam. “Leon, stop-don’t make me do this-please!” you cried out, lifting the gun and pointing it at your childhood friend, he just broke out in a sprint.

“I’m so sorry!” you sobbed, pulling the trigger and Leon dropped to the ground, his blood beginning to pool in your front yard. “im so sorry,” you whispered out, turning and running to the car as Cindy yelled out for you, ducking as a transformer exploded from the other side of the street. You ducked into the car, panting as you slammed it closed-Pam drove off as people began to flood the streets-all screaming, some covered in blood.

“What the hell happened?” you whispered, curling into your seat as Krusher curled up in your lap, his head on your shoulder as you held him tightly, tears burning your throat. What had happened to your dad? Justin? Mom? Why weren’t they answering their phones?

“Take the surface streets-freeways going to be blocked off by the time we get there, we need to get to somewhere less populated.” Cindy told Pam, turning back to look at you. “buckle up kid, this is going to be a long ride.” you nodded, curling up in your seat and taking off your backpack-stashing away Colin’s gun and holding Krusher close.

-10 years later-

You walked through the abandoned streets of some Georgia city, a rifle in your hands with a heavy pack on your back, Krusher’s son trotting by your side, panting as you made your way around abandoned cars, downed power lines, collapsed building walls, and long-dead infected. Your eyes were trained on the convenience store at the end of the street-its windows unbroken and lights flickering.

“Think there be anything good Cerbs?” you asked your loyal pup, who just huffed, glancing up at you while you spoke. He hadn’t reacted to anything just yet-so you guessed the surrounding area was clear…for now. You never stayed in one place for long anyways. “c’mon, let’s check it out.”

You jumped over a fallen gas station support beam and pulled at the door, nodding to yourself as both doors were locked. “that’s a good sign” you muttered, taking a walk around the back and pulling at the staff only door-that was locked as well. Maybe you would have some luck for once. You went back to the main doors and broke the glass with your rifle, turning on the flashlight clipped to the top and scanning the room as you stepped inside.  “Sniff it out” you whispered down to Cerberus, who immediately went to work, going all the way to the back room and not giving any signs of danger till he hit the door to the basement-which was covered in debris. “Don’t think I’ll be going down there, but thanks bud” you muttered as you scratched his ear, looking around the store.

It wasn’t fully stocked-and most of it had been picked out-but there were things of value left-like some beef jerky that was still within its expiration date. “Score~!” you sang, snagging the bag and taking your bag off to put it inside, leaving it on the floor as you explore the store, finding some dehydrated marshmallows (like the kind in lucky charms), mini cereal cups, a half pack of pads, pretzels, more jerky, and two bags of cookies. The last of which you tossed out since they were waaaaay outta date.

 “oh hell yeah” you muttered as you found a bag of dog treats, ripping it open and tossing one to Cerb, grinning as he happily snatched it out of the air. “good boy,” you got busy packing it away, grinning as you spotted a few rolls of toilet paper that had rolled under one of the racks. “fuck yes.” You snatched them up and packed them away, furrowing your brows as Cerb’s hackles raised and he started to growl at something behind you. You slowly grabbed your bowie knife from your belt, not daring to glance over your shoulder as you saw a shadow begin to stalk up behind you.

But it was too quiet to be an infected, not a clicker either-it was walking too smoothly, no groaning, their breathing almost non-existent. You quickly stood and spun around-screaming at what you saw-it was a dude; tall and pale with a long healed carved smile across his face, his eyes wide and maniac.

You punched him in the face.

He hit the floor, completely crumbling on himself, a small wheezing hiss escaping him before he went limp.

“Whaaaat the fuck,” you muttered, crouching down and pushing the dude's hood out of his face, seeing long raven hair that almost looked brown-his eyes nearly shut and bright blue. Your thumb scratched against his upper cheek, it was both deceptively smooth and rough like leather.

Looked to be around your age too, wearing a filthy white hoodie and a dark denim jacket over it. You slowly looked up as something growled, loud-and big. It was a husky. A big fuck off husky-it’s fur blood red and black, his eyes almost glowing. You swallowed, raising your hands and standing, grabbing your bag and sliding it on, “I’m not gonna kill him, just didn’t expect him.” You whispered to the husky, who just showed his teeth, Cerberus at your side; doing the same.

They were both telling each other/you; leave my human alone, or I will kill you.

You stepped away from the knocked-out dude, and the husky began to relax, stepping closer to his human and soon standing over him as you stepped away, making your way around the aisles and going out the door, not looking back as the husky stared after you and Cerb-sneezing as he looked back down at his human, nosing him in the neck.

The dude woke up with a jerk, pushing away the huskies nose with a groan. “Smile-get-off” He snapped, sitting up and rubbing his face, feeling heat beginning to build up in his eye. “Bitch punched me in the face!”

-end of p1-

....lowkey proud of this-dunno where exactly its gonna go-i have ideas. i never plan shit out-i just write. CHAOS!!!!

uhhhhhhhhh idk who wants to be on taglist other than these two-so

taglist!

@thetrueghostqueen @sephiralorange

[everybodyknows-everybodydies]

🖤🐷🍃 for kharish 🍎📚🎮 for hallie 💘🥯😞 for molly !!

Kharish:

🖤 BLACK HEART — has your oc killed or seriously wounded anyone before? have they broken someone's heart and/or broken someone's trust?

killed/seriously wounded: not prior to Labyrinthian :'| it's fine don't worry about it we're not thinking about that and neither is she and there are no consequences from this whatsoever. broken a heart though yes... I've alluded before to the unfortunate thing with Murz she had in Shatul but: she was under the impression it was a casual thing, he was mentally picking out names for 2.5 kids and a dog. she was very literally packing to leave for Orsinium when he was like OR, YOU KNOW, WE COULD GET MARRIED and she laughed because she didn't think he was serious 😬 took several years to stop being horribly awkward, but it's all good now!! he got over it and married a nice gal who was NOT heading for the Big City and when she writes home she makes sure to check how he's doing.

🐷 PIG FACE — what is your oc's favorite animal?

she's biased towards the majestic echatere of course, but also really likes rabbits! small and twitchy and very cute. which could mean nothing,

🍃 LEAVES FLUTTERING IN WIND — what is/was your oc's favorite subject in school?

unsurprisingly: AVID READER. learning how to read was The Point of schooling for baby Kharish; the other stuff was an exciting bonus. (Mom & Dad, who were very much hoping she'd have a head for numbers, aware how expensive books are: alright I know a guy who might know a guy who knows where to find some secondhand; does your cousin still keep in touch with that ex in-law who lived next door to a printing press -)

Hallie (books emoji answered here!):

🍎 RED APPLE — where was your oc born? do they still live in/around their place of birth or do they live somewhere else? how do they feel about their birthplace?

probably at least still near Chorrol, but she doesn't know for sure - Ma's had her since she was a baby, and while she's wondered occasionally where she came from, she already knows the only parent who really matters. but she likes Chorrol! she daydreams about travelling the world, but even in those she always ends back at home.

🎮 VIDEO GAME CONTROLLER — what are three of your oc's favorite hobbies?

1: gardening! let her sit in the dirt for a while and make things grow that can be pretty, or helpful, or sometimes even both! 2: drawing! she mostly does portraiture because Ma mostly does landscapes and she gets self-conscious comparing her landscapes to Ma's (sweetheart she has several more years of experience than you do pls). in a modern AU she would have multiple sketchbooks full of bug-eyed anime people. 3: she's been trying to get into whittling, using one of her bound daggers instead of a regular knife. it is not going very well :(

Molly:

💘 HEART WITH ARROW — what and/or who does your oc consider the most important to them?

before: her brother Matty. after: Brother Martin. this is healthy and normal and involves no codependence at all for sure. (Agdis. being able to be proud of the work she did, making people leave feeling more like themselves than when they came in. and then: keeping Baurus alive. trying to give that wolf an ending it deserved. and then: oh, nothing.)

🥯 BAGEL — what does your oc's typical breakfast look like? do they usually eat breakfast?

during the Crisis it's just whenever and whatever she can find; she's largely disinterested in food and doesn't differentiate much on how it tastes, which means her most regularly scheduled breakfasts are at Cloud Ruler, where the Blades are furiously trying to one-up each other in their best imitations of royal chefs. (to Martin's chagrin. please just get him some toast or something. Molly agrees toast is both easy to accomplish and inoffensive.) prior to the Crisis she liked breakfast a lot because they got plenty of the "rejects" from the bakery. her favorite was a cheese pastry!

😞 DISAPPOINTED FACE — does your oc attract others, or do they tend to be left alone?

THIS IS AN INTERESTING ONE. I'm interpreting "attract" here not necessarily in the romantic/sexual way but just like... attention? idk if that's right but that's how I'm reading it! I have to imagine she suffers from the Curse of the Redhead in the "strangers and little old ladies in particular have strong opinions about your hair" sense, but for the most part she's left alone! at least until she starts wearing the Kvatch armor everywhere, and then the attention is pretty inescapable.

[killian-whump]

So random thought hit me and it's one I'd like to throw out to the Colin character coven and the Hook coven guys... How would they best describe their hugs? Who out of each coven gives the best hugs?

Well, this is really two very different questions, as I'm sure most of these guys would describe their own hugs as... well, perfect in every way. That's just the type of guys these ones are. Except for those who aren't fond of hugs, naturally, who would likely describe their hugs as horrible and definitely not something you should seek out.

However, when it comes to determining who gives the BEST hugs, that seems like something that should be sufficiently peer reviewed or something, so... we surveilled the coven members in their natural habitats (as the coven cottage only contains coven members and they don't tend to hug each other very much) to see what sort of hugs were given out (if any) in an attempt to determine whose hugs appeared to be the best. Or, if not that, at least determine whose hugs are the least damaging to others and nearby property.

So without further ado...

Colin Character Coven Hugs

Brendan: This guy is smooth. So smooth. Naturally, we're being completely sarcastic here, because Brendan is the farthest possible thing from "smooth." Just look at him:

His hugs are fidgety, a bit sweaty, and somehow seem to involve more arms than he ought to actually have. It's like a twitchy Kraken-san up in here and we're just not sure how to classify it. There's also a 100% chance you'll end up dead, seeing as every woman he's ever been with in a romantic/physical sense was murdered shortly after. By him. Final Conclusion: Not recommended.

Peter Sheerin: Now, this Peter is a very friendly guy. Well, friendly to those he's friends with, that is. Not so much to random knobheads in clubs. At any rate, he gives energetic and frequent hugs, accompanied by slurred assurances that you're just the greatest, man, and he really loves you, man, and this weed is great, man. However, your enjoyment of Peter's hugs is likely going to be relative to your own state of inebriation - and whether he vomits on you or not. Final Conclusion: Best when lightly toasted.

Conor Elliott: Ah, Conor. This sweet peanut gives delightful hugs. They're warm, friendly, and totally respectful of your personal space. Sometimes, there's just a teensy bit of angst in them, if you're into that sort of thing. However, he's a bit of a temperamental lad, so you have to catch him in a good mood to get a good hug. Otherwise, his hugs could be a bit twitchy and over-confident... and maybe result in one or both of you being literally on fire. Final Conclusion: Mostly delightful; occasionally dangerous.

Nameless Guard: This gentleman doesn't hug. He has a serious job, where he does serious things, with serious expressions on his face. Final Conclusion: It's tough, it's tough.

Duke Philip: Oh, this man's hugs are divine. Noble and sophisticated, with just a smidge of derring-do... You'll feel as if you've been wined and dined by royalty when he pulls you into his warm embrace. Then your father will send him to another country altogether the next day, leaving you heartbroken and disillusioned. Final Conclusion: Heartbreaking, but so worth it.

Ben: Another fidgety hugger. This one seems to be worried that his girlfriend will see him hugging you and think he's cheating on her. Then she might leave him again and... Well, no one wants that. He seems to give his girlfriend good hugs, though.

Final Conclusion: Great if you're Laura. Otherwise only so-so.

Michael Kovak: This charmer gives exceptional hugs... when he's not busy fighting supernatural demons in possession of believers' souls. This could make him a target of said demons... and likely means there's some hanging out in his vicinity - or actively possessing other individuals nearby. Really... Is it worth the risk? Final Conclusion: Great hugs, but demonic possession could be an unpleasant side effect.

Captain Hook / Killian Jones: All Killians give absolutely perfect hugs. Strong, capable, just a wee bit saucy... These arms are meant for hugging. And murder. Lots of murder. In fact, you're likely to get murdered before you even get close enough to hug him. A good rule of thumb is to check out his breeches before you approach. If he's clad in cotton or denim pants, you'll probably survive your encounter and might even score a sinfully delicious hug. If he's wearing leather pants... Well, it's your life, mate, but possibly not for very much longer. Final Conclusion: Results vary drastically.

Mark: This sexy asshole actually gives pretty good (and sexy!) hugs. Unless there's danger afoot. Then he'll use you as a human shield and ultimately hurl you at the danger so he can run away. Also, he sometimes doesn't have a face and that's... unpleasant. Final Conclusion: Check for nearby danger before proceeding.

Unnamed Lumberjack Florist: Oh, the hugs this man could give. Strong arms clad in a soft thermal tee... warm nights by a roaring fire... watching him chop wood... watching him take a bath... just watching this video at all is like partaking in the visual equivalent of a Mountain Lodge candle. I'm just... just gonna sit here and think about this for awhile... Final Conclusion: Shhh. I'm in a happy place.

Brennan: His hugs are warm, soft... and whatever you want them to be. He's a bit insecure and tends to put pleasing others above his own needs. So the hug will be exceptional, most likely... but maybe not the most sincerest of hugs. To get that, you'd have to break through his insecurities and connect with him on a deeper level. Still, his hugs are very pleasant, if you're lucky enough to get one. Final Conclusion: Very nice, but missing something...

Professor Harrison: He only hugs young, hot coeds. Doesn't see the point in wasting affections on anyone else. His hugs are... fatherly in the worst possible way. You probably never thought a hug could be condescending, but this one somehow is. You might need a shower afterwards, but he's more than happy to lend you a hand with that. There's just this little thing he wants you to do for him first... Final Conclusion: No.

Douxie Casperan: Now here's a fellow who can hug. Douxie's hugs are spirited and lively, full of love and joy and emotion. He does everything a little over-the-top, seeing as he's an animated character, and hugs are no exception. He's also had 900+ years of experience in hugging and loving and being real. Definitely a hug for the ages right here. Final Conclusion: Probably the best experience you'll ever have.

Preacher Peter: Umm. Well. He hugs. That's... I mean, that's just about all I can say about this one. A hug happens. Whether all parties involved want the hug is another subject entirely. Forceful hugs from guys who are oblivious to your feelings (or the fact that you even have any) don't tend to be great. Final Conclusion: Steer clear of any bodies of water, too.

JJ Sneed: Oh, this charming rapscallion can hug with the best of them. Sassy and flirty, he knows how to woo a woman and be the man of her dreams. He'll wine and dine you, and give you just the kind of hugs you've always wanted from a man. Unfortunately, it's all a con, and you're the mark. Final Conclusion: Get ready to lose your heart... and then your wallet.

Gordo Cooper: He's a bit of a playboy, so his hugs come fast and loose if you're young and pretty. If you're looking for longevity and sincerity, you might want to look elsewhere. But if you're looking for a fun, friendly, easy-going hug with a bonafide spaceman... Well, look no further! Final Conclusion: The one night stand of hugs.

Gerry: Ahh, the hugs this wee little man can give!! He's the tiniest member of the Coven, but he's got the biggest heart of 'em all. He loves hugs, and his hugs are like a pure shot of sunshine and happiness straight into your veins. Unfortunately, he can't hug all of you at once, but it's likely your body couldn't take it if he could. Just give him an arm (or even a leg) and let him hug you straight to happiness. Final Conclusion: If only we could be so lucky ❤️

So... Who's the Best?

Well, that's hard to say. A lot depends on your taste in hugs and what you're looking for in a hug. Do you want a romantic hug? A sexy hug? A friendly hug? A comforting hug? What you're looking for really determines who might be the best hugger for you.

I'm inclined to say Gerry, Douxie, the Lumberjack Florist, and some of the Killians (Detective Rogers and Storybrooke Hook in particular) would be the all-round best options, though. Very positive experiences to be had there, with minimal negatives.

I did leave some of the men out, as their source material was just too small to really tell much of anything about the kind of hugger they'd be. I almost typoed that as "huffer" - but that would be a different post altogether.

Thanks for the Ask!! ❤️❤️❤️

[ice-cap-k]

xB Noir in Hybrid Theory

Not me trying to turn what should be a multi-chapter fic into a one-shot because I don't have time to commit to a long-form fic. I would never...

Oh well. My sleep schedule is already toast anyway.

Cross-posted on AO3 here: xB Noir in Hybrid Theory

_____________________________________________

The rain pressed down an unrelenting torrent that pooled in the roads and left rivulets running down the window pane. Nobody in their right mind would walk these streets in this weather.  It was downright dreary out there. The kind of downpour that soaked through your best coats and set the chill in your bones after only a few steps. Its constant pitter-patter was pleasant on the ears.

And there I was, watching the storm through my office window when they decided to pay me a visit. The single bare bulb was more than enough to cast light on the two figures I saw approaching. They were skirting the edge of the building, trying their darndest to avoid what they could of the rain. Unlucky souls, to be out in that mess. At first I thought nothing of it. Just another couple unlucky enough to be caught in the rain on their way home. But then they slipped into a familiar doorway and the bell chimed. I had customers.

The two who stumbled through my office door that day were quite the pair. The woman threw open the door first. The rain hadn’t seemed to have done much to dampen a fire burning in the depth of her eyes. Bright as the orange of her hair poking out from beneath the brim of her hat. All it took was one look at her to know that she had come here meaning business. 

Her partner didn’t hold a candle to her in comparison. His suit was disheveled and his eyes roamed the room behind his spectacles like an animal caught in a trap. 

“We’re here to speak to a Detective xB.” Her voice was clipped. Self-assured. I could make out a little disdain as those fiery eyes raked over my measly office. What can I say, it was a mess. I was in between cases at the moment and most of the paperwork had been laid bare to be sorted out later. Or maybe she didn’t approve of how small it was, although I never needed much room for anything more than my desk, a few filing cabinets, and myself. 

“That’s my name on the door. At your service, Miss…” I wasn’t sitting, so I offered up my chair for her to sit on. There was only one, so her partner would have to make do. 

“Cleo. No miss. We’re all adults here.” She slips into the chair without so much as a blink. Those eyes are staring me down. Scrutinizing my every move as I set down the drink in my hand down on the corner of my desk. “And this is Joe.” The other man in the room tipped his hat before sliding behind the back of her chair. Fingertips rest against the leather backing. They’re twitchy. His eyes looked everywhere except at me. He struck me as the nervous kind, this Joe. Like a tinker toy wound up too tight, ready to pop into motion the moment you let go of the key.

Even his voice comes out sounding strained. “We were told that you were good at-”

“We were told-” Cleo cut him off. “That you were good at your job. From a handful of sources, actually. So we thought we’d meet you firsthand.” There was an edge to her voice. A fine line of scathing disbelief lurking beneath her words, made evident by the tilt of her brow. “You see, Detective, we’ve got something on our hands that requires a certain level of trust. Considering how highly recommended you were, we decided to come here first. But before we disclose anything about the potential case, we need to know how much we can trust you. Do you understand?”

“I think that’s a fair request.” I rounded the file cabinets, and prepared to pull out logs on previous cases. They must have heard about me from one of my previous customers, after all. Advertising for the local paper was out of my budget range. The business survived on word of mouth and good customer service alone. “I could go over some of my previous cases and some of my methods if you like.”

“Not that, actually.” Joe finally stopped his fidgeting and looked at me, really looked at me, as he took the hat off his head. “Although I’m sure that you have a perfectly fine track record. We’re talking about sensitive information. Can you be trusted with it?”

“Joe-” The angry hiss in the woman’s voice was not lost on me when the gentleman cut her off.

“No Cleo.” My hand dropped from the handle of the file cabinet. I was too engrossed in the power struggle between the two of them through exchanged looks. If I were to bet on the winner, my money would have been on redhead with the withering glare. To Joe’s credit, despite how uncomfortable he seemed to be at the thought of disagreeing with her, he gripped the rim of his fedora and buckled down. “I trust Beef. I have a really good feeling about this and I don’t like taking chances with our time.”

Now that was a name I hadn’t heard for a while. The last time I’d seen him had to have been the game shop case years ago. “You know Beef?”

“He’s a friend of ours,” Cleo huffed. She was glaring daggers at Joe, who had stepped away from her chair to put some distance between the two of them. “And it’s not a risk that’s yours to take, Joe.”

“No, but the longer we wait, the worse I feel about the situation.  I’m worried sick.”

“Well so am I.” 

They both fall silent.

I’m reluctant to intrude, but they don’t seem interested in starting back up the conversation. “So I gather it was Beef that sent you my way…” I spoke slowly, afraid I might startle them, or invite their wrath. “I don’t know what you folks’ situation is, but I can assure you that I am a professional. Beef can testify to this. Confidentiality is part of the reason I’m still in business. More information is valuable for understanding a case, but if there is something that you feel you can’t tell me, there’s no problem leaving out the finer details.”

They both exchanged a look. This time, when they made eye contact the frustration fizzled out. It was more of a shared look of helplessness. “It’s a pretty important detail,” Joe said, his voice so quiet I almost couldn’t hear.

Cleo looked like she wanted to argue, but eventually relented with a tired sigh. “Alright. Alright. I’ll leave out some of the finer details and give you a rundown on what we would like to hire you for. If I decide you’re worth the money, we’ll tell you everything. If I don’t, we move on with our lives like none of this ever happened. How does that sound?” 

I nodded. It was perfectly reasonable. Joe was nodding as well. He looked relieved as he sidled back up to his place behind her chair. The fedora in his hands looked hampered from the abuse his nervous fidgeting had wrought upon it. 

“Glad we are in agreement.” 

“So,” I prompted, leaning back until I was seated upon the corner of my desk. The mountain of papers beneath me threatened to come down in an avalanche of black and white print, but I could manage to keep the balance. Other than that, they had my full attention. I was downright intrigued. A case where the client didn’t feel comfortable kicking it off was new. Usually, people were chomping at the bit to tell me about the problems and how they needed him to fix it. So I leaned in as she folded her gloved hands in the lap of her pencil skirt.

“So indeed. Tell me, Detective, have you heard any of the stories on the recent disappearances?”

“You mean the hybrids?”

“Yes. The hybrids. How much do you know about them?”

“Only what they print in the papers.” It was a story that hadn’t quite made the cover, but had appeared in multiple journals across town. ‘Local Mutants Gone Missing.’ An influx of missing person reports had been made with one notable similarity; everyone reported had been some sort of hybrid. The kind of hybrid didn’t seem to matter. All sorts were going missing. Everything he read on it had boiled down to a general consensus: that nobody in the police department had an explanation. “What about you?”

“To start, I know that our friend is one of the names on the list of missing persons. And when I tried going to the police, they brushed it off.” She scowled at the memory. “Told me that I couldn’t file a report on him since he was an adult who had every right to go off the grid if he wanted to, except I know for a fact that he wouldn’t do that.”

“I see. So you need someone like me to find him?”

 It seemed simple enough. I had run more cases than I could count tracking people down for one reason or another. They were usually the harder puzzles to crack. If someone was able to cover their tracks so completely that even their friends and loved ones were left scratching their heads, it would be difficult to look for places nobody else had thought to check. And if it was a matter of kidnapping, that added an extra layer of potential risks.

“I need you to find the people who took him and find out why. Gather evidence. Bring him back if possible, but if you can’t then at least get me something that will make the police believe us.”

“And preferably report back your findings as you go.” Joe chimed in. “To us, I mean. Maybe not anyone else. Actually, nobody else. Just in case. We need to know anything you might find out about these guys. Where they are, who they are, what they are, how you found out all of it... Everything.”

Usually, my customers didn’t care about the details of his work, so long as by the end of the day he dug up the information they were looking for. “That sounds like you’ll need a pretty thorough report. To be clear, I’m going to need as much information as you can give me on your friend if I’m going to find him. I’m talking about his name, the names of the people in his life, where he lives, where he works, where he frequents. And just to be clear, that means information on you two as well.”  Joe nodded along as I listed everything off. Cleo frowned, but there was a grim understanding in the way her lips tightened into a thin line. “I’d understand if that doesn’t suit your fancy. I can try to work with whatever you’re willing to give me, but any fact you choose to leave out could make a world of difference. Any detective out there worth his salt will tell you the exact same thing.”

Joe reached over to nudge her shoulder. “See Cleo.” 

“And will any other detective out there worth his salt risk leaking sensitive information on his clients.” Her tone made me smile. She’s softened a bit since she first walked in. There’s still that air of warning, that look of scrutiny, but now there was room to be convinced. 

“I’m pretty good at keeping secrets. Beef could probably attest to that. Selling out potential customers never struck me as a good business model.”

The odd pair shared a look, then a nod. It seemed like they were on the same page. “Alright. What I am about to tell you stays strictly confidential,” she says. “Nothing I’m about to say from here on out leaves this room. Afterward, you can decide if you’re interested in the job or not. If I find out later that you’ve told someone else, I swear I will personally come for you.”

I didn’t plan on sharing whatever they planned on telling me anyway, but the way that fire in her eyes turned on me… I don’t know why, but there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that she had a way of making good on the promise. But I waved it off like no big deal. “Cross my heart.”

She still didn’t look fully convinced. “To start, the friend we are looking for, his name is Bdubs. He is part phantom, although you’d never know by looking at him. He’s really good about staying on top of his sleeping habits, so that side of him never really comes out. I brought a picture if that helps.”

I snatched up a pen and pad from under a pile of papers. This was all good information to keep track of. The picture she handed me depicted a man with the biggest, most genuine smile I had ever seen. By all means, he really did look human. It would be enough to do some cross-reference searches and dig up any information I could get on my own. 

“The thing is, Bdubs didn’t really broadcast his hybrid status, but someone still found out. However, that information became known to his kidnappers is pretty important to me and Joe here. Almost as important as making sure he’s alright. Which is why I said we would need you to report all of your findings and how you found out.”

“And may I ask why that information is particularly important to the two of you?”

Joe opened his mouth to say something, but Cleo answered first. “Oh, it’s mostly just important to me.” With a roll of her shoulders, her coat slipped down her arms to reveal lines of long thin scars puckered and discolored where mismatched flesh had been sown together. Some skin patches were even starting to green with early onset rot. It surprisingly didn’t smell as unpleasant as it looked. “I’m an unregistered zombie hybrid. If they could somehow manage to find Bdubs, I’m worried that it won’t take them long to find me next.”

______________________________________________________

“xB! Hey man!”

“Hey bud, it’s been a while.”

Hypno was waiting for me at the bar with the leatherback stool already pulled out. The sun was setting, the birds were chirping, and people were out enjoying their evening anywhere other than this dank old bar. But to me and Hypno, it was the perfect meeting place. Just as enjoyable as the fresh air outside. Our old stomping ground when we were younger. 

“Sorry about keeping things so short on the phone. I’m glad you could make it out here.”

“No problem, dude.” I could tell by the smile on his face that he meant those words. He looked as happy to see me as I was to see him. “It’s been too long since you’re last call. I was starting to think you didn’t need me anymore.”

“No man.” The bartender walked by, and I held up two fingers. They spotted my signal and slid two fresh glasses down the countertop. They both came to rest directly in front of us. “You know I’ll always go to you first about cases. I’ve just been going through a bit of a dry spell. Haven’t had a new job in a while. I couldn’t pass up a chance to get to the bottom of this one in particular. You’ve heard what’s happening to the hybrids around town, right?” The pop of a new bottle opening punctuates the end of my sentence. The two glasses are filled with a clatter of ice and a level of translucent brown. 

Hypno grabs his first. He always was the bigger drinker of the two of us. “Heard of it? Pfft. It’s all the gossip column is talking about these days. Not that there’s anything more they’re allowed to put to print yet. It’s all wild speculation right now. One guy I’m working with is convinced the hybrids aren’t even disappearing.”

“And what’s the alternative?”

“Not sure. He never goes into detail when I ask.”

“What about you?”

He laughed at that one. “What about me, dude?”

“Do you have any thoughts on what’s happening? Why hybrids? Why so many, and all different types? I have a few of my own ideas, but I’m curious about what you think.”

“I don’t know. There are a lot of reasons why people would be interested in hybrids. Seems like there are always going to be people out there who think that just because hybrids aren’t human, that means they aren’t people either. They can do all sorts of things normal people can’t, and you can’t rule out those crazies that are always coming up with some hair-brained remedies made with ‘exotic ingredients.’ Or exotic pets… ew. You know what? Scratch that thought. I hate that my brain even went there. What about you and your new client? Any running theories.”

Of course, I had my theories. And Cleo had made it clear her running theory was ‘kidnapping’ even if she didn’t have a clue what could possibly be the reason behind it. Under normal circumstances, I would have happily shared some of these thoughts with the man at his side. It was Hypno, of all people. He was practically my partner considering how often he helped me with investigations. But Cleo and Joe had been clear about the need for confidentiality. 

“It’s too early to rule out anything right now.”

“Darn.” He didn’t sound all that disappointed. “By the way, here’s the pictures you asked for.”

The manilla envelope he slides my way is bulging. Stacks of them come sliding out when I slide the flap open. “I didn’t realize there were this many people missing.” Static faces stared up at the overhanging light fixture from the waxy printout. Some of them looked like your average human like Bdubs had. Unassuming smiles and eyes that gave no indication of the truth of the person behind them. Most, though, had some clear indication of what they were. They wore oddly colored eyes, extra limbs, and discolored skin that almost looked like the result of some camera defect rather than something they lived with on the daily. There were blazes, creepers, avians, even an enderian. That one had to have caused problems for any ‘would-be’ kidnappers. The names of the victims were scribbled on the back of each photo, along with the phone number of the person who had submitted it. Presumably, the person who had reported them missing.

“This is just what I can get at my job. Working for the tabloids has its perks, but there are plenty of people on the list that didn’t get a photo submitted. Some of ‘em didn’t have people left in their lives to report them or send in photos. There’s a few that had family members who outright refused to send in photos.”

“Really?”

“Really. You should have heard them over the phone. They didn’t want their friends or family found. Talking to those people was the worst.”

“Sounds like it. Thanks, Hypno. This is a huge help. I can start building a background on some of these people and see if they have anything in common.”

Hypno smirked. I had known the man for years, so I knew when a Hypno smirk is just a smirk, and when a Hypo smirk meant business. Right then, he meant business. “Think I can help you there too, man.” I lifted my brow, but Hypno knew he had me hooked. He relished in it, making me wait as he raised his glass to his mouth. I took a sip of my own drink as I waited for him to drain his glass. “Aaaaah.” Clank. He brought the glass down onto the counter with a clatter. The bartender promptly filled it back up. “I’m a journalist, B. You know I do my research. What if I told you I already did some digging?”

“You have a lead?”

“I have a place.”

“How?”

“Same way you would eventually find out,” he said with a shrug. I asked as many people as I could about the people in those photos. Their favorite places to go, where they worked, where they lived, the whole spiel. You know the one.”

I nodded. Of course I did. I was the one who taught it to him. 

“Well, the more I asked around, the more one place in particular popped up in people’s backstories. Ever visit Hermit Row?”

I shook my head. The place didn’t ring a bell to me. 

“No shame in that. I didn’t know about it either, but that’s because the two of us are human. Apparently, the street is the biggest hub of hybrid activity in the city. Think along the lines of a Chinatown. Even if the people in those pictures didn’t live there, they had all visited at one point or another. It’s one of the few places in town with shops catering to a variety of non-human needs. Sounds to me like the perfect place for any potential kidnapper to scope out someone to grab. It’s actually going to be the subject of my latest article now that I’ve had a chance to learn a bit about it.” 

And there it was. That was what the sudden smugness was all about. It made sense that Hypno had another angle he was looking to write into a story for the papers. “I can’t report back details of the investigation if I go there. You realize this, right?”

The smile dropped off Hypno’s face. “Come on, man. I literally just gave you everything we have at the press on the Hybrid story. Is it really that bad to give me a little insider scoop?”

“My client is very adamant about the need for privacy. I’ll let you know about any general observations I might happen to make, but anything that pertains directly to the case is off the table.”

He sighed in annoyance. “Fine, I guess I can work with that.”

_________________________________________________________

I know I’m not the biggest partier around the block, but even I knew that brass knuckles weren’t part of the dress code for your average bouncer. And weren’t bouncers supposed to stand guard at the front of an establishment?

It had taken a week to investigate Hermit Row. Learning the ins and outs of the residents. Picking up on some of the familiar faces of the hybrids who frequented and getting a feel for the shops lining the street. I didn’t even stick out like a sore thumb like I was afraid I would. Other people walked the streets in broad daylight looking completely human like me. There was no way to know for sure they were actually human, but at least nobody stared at me like an oddball out of place as long as I minded my own business.

The street was awe-inspiring to me. At least somewhat. They had shops for things I would never have thought to dream of. Storefronts selling horn and hoof polish targeting sheep and ram hybrids had displays painstakingly set up in their large windows. Wing grooming salons advertising the latest toiletries had their doors open for incoming customers. Even the food stalls with their owners crying out their wares carried everything from charcoal to fresh grass bundles. And yes, the owners of said stalls insisted their products were intended to be eaten. I suppose I had never put much thought into whether or not hybrids would subsist on a different diet than me. 

But there were few places where most of the people who looked like normal humans tended to frequent. Especially late at night. One of those places happened to be ‘Club EX.’ To the untrained eye, it was your typical late-night dance club, complete with a jazz band and under-the-table sales of alcohol. You’re typical hole-in-the-wall people frequented to forget the rest of the world. 

But after a few nights of careful observation, it became clear that there was something else going on here. Odd back door dealings where workers met with important-looking customers and led them to back rooms to discuss business of some sort. People slipping out of the back alleyway, rushing into a van left parked back there every night. I spent one night counting every person who entered the building, only to come up three people short when it came to keeping track of everyone who left. It was entirely possible I had miscounted, but unlikely. 

I told Cleo and Joe about it in my last report. Went into detail about everything I noticed on Hermit Row and the club in particular. Cleo had taken the hint and steered clear of the establishment, but now I was looking for specifics. There wasn’t any easy way to sneak in on one of those private meetings with guests who came in with a large entourage and all the money in the world to burn. I could stake out the back, though, where an unusual-looking bouncer was running their thumb along the edge of the metal lining their knuckles. 

He didn’t move for a while. I watched. I waited. Eventually, the back door flung open. Two figures came out into the alleyway. 

One shouting nonsense hysterically. Hooves click clack against the pavement. Garbled words and sounds muffled under a black bag covering their head. They couldn’t exactly reach up to take it off, considering the knot of rope binding their arms behind their back.  I could make out a tail swishing back and forth in wild panic, but it didn’t seem prehensile. It would do them no good to get them out of the bind they found themselves in. 

The other person was shoving them forward harshly. 

“Will you shut him up already,” the bouncer hissed at the other man passing through. “Someone’s gonna hear.” 

“I already tried gagging him and look what good that did me. Why don’t you knock his lights out for me and make both our lives easier.”

“Fine.” With a snort, the bouncer reeled back and slammed his fist into the black back, directly where a cheek or nose would be. Shivers ran down my back as his target let out a muffled howl of pain. Another blow to the head, and their legs crumpled beneath them. 

At that point, I wasn’t thinking to clearly. I just knew that the guy with the brass knuckles was squaring up for another hit and I didn’t have the stomach to watch no more. So I pulled the pistol out of my pocket and slid from the roof down the gutter to the ground below.

Luckily for me, I landed directly behind the second man who had come out with the man on the ground. I threw all the force I could muster into bashing the but of my gun into the back of his skull. He was instantly out like a light and dropped like a stone. The bouncer turned on me, confused and scowling. “Why don’t you pick on someone who can fight back,” I goaded. 

And he took the bait, hook, line and sinker. Never mind whether or not he realized that I had a gun. There was no hesitation as he rushed at me, fist at the ready, golden glint of the knuckles catching the lamplight. The edge of his fist caught the edge of my shoulder. Pain bloomed where it crushed my muscle and tore the skin, but it was a glancing blow. With the other hand, I fired once at the ground. The bullet blew a hole in his shoe. Not sure if I took off a toe or something, but I definitely hit him, because he let out a howl that rivaled that of the man with a bag over his head. He leaned over, instinctively reaching for his wounded foot. It gave me a clear opening to slam the butt of my gun into his head too. He joined his buddy and slumped on the ground.

“Awwww yeah.” That had been surprisingly easier than expected.

A groan came from a few feet away. “Are you okay,” I called, not really sure of the man they had beaten could even hear me. His tail was still twitching, but he didn’t stir from the ground. “Here, let me try to help.” I gently pulled at the edges of the bag. The seem caught on something on the way up, and when the fabric came clear I realized it was because the threads had caught on the edge of a set of horns poking out from a head of light blond hair. The face they framed was a bit bloody. The skin below his eye was just starting to develop the purplish hue of an oncoming bruise. The bottom lip was split, leaving blood pooling around the base of a rag tied around his mouth. I managed to undo the knots on his mouth first, then got to work on his hands.

He coughed at first. Then spit to get the flecks of blood and taste of the rag out of his mouth. “Thank you,” he said. “I don’t know who you are, but I could never repay you for what you just did.”

“Don’t worry about it. What was even happening? Why did they want you, uh…” 

“Zedaph,” the hybrid clarified as the rope fell away from his wrists. There were nasty marks where the fibers had dug into the skin, and he rubbed at them as if it would make them go away. “My name’s Zedaph.”

“Well, do you know what they wanted with you, Zedaph? It looks like you might have made the wrong people mad.”

“Well if I did, I don’t know what I possibly could have done. I just came here looking for my friends. The last time I saw them, they had come here to celebrate some new project at work. No luck finding them, so I was heading towards the exit.  Next thing I know, security is pulling me away saying there’s someone important who wanted to see me. They drag me in a room, won’t let me go as some weirdo gets a good look at me, and then next thing I know they’re tying my hands behind my back without so much as an explanation.”

“They were dragging you to that van…” I helped him up. He was still unsteady on his feet, er, hooves, but as long as he could rest his hand against my shoulder to lean on when his legs started to wobble, he could manage to walk. “One second while I take a look.” 

Sure enough, the van was unlocked.

Bingo.

__________________________________________

The amount of evidence I had to report to Cleo after that had been immense. Notes of names and species crossed out on lists had been tucked away in the glove box, along with a map with a location circled along the harbor. 

And guns. Turns out those men had guns of their own, and I had been lucky that they had been foolish enough to leave them in the vehicle. 

Most of it had to be turned in to the police for obvious reasons, but not before I had given everything a thorough look-through. It would take the precinct officials to properly process the evidence. Even longer to get the warrants to act on it. Although Zedaph's testimonial would help to speed things along.

The sheep hybrid was the first witness to come of this. An actual hybrid that had almost been made to vanish like the others was quite the font of information. That made him valuable to the officers working on the case. It also made him a dangerous loose end for whoever was behind this. Up until now, there was no real understanding as to ‘why’ hybrids were going missing. Now that Zedaph had gotten away, all eyes and ears were on the lookout for potential snatchers. That club was currently closed for an ongoing investigation

 Zedaph had at least been kind enough to tell me everything he could on the way to the station. He told me in better detail about the men who had grabbed him. How they had been human. I tried asking him if he was sure they weren’t just hybrids that looked human, he insisted he had a sense for these sorts of things. I took his word at face value.

The person whom they had brought him to, though, that was a different matter. He couldn’t really tell. There was no way to see their face. It was hidden behind a mask. Their body was fully clothed, complete with a set of gloves that covered their hands. Not even an inch of skin showed. The voice was difficult to make out considering the mask. “Possibly modulated.” Those were Zedaph’s words. Not mine.

Considering all the clues now at my disposal, I figured my next lead was the location circled on that map. I could feel it deep within my bones that there was where they had been planning on taking Zedaph. That was likely where the other hybrids had gone as well. 

Again, I went at night. There were fewer workers at the dock past sundown. The boats were gone for the night. The empty warfs reached out into the water, waiting for the next fleet of ships to arrive with a load of cargo.

The harbor itself was massive. Shipping crates were stacked up along the sea’s edge, leaving temporary alleys winding between rows and rows of steel boxes. 

I didn’t know where to start, so I just picked a random warehouse and started walking towards it. There wasn’t much to see there besides more crates and spare boat parts, so I kept going to the next one. And then the next one after that. And then the one after that.

Honestly, there was a lot of ground to cover here and I was already starting to get tired. I was just starting to consider calling it a night and coming back tomorrow when I heard something that sounded a little out of place for the harbor this late at night. Talking.

“Hurry up before someone sees you.”

“Lighten up, will ya? Nobody’s going to see me. There’s nobody out here but us.” 

I followed the voices into the maze of stacks of shipping crates. Would they post guards at a shipping storage lot? It didn’t seem likely considering the lot didn’t even have so much as a chain link fence. 

“Come on. X is looking at the merchandise tonight. They want to make sure everyone is healthy before they run the first shipment on Friday.” 

“What are they going to do at the auction anyway?”

“Whatever the buyer wants ‘em for. Everyone loves hybrids for one reason or another. Not my business to find out what that reason is.”

Hybrids, huh? 

It sounded like I was on the right track. 

_____________________________________________________________________

I picked up a copy of the local newspaper the day after. 

The front page story declared, ‘Devious Gangster Evil X Behind Hybrid Disappearances.’

The big picture they had used depicted three hybrids embracing in front of the police department. Two of them had a set of horns, though their shape and location on the skull varied between both people. The third had glowing red eyes and what looked like fire flickering at the ends of his spiked blond hair. I recognized Zedaph’s bruised face and curved horns, but not the other two men in the picture. They must have been the friends he was looking for back at Club X. I was glad that it had all ended up working out for the three of them.

Sure, I had given Hypno a quick call about what had happened to all the missing hybrids, but I never expected him to be able to work this fast. It was quite impressive actually, seeing just how detailed and accurate the article was. Hypno didn’t just work fast. He was thorough. He truly was a professional.

I tossed it across my desk for Cleo and Joe to read for themselves. “Just to be clear, I might have told a friend that I found where they were hiding everyone. I did NOT provide any details regarding you, the case, or how I found where they had been hiding them.”

Cleo picked up the paper. She was shocked. Truly shocked. She flipped each page with careful hands as if afraid of ripping it. 

“You did all this?” Joe asked, leaning over her shoulder to get a look. “It wasn’t just Bdubs you saved last night… you really found all of them?”

“I did.”

“Wait a minute,” Cleo said, pulling the paper closer to her face. “It says here that Evil X wasn’t apprehended.”

“They did not.”

“So he is still at large?”

“Maybe.” I shrugged. That wasn’t an answer I had at the moment, but I could probably figure it out if I had enough time. “But his entire trafficking ring was overturned in one night. And your friend is back home safe and sound. Everyone else for that matter. Maybe I’m just a glass-half-full kind of guy, but to me, that sounds like a pretty good way for things to have panned out.”

Cleo didn’t say anything. She turned back to the paper with a frown. At least Joe patted me on the back. “Why, I couldn’t agree more.”

[catscraftsandcommentary]

AWAU snippet: Jaskier plays at a wedding

Started from this post!

Ciri's goose shield animates to honk and flap its wings whenever someone hits it, which startles the absolute shit out her first few opponents (in at least one case, literally).

(Of course she goose tricked her shield, the little chaotic gremlin.)

Also, there is at least one instance of a couple writing to Jaskier begging him "I know we aren't nearly important enough to invite you, but Obnoxious Relative #83 is paying for our wedding and thinks VALDO MARX is the best thing since chainmail armor and has hired him to play at our wedding even though we and all our friends hate him, and just - SAVE US JASKIER YOU'RE OUR ONLY HOPE."

Jaskier reads the letter and is overtaken by his "composing face."

Geralt sighs heavily and rubs his forehead.

"It's a trap," Vesemir predicts.

"It's definitely a trap," Eskel agrees.

"Those poor young people," Jaskier murmurs. "I have to help them. Darlings? Say you'll let me help them?"

Whether it was meant to be a trap or not, by the time Jaskier rides up to some minor backwoods baron's estate with Eskel and twenty heavily armed and extremely twitchy witchers as a backup chorus-slash-bodyguards, it is no longer a trap. It's a lovely wedding, the bride cries all over Jaskier in gratitude, several of the witchers get spectacularly laid (or at least flirted with), Valdo Marx performs half of one song before being drowned out and then leaving in a huff, the crusty old rich relative grumbles but can't argue with the honor of having the CONSORT AND RIGHT HAND perform instead.

Yennifer, watching through her mirror, toasts them all and laughs heartily.

[bob-the-cemetery-ghost]

*honk honk*

ya doin ok?

-mod toast

[lets see]

[im tired, stressed, twitchy, on edge, having trouble breathing, panicking, my best friend almost killed themselves and I cant stop telling myself things I dont want to.]

[no.]

[unbrcakablc-hcart]

🤥 LYING - are they good liars? do they have tells to show they're lying? | 🥞 PANCAKE - what is their comfort breakfast? | 🎁 PRESENT - what types of presents would they be most happy to receive? are they good at gift giving? | 🌈 RAINBOW - what advice would they give to their younger self?

{{ if its okay to send a handful! its a big list and im big curious nfjfg if not ill cut down/break it into separate asks, i dont mind! (bitterbelphie) }}

{NO THATS FINE DONT WORRY!!}

oc emoji asks

🤥 LYING - are they good liars? do they have tells to show they're lying?

{Oh god no. I really don't think Vash is a good liar. I think he's very good at omitting information and dodging the question and being annoying enough that no one WANTS to ask him questions, but he's piss poor at actually, directly lying. He gets a little twitchy, his voice gets a lot less confident, he seems to think a LOT more about what he's saying and isn't always good at making the details line up.}

{For example: he tells people frequently that he's 24, but if you purposely try to catch him in the lie by going oh, you're 25, aren't you, he's going to be like OH YEAH I AM AHAHAHA and forget his initial lie and not have a good excuse for messing up like that.}

🥞 PANCAKE - what is their comfort breakfast?

{Hmm.. I'm not sure what my hunch is on this one. I want to say it isn't anything SUPER specific? But his preferred comfort breakfast is a sweet one; fresh donuts, pancakes, french toast that are still warm with probably (SIGNIFICANTLY SWEETENED) coffee or hot chocolate or some other warm, sweet drink. The man has a sweet tooth he doesn't indulge very often for... mostly, guilt and/or lack of accessibility reasons.}

{Some kind of meat or other protein to go with it is nice, but not necessary for him. It's mostly to keep him from getting sick. Man loves a good sausage. Or good eggs. Or. Anything. feed him seymour}

🎁 PRESENT - what types of presents would they be most happy to receive? are they good at gift giving?

{I'M GENUINELY NOT SURE AND I'M NOT SURE VASH WOULD KNOW EITHER. He's not used to being given gifts; most every gift he's been given has been from his menagerie of parents, and he tries his best to tactfully decline gifts from other people because they should be spending their money on themselves or each other, not on him.}

{But he is the sentimental type, and likes gifts that last. He's looked after the clothes Brad and Luida made specially for him and ensured that they lasted the 125 years he's had them, for instance, and when they gave him geranium plants to keep on the bus to remind him of both them and Rem, you bet your ass he's doing everything he can to keep those flowers alive. So clothes and jewelry and things that are meant to last for a while mean a lot to him, as it's a way he can carry the people he cares about with him.}

{Gifts of food are also nice but good luck getting him to accept that.}

{I'm also not sure if he's the best at giving gifts, himself. It's not that he's BAD at it? It's that he hasn't had a lot of practice with it, and is more of an acts of service bitch when it comes down to it. Chances are, if he gives you a gift, it's probably going to be something practical, or something he can do for you; he'll buy his loved ones a weapon, or protective clothing, or do some maintenance on your stuff, that sort of thing.}

{That said, he DOES keep an eye out for any signs of interest from his friends. If he catches anything, he'll file that away for later, and if he has the cash, he WILL pick it up.}

🌈 RAINBOW - what advice would they give to their younger self?

{I have. Genuinely. NO idea. And I'm not sure Vash has any clue either. Ultimately Vash feels like he's done around the best he could do given the circumstances and isn't satisfied with it, so it might be some fucked up shit like:

"Never stay in town for any longer than two days."

"Once you've picked up supplies and helped people, LEAVE."

"Never give anyone real information about yourself."

{Probably the least fucked up advice he has for himself is this. "This planet will force you to become the devil. Sometimes there are people that DO deserve to die, and it might do more people more good to kill the people that you're pretty sure won't stop hurting people even after you've given them the chance to change."}

{Nothing about take care of yourself, nothing about how he needs to treat himself better, just... That Shit.}

[jax-attack-fitspo]

Dec 29, 2022

I have started Caroline Girvan's FUEL series, which is a fantastic challenge. I know it's not likely because I LITERALLY just started it. But I'm feeling great, I think looking a little more cut (maybe its the gym mirrors compared to mine), the cardio is decently difficult, and my muscles are suuuper twitchy by the end of the workout.

However, being at home with family has been hard. I have remained sober the entire Christmas, which has felt really good. Nobody else has really been drinking and so I don't feel as much pressure. And the family part has been okay until today.

Mostly to do with making me insecure about my weight. First, everyone assumed before I even said why I was sober, that I was pregnant. Fine, whatever. Then my mom wanted to get me snow pants to go boarding, but only picked up a men's large, so when they didn't fit my hips she assumed I needed a woman's XL which is obviously incorrect. I just needed women's pants instead, and probably in medium, because the way women's hips are designed in pants. But sure, yeah shame me into a way bigger size, that's good for my self-perception.

And I knew it would be hard because this is the first Christmas that my sister came out as trans. I knew it would be emotionally taxing but I have to stay on top of them NOT deadnaming and using her new pronouns. And they perform well in front of others but then go home and revert because it's "too hard". Ugh. I'm trying so hard.

The final aspect that is absolutely killing me is their commentary on my **healthy** food choices. My step dad has coronary artery disease and so is now on some specialized diet to cut out most cholesterol. But its like you literally can't eat anything????? Can't have red meat more than once a month, can't have chicken more than once a week, can't have shellfish, can't have olive oil. Then my mom on her BS can't have bread, can't have pasta, can't have wine. They preach "everything in moderation", then shame me for my 3 eggs and toast with coffee because too much cholesterol ("I'm only allowed 1 egg per week!") and too much caffeine ("how many mg of caffeine are in one of those?") and just JFC LET ME EAT.

I really miss views like this. But I also cannot stand to be here until the 4th. Ughhhhhhhhh.

[twitchesandstitches]

A pic I did up of Toast, prior to me scrapping him as a character and folding his concept into the fire-bot duo!

Bit of a vent art I did a while ago; I heard people flat out refusing to empathize with Cactus Steven from Steven Universe Future, in a very dismissive tone, and casual cruelty to non-humans always hits my rage button, so I drew this up for a vent. 

This design is probably broad strokes accurate to Bonfire/Bonnie in particular. I don't know how much of this design should be applied (like the fire arm), but I still like this design.

Among other things that are true, it includes the fire powers, a missing eye, and very heavy implications that humans did... something to them that makes them uncomfortable at best around humans, and at worst... well, if you're the worst, you'll get what you have coming.

[twitchyblogged]

Toast, probably: What the heck is this new body I’m upgraded into, i’m so CHUNKY- wait there’s a human standing next to me. WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT. DON’T YOU EYEBALL ME, I WILL BITE YOU.

one idea i had a while ago was Toast being transferred into a robo-femboy body that’s basically an anthro dino-boy, and being absolutely TINY and adorable and curvy, while still being a destructive force of nature and absolute gremlin.

(By chance, the minor edit i made to his expression happened to make it look like a quick reaction. I love that)