#why is a raven like a writing desk??? ( crack )

[corvicides]

wuya has appeared! What to do?

kick hold hands woohoo kiss

[hopelessromantic5]

Merthur with King Arthur and pre-Court Sorcerer Merlin.

(Don’t worry though, when this is continued, he will be given his rightful place.

If I have to write it a thousand times, I will see Merlin get his happy ending, dammit.)

“Um. Merlin?”

The manservant had been daydreaming again.

It was honestly getting out of hand.

Two moons had passed since Merlin finally told Arthur about the magic.

It went better than expected.

A great deal better.

He didn’t even really seem surprised. If Merlin could count on himself as a reliable narrator of the story, he would say he saw relief flicker across Arthur’s face before he began asking questions. But Merlin was basically imploding on the inside and terrified that he was about to lose his best friend and his home in one fell swoop, so he might’ve imagined it.

Thankfully, Arthur seemed more anxious for answers than anything. He wanted to understand. After a week of catching him up on the last five years of their lives, magic included, Arthur seemed at peace with it.

A week later was when control began slipping from Merlin’s grasp, ever so slightly. Arthur came to him on a random day in the spring, and nonchalantly said he had some documents he’d like Merlin to read over. Make sure they were presentable for council.

Merlin thought nothing of it, he’d done it countless times thus far, and was secretly looking forward to proof reading speeches for the rest of his life.

You can imagine the shock when he approached the desk and found a repeal of the magic ban. Sitting there, in the sun, in Arthur’s perfect penmanship.

Merlin began weeping.

He could almost hear in his head,

“Don’t be a such a girl, Merlin.”

But it never came.

Instead, the King silently joined him by the desk, and embraced him, for maybe the second time in all of existence.

They hugged like they were trying to meld themselves together.

Arthur had one broad arm wrapped behind Merlin’s neck and the other locking him in by his lower back.

They were two pieces that somehow fit perfectly together.

Merlin hid his, probably unsightly, face in Arthur’s neck and willed the tears to stop themselves falling.

A few heartbeats later Arthur whispered,

“I’m so sorry, Merlin.”

Merlin involuntarily scrunched his eyebrows at that. Yet, he did not let go. He did not want to leave, not yet.

“Why are you apologizing?”

A whisper came back,

“I hate to see you cry.”

Merlin wished on every star in the heavens, that he could’ve seen Arthur, in that moment.

But he would not let go. Not until his King did.

At present, things were moving along very well with the repeal. Especially among the townspeople, who are more than welcoming towards the Kingdom’s new citizens.

However, Merlin found himself with a whole new set of challenges.

Merlin was definitely not staring at Arthur as he shuffled through reports at his desk. Though, the sun was casting the perfect halo on his blonde head. It painted a picture that was wholly ethereal, calming.

When Arthur looked up from his papers suddenly, Merlin went back to his polishing like he never stopped.

Because he didn’t, of course.

That would be inappropriate.

That’s when he heard,

“Um. Merlin?”

The raven boy’s head snapped up from the sword in his lap, and found amusement in his King’s eyes.

“What?” He was skeptical, narrowing his gaze.

“Are you planning on turning my chambers into the Royal Gardens or is this your only idea on how to spruce up the place?”

“What on Earth are you-“ spinning around in his chair, he finally saw it.

Vines wearing tiny purple flowers were slowly crawling their way up the bed-posts; bigger, colorful flowers were beginning to bloom from the cracks in the stone floor.

This is not good.

“Uh, I have to-“ he huffed, placing the sword in his seat and running for the door. “I need to go, sire.”

“Merlin, what are you-“

“I think I’m coming down with something. I’m just gonna go see Gaius about it.” Before he closed the door behind him he yelled “I’ll be back with dinner.”

And then he was gone.

[stirthewaters]

Too Sharp to Touch pt.6

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Language, Wednesday-level threats 

Summary: Wednesday practically flips the school upside down during her search for her missing typewriter, and lo and behold look who comes to help her? None other than you.

Pairings: Wednesday x Reader

Too Sharp to Touch Masterlist

Wednesday was losing her mind.

And no, it was not as pleasant as she had imagined it would be.

It was missing. Gone. Almost as if it has never been there in the first place. 

Her typewriter - her precious, prized typewriter - was missing. 

The Addams was one who favored neatness and precision. Everything had its place and every place had its thing, ensuring that no time would be wasted and that there was no confusion in where something could be placed. If she needed something, it would be there. That was that, and that was the way that she liked it.

It was why Wednesday had a specific folder for her homework assignments, as well as one for her investigations, and another for story drabbles and ideas, all stashed carefully under her desk in their drawer where they could be easily accessed when needed.

So when the raven entered her shared dorm after a rather successful day of classes, pulling out her folder full of notes for her novel as she prepared to engage in her writing hour, when she spotted the lack of a typewriter beside her box of written pages, she was baffled. At first.

Without hesitation the first thing Wednesday did was meticulously search through every inch of Enid’s side of the dorm. The Addams hunted through every inch of pillows, nooks, crannies, and crawl space, though her attempts came to be in vain. She was unsurprised, albeit; she never truly believed that Enid would have taken it, even as maybe a prank, since the werewolf knew how much her typewriter meant to her, but everyone was a suspect when it came to things like this.  

And so the mystery began.

Of course, Wednesday loved a good mystery; she found nothing better than discovering the culprit of a complicated and mysterious case, one that would take experienced detectives hours to crack; seeing the fate of the culprit as their punishment was carried out - it was a wonderful feeling. It filled her with a sense of satisfaction.

And wouldn’t you know, the very first person to offer their help was you. You were eager, that she was sure of. It was unnerving how quickly you volunteered to help her solve the case, this tiny grin on your face every time you asked her about what the latest thing was she’d uncovered, but you weren’t the focus of her attention.

As much as she hated to admit it, Wednesday knew that Nevermore was a big school and having a werewolf with a good sense of smell would be helpful in her case, so she reluctantly allowed you to assist her, convincing herself repeatedly that it was only because she wanted to humor you.

Even worse? You weren’t that bad. She already knew you weren’t incessantly cheerful like Enid was, but you behaved yourself better than she’d expected, especially for you. It was odd, to say the least, to see the change in your behavior. Other than that, you did add helpful points to the conversation, and one or two of your suggestions weren’t as irrelevant as she’d expected.

Although Wednesday knew for certain that her typewriter had not been carelessly misplaced, she decided it wasn’t the worst of ideas to check anywhere it could have been misplaced, despite her insistence on the fact that she would never do such a thing. How could one misplace a large, expensive, prized typewriter that was only used in her dorm and her dorm alone? Impossible.

And so, the raven became sure that her assumptions had been correct from the start; foul play was indeed the only cause of her sudden loss and without a doubt when she would uncover the culprit at hand she would make their life a living hell. 

On her own the raven cut through her suspects list, starting with Bianca herself. Her week became festered with interviews as she took her time planning to take aside one of her friends (a term very loosely used), and question them mercilessly. Well - Bianca at least. The siren may have done her a favor or two a ways back but Wednesday was most certainly not one to allow mercy to anyone, especially under the circumstances. Unfortunately despite her flawless interrogation, the raven found Bianca empty handed. Ironic.

“What about Xavier?” That was your suggestion you offered when you approached her afterward, already peppering the raven with questions with that same small smile on your face that made her stomach twist.

“Xavier has no motive, Y/N, do you know anything about the pursuit of criminology?” Wednesday muttered, pulling the shoulder straps on her backpack tighter. “Use what’s left of your brain and actually think about possible suspects with valid intentions.”

Just as she expected you were already going for a kick to her shin, which she promptly dodged, continuing to walk down the hall while you surely sulked behind, most likely due to your failed attempt.

“I don’t have all day to play games and the gap is getting narrow.” Wednesday huffed, almost muttering to herself at this point as her fists clenched. “There’s an answer here.”

“What about Thing?”

Your voice broke her out of her thoughts as you jogged to catch up with her, walking alongside her as you spoke.

“He’s still pissed at you for giving him the silent treatment last week.” Your hands waved around excitedly as you talk, something that only very briefly distracted the raven.

“A punishment well deserved for an appendage who thinks it is appropriate behavior to provide useless information instead of helpful resources.” Wednesday’s eyebrows furrowed in slight annoyance as she recalled why she had refused the hand permission to assist her when she had performed her bloodstain analysis research on you in the woods a week prior. “He knows better than to hold grudges against an Addams.”

“He is an Addams, Wednesday.” The raven could practically hear you rolling your eyes as you spoke. “He’s part of your family but I wouldn’t put it past him to nab your typewriter to get revenge.”

“Couldn’t even think of the inevitable punishment he would receive,” Wednesday muttered with an eye roll of her own. “Ameuter. I’ll make sure he receives his consequences.”

The raven turned direction swiftly as she swerved from her original destination, already on track to Ophelia Hall as you caught up, the smile you had worn so frequently abruptly fading. Odd. She tried to focus on walking instead of your uncharacteristic silence. You were thinking. That she could tell.

“You’re going to like- hurt him? Right now?” You looked at her, your eyes searching hers. The raven kept her eyes ahead on the path, the students around her instinctively carving a path as she plowed through. “You can’t like- put him in timeout or something?”

Wednesday gave you a look of disgust as her lip curled into a grimace. “Y/N, suggest such a weak punishment like that again and I’ll make sure you understand an appropriate consequence.” She immediately shut down any nagging thoughts reminding her she’d never actually-

No. She needed to focus. This was not about you.

She veered the corner, before stopping in her tracks and spinning to face you with a glare. “Are you going to trail after me like a lost puppy or go make yourself of use?” Your face of insignace would be almost comical if she wasn’t so irritated with Thing. “Do as you please. I have business to attend to that will not require your inexperienced assistance.”

You huffed and folded your arms, grumbling something under your breath that the raven was almost positive was something contradicting her statement, but you nodded and turned, heading back down in the direction which you had come.

She threw open the door to her dorm, instantly spotting Thing on Enid’s bed with the blonde herself, discussing a nail care magazine the two were flipping through.

“That’s a good point, Thing, but this green might suit your complexion better,” the werewolf pointed to something on the glossy page, the hand tapping rapidly in response. “I absolutely am an expert at this, Thing, I know more about fashion than you.” A few more taps. “That’s vulgar coming from you.”

Wednesday stormed over to the bed, promptly yanking the magazine out from under Thing and handing it to the bewildered Enid, the appendage tumbling to the floor.

Before he could scuttle away the raven bent down and grabbed Thing in her hands, holding him up to her eye level as she glared at him with murderous intent. “Tell me where you put it or you’ll be receiving another scar to add to your collection.”

The appendage tapped rapidly on her hand, interrupted by Enid who stood and hurried over, laying a hand on Wednesday’s shoulder. “Willa….? What are you doing-?”

Wednesday’s fingers tightened around the hand as she met Enid’s worried expression, gesturing toward Thing with her head as she hissed, “my typewriter is missing and I wish to know why Thing took it.”

Enid paled slightly, which was confusing to the raven. “Don’t be sensitive, he’ll be receiving the attention that he clearly so desperately wants.”

Wednesday was already reaching into her pocket for her handy pocket blade that she carried on her at all times but was met with Enid’s hand on her wrist. She stiffened slightly and shot the blonde a glare, though she didn’t pull away. “Don’t interfere, Enid, I know what I’m doing.”

Yet, the werewolf didn’t move, eyes wide and face pale, mouth opening as if she wanted to say something before closing her mouth again as her gaze flitted from the hand and then back to her. “You said he took your typewriter?”

Wednesday nodded, pressing the tip of her knife to the crook of Thing’s thumb as she spoke in a dangerously low voice. “Start talking.” The hand responded with rapid and wild gestures, flailing in her hands as the raven’s fingers curled tighter around the appendage, pressing her knife firmly against his thumb, close enough to draw blood. 

“Don’t play dumb, Thing, answer the question. Where. Is. The typewriter?” Wednesday hissed, applying a little more pressure as the hand squirmed, signing wildly. Her grip faltered just slightly at the hand’s pleas; although pathetic and shameful, especially for Thing - they seemed authentic, which caught her off-guard. Shaking off her thoughts, Wednesday pressed the knife back against Thing’s smooth palm.

“It wasn’t Thing-” Enid blurted out, and Wednesday paused, slowly turning her head to stare at the blonde, eyes narrowing slightly. “It wasn’t-” the blonde trailed off with a frustrated sigh, rubbing her neck in what appeared to be an anxious gesture. The raven slowly lowered the hand, already realizing that Enid wasn’t lying. With a reproachful expression she set Thing back down on the bedspread, ignoring the hand’s rapid tappings of indignance.

“Explain. Now.”

Wednesday stared at the Enid with a glare, not budging as she folded her arms and waited for the blonde to explain, exhaling sharply through her nose. The werewolf fidgeted around with a guilty expression before groaning,

“Look, I told her that it was a bad idea, but she didn’t listen-” the blonde pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration and guilt, looking back up at Wednesday after a moment as she continued. “And you’re not allowed to murder her, but-” Wednesday didn’t even register the rest of Enid’s sentence as the answer hit her like a stab in the abdomen. You. Of course it was you. Why else would you volunteer to help her when you could’ve been off doing your own thing? That small smile she had always seen on your face when you had offered your advice? Now the mischief and deceit made sense. The fact that you had paled when she’d mentioned getting her revenge on Thing for your crime? How could she have not put the pieces together?

Even more infuriating, your advice and ideas as well as what you had suggested for suspects and information - they had all seemed so valid. How could you of all people be so foolish and yet infuriatingly genius at once? 

It was admirable.

No doubt about it, Wednesday was going to kill you. 

—————

pt.7 here!

[beneathsakurashade]

why did my favorite game turn into a dating sim? twst x gen reader (crack fic) CH 1: Bro got half a braincell

Intro CH:2 CH: 3

You were bored, like really bored.     So now you were sitting on the mattress that you called a bed while reading fanfics that hadn’t been touched by their authors after almost five years.  Scrolling absentmindedly through A03 you stumbled upon a new fic that somehow escaped your search.  It was titled 𝕋𝕨𝕤𝕥: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔻𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕊𝕚𝕞, in that font, just published mere minutes ago.  “Well, there’s nothing else that I want to read” you shrug and tap to open your newest discovery.  You’re greeted by a page that is blank, completely barren of words, “Is my wifi bad?” You mutter and reload the page. The page remains blank, “Wait no summary? No chapter title? Nothing?” You stare confused at your screen Did someone forget to write anything and just press post? you think attempting to exit out of the fic.  You feel nothing but a sudden fear as you shut your eyes and feel a rush of cold air and cobblestone as you hit the ground.  "Ow...the hell?" you cry and step up "Ah, good you're here!"

     An unfamiliar voice calls out and you hear someone walking over to you.  You look up to face a man wearing a bird-like mask and dressed in rich attire.  “And you are?” You ask unamused.  “I am Dire Crowley, headmage of Night Raven College!” He smiles “All I heard was that I’m a stranger and I brought you here” you retort.  “That is correct! I brought you here from your world for a once in a lifetime opportunity!” Not convinced you continue “If that once in a lifetime opportunity doesn’t include free food and housing I don’t want it-” Crowley interrupts your comment “Trust me, your food and housing will be completely covered! For I am so gracious! Now follow me, for I shall tell you why I brought you here on the way to my office”.  I don’t suppose that I have much of a choice… you think to yourself “Alright bird man, let’s get going”.  You follow this Dire Crowley through what appears to be a school, there’s people your age walking around in uniforms of various colors.  Some are holding textbooks, some are discussing yesterday’s homework and some are using their movement time to nap on the benches. 

You both arrive at his office and he opens the door, you sit yourself down at the chair in front of his desk.  “Now explain why I’m here” You start and watch as he summons papers into his hand and places them on his desk.  “You are to be part of a special program here at Night Raven College, a program which includes teaching our students about the married life.  If they so desire to partake in it later in life” Crowley explains.  You nod and pause “Wait…so what does teaching your students about being married have to do with me?” inwardly you think Okay...this is definitely not the NRC I'm used to, there's no such thing as a marriage program.  He explains further “Well you see, I have contacted your siblings, and they say that this experiment would do good for you! So this is a win win situation for us yes?” nodding slowly you pause and mutter "Wait...why does this feel familiar?"  Stiffening you realize that you were summoned into the world of Twisted Wonderland, right in the middle of Night Raven College, a school full of cute guys...and a deadbeat principal...

    You gaze at the first page in the small stack that you were given, at the top there’s a section for your basic info.  Filling the first page out you flip over to the back, there are a few more basic questions, like what’s your best subject, your hobbies, and your likes and dislikes.  After filling out the first page you turn to the second, which has information about a young man named Riddle Rosehearts, there’s no photo set for either of you.  You knew a lot about Riddle, Twisted Wonderland was your current hyperfixation, so you knew damn well about everything for every character, you could probably be like Azul and blackmail everyone at school with the dirt you had on them.  Still, it was strange having their info presented to you on a sheet of paper, you usually used the wiki to get your info, wait...what if you get your own twst wiki page?  What if someone is studying your page like you studied your favorite boys'?  Shuddering at the thought you look through the what was written on the pages, Age 20...wait wasn't he seventeen in the original game? Is this an au or something? Birthday is August 24th, homeland is Queendom of Roses, man I wish my homeland was called that tbh... Best subject is practical magic…whatever that is.  He’s in the Equestrian club, righttt, I forgot that NRC is a rich kid school, ain't no way my school has the budget for horses.  Ughhh my sister was a horse girl, I do not wanna handle more seasons of Heartland.  Hobby is hedgehog tending? That sounds awfully cute, bro better share them hedgehog tending responsibilities.  Pet peeve is rulebreaking? I mean it depends I guess, like some rules are dumb, and some aren’t so… Favorite food is strawberry tarts, sounds yummy, least fave food is junk food, oop bro is gonna hate my fave foods.  Talent is being fast at solving crossword puzzles? Mine is probably being fast at Fruit Ninja-. 

Crowley snaps and breaks you out of your thoughts, “So what do you think of your first partner Mx. L/N?” you try to keep as calm as possible (as one can when they get the news that they're going to be marrying a character from their favorite game) and cough.  "He seems interesting, so when do I get to meet him?”     “Quite soon Mx. L/N, after school today you both will meet.  Then tomorrow you will both attend classes together, and share a dorm room”.  “You want me to share a room with a stranger?” “Fear not Mx. L/N, there will be separate beds, and our students are very respectful.  If anything arises please report to Mr. Crewel, he will deal with such things swiftly”.  "Sure whatever you say..." you mutter and ask what happens now, trying to meet Riddle as soon as possible.  You walk alongside Crowley as he leads you to an empty classroom with a single student inside.  Sitting down at a desk with his head buried deep within a book, the only thing that you can see is two strands of strawberry red hair.  Sits the familiar sight of a particular rule obsessed student.  “Uh, Riddle, right?” You peep up and he looks up at you “Oh hello, you must be the student that the Headmage told me about” you nod in response.  “Yea I am, so uh…what do we do now?” You look behind you and notice that Crowley is gone, “Did he just leave? Bruh, guys always do this…” you remark sighing.  "Shall we introduce each other properly?" Riddle suggests and you shrug.  He stands up from his seat "My name is Riddle Rosehearts, Housewarden of Heartslabyul, it is an honor to meet you.  I do hope that our partnership shall be enjoyable".  You smile "I'm Y/N L/N, uhhh, an average college student.  It's nice to meet you".  

A/N: guys this is a cringey I know lol, this is basically for me to practice my writing. also fun fact the chapter titles r from wattpad comments. ok I'll go now bye :>

[delta-pavonis]

'allo! may i have a bit of Friend Like Me? ;)

Absolutely! I have posted some of this before, but once again Tumblr's search function is failing me and apparently I can't organize my own tags for shit so... This is Matthew + Hob used to be partners in crime (literally) and Hob may or may not have started the crew from Leverage. 😂

100% G-rated fluff over here.

Hob has to do this every few decades otherwise he would be up to his eyeballs in storage units. It isn't fun, but neither is having too many moving parts to keep track of and potentially getting caught by another asshat with a hard-on for immortality. 

What was that quote he had read? "No matter how subtle the wizard, a knife between the shoulder blades will seriously cramp his style." 

Not to mention the myriad other enemies he had accumulated via his network of grifters, hitters, and hackers. 

(What? The current state of technological advancements meant that Hob needed to get better at tracking and erasing his digital presence back in the late nineties. Was it his fault that while he was living in the States he had accidentally amassed a highly skilled group of "criminals" who were all connected to him like spokes to the hub on a carriage wheel? And that it turned out that they were, as a team, really great at liberating funds and removing items from billionaire idiots who didn't need a fraction of their accumulated wealth and power? That they did it so well that Hob had to fake his own death earlier than expected to get out from under a particularly angry arms dealer? Was that really all because of him?)

(Yes. Yes it was.)

Yeah, anyway, Hob didn't leave the house without at least one blade on his person anymore. 

This is why, when Hob is interrupted by a large black mass swerving into his storage unit through the crack in the door that should be far too small to admit such a creature, he pulls the nearest throwing knife (he was crouching, so he went for the one concealed in a sheath on the outside ankle of his black leather chelseas), clocks the intruder's movement in his peripheral vision, and wings it directly at them. It hits the wall with a satisfying kthud, which is promptly followed by a very avian squawking.

"FUCKING CAWCHRIST MY DUDE WAS THAT A KNIFE!?! WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS, THE IDES OF FUCKING MARCH?!"

That voice! Hob's head snaps up to see a sizable black bird falling in a tumble. It hits the concrete floor with a sound not unlike a briefcase hitting pavement from a story up (what? It is a very distinctive sound), leaving three large feathers tacked into the wall by the knife.

"Fuck me sideways that HURTS. Note to self, birds no likey losing butt feathers." The bird (A raven? Like this is the bloody Tower of London?) walks out from around a cardboard box with a bit of a waddle in its step, trying to look back at his tail while he moves. "I guess the Boss didn't tell you I was coming then?"

Hob sits back on his heels. That voice is still hauntingly familiar. But he would damned well remember meeting a talking bird. "Well, perhaps if you told me who your Boss is..."

The raven leaps a solid four feet into the air with a screech. He lands on top of a small writing desk, scrabbles against the smooth surface to balance himself, and then looks down at Hob with one glass-black eye. "I can't believe... no fucking way... Robbie? Is that you? Didn't you die in 2017?"

"Mattie?!" Hob's ass hits the cool floor as he is blown back by the revelation. "Didn't you die in 2020?"

Matthew Cable had been one of Hob's favorite grifters. Not because he was absolutely perfect at his job (oh no, Mattie had fucked up spectacularly more times then Hob’s blood pressure wants to recall), but because they had quickly become "let's get absolutely toasted and MST3K bad horror movies while we bitch about our love lives" buddies. Hob had missed Mattie immediately upon his own faked death and had mourned when he heard, through various channels he still kept an ear to, that Mattie had died in his sleep not too long ago.

"Yeah, but when I died I was given, like, a choice? Apparently the King of Dreams needed a new Raven and I decided to give it a go. Sounded much more interesting to work for him than actual death. There must be some mistake because I was sent here with a message for Hhh..." Mattie freezes.

"Dream sent you?" Hob tilts his head in interest. This was the Matthew he had often mentioned? A raven that carried his messages? Hob had been jealous over a bird?! (Oh Christ, how embarrassing.)

"Wait... what the fuck are you doing in Hob GaaaaAAHHHH!" Mattie the Raven starts hopping around frantically. "YOU ARE NOT JUST IN HOB GADLING'S STORAGE UNIT. YOU ARE HOB GADLING! FRIEND OF THE LORD MORPHEUS, KING OF DREAMS AND NIGHTMARES!"

Hob can't help his laughter. "Oh, he told you I was his friend, did he?" That Dream had called him friend to someone else shouldn't feel as good as it did. Hob tamps that useless bit of emotion down hard. (No good can come of that, better to put it away.) "Only took him six centuries to get there, stubborn wanker that he is." He fails to keep the fondness from his voice. 

"Christ you have no idea how much of a wanker sometimes..." Mattie shuffles his feathers. "Look, I gotta know the story here, man. How did you meet the King of Dreams?"

Hob stands, brushing off his jeans. "That... is a rather long story." He considers for a minute, barely that, rubbing at the back of his neck, before coming to a decision. "Look, it isn't like I get my close friends back from the dead every day... how about we head back to my flat, pull up something ridiculous like Slenderman, and I will fill you in on my story? Like old times?"

Mattie flaps over and lands on Hob's shoulder. "Hells to the yes. Especially if we can find out if ravens respond to THC. Shit, you ever get more of that Amnesia shit the team picked up in Amsterdam during that art heist job?"

Hob's belly laugh echoes in the small room. "I think I still have some squirreled away from my last trip to the continent." 

He locks the storage unit behind them. All the spring cleaning can happen another day. 

___________________________________

They did not, upon making it back to Hob’s flat above The New Inn, actually end up watching their intended horror movie. Instead, as they were flipping through options, they stumbled upon the live-action remake of Aladdin and Mattie had been so damned adamant that he wanted to see it while high that Hob had allowed the deviation from their established pattern. 

“That bird is a fucking useless sidekick. I will show you how to do it!” Matthew stands, wobbles, and falls off where he had been balanced on the arm of Hob’s couch.

Hob cackles, slouching back into the cushions. “Well, that’s your answer to the question about birds and THC, innit?” 

Matthew flapped his way up onto the space next to Hob. “Hey, I am still getting used to this stupid body without any fucking thumbs.” 

“Fair enough.” He shrugs, sinking even further back and letting the movie drift into the background, a gentle blanket of familiar songs. “So I can feel you trying to not ask questions. Ask away, Mattie. I owe you that much, at least.”

“Fucking right you do, faking your death like that caw.” The raven shakes his head. “Where even to start… Oh! I got it! When and how did you meet the King of Dreams and Nightmares? That must have been a trip and a half.”

The memory makes Hob even warmer and he feels himself grinning as he looks at the ceiling. “I was drinking with my pals at a tavern, the White Horse, in the year of our lord thirteen hundred and eighty nine…”

“Wait. The fuck? You are…” Mattie clearly stops to count for a blink, “almost seven hundred years old?”

“That I am, now let me finish… I rather loudly proclaimed that I had decided not to die. Just wasn’t going to fucking do it. And that was when he approached the table,” Hob closes his eyes, the swooping feeling of seeing Dream for the first time still razor sharp in his memory. Should he tell Mattie? Well, he had never been dishonest with the man before, no reason to start now. So Hob let all his emotional walls down. “And I swear to God, Mattie, it was like seeing a meteor shower for the first time. It was like discovering a second moon. I was absolutely dumbstruck by the beauty of this cocky young Lordling, all standing before me like he owned half the country. Looked it too, with that giant fucking ruby around his neck and his fine clothing.” Hob shakes his head, grin widening. “He offered me a deal. If I wanted unending life, then I could come back to that tavern on the same day at the same time one hundred years hence and tell him of my experiences of life so long-lasting. And here I am.” When Mattie doesn't immediately respond, Hob opens his eyes and turns his head. “What?”

The raven was studying him intently. When he spoke it was carefully metered and very much not in jest. “Robbie. I might be a bird now, but I would know that expression on your face anywhere. Do you… Are you…”

He didn’t need to put words to it, Hob knew exactly what his friend meant. He shrugged. “Aye, I probably am. But you have to understand, Mattie, he has been the only constant in my whole long life. Hundreds of relationships. Thousands of friendships. Centuries of life. And he was my only anchor.” Hob lets himself drift on that thought for a moment before coming back. “Did you know that I didn’t know his name until a few months ago when he showed up at the New Inn?”

“What?! What kind of asshole doesn’t give his – oh, wait, this is Dream I am talking about, isn’t it…”

Hob laughs. “You are very correct. Dream’s stubbornness is only surpassed by his beauty.”

“Wow. You’ve got it bad.”

“Most likely.” Hob inclines his head. “But I am happy with whatever type of relationship he is capable of with me."

The raven whistles. "Got it baaaad."

____________________________

And so it happens that Hob and Mattie are stonedly bickering over if Will Smith’s portrayal of the Genie was a good homage or a bad mockery (all while A Whole New World starts up in the background) when the King of Dreams and Nightmares steps out of nothingness and into Hob’s living room.

“Matthew! You were told to deliver a message, not spend an entire day-”

Hob cuts Dream off with an overdramatic, “OoooOOOOoooh, Mattie, you are in trooooouble.” Dream’s stern face snaps to Hob’s and he slaps a hand over his mouth while he giggles none-too-loudly, “OooooOOOh, now I am in trooooouble.”

That makes Mattie burst into giggles and let it be known that the giggle of a raven is not actually a pleasant sound to take in.

So it makes Hob laugh harder.

Then he sees Dream’s absolutely bewildered expression.

And that makes Hob laugh even harder.

Sobbing as he laughs, collapsed to the floor (having initially fallen clear off the couch in surprise at Dream’s entrance), clutching his belly, Hob can’t even bring himself to worry that Dream might actually be angry with him. Fuck, Hob just got Mattie back. This is fucking great.

Hob wipes at his face as his hysterics subside, trying to keep his voice steady as he addresses Dream from his place on the floor. “I’m sorry, m’love, I didn’t mean to patronize you, I just-” He cuts himself off when he sees, for the first time, a petal-pink blush color his Stranger’s cheeks.

“You called him your love!” Mattie cackles. Hob feels himself blush now, too. That was a slip. That shouldn’t have happened. (Ah, bollocks.) “You are so in for it now. The Boss hates pet names! Once I tried to call him Lord Mew-mew because he was acting like a wet fucking cat and-”

“Enough.” Dream waves his hand to his Raven and the bird is immediately silenced. “Matthew, leave us. I am not asking.”

“Aww, maannn.” Mattie shakes himself off and seems to become shockingly sober with just a ruffle of feathers. “Roger that, Boss. See you back at home.” Then he nods to Hob. “We should do this again sometime.” 

Before Hob can respond Mattie has taken wing and flown out a window that definitely was not open a moment ago. When he looks back up it is to have Dream’s hand in front of his face, gently offering to help him stand. Hob takes it, if only for the excuse to touch his Stranger’s skin for the first time. (His touch is cool, his fingers long and uncalloused, his skin smooth. Hob memorizes every sensation greedily.)

Dream seems to realize this once Hob is on his feet because the blush deepens slightly and he retracts his hand with a jerky motion. 

“I am sorry if I offended you, Dream.” Hob takes a step to the side and tries to catch his friend’s eye. Dream keeps purposefully looking away. “It is just a silly human endearment. I am rather high on some excellent weed and I didn’t mean-”

“Ah.” Dream interrupts and Hob’s jaw clicks shut. Dream is still not looking at him and so Hob can see the way the muscles in his jaw flex with tension. “Just a silly endearment. You did not mean it.” 

Something fiery swoops inside Hob. Dream has never acted like this. Never avoided Hob’s eyes. Never interrupted him. And all because Hob had accidentally called him love.

See, thing is, Hob does mean it. More than he has words for. But never did he think… Dream couldn’t possibly. Fuck. Hob is too high to think clearly about this.

Hob steps into Dream’s line of sight, forces the slightly taller anthropomorphic personification to meet his eyes. Why it comes out a whisper when Hob speaks he will never know. “Dream. Do you want me to mean it? Do you want me to call you,” he hesitates for a moment because this could ruin everything. (But look at him! Look at the hurt in his expression, the tension in his shoulders. He does not hide it well, now that Hob knows what to look for - thanks, Sophie.) “my love?”

It is answer enough to see Dream’s pupils dilate and his nostrils flare. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. 

He is shaking when he goes to take Dream’s hand, brings it up to press a kiss to those beautiful fingers. “If I am reading this wrong then please please let’s just chalk it up to the THC and pretend this never happened. But…” Hob takes the last step in and now they are almost chest-to-chest, “I thought you would have figured it out after 1689… you are my guiding star. It is you who I wait decades for. You who I hope to impress with my experiences. You who I have yearned to touch with every fiber of my being for literal centuries.” Dream is blinking wide eyes at him now, confusion and surprise and hope all written there. “And if your friendship is all I can have, then so be it. But, Dream. If I had three wishes I would spend them all just to be able to call you love.”

[busycloudy]

Riddle Rosehearts x MadHatter!MC

I got this idea from roseyrayschangedblogs who made Mad-ly In Love | Che'nya x MadHatter!Reader, so credits to them!

Tw: None

This fanfic is crack and fluff.

The reader is MC and goes by they/them pronouns. Reader also goes to RSA.

Riddle may or may not be ooc

Hope ya enjoy!

Riddle questions your relationship at times, but at this point he knows it's never going to make sense (Like you❤️)

"MC your mad as a hatter!" he would say, but for some reason you would always respond with "Why thank ya your majesty!" alongside a grin.

You had so many hat trinkets, hat related things, and simply hats in your room it was ridiculous. He even asked why you wear that one hat, but you ended up changing the conversation.

"Why Mr. Rosehearts, it's quite like people. I had so many choices in the world, yet I chose you" You then booped him on the nose and winked. Now you've got him all flustered and red in the face!

You CONSTANTLY fluster him, and he can never escape from it. His face is just always red now. Ace is teasing him for it.

You visit him from RSA so much he thinks he's going mad himself.

One cute thing you do with him is ask him riddles. Your favorite riddle is "Why is a raven like a writing desk?" You would just pop out of nowhere and ask him these things. You either gave him the answer at the end of the day or he would get it by the end of the day (Which rarely happens)

"MC, why do you always ask me riddles?" He asked one day. "Well Riddle, I ask you riddles all the time simply because your name is Riddle, hehehe~" you said with your adorable laugh. He's still trying to comprehend what you said.

"Off with your head!" He said as you tried to run away. "Yowch! Such a rude thing to do to a poor old, innocent hatter." You smiled. "MC you ate all the tarts!" He argued. "Not just me! Chenya to!" You defended yourself. He just playfully rolled his eyes.

Overall, you guys are a chaotic couple, and quite adorable to! You may be seen as mad, but that's just the fun thing about you!

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

Tbh I didn't know how to write this, it was just a thought I came across that I wanted to write. Sorry if it's short.

Hope you liked it!

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

some werewolf!jay angst because I crave the feels?? take care of yourself ari! xx <3

"Hey Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"What do you get when you put a candle in a suit of armor?"

Silence greeted the question and Jason turned his head. As a general rule, he tried not to look AT you. Feeling weird about seeing so much of your body. And when he looked over, you were laying on the ground. Still chained by the neck like he was. Still wearing the heavy silver shackles they only took off for the change. And he heart dropped.

Female wolves were rare... Especially in wild packs. But. You survived the change. You'd been here longer than him. You had control. What had- why were you so still? Were you breathing? He couldn't tell.

"Hey! Y/N! Hey!"

"It's 3am shut the fuck up!" Rafe growled, not opening his eyes. "They'll come get the body-"

Jason snarled and pulled at the chains. The burn of the Silver on cracked skin making him hiss. It burnt. But. They couldn't have you. Not now. Not ever. You couldn't be dead.

He promised.

He was going to get you out of here. He was going to get you home. To Chicago. To your kindergarteners. He promised.

But not- not you. Not now. He pushed against the ground. Muscles straining. Growling as he tried to remember years of training. How was he supposed to get out of this? And even if he could get his arms and legs free- his neck was chained.

And the grinding of the metal was going to be loud.

"Sweetie," he panted, "Please. Open your eyes. What do you get when you put a candle in a suit of Armor? C'mon! How is a raven like a writing desk?" Were you cold? He was cold.

"Please?" he pleaded.

"Shut up!"

"Fuck you," he spat. Straining to reach for you. For his fingers to just brush yours. "Don't leave me here alone," he managed, swallowing hard. "You can't leave me here with Rafe, sweetie. You gotta- you gotta stay." He felt the barest brush of your skin and raised his head.

And when your fingers twitched, just slightly, he exhaled slowly. He had time. Just not much. He had to figure this out. And soon.

[merryfortune]

if our love is insanity then why aren't you my clarity

Written for AiYusa Month 2024 | May 12th-May 18th | Week One

Prompts: Madness | “There isn’t anything that I wouldn't do for you.”

Title: if our love is insanity then why aren’t you my clarity

Ship: Aiballshipping | Ai/Yusaku

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS

Rating: T

Word Count: 1,586

Warnings: Choose not to warn

Tags: Alternate Universe - Alice in Wonderland, Crack Treated Seriously, Humour, Parody, Character Death, Ambiguous Ending, Time Loops

   “What does a raven have in common with a writing desk?” Ai asked, smarmy, batting his eyelashes.

   “Edgar Allan Poe wrote on both.” Yusaku replied.

   Ai's expression changed, he pouted, “Pfft, you're no fun. Knowing the answers to all my riddles,” Ai's mood changed again then added, “but! That's why I love you.”

   “I'm glad.” Yusaku said as neutrally as possible. “Now, I have answered your riddles and you say you love me, now will you let me go?”

   He struggled in the ropes that Ai had ambushed him with. They were an endless chain of colourful triangles of fabric, repeating the six colours of the rainbow, until they formed his bondage. 

   “No, no can do, Yusaku-chan.” Ai lamented playfully.

   He got up from across the far end of the ballroom table they were seated at. Clashing and mismatched furniture bedecked either side, there was a feast for hundreds let alone two and it was all going cold, to waste, on them. Yusaku thought there was meant to be a White Rabbit, a March Hare and a Dormouse but no. It was just him and the Mad Hatter in this whimsical forest.

   Ai, now having made the journey from one end of the table to the other, perched on the corner in front of Yusaku. He put one foot on Yusaku's chair, squeezing it under Yusaku's leg playfully.

   “No.” Ai said again. “No can do, I'm afraid. It's my Unbirthday Party so I can do as I please. Besides, we haven't even finished this date of ours, Yusaku-chan.”

   Yusaku rolled his eyes. Date, schmate. He had only met Ai today and yet, when Ai looked at him, yes, it was with a gaze full of love but something else too. Something miserable. It made Yusaku feel like he wasn't truly being looked at bit rather through, like he wasn't there despite having all of Ai's attention and adoration.

    See? Even at his rudeness of rolling his eyes, Ai didn't admonish Yusaku. Instead, he continued to sit and stare and sigh, like a fool in love.

   “Well?” Yusaku prompted Ai through his reverie. “How do we finish this date then?”

   “Well, we need to talk some more.” Ai said.

   “About what?” Yusaku asked.

   “About whatever we like.” Ai trumpeted, getting loud all of a sudden and shaking Yusaku's nerves like a tree. “And we need to exchange gifts! Two each. Then,” Ai turned quiet again, fidgeting cutely, “we get to kiss.”

   Yusaku sighed. Anything to get this over and done with. He had places to go and people to see. He wanted to go home. He needed to clear his name to Queen and slay the Jabberwock and none of those things were going to happen if he was tied to a chair by a madman.

   “Okay, what do you want to give me?” Yusaku asked. “If we are on a date, then I want my presents now.”

   “Oh my, so bold, but of course I would pamper my lover. I have just what you need: some freshly brewed tea.” Ai said.

   He produced a pot of tea, seemingly from thin air, and theatrically poured it. Steam wafted off the rivers and into a chipped, ceramic tea cup with wisteria emblems printed on it. The tea smelt rancid, it wrinkled Yusaku's nose and his dissatisfaction with it only worsened when Ai scootched the cup closer to him.

   He waited, sharp and expectant.

   Yusaku pointedly didn't say anything.

   Ai blinked, batted his lashes.

   Yusaku didn't even move a muscle in reaction.

   “Er, well, drink up, Yusaku-chan.” Ai attempted to encourage Yusaku.

   “How?” Yusaku asked, snapping. “I can't reach it when I'm tied up.”

   “Oops, silly me! Your second gift from moi.” Ai said.

   He bonked his head apologetically with the palm of his hand, poking his tongue out, too. It was an utter farce of being genuine but maybe he was. Yusaku couldn't tell as Ai adjusted his hat, then his waistcoat, and then produced his next gift for Yusaku.

   “Tada!” he announced ever so sing-song. “A silly straw. Although, since this is Wonderland, it is a normal straw to us silly geese, tee-hee.” 

   The silly straw in question was long and winding, a translucent purple with a Kink in about the middle of which was heart-shaped. Ai put the bottom of it in the tea cup and supported the other end of it so Yusaku could use it.

   “Bottoms up, beloved.” Ai sing-songed.

   Yusaku huffed but accepted. He latched on and sucked hard enough to-blegh! It didn't even taste like tea. It was more akin to boiled grape ramune despite the deceptively earl grey colour it had in the teacup.

   “Ugh, yuck.” Yusaku complained.

   Ai, unfazed, changed the topic of conversation immediately, “Now what about my gift?” he said. “What did you bring me, your lover boy?”

   “I didn't bring you anything. I only met you today. You are not my lover boy.” Yusaku said and repeating Ai's self annoyed pet name for himself soured his mouth worse than the tea.

   “Well,” Ai said, uppity, “guess that means you are here forever then! Oopsie-daisies.”

   “What, no?!” Yusaku exclaimed, firing back. “I need to go, Ai, I need to go home!”

   “I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Yusaku-chan.” Ai tutted, closing his eyes as he fidgeted with his fingers again.

   “Why not? I need to go home, I need to slay the Jabberwock so Queen clears my name and then I can go home but I can't if I'm stuck here playing dolls with you.” Yusaku snarled.

   “Too bad, rules are rules. You would know that better than anyone else, Mister I Barely Escaped with My Head.” Ai taunted him.

  Yusaku huffed.

   Ai cautiously opened one eye, “I told you already. We are on a date. To have a successful date and leave, we need to talk twice. Check, check. I need to give you two gifts. Check and check. But you also need to give me two gifts so we can then kiss afterwards and leave our date. But if you can't, well, you. Are. Stuck.”

   “Says who?” Yusaku snapped, incredulous.

   “The game designer, that's who.” Ai said.

   “Wait, what? Pause.” Yusaku, in disbelief, scrunched up his face then turned to the camera, “Can you believe this?”

   Ai blinked, “Who are you talking to? This is a written text, there can't be any cameras.”

   Yusaku looked again and Ai was right. There were no cameras. Just the droning of a keyboard as the next word was written after the other, a narration added one by one until it became a third person omniscient perspective intrinsic to the diegetic noises of the scene. The birds singing, the foliage swaying, etcetera.

   But that couldn’t be right either, Yusaku realised.

   His skin began to crawl. The keys on the keyboard continued to clack as he put one and one together.

   “We’re not speaking like it's 1856.” Yusaku said.

   “Well, yeah, ‘cause, like… You know, duh, because it’s… I’m crazy, I’m Looney Tunes, you know. We’re all mad here.” Ai rambled.

   The anachronistic reference only further cemented in Yusaku’s mind that something was very wrong.

   “We,” he said, “are in a fanfiction.”

   “What, no…? That can’t be right.” Ai replied.

   “By an author who hasn’t even read the original book she is creating this pastiche from. She’s barely seen the Disney version!”

   AN: The Care Bears version was my jam as a kid tho. 

   If you haven’t seen that, get out of here! XD

   “See?!” Yusaku exclaimed.

   Ai groaned and thingz 0nly w3nt w0rz3 and d0wn h1ll fr0m d0wn th3r3.

   Mostly because Yusaku died.

   Oops.

   Yusaku simply vanished from existence. Right in front of Ai’s eyes for the… fiftieth time by Ai’s count. There was just no escaping fate. Yusaku had to clear his name by slaying the Jabberwocky. Except, it was usually the Jabberwocky who killed him. Or Queen. And there was one incident with the Walrus. And another with the Caterpillar and his hookah machine. 

   For Yusaku, dying was as easy as breathing. He didn’t have a chance to process. He just disappeared as the world around him folded like a castle of playing cards. He was just returned to the beginning of the book, the beginning of the level, back to when he was falling down the rabbit hole that he could never escape from because darling dearest Wonderland wanted to keep him so bad and the only way he could stay was if he died.

   Its a shame he never remembered.

   But Ai did.

   Their first meeting, the first time they shared in laughter and jokes, crying as Yusaku seemingly got so close to the finishing line before… chomp. He was gone. Decapitated.

   This wasn’t one of this gorier deaths, Ai had to admit but that was hardly a balm for his soul. Not when he wanted to keep Yusaku, all to himself, it's a shame he had to share him with a larger than life story but hey. Just because ropes didn’t work this time, didn’t mean they woulodn’t work next time or he could try something else, like a glue trap or a reverse bear trap or something but at the end of the purple prose run on sentence, deep down, he knew.

   There was nothing Ai could do to keep his beloved protagonist safe from the ending of the… the whatever it was and look? Not much space between here and the last words of the text. Just three… two… one…

   Fin.

[literaryspinster]

Hi 👋 @literaryspinster bestie I’m so excited 😆 to read the next chapter of tiger 🐅 boy and witch girl soon 🔜

Aww, thank you so much! And sorry it's taking so long, stuff just keeps falling into my lap. But here's a preview to hold you over.

Dear Tim,

You have to come visit as soon as possible.

Being a part of Haly’s is a wonder, even better than I ever would have thought. 

Every day I get up with the sunrise to have breakfast with the team, then I help Eve and Dominic tend to the show horses and the rescues. After that I spend an hour or three shadowing Dominic as he prepares for his upcoming veterinary science exam, although really, it’s for my own good more than his. He already knows more than any doctor, even Eve thinks so and she is a doctor. I always thought I’d be one too someday, now I feel like it might actually happen before I’m 85. At Caulder's all they ever wanted me to do was shovel shit and starve, but these people make me feel like I have a chance to do more with my life.

Just the other morning I helped deliver a foal, I pulled her slimy squirmy hooves until she emerged from her mother in a braying heap and I watched as she stood up on four precarious legs, finding purchase on the hay scattered barn. We named her Buttercup because she’s as high yellow as her daddy, Kory’s words, not mine.

Rachel is doing better these days too, she’s not so frail as she was when I snatched her up from old man Adamson’s, and she’s finally getting caught up on her schooling. Kory’s always giving her novels and such, and she teaches her French while they sweep peanut shells or patch up costumes. Dick is teaching her calculations by letting her handle some of the books, with supervision of course. She never took to math much before but something about making it practical is making it stick. She’ll be ready for high school by the end of the summer. She thinks by then she’ll know how to make friends who aren't birds.

I teased her about it, asked her “what about me and Tim?” and she told me, without missing a beat “you’re family, it’s a big difference.” And she’s right, you know, we are family.

We’ll be in Pennsylvania for a month. Kory’s sister has a mansion there, with lots of land. You have to come, Tim, promise me you will. Rachel would be over the moon to see you and so would I.

With Love,

Gar.

He folds the letter in three and tucks it into a cream envelope, when they stop tomorrow he’ll drop it in the mail first thing. 

“Should I write Tim a letter too, you think?” Rachel asks.

“Have you not been?”

She gives a noncommittal shrug, “there’s never been anything good to say.”

Gar gets up from his bed and walks the three steps across the floor of the train car to take a seat next to Rachel. “You don’t only have to talk about nice things you know, what about when you would write to me?”

“You’re different.”

“How am I different?”

“I mean you’re the same, the same as me. You can’t get someone down when they’re already down.”

“Tim deals with more than you think. And I’m sure he’d love to hear from you.”

Rachel cracks a small smile, but there’s something hidden in it.

“Besides, things are looking up now, so you do have good things to say after all,” Gar pushes.

“I know, it’s just, aren’t you scared that it might not last, that it can’t?”

“No, I’m not worried about that. I don’t know why they’re so set on keeping us around, but they are, and I don’t see that changing. I know this sounds sort of mad, but I trust them.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust them Gar, I don’t trust the world.”

Gar is silent as he reaches for a sheet of paper and a pen to give Rachel. “Here, don’t worry about all of that, just write what you feel, okay?”

She takes it, biting back whatever argument threatens to emerge, and she makes eye contact with the black bird resting in a cage on the desk. “I guess there’s no point in asking if you could do it for me, is there, you big dumb bird?”

“You’re the big dumb bird,” the Raven responds, and Rachel finally laughs.

****

Dick didn’t take Rachel and Gar in to heal Kory, the thought didn’t even cross his mind. He took them in because it was the right thing to do, and because Kory would leave him faster than a door could swing shut if he turned them away. The man she married was not the sort of man who would deny those in need, not when he could afford to help them.

But the more time passes, the better Kory becomes. Having them to look after and protect has pushed her other troubles to the wayside at least for the time being. 

It wasn’t just a baby Kory wanted, she always understood that babies grew up faster than anything, and became people of their own. All Kory wants is to help these kids become the people they would have been if life hadn’t been so cruel to them. For as long as they’ll allow her to.

She doesn’t need to push, they accept her with open arms because they need so badly to cling to something that won’t fray and snap under their weight.

Is this what he wants? He’s asked himself twice or three times in the few weeks they’ve been in their care. Truthfully, since marrying Kory he’s only ever wanted what she wanted. But does he want this? Would he have simply sent them on their way with a hot meal and a few dollars had Kory not been there?

It’s perhaps a useless question, because they’re here and there doesn’t seem to be any signs of them taking their leave soon. 

But therein lies the problem, a problem they won’t be able to ignore for long. 

There’s a letter from Niles Caulder poking ominously from the center of the mail stack, its sharp corner threatening him like the tip of a knife. He’s read it a dozen times, hoping each time it’ll sound less like the roar of hellfire approaching. 

I know the boy and his beast are in your filthy clutches. If there wasn’t enough evidence that the fire was your doing before, there is now, expect the authorities to bust down your door any day now.

They’ll have to find them first, of course. They’re going on hiatus for a month before rolling into Cincinnati. In the meantime they’ll leave no signs anywhere, they won’t run off at the mouth to the papers, they’ll keep their heads in the present.

The train car vibrates along the tracks, coasting into the night. Tomorrow the worry will be less, it’ll have to be.

[novaauster]

chapter 1 of Trial Class the aftg bjj au fic under the cut

Tags: Alternate Universe-- Jiu-Jitsu, Trans Neil Josten, because if your bjj gym does not have transmasc rep you’re doing something wrong, Autistic Kevin Day, because if your bjj gym does not have autistic rep you’re Really doing something wrong,  Crack Treated Seriously, i did not intend to write so much bullshit about bjj but here i am

In the end notes I have my notes on each characters’ belt rankings, my reasoning for why they would be at that level, and their main skills if you find that stuff interesting. 

Neil ducks into an unmarked door of a cinderblock building, his heart pounding. He knows he was being followed. He doesn't know by who, or how many people, or under whose orders, and he doesn't want to find out.

He's greeted by a rickety staircase that announces his arrival step by step. Creak. Creak. Feeling like a kid in an antique Baltimore home. Bad music leaks up through the floor from the basement, not too loud but instantly recognizable as the kind of stuff they played on MTV a decade ago.

At the bottom of the staircase is a dude about his age in a plain blue martial arts gi, and maybe Neil should pay attention to his scowl, or his brown belt, or his height-- but instead he zeroes in on the face tattoo. A chess piece, the queen.

"No one signed up for a trial class today," the guy says flatly.

"That's fucking disrespectful," Neil says.

The guy blinks, then crosses his arms across his chest. "What is?"

Neil steps down a few more stairs to show he's not intimidated by this poser. "Getting Kevin Day's tattoo. He didn't get it to look tough."

"I am Kevin Day."

Sure, he looks a little like Kevin Day. He has the eyes, and the jawline, and the wrist brace, but he can't be Kevin Day. He can't be the man whose tournament footage Neil has tracked down over the course of years and scrupulously watched until he memorized every single move. "Oh yeah? And what's Kevin Day doing in a shithole like this?"

"Training," says Kevin Day.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Neil locks down his expression, tries his level best not to start begging for mercy, and gets close enough to shake Day's hand. It’s the fastest, most perfunctory handshake he has ever experienced, and Neil notices that they're at eye level while Neil is still standing on the final stair. "I'm here to sign up for my trial class."

“Alright, uh, gym rules.” Kevin gestures towards the framed list, up on the wall beside the famous portrait of Hélio Gracie, all stern with his red belt blending into the red flag background: Jiu-Jitsu Da Guanabara, the first federation of jiu-jitsu schools. There’s also a display of belts in order: white, blue, purple, brown, black. Only five levels. Neil has always found it beautifully simple. “Number one, shoes off when on the mat, shoes on when off the mat.”

Somebody has scratched out Rule Number One and scrawled “Dogs out” in its place, but Kevin is ignoring it so Neil figures it doesn’t mean anything. 

“Number two, proper attire. That means belts tied all the time, even in no-gi, for safety. That also means wear your gi for a gi class, Nicky!” Kevin abruptly shouts the end of that sentence towards the people already on the bright orange mats.

Orange is a weird color for mats. They tend to be gray, or in the Ravens’ case, black, but the explanation for the design choice is tacked up above the rule list: The Foxhole Gym, it reads in Canva font, and underneath adds Gracie Palmetto.

A young man on the mats dutifully wearing his blue belt, albeit overtop nothing but a tight rashguard and obscenely small fighting shorts, replies “You’ll never take me alive!”

“You’re lucky we have a trial class or I’d force you into the orange gi.”

“Oh the horror! You wouldn’t do that to me!”

Kevin turns back to Neil. “Stay away from Nicky. He’s trouble. Rule three, respect the tap. Tap when you’re done, let go when they’re done-- but you won't be tapping anyone out.” He goes behind the front desk and retrieves a clipboard and pen, as well as a folded gi. “Rule four, sign the waiver.”

It’s The Orange Gi, which Nicky had been so horrified by. Neil takes the whole stack and tells himself that it isn’t that bad, it even smells like laundry detergent, but it really is garishly neon. 

“That’s the only spare we have,” Kevin says. “Beggars, choosers. If you come back get your own and get a Gracie patch on it, rule five. Six, sign in before class and don’t be late. Seven, personal hygiene, don’t be disgusting. Eight, no jewelry, no glasses, no unbound long hair, hearing aids on a case-by-case basis. For safety. Nine, get a white stripe before standing up while rolling and a red stripe to roll at all. The rest is self explanatory.”

There are four more rules on the list. Neil reads them. “I’ll just get changed, then.”

“Changing rooms’ to the left.” They are two open doorways to the left, neither of which are labeled.

Neil hesitates.

“Just pick one, they both have stalls.” For a second Neil’s sure that Kevin Day just clocked him, but then he continues “I’m ninety percent certain that Nicky removed the signage on a dare from Allison but they will not confirm, deny, or tell me why. They say I have to learn what a ‘transgender’ is. Do you know?”

“Uh,” Neil says.

“I will not google it. I have learned that the internet is not my friend.”

“Dictionary?”

“You think it is in a dictionary? Half the words these assholes use are not defined in it.” Rule twelve, Neil remembers. No foul language. “What is rizz, I ask and find no answer. What is skibidi. They have no respect.”

“Pretty sure it’s in any dictionary printed in the last twenty years,” Neil says.

“If you say so. Regardless, if I find proof of whoever pulled this outlandish prank they will be fighting a Ten-Round Tuesday with me and I will be grinding shoulder pressure into their face the entire time and finally grant mercy in the form of a d’arce choke. Mark my words!”

“Yes Coach,” Nicky yells back. 

Wow, Keil thinks. Kevin Day is a total freakshow. Good thing I’m the normal one here. Out loud, he says “Why ten rounds with you? Why not, for example, that guy?” He points at the scariest guy in the room.

Now, if Neil has experience in anything, it’s in determining who is the scariest person in the room. It isn’t the strongest one, because all of them look like college-age athletes who are strong as hell. It isn’t the biggest guy (blue belt, two stripe, spiked hair) or the highest ranked (Kevin, and then a purple belt, one stripe, pink gi). It’s all in the eyes. It’s a blond blue belt, approximately 160 pounds, 5’0, black gi and long black rashguard covering as much skin as possible. 

Kevin looks where Neil is pointing. “Oh, Andrew? No. I am trying to punish them, not injure them for life.”

“I see.”

“Class starts five minutes. Get changed.”

Neil picks a changing room at random, glad to find it empty. In a locked stall he switches out his binder for the sports bra in his backpack, suspecting that he’ll need the extra lung capacity, and changes out his white t-shirt for the closest thing he has to a rashguard, a black polyester shirt that’s slightly too small. It reads Charlotte Día De Los Muertos 5K, and it may be stolen, but considering that he had both run five kilometers through a graveyard and almost become one of the muertos via stab wound, he feels he has the right to it.

He pulls the gi pants on over his running shorts, tying the drawstring tight high on his waist because otherwise he’d be stepping on excess fabric. The sleeves flop halfway over his palms.

Nothing for it. Today is a good day. Not only has he escaped the people following him without having to call up his uncle, at least for now, he’s also getting a class with Kevin Fucking Day. And maybe Kevin Fucking Day is a little bit… off, but he’s still, Neil’s sure, a genius. 

Neil leaves the changing room with his blank, borrowed white belt tied as best he can. He sets his backpack in the cubbies, which creak under the weight, in view of the mats so he’ll always have an eye on it. In the cubby beside him are knives. 

“Your belt is tied wrong. Ask somebody to help you with it,” Kevin says, taking Neil’s signed waiver. “Neil Hatford,” he reads of the paper. “Oh. I never asked your name.”

“I never offered it.” Neil’s used to skirting around that part of conversations. He’d run out of names if he gave them up so easily. 

“Well. Introductions. Everybody who comes to lunchtime class is already on the mats. Closest to us are Allison and Dan. Allison is in mount.”

Allison, purple belt, pink gi. Neil vaguely recognizes her, he thinks, from skimming past internet discourse. People like to accuse her and her Youtube channel of teaching bullshit self-defense, but she never claimed to be a self-defense teacher. She teaches pure jiu-jitsu and never claimed to be a full coach, it’s not her responsibility to tell people how to dodge a punch. “Allison Reynolds?”

“Then you should know of Dan Wilds,” Kevin says as Allison pins Dan’s arm down on the mat, steps her knee over it, and maneuvers the other arm into mounted triangle position, leaning down over it to close the choke until Dan taps. They switch positions and run through it again.

“I don’t,” Neil admits.

“You will.” Kevin does not elaborate. “You are aware of Nicky. Bantamweight beside him is Aaron. The two mountains are Matt and Seth. Seth is the white belt but do not make the mistake of thinking he is on your level.”

Neil raises his eyebrows. Never meet your heroes, he thinks, and decides on saying “And what level is that?”

Kevin looks him up and down. “Novice, featherweight-- or bantamweight if you cut a few pounds-- and, unless you made a very particular visit to the pharmacist, women’s.” He says it like reciting a grocery list.

“Fuck you.”

“You asked. Which part of that was offensive?”

“Fuck. You.” Neil prepares to repeat himself in Portuguese and Japanese, but doesn’t get the chance. 

“And then those two vale tudo maniacs are Renee and Andrew.” At first Neil translates the term directly-- free for all-- and then colloquially-- no-holds-barred-- but he did read Rickson Gracie’s autobiography. Vale Tudo is a precursor to MMA, with no points, no timer, and yes, no holds barred, but it went well out of fashion by the 90’s. Kevin’s just using it as an expression. “Renee’s in-- well, she had an uchi-mata-- and there he goes--”

Renee’s back hits the mat with a gruesome smack, but she inverts into k-guard to bring Andrew down with her. Andrew disentangles himself from her legs in a scramble and then hauls her into side control, but doesn’t stay there, instead reaching deep into her lapel for a choke.

Renee uses the shift in balance to slip the choke though, getting her knee wedged in between them and wrestling up, holding a whizzer hook over Andrew’s arm like it’s the lever to the nuclear codes and letting it up would cause World War Three. He can’t take her back. He tries to tap her knee and force her over sideways but her base is too wide, he can’t reach. And normally one would underhook her far-side thigh and roll underneath, but he can’t even reach that far. 

So he shoves his hand under her near-side thigh instead and rolls. “I didn’t know you could do that,” Neil comments. 

The tournaments Neil has watched have fighters with, more or less, the same build, just at different weights. Jiu-jitsu is all about using leverage to cancel out what might be greater strength, but he’s never never seen anything focusing on accommodations for fighters that are short and fat like Andrew. 

Kevin’s watching the fight with his hands on his hips like an old man loitering at a construction site. “He likes to improvise,” the brown belt says. That confirms what Neil thought: Andrew made up that modification on the fly. “They’ll do this all day if I don’t stop them.”

“I could watch this all day,” Neil agrees.

“What?”

“What?”

Kevin calls Andrew’s name. The roll ends, abnormally quick for two people that were previously clinging to each other’s necks and clothing for dear life, and the two slap hands amicably. All of the lethal striking-snake energy seems to drain out of Andrew’s body. He walks glacially slow to the edge of the mat, shaking out each leg once before stepping into a pair of black flipflops. When he gets to Kevin’s side, he pulls a strand of Renee’s rainbow hair out of his mouth and flicks it onto the floor. 

“Are those knives,” Neil says to neither of them in particular and starts examining the knives in the adjacent cubby. They’re all fairly small, flat-handled, easily concealable but not cheaply made or rarely used. They look sharp. 

“They sure are,” says Andrew. Up close Neil notices that his rashguard extends up his neck and down his hands, held in place by holes at the thumbs almost like a medical brace. 

“Andrew,” says Kevin, very obviously wanting to change the topic. “Are you going to take him?”

“I can take him,” Andrew confirms cheerily. 

“For drills,” Kevin says. 

“I can take him for drills too, Coach.”

“I’m not your coach.”

“Who is?” Neil asks. “Whose gym is this?”

“He’s out for lunch right now, but David Wymack,” Kevin says, the way most people say Abraham Lincoln or Tetsuji Moriyama. Despite this obvious reverence from the Queen, Neil has never heard of him. 

“Stats?” he asks. “Lineage?”

“Who’s rude now,” Andrew says. “But if you were nice would you be any use?”

“It’s fine,” Kevin says. “Eight wins MMA, two TKO, five submission, one decision. One draw. One loss, by decision: DQ on injury by foul. You want height and weight class too?”

“What do proportions matter when I’m asking about qualifications?”

“Right answer,” says Andrew.

“Lineage Royce Gracie,” Kevin continues like he hadn’t heard Andrew. 

Well, Neil can’t argue with that. “Is that how you pronounce it? Hoyce?”

“Royce,” Kevin repeats. “Yes. You do a lot of reading.” And not much else, is the implication. A not entirely true implication, it’s just that Neil tends to fight for his life the way his mother taught him: with a gun. Uncle Stuart made sure he could make do with hand-to-hand, but that didn’t exactly mean paying for his gym subscription.

Neil lets it slide.

Kevin checks his watch, then starts removing it because of the No Jewelry rule. “Class.”

“What kind of class,” Andrew says.

Kevin thinks about it. “Cardio Class.”

The people on the mats apparently hear, because some grumbling rises up about how it isn’t even Saturday.

It can’t be that bad, Neil thinks as he toes off his sneakers and socks and steps onto the mats. At least it’s not Día De Los Muertos.

“Group punishment is against the Geneva Suggestion,” Andrew says.

“Geneva… suggestion?” Neil isn’t sure he heard that right.

Kevin ignores Neil. “You have to stop accusing me of war crimes on the internet and then telling me I have to work on my public image. It’s unprofessional.”

“Now, who said I was professional?”

“You work here. You teach the kids’ class.”

“I don’t accuse them of being war criminals.”

“I should fire you.”

Andrew shrugs. They walk over to the mats. “Your belt is tied wrong,” he says. 

“My belt is fine.”

“Nicky.” Nicky, blue belt, Trouble, looks up from his side splits. “His belt is tied wrong.”

“Is it my birthday,” Nicky says, smoothly pulling himself upright and prancing over. Up close, Neil sees that rashguard is emblazoned with the words Mexican Ground Karate over a sunset logo. He tugs Neil’s belt loose and attempts to tie it standing face-to-face with him, but it falls apart. “Shit, it’s backwards. I forget how…” He moves behind Neil and, looking over his shoulder, ties a sturdier knot with muscle memory. “That’s it.”

Neil nods but doesn’t thank him as he returns to his corner. 

The awful MTV music pauses, and Kevin sits in the center of the mat so everyone’s attention falls on him. “Circle up,” he says redundantly. “Announcements. The next person to leave their weed in the cubbies where the kids’ class can see it is signed up to Ten-Round Tuesday with me personally. Toro Cup is coming up. Get your tickets to see Renee and Dan fight. Gym’s closed next Monday for Coach’s birthday, show up to Abby’s house if you want to see him. And this is Neil, here for his free trial.”

“Hi, Neil,” the class drones.

“Hi.”

“Final announcement: it is Cardio Day. Everyone on your backs, leg circles.”

A couple people slap the mat as they fall backwards to circle their feet in the air. They then move their legs up and down, side to side, and bicycle style, and Neil is careful not to accidentally kick Andrew beside him. Once Neil’s abs start really burning, Kevin calls for everyone to bridge, first with both legs and then with one leg in the air. They then sit up and shift their knees pointing to one side and then the other, windshield wiper style, and stretch their backs by twisting behind them while they’re at it. 

“On your knees. Neck circles. Chin to chest. Chin to shoulder. Ear to shoulder. Hands to the mat, wrist circles. Fire hydrants-- I am once again asking why hip circles are called fire hydrants.”

Neil looks around and ends up meeting Andrew’s intense stare. ‘Nobody tell him,’ Andrew mouths. 

Neil nods.

“Reach through at your waist and twist overhead. Three reps then do the other side. Cat-cow. Alternating lunges. Feet together, elbows down, knees apart, hips to the mat. At least I understand why this is called the frog stretch.”

Neil is then subjected to the knowledge that everybody in the room, including Seth the mountain, has the hip flexibility of a professional gymnast. None of them even look strained. 

“Feet apart, hips back,” Kevin continues, which deepens the stretch and makes Neil feel distinctly like he’s about to dislocate both of his entire legs. “Hold it ten seconds. Stretch out anything else you need.”

Most people do back-stretching yoga pose or start touching their toes, but Andrew just starfishes back on the mat.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Neil says quietly to him.

“That was the pre-warmup.”

Oh, well. 

“Everybody up,” says Kevin, jogging to the edge of the mat. “Start running.”

Neil tracks the attitudes of the athletes, a range from Matt giving Dan a hand up with a ‘this might as well happen’ grin to Nicky lamenting “You can’t do this to me!” to Andrew staring at the ceiling like a character in the Office breaking the fourth wall. Neil has already done a lap around the mat, following close behind Kevin, before Andrew even gets to his feet.

Now, there is running, which Neil likes, and then there is whatever this is. Whatever this is, Neil learns very quickly, is different because he is barefoot, making him pay much more attention to where he steps even though he knows in theory that it’s safe. He’s also constantly turning to his right, running in circles, and the space is big enough for a much larger class than the ten people here but he still can’t get a good straight-ahead line going. It puts strain on his ankles. 

Neil laps Andrew for a second time. Andrew is doing a shuffling sort of run, so slow that the only thing separating it from walking is the springing motion. 

“High knees,” Kevin says. 

Fucking hell. Neil switches to high knees, forcing him to pay even more attention to where he’s stepping and where he has to turn, and just when he gets the hang of it, Kevin switches to butt kicks, which are even harder to balance with. 

“Drop and give me twenty push-ups,” Kevin orders. 

You’re joking, Neil thinks, dropping and doing push-ups as fast as he can to keep up before Kevin’s up and running again, and three laps later they’re doing jumping jacks. 

Neil has never before in his life felt like he is about to die while doing jumping jacks, and he has also never felt like eight other people want to kill him while doing jumping jacks. He adds that to the list. 

Then they’re facing inwards, sort of skipping sideways, then doing it facing outwards, and then alternating two inwards-skips and two outwards-skips which gets really complicated on the turns because he has to keep the rhythm steady while turning his entire body and also navigating the mat’s corners. He almost trips over his feet. 

“Line up on the edge of the mat,” Kevin says, finally coming to a stop. 

Neil hopes that’s a good thing, following Andrew to one of the lines beside the two punching bags, but that’s too much to wish for. They do forward rolls from standing twice down the mat, then backwards rolls twice down, then Keven demonstrates the basic and beloathed movement drill called shrimping in which he curls up on his side like a shrimp and pushes himself backwards with one foot, pivoting on his shoulder. “Twice down,” Kevin says again, “And if I see you getting up in the middle of the mat and walking back early I’ll make you shrimp backwards too.”

Neil figures that, after seeing Kevin’s example and making sure that Andrew goes ahead of him, the relatively simple movement will make sense. But once he’s actually laying on the mat, he feels like a beached fish, just sort of squirming around. He’s also motion-sick from the somersaults. He’s only made about two feet of distance when Andrew is walking back from his first round.

“Am I doing this right,” Neil says as Andrew is passing him.

“No,” Andrew says, and keeps walking.

“What am I doing wrong,” Neil calls after him.

“Get on your side.” Andrew slaps the mat as he falls down in front of the punching bags-- nobody ever seems to sit like a normal person, they all just tip backwards to get to the ground-- and in record time has reached Neil. 

“I am on my side.”

“No you’re not.”

“I think I would know if I was laying on my side or not.”

“Wrong.” Andrew sits up. “Your shoulders,” he says, and then grabs Neil’s shoulders, first pushing them flat down to the mat. “Your back. Your side.” He hauls Neil’s right shoulder up and pushes his left shoulder down until he is, admittedly, on his side. 

“Fine,” Neil grumbles. When he tries to shrimp again, he finds that he does actually cover more ground, as dumb as it looks. “I’ve never seen anyone shrimp in tournament footage,” he says.

“Yes the fuck you have?” Kevin, overhearing, walks over. “You might have an encyclopedic knowledge of what you think are jiu-jitsu moves, but there is a difference between moves and technique. The former are what you see. The latter is why they work, how one creates space so that they work. You remember Andrew and Renee’s roll? Had Renee not shrimped out to get to dogfight she would have been stuck in smash-half until she managed to catch a giggler or Andrew had advanced. Speaking of which, Andrew, good work forcing the whizzer on her end in order to sweep, it was a good reconfiguration of the sequence.”

Neil speaks five languages, but wonders if the fact that he could understand every word Kevin just said means he should count jiu-jitsu as a sixth. 

“Tournament footage,” Andrew mutters derisively. Neil suspects that the only time Andrew and Kevin really get along is when they’re bitching about someone else. “You’re worse than a junkie. You’re a fanboy.”

“And you’re taking too long,” Kevin adds. “Just line up after you reach the end of the mat.”

Neil grits his teeth and shrimps two more times, then looks behind himself to see how much ground he has left to cover. Andrew’s reached the end already and is walking back.

“That’s fine,” Kevin says. “Just stand up.”

Neil abandons the endeavor and stands up. Once he’s back in line, Kevin calls Matt up for his next movement-drill demonstration: Kevin sits on his knees, Mat lays on his back and puts his legs around Kevin’s waist, and then Kevin pulls Matt upright by his lapels and stands up, carrying him for three steps before setting him down. “Just once across this time, pair up. If you’re with an idiot like Nicky and don’t have lapels to grab onto, just get a collartie and make him hold a seatbelt.”

Allison, Dan, Renee, and Aaron suddenly become the most popular people in the room. Neil is closest in size to Aaron, but that doesn’t matter much because Andrew is already kneeling on the mat.

Neil tries to flop backwards onto the mat like he’s seen everyone do, but he mistimes the breakfall and ends up going oof. 

“Stop playing around and pull guard,” Andrew says, so Neil does, putting his legs around Andrew’s waist and pretending it’s not weird at all when he has to pull himself even further into Andrew’s lap in order to cross his ankles and lock into closed guard. Andrew pulls the lapels of Neil’s gi top open, grabs a deep grip in them, then just stands up.

It’s a test of strength for anyone in Andrew’s position, Neil’s sure, considering that they basically have to squat the weight of an entire other person, but he thinks it’s even more a test of balance. There’s no more considering whether it’s weird or not, instinct kicks in and Neil just starts clinging to Andrew’s back. 

“You’re not going to fall,” Andrew says.

“No, I know,” Neil lies. 

After taking the assigned three steps, Andrew sinks back down to his knees in a smooth motion that has to be harder than it feels. Not once does Neil sense any kind of lurching loss of balance. With a steady inhale, Andrew pulls Neil back up and stands again.

After three reps of that, they reach the edge of the mat, second place with only Kevin and Nicky beating them. “Legs down,” Andrew says, and Neil opens his guard just in time for Andrew to drop him.

“Dude,” Neil says, stumbling. 

“Well that’s one way to learn how to breakfall,” Nicky comments. “Don’t take it personally.”

“Sure.”

Then it’s Neil’s turn. 

It is unimaginably difficult. Even with Andrew’s arms over his shoulders so he doesn’t have to bother so much with the lapel grips, Neil can’t figure out which leg to start standing up with. As soon as he gets to one knee he’s falling to the side of the other one. 

“Do it slower,” Andrew says.

“I am going slowly. That’s the problem, isn’t it?” Neil snaps and steps up again, only to wobble and fall again.

“Wrong, that’s not slow.” Andrew is able to close his guard without getting as close as Neil had, since Neil’s so thin, but he pulls himself closer anyway and almost sits up, getting their centers of gravity as in-line as possible. “I don’t know if you noticed, but the secret to Cardio Day is to pace yourself, not to take what Kevin says literally.”

“We’re supposed to do what he says,” Neil argues. “He’s the coach.”

“No he isn’t, remember? Even if he was, it’s your training, not his. Try again.”

Neil, going what feels like comically slow, holds Andrew close and tries to stand up again. He gets to his feet this time and stops, muscles coiled like springs. 

“Exactly. Three steps.”

Neil takes one step forward. Then another. Then he lifts his foot off the mat and-- falls. Andrew opens his guard just in time to breakfall and catches the rest of Neil’s momentum so he doesn’t catch all the force in his wrists. 

Neil swears under his breath and tries again. It’s a little easier, and he gets to the three steps, but doesn’t kneel back down gracefully, just falls a little more predictably this time. 

Kevin comes over now that everybody else has, of course, reached the end of the mats and lined up again. “Just do it one more time.” 

Fucking fine. One foot up, pull Andrew to that side, other foot up, pull Andrew to the center, stand up, ignore the burning muscles of his thighs, take one lumbering step, than another, than a third, then “Legs down” and he drops Andrew exactly like he’d done to Neil.

“You’re supposed to kneel back down, not drop him,” Kevin says.

“I know.”

“Already everybody, off the mats, get some water, come back for drills,” Kevin says to the group at large. A couple of them brought water bottles, but the majority flock over to the water fountains. Neil is last in line because he’s the only one who has to sit down and put on his sneakers instead of just stepping into flipflops, and he gets the shorter water fountain that was almost certainly built so that the kids’ class can reach. 

It’s fine. Today is a good day.

Even the so-called drills, the class part of the class, aren’t straightforward. Kevin just tells everyone to “Drill whatever takedown entries you know, but don’t finish them. Two minutes and switch.” Everyone claps once, synchronized, before they pair up and start their takedowns. Kevin starts walking around and correcting people. 

Andrew stares at Neil. “Uh,” Neil says. “You go first.”

Andrew nods and then he’s all motion and Neil finally gets to feel the so-called vale tudo maniac he’d been with Renee. He grabs a collar tie, forcing Neil’s head down, and hooks his fingers in the outside of Neil’s sleeve, pulls him one way and then the other, forcing him to step forward, and then skids forward, hauling Neil’s leg up in his arms. “Single-leg,” he explains.

“I know what a single-leg is.”

“Then step back next time.” Andrew fights for grips again and gets them, pulls the same pull-sideways trick, but this time when he reaches for Neil’s leg, Neil forces weight back onto it and steps back. 

Andrew trips him. 

“Breakfall,” he says while Neil is still in the air, and Neil slaps the mat out of spite.

What’s worse is that the breakfall works. 

“I said takedown entries,” Kevin snipes at them, because he always comes over at the worst times.

“Not my fault he doesn’t have base,” Andrew says.

“Neil, get better base,” Kevin says. “Andrew, stop tripping him if he’s just going to fall. You’re not learning anything.”

Andrew hits single-legs for the next minute. Neil tries to step back, sprawl, to break his grips, even to pull guard one embarrassing time, but nothing works. Without warning, Andrew then hits a double-leg, but only once, and then when he stands back up he gets nothing but a sleeve grip, pulls Neil’s arm up in a slight arc, and twists somehow so that Neil’s body is stretched across his shoulders. He can tell that if Andrew ducked and pulled further on his arm Neil would go flipping headfirst onto the ground. 

“Fireman’s carry,” Andrew says. 

Of course Neil has heard of a fireman’s carry takedown, but it’s not common in the Raven strategy, and it feels so different than it looks. “Show me again.”

Andrew does the fireman’s carry two more times, Neil running commentary. “So, it’s same-side arm, up, and then step to the side-- no, away-- and then you kneel? Or do you kneel before you step? And then what type of grip you use for the leg? Which leg?”

Before Neil gets his questions answered, the timer goes off and it’s time to switch. 

Alright, Neil tells himself. You just got a masterclass in what you’re supposed to do. First, get grips.

Step One is foiled time and time again by Andrew, who somehow manages to twist and yank his arms out of every single grip Neil gets on them. He only gets close enough for a collar tie once, his palm on the back of Andrew's neck, and Andrew ducks and pushes his elbow up, breaking that grip too. Neil’s fairly certain that he could spend the next week just grip-fighting and not get anywhere against the wrestler. 

“Andrew, stop being a dick,” Kevin calls over to them. “He’s not getting anywhere.”

Now that someone else said it, Neil has to disagree. 

Andrew finally lets Neil grab his sleeve, and must be expecting Neil to pull him into a fireman’s carry because he had asked so many questions about that takedown, which means that Neil of course has to shove Andrew’s arm out of the way and shoot a double-leg. 

“Really,” Andrew says, not only not falling over but also wrapping his arm around Neil’s neck in the precursor to a guillotine. 

“Shit.” Neil stands back up. “You’re like a tree trunk. I didn’t sign up for this just to get marionnetted around, you know.”

“Never would have guessed. Hit the fireman’s.”

Neil does shoot the fireman’s carry this time, keeping his singular grip close, and gets a sense for the feeling just before finishing the takedown, where Andrew’s body is all balanced on the fulcrum of his shoulders. He could just lean forward and send Andrew to the ground. 

“Why did you sign up?” Andrew asks faux-innocently, which is when Neil realizes that he messed up. 

He fights for grips again to stall for time. “You said it yourself, I’m a fanboy,” he tries. 

“Wrong. You didn’t even believe he was Kevin Day.”

“I just like jiu-jitsu.”

“Nicky took down the signs. You didn't know this was a gym any more than Kevin knows you’re a runaway.”

“So it was Nicky.” It’s a clumsy attempt at deflection, Neil reeling from the confidence in Andrew’s deduction, because he’s wrong but he also isn’t. Neil didn’t strictly run away, not from his Uncle, not this time. But he is, in identity, a runaway and nothing else. “I was wondering. Why are you grilling me anyway,” he says, which is what he thinks a normal person would say. Everything’s an interrogation to him.

“Because you’re lying.” The ten-second warning on the timer beeps, and when Neil shoots his next double-leg Andrew simply refuses to fall.

“Okay, Jesus, fine, I came in because some creeps were following me.” This is Neil’s last resort besides just plain bolting. It’s a good lie because it’s true, allowing him to follow it with “I don’t know why.”

The timer goes off, but not much changes considering that everyone has paused in their training to eavesdrop.

“Well why didn’t you say so?” Andrew says, his tone a pitch-perfect imitation of Nicky’s ‘Is it my birthday?’. “That’s against Rule Fourteen.”

“You guys have an anti-stalking clause codified into your gym rules?” Neil doesn’t remember seeing such a rule, but considering the freaks around here he isn’t surprised.

“Rule Fourteen is Be Respectful, don’t you remember. Not very respectful to chase rabbits all the way to foxholes, is it?”

Allison raises her hand. Andrew beams at her, but she’s undeterred. “I fucking hate stalkers. Permission for Seth and I to hunt them down.”

“Denied,” Kevin says. 

That is… a weird exchange. Not only is it weird that strangers want to get involved in Neil’s business, it’s weird that the self-proclaimed non-self-defense trainer would be the first to say so. But paired with Seth, whatever combat weakness she might have would be canceled out. She’d turn from obvious bait and a liability to the secret weapon in the mountain’s shadow, it would be an excellent teamup. There’s just no reason for it.

Dan raises her hand. “We’re not asking.”

“Denied.”

“Go yourself then. Pussy,” Seth says, effortlessly breaking Rules Twelve and Fourteen.

“Denied,” says Andrew.

“I’m not fucking scared of you,” Seth starts, which is an interesting position for him to take considering that he absolutely should be. His loss.

Kevin picks up the remote to the timer from where it’s been sitting on the tops of the mats taped onto the walls. He turns the volume up and makes it beep earsplittingly loud. “Drill your takedowns to finish, any submission. Two minutes each.”

Nobody moves. The timer starts ticking down. 

“How about you walk him home, Andrew,” Renee suggests sweetly. Neil revises his mental calculations to put her down as the largest threat in the room, based off ‘Rather the devil you know’ logic. “Since you seem concerned.”

“Base,” Andrew says as warning before he slams into Neil, takes him down, and hauls him into an armbar before he can start to fight. Neil taps, he lets go. 

“That’s very thoughtful,” Renee says as if Andrew had agreed with her, and then proceeds to take Aaron down the same way. 

The two minutes pass in silence that would be tense if not for the overwhelming presence of Andrew hitting his full wrestling takedowns over and over again. He goes for armbars mostly, but hits a knee bar in a scramble and a kimora when he pins Neil on his side. He does not rush to get up between each rep the way Renee does, allowing Neil some time to catch his breath, but he does not slow down either, the two minutes passing in perfect increments of stand up, fall, tap, stand up again. 

They switch and Neil learns that he has been doing collarties incorrectly and he should be keeping his elbow in and constantly putting weight on the back of Andrew’s neck. “Otherwise I just have your arm,” Andrew explains, taking Neil’s arm and ducking underneath to get his hands around Neil’s waist in the precursor to a mat return.

“Noted.”

Neil manages to land one somewhat passable double-leg to armbar combo before the timer screeches again. 

Kevin turns the timer’s volume down, looking faintly embarrassed now that he’s not interrupting anyone. “Circle up,” he says. “Nicky, can I borrow you for single-leg x?”

Nicky walks to the center of the mat and Kevin falls back and slaps the mat, maneuvering himself so that Nicky is standing over him with his feet standing beside Kevin’s waist. Kevin grabs Nicky’s ankles and launches the lower half of his body up, his knee clamping down on the inside of Nicky’s thigh and his other heel wrapping around to the outside. “Five reps, alternating sides, and sweep on the fifth,” he says, then demonstrates the sequence again, four more times, and on the fifth time bridges his hips at a 45-degree angle so that Nicky falls. “One minute and switch.”

Neil’s seen that move before. It should be fine. The timer beeps and everyone does their synchronized clap.

Once he’s actually laying on the mat with Andrew standing over him, he gets second thoughts. He’s meant to bring his knee up to hold onto the inside of Andrew’s thigh, which is obvious, that’s just what single-leg x is, but-- “This feels dangerous,” he comments.

“If you knee me in the balls I will return the favor.”

Neil tilts his head. “Bit difficult.” 

“I’d find a way.”

He does not end up kneeing Andrew in the balls, which makes the whole thing an overwhelming success, even though it takes him six tries to actually pull off the sweep at the end. Andrew’s sense of balance is just supernatural. 

The timer goes off and they switch. Neil already feels off-balance as Andrew gets into position, holding his ankles, and when Andrew’s knee catches him, he can’t stop himself from falling backwards. Here we go again, he thinks.

Andrew surges forward after him, eyes widening, and he’s not sure what the problem is until he hits the ground with Andrew’s hands cradling Neil’s head. “Oh shit,” he says, looking down to see that his head and shoulders are hanging off the edge of the mat. He would’ve cracked his skull open on the hard concrete. “Thanks.”

Andrew pulls his hands away, looking annoyed. “Don’t fall.”

Neil does fall again, and again, but in a different direction so Andrew doesn’t have to rescue him again. He’s not sure which one of them is more frustrated by it by the time Kevin tells them to circle up again.

They drill knee-cuts, which Neil does actually understand. It’s just one hand on the hip and one hand on the knee, push the knee to the mat, staple it down with his leg, underhook, and go to side control. There are intricacies he’s not getting, he’s sure, but it’s fine. Then they do a more movement-focused drill in which he switches from armbar from guard to armbarring the other arm, swinging 180 degrees around with just the pendulum momentum from one leg. 

“Do you know how to do a wristlock from here,” Andrew asks while Neil is holding onto both of his arms and calculating how much momentum he can get without accidentally kicking Andrew in the head. 

“Of course,” Neil says. He tries to do the pendulum motion, but runs out of momentum while still facing Andrew, so he just scoots the rest of the way until he has his leg clamped over Andrew’s head in proper guard-armbar position. “Do you want me to?”

“Show me how you would.”

Neil does so, methodically replicating the steps he remembers from watching a Raven instructional video. It doesn’t feel quite right, but Andrew taps anyway, and they continue the drill without further interruption. 

Just when Neil thinks he’s going to have to slow down or even, horrifyingly, ask to take a break-- the pendulum motion requires a ton of ab strength, as did single-leg x-- the timer goes off. “That’s class for today, line up on the edge of the mat,” Kevin says. 

Andrew rapidly disentagles himself from Neil’s guard and goes to stand beside Renee and Nicky, the other low-ranking blue belts. Neil goes to the end of the line, beside Seth. 

“Good work today. Announcements just in case you forgot: Do not leave your devil’s lettuce in the cubbies, Renee and Dan are fighting Toro, Wymack’s birthday is next Monday, and Neil, Trial Class, is not allowed to roll. Let’s bow out.”

Everybody bows, then Kevin goes to the front of the line and starts shaking hands, the line doubling over on itself to follow him so Neil gets told “Good work” by Kevin Day, Allison Reynolds, Dan Wilds, Matt, Aaron, Renee, a very cheery Nicky, and a reluctant Seth, in that order. It’s so disorienting that he only notices what’s wrong when everybody has gone to the water fountains.

Andrew is gone.

Belt rankings, reasoning, main skills:

Wymack- black (coach. Main skills: Patience.)

Kevin- brown (trained since birth. Main skills: he’s just better than you.)

Allison- purple (access to a gym since freshman year high school. Main skills: leg entanglements.)

Dan- Blue, 3 stripe (dedicated training. Main skills: Creative use of weight and pressure while incorporating moves from class into strategic rolling.)

Matt- Blue, 2 stripe (built different. Main skills: strength without skimping on technique)

Aaron- Blue, 2 stripe (wrestling experience. Main skills: a lot stronger than he looks.)

Renee- Blue, 2 stripe (access to a gym since being adopted by Stephanie. Main skills: does not believe in no-win scenarios)

Andrew- Blue, 0 stripe (does not roll with anyone but Kevin, Aaron, Nicky, and Renee. Main skills: balance, standup, grip-breaking, and space management. You cannot knock him over and you especially cannot pin him down.)

Nicky- Blue, 0 stripe (does not follow the rules. Main skills: wrestling and flexibility.)

Seth- White, 4 stripe (has trouble translating moves from drills into strategy during rolling, does not follow the rules. Main skills: built like a truck.)

Neil- White, 0 stripe (no experience, pure vibes. Main skills: encyclopedic knowledge of lore.)

Also, Neil talks about the Gracie family like he really admires them, because he fucking loves jiu-jitsu, but in real life they’re not exactly role models. They can be trusted to be damn good at jiu-jitsu but not, for example, to respect women. However, at least they’re not the Moriyamas. 

Thanks for reading! Leave a comment if you liked it!

[liminalpebble]

The Refugee: Chapter 18

Masterlist

Lenora dreamed of sinking, her body rigid like a slab of marble, in vast water as black and slick as Loki's raven hair. It swirled into every part of her, stained her, inside and out, seeped into wounds and cracks in her now frozen skin. The frigid liquid filled her throat as she tired to breathe or speak, iced her limbs into immobility as she sank and sank into a viscous weighty night.  

She dreamed of a great green serpent coiling around her so she couldn't struggle. It hypnotized her with it's bright eyes. The creature was one long cold muscle, stilling and collapsing her with subtle but deadly constrictions. Then it slithered inside of her; into her mouth, between her legs, poisoning her from the inside, and crushing her on the outside.

"Lenora. Wake up, darling." It was Loki, looking concerned with a hand on her face in the breaking light of dawn. "You were having nightmares." He stroked her face gently as her breath returned to normal.

"Was...was I screaming?" She asked groggily.

"No. No, you weren't making a sound."

"Then how...?"

"I can see them...sometimes."

She looked at him a little warily. "I didn't know you could do that."

He laughed that charming laugh and smiled that devastating grin, and it made him unbelievably beautiful in the early light. "Eheh. Yes. Yes, I can sometimes. And I can know your thoughts occasionally, but usually only when we're...intimate."

She looked at him thoughtfully, "I suppose that explains why you're so remarkably responsive. Doesn't it?"

"Be careful with the compliments, empress. Feeding an ego like mine can be dangerous. It might bite your hand."

Several days later, Lea leaned against the corner of a desk staring up at the viewing board with brows furrowed. An example of Heksejotun text before her. It was beautifully written in a kind of wreath of script, but it mystified her. She was roused from her musings as Magnus quietly crossed the threshold. “That's beautiful. What does it say?”

She gave him a small grin at that and he was glad to see it. They laid on their sides facing each other in mirror images. She couldn't believe how inviting and disarming he was like this; black curls dancing soft and playfully around the pale angles of his cheekbones and piercing eyes. It was almost impossible to recall the monster he was mere hours ago in the darkness. The only evidence was the red indent on his lip, still tender from her bite. He snuggled a bit into his pillow, dark brows peaked in an innocent kind of curiosity and concern, but she didn't look like she wanted to talk, after the torrent of words the night before. He stroked her hair away from her eyes to meet them, and without a word, gathered her to his chest, holding her there. He reluctantly remembered, with  a sad sigh of an exhale, that he couldn't simply do this for the rest of his life, and that nothing about this was as simple as it seemed at this lovely moment.

-----

“Hi Magnus,” she said brightly, hugging him warmly. “I wish I could tell you. It's Heksejotun. There's so much to untangle. I can't even figure out which direction they begin writing in. In these circles it's like they write from every direction at once, and then they layer it, backwards and forwards. Spoken it sounds something like Jotun but the jargon is so strange. Riddled with disjointed reference to history, myths, or shared cultural touchstones, used as metaphors. The verb tenses are chaos. We're trying to understand more, anthropologically, about what the metaphors might mean for them. Some we find, but some are incomprehensible.”

“It all sounds incomprehensible, but how is that particularly incomprehensible compared to the rest?”

She smiled at his interest. He enjoyed learning about her work, and she his. “For example here, there's another of those metaphors to signify something they intend to do. They're trying to communicate some kind of plan, but it says 'When the Vanir invaded the southern continent...'.”

Magnus now frowned in confusion, “The Vanir never invaded the southern continent.”

“Exactly! So we're theorizing that because they were isolated they might have gotten inaccurate historical information. Maybe some revisionist thinkers or cult-like propaganda leading to widespread disinformation. But that makes our job harder if it's true, because not only are we trying to learn Jotun history, something difficult enough, we have to figure out what the Heksejotun believe among themselves, true or not.”

“This is making my head hurt,” Magnus chuckled.

“Ha. I think I've had a headache for about three days.”

Magnus touched her forehead with a pale blue light and the pain immediately dissipated, but as his eyes scanned downward, he saw the hints of large livid bruises encircling her throat beneath her high collar. It had been several days since Loki's outburst, but the telltale marks held stubbornly to her skin. He grimaced knowingly at Lea then shook his head. Under his breath, he said, “That bastard...may I?”. She nodded, and he carefully unhooked her collar, healing her neck with the cautious touch of his fingertips. He reluctantly removed his hand from her skin, and his face farther away from hers, otherwise it would be far to tempting to kiss her again.

“Thank you,” she said refastening her collar, unable to meet his eyes as he hugged her around the shoulders.

“I wish I could say I'm just here to heal your headache, but I actually do need your help in the medical wing.”

“Oh?”

Lea had spent the bulk of the evening following Magnus around to dozens of bedsides, asking some variation of “Where is the pain?” and “How bad is it?”in different languages and relaying the answers to Magnus. There were other translators working in the medical bay too, but she seemed to be the most efficient of them. She had seen her beloved royal physician work, but never like this. He was incredible under pressure, empathetic to everyone, but cool-headed, decisive, and commanding when necessary; not to mention that he must have a strong stomach. She had seen and heard the screams and tears, complaints and thanks, of dozens of men, women, and children of various cultural groups and realms. Around two in the morning, all the patients had been seen to Magnus' satisfaction. In the final hour or so of the shift, Lea and Magnus were separated to tend to different tasks, so when Magnus decided to call it a night, he wondered around the ward looking for her.

“We have several large groups of refugees from the Jotun front. They come from several different kingdoms originally. Anyway, we need a translator.” She was about to send someone else, when Magnus quickly added, “Who speaks all the languages used in that precinct.” Lea sighed, nodded, and followed him to medical, knowing this already long day, was about to be a long night.

----

He found her seated next to an elderly man, helping him to eat a bowl of porridge while he was telling what seemed to be a long story in a language Magnus didn't understand. He noticed the old man had a necklace and earrings very much like Lea's and realized he must also be Morhari. He had never heard Lea speak her mother-tongue before (aside from the two words of a toast once) and he was mesmerized by it. It had a variety of graceful peaks and valleys, a slight sing-song quality (much like his own accent). Noticing Magnus, she smiled, and introduced him to the old man. “I'm just letting this man know you're the head physician. He says he can't thank you enough and...” She paused a minute to chuckle.

“What?” said Magnus.

“He's wondering why you have Beatrice's dancing girl feeding sad old men.” She laughed openly at that.

Magnus' eyes widened. “Is this the man you saved?”

“No, but I think he's a relative. There aren't so many of us now, but we move around a lot, and always end up finding each other...gravitating towards the same places.”

Magnus said, “and according to Beatrice you're quite the celebrity.”

She rolled her eyes at him, a gesture she had definitely gotten from Loki. She spent a few more moments saying her farewells and making sure he had enough to eat. He held her hand tightly and looked about to cry, then finally released her, smiling and holding back the tears. Magnus wondered if this emotional repression was a broadly practiced trait of Morhari culture.

As they began to exit the ward, they saw Loki in his armor, leaving the throne room after a meeting of all his military advisers and generals. They were addressing implications of the displaced civilians and what to do next in the war. Lea's best guess was that the Jotun, with the help of the  Heksejotun were being more aggressive  in their military campaigns, but she wouldn't know for sure until speaking with him. As the dozens of men in armor funneled out into the hall, Loki caught sight of Lea and Magnus and headed towards them. Despite the crucial moment and responsibilities, Loki looked collected and unperturbed, like he was born to lead in times like this (and perhaps he really was).

He glided up to Lea's side and kissed her on the cheek, putting an arm around her waist. She had to admit that after being this exhausted  and strained in every way, the strength and special affections of a confident king were welcome. He looked to them both. “You're both looking a bit worse for wear.”

“Thanks,” she said sarcastically.

“We can't all be prancing about in golden armor in times of crisis,” Magnus quipped with a very tired smile to his friend, which Loki returned. Lea was glad to notice that there seemed to be some kind of truce between them.  

Anticipating the questions on both of their minds, Loki said, “We've all had a long day. Everyone will get answers tomorrow. For now let's all get some rest.” They both nodded to him.

Magnus turned to hug and kiss Lea on the cheek, “Thank you, Lea. Truly, you were invaluable. I'm so grateful.”

“It was nothing, Magnus. Just doing my job.” She smiled. “Good night.”

“Good night, Magnus,” Loki echoed, guiding Lea in the direction of his quarters.

She whispered to him, “Loki, I'm so tired. Please. I can't...”

“That's not why I'm taking you back with me.”

“Then why?”

A room in Loki quarters (which were more like an entire wing of the castle) was devoted entirely to a large warm bathing pool. It was vast and designed like a bath house, with divided sections and levels. Even small waterfalls and streams festooned the area. She noticed that the sprawling mosaic surfaces were the exact same aquamarine shade as Loki's eyes, laced with forest green and glimmering flecks of gold. Lea had no idea this room existed. “Is this all just for you?” she asked.

“You just look like you need to be taken care of, and I owe you a proper apology.”

----

He smiled. “It was. Now it's all for us.” He magicked his golden armor away and stood naked in the luminous indoor lagoon. She couldn't say she minded. He was undeniably beautiful to look at, statuesque and graceful. She supposed that if she were a man and looked like him, she wouldn't be particularly shy about being naked either. He noticed her staring, thinking he was gorgeous. He came up to her smiling, completely unabashed, and began to slowly undress her. He began by pulling the writing stylus (her makeshift hairpin) out of her hair and letting her locks cascade down. He carefully took each item off and folded it into a tidy stack. She found this touching. He could have just magicked it away, but he didn't. He wanted to take care of her and take his time. Once she was naked, he held her by the shoulders. “As beautiful as you are like this. I'm not going to try to seduce you. I just want us to enjoy having a really nice bath, and for you to enjoy being doted on by your king. You deserve it.”

Lea felt very touched by these gestures and she was too tired to worry herself into a hole of rumination about his motives like she usually would. As he helped her lower herself into the pool with him, she felt every tired ache and pain dissolve in the placid water. He watched her sigh in simple, physical ease and release, and it gave him genuine joy. “This feels wonderful. Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he said, meaning it in a way he had never meant it before. She grabbed a bottle of shampoo (there were a variety of soaps and scrubs, shampoos and extracts placed all over the room) and began to massage it into her scalp when Loki said, “Let me”.

She enjoyed his talented fingers massaging the fragrant soap into her scalp and down her tresses, gently pouring the hot water over when he was finished. “Thank you, Loki. This is really relaxing...all of this...a really lovely gift.”

“You know I'll take any excuse to play with your hair,” he said kissing her head and smiling, and she found herself smiling back. As he said, he didn't push it, didn't try to seduce her. They simply went to different areas to finish cleaning themselves and then swam back to a bench to drowsily sit in the chest-deep water. She noticed with surprise that now he actually did look serious and tired, feeling the burden of his responsibilities. His head dropped back to rest on the tiles and his eyes closed. To his surprise and delight, she came up next to him, putting her head on his shoulder. She stroked a hand through his beautiful jet black hair. Wet, it looked like the richest ink. She kissed him on his sharp cheekbone, nuzzling against it. “Not that I'm complaining about your sudden affection, by any means, but what was that for?” he asked.

“You just looked like you needed it,” she said simply, with a little smile and a timid glance. She was about to swim away when he caught her hand. He pulled her in to wrap his arms around her, overcome with affection and touched by her thoughtfulness. He cradled her to his strong chest and she rested her head in the crook of his neck. Both of their minds were quiet now, completely in the comfort of the moment. He felt as if the nervous stray kitten he took in had finally come up to him and let him hold her without scratching, biting, trembling or running off. Instead, she finally accepted his comfort and warmth. She sought it out, in fact.

He noticed, before long, that she had fallen asleep. He smiled watching her peaceful face, her long hair and eyelashes glittering with the warm water, lips flushed with soothing humid warmth. She felt so small and breakable in his long powerful limbs. Her tranquility felt so fragile that he realized he would rather break himself than break it, or her. When he couldn't delay it any longer, he carried her out of the water with him, used sorcery to dry and clothe them in warm nightclothes, and carried her to sleep the rest of the night cradled in his arms.

@unlucky-number-13  @lokisgoodgirl @peaches1958 @goblingirlsarah @gigglingtigger  @sweetsigyn (Happy Valentine’s Day, my friends! Thanks for reading!)

[corvicides]

miri: damn so do you lay eggs

wuya: i mean yeah, i probably do

miri: can i have one

wuya:

[mystery-moose]

1, 3, 11, 19

Number 1 asked and answered! Although I'll double-up and say that "identity reveal" and "two characters' first hesitant intimacy" are fuckin' top-tier tropes for me these days for what should be obvious reasons. Delicious, mood-elevating, crop-watering stuff.

3.) What is the main program you use for writing (google docs, the ao3 writing text box, etc.)

Unfortunately it is Google Docs, which I know is bad and I shouldn't, but it is the most convenient and easily accessible on my computer and phone, and sharing documents with betas and friends is way easier than most any other word processor. I should transition off it, start using a proper desktop application again... but what if I have an idea when I'm away from my desk???

11.) Do you prefer writing angst, crack, or fluff?

Used to be angst by a country mile. I thought it was satisfying and more substantial, had more meat to chew on. As I got older, it was fluff, because I enjoyed the gentleness of it, the comfort it provided. These days it's the combo. You need peaks in order to have valleys, y'know? Otherwise it's all just one note, flat, and it doesn't hit as hard as it could, either in terms of hurt OR comfort.

I do tend to go lighter on the angst, though -- I've read great fics dealing with grief and loss and stuff, but I find it hard to dig too deeply into that myself. That being said, I throw pretty fuckin' dark in Taetrus Trash, and that's one I'm still pretty proud of (problematic elements aside) so... I dunno! I think it depends on the vibe of the source material, and the story I'm trying to tell. But "rocks fall everyone dies" style tragedies tend to be too much for me.

19.) Have you ever created an OC for a fic?

QUARK YOU KNOW THE ANSWER TO THIS, WHY DID YOU OPEN PANDORA'S BOX

I created like a dozen different Mass Effect OCs, the most prominent of which is probably Alisa Parasini, the interviewer/framing device in Reminiscence. Then I started to build out some recurring supporting characters in my post-canon, like Sawyer the simple Kentucky marine, or Garrus' old C-Sec partner Sorono, or a personal favorite, Batarian scientist-defector Korbin Vorek.

And then there's The Adventure Zone! Lord! Nearly every character who isn't Angus or Taako in Flight of the Flying V is an OC, and I have whole plots and backgrounds for most of them rattling around my head! I do really enjoy Rocco the black-market import-export tiefling and his associate Shiela, or Boudicca, the Lord-Captain of the Neverwinter militia, and I especially enjoy the Herald of Winter, Lord-Steward Katarina Iphigenia Fedosia Blisk, and her lady-in-waiting Priscilla. But you know I gotta give it up for Silvia. God I love her. What a cool, awkward, competent woman who barely managed to luck into someone as nerdy and awkward and sincere as she is. Loved writing her. Still wanna write that sequel someday!

That's to say nothing of one-off supporting characters like Ordus the turian tattoo artist, or Redd the thrift shop owner, or my personal interpretation of the Raven Queen. I'm really proud when I'm able to build a character exclusively for a single short story that feels like they have a whole world and life you're not privy to.

God I just love making characters!! I could do it all day!! And sometimes I do!! Because it's easier than actually writing those characters!!

[volleychumps]

Heyy! Can you do one where Osamu, kuroo, akaashi and Tsukishima, say something mean to their s/o and their s/o avoids them for days? When they finally get ahold of their s/o, their s/o just sorta cries because it hit their insecure spot? Fluff in the end🥺

Listen, I can’t not write this. 

Irrevocable Words. 

- the one in which they accidentally make you give them the silent treatment because of their lashing out. -

~ Osamu Miya, Kuroo Tetsurou, Akaashi Keiji, and Tsukishima Kei~ 

TW: Cursing, angst to fluff, timeskip! for Osamu, 

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

Osamu Miya

“Those are important files, ya know?” 

“Samu, I’m sorry. You should’ve told me you needed last month’s earnings and I would’ve looked for them before we came this morning.” The hand you tried to settle onto Osamu’s bicep was shaken off as your movements faltered. 

Your voice wobbled at the sight of your stoic fiance, an annoyed glint in his eye as he rummages through his files. Osamu felt a flare in his stomach, a lack of sleep contributing to his impatient state. The day had been a busy one, Osamu deciding that he needed this particular file for his business call tomorrow before the two of you headed home for the night. 

“I told ya not to move anything back to the place.”

“I didn’t.” You bit the inside of your cheek. “Here, just let me help-” 

“Don’t touch a goddamn thing, I’ll do it myself.” There it was. The lashing out that was bound to happen occurred with a pointed tongue as he refused to look at you, rummaging through his file cabinets. “As I do everything else.” 

He closes the cabinet sharply. “The least ya could do is try your best not to be a nuisance-” 

Osamu flinches at the slam of one of the office desk drawers, chest sinking when he sees the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. The paper he needed is thrown on the desk carelessly as you shove your jacket on, wetness slipping down your cheeks.

“And I’m not your goddamn secretary. I’m heading home first.” 

“Y/N-” 

“And don’t worry, I promise I’ll manage to do this by myself somehow.” Your voice cracks bitterly, the bell by the door jingling mockingly in Osamu’s ears as you exit, the chef hanging his head with a sigh and regret tinging his chest.

He was wrong to pray this would blow over, not expecting to wake without your warmth by his side. You avoided him on the way to the restaurant, cleaning quietly while giving vague answers to his questions, shifting out of his attempts to embrace you with apologies. 

Deciding to give you space, he softly tells you to take the next few days off, unprepared for the tired look you had given him, simply nodding in response as you slipped into your side of the bed with your back turned to him.

“Where’s your pretty girlfriend?” 

“Fiance.” Osamu forces a smile at his two elderly regulars two days later, the wife’s smile widening at his correction. 

“Oho! Cherish each other while you youths still can, she really does brighten this place up, doesn’t she?” 

You do.

Osamu’s eyes feel hot as he does a messy job of cleaning up the restaurant, closing up shop early and stopping by your favorite bakery to pick up the ridiculously expensive cake he only ever buys for your birthday. 

Throwing the door open to your shared apartment hastily, you gasp at the gray-haired man’s sudden entry, dropping the spoon you were about to use to taste the dish you were making on the stove.

“Samu, y-you’re home early-” 

“What’s all this?” He tries to steady his breaths at the sight of a nicely prepared table, something you hardly ever got to share ever since the night shifts overtook your lives and caused a rift between the two of you. 

You’re silent for a second, looking away from his warm stare as you shift under his gaze. 

“...I miss you.” Dark eyes widen when you begin to hiccup over your words, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. “But I didn’t wanna be a nusciance-”

“Oh god, darlin’ no.” You’re pulled tightly into his chest as you cry, whole body shaking with tremors as Osamu’s inner turmoil merely increases.

If Osamu could go back in time and punch himself he would, unknowing of the torment he caused you over the past few days, thinking you just needed space. 

“I want to marry ya Y/N, I’m so sorry.” 

“I love you so much Samu.” You sniffle into his chest, causing him to smile softly, a hand sifting through your hair to hold you tighter to him. 

“I brought cake.” 

You laugh through the onslaught of tears. 

“And I made dinner.” 

“Then what are we waitin’ for?” 

“Just hold me like this for awhile?”

“Y/N.” He kisses the top of your head, finally feeling at ease with your figure in his arms. Osamu whispers a confession he hardly shared with you, wanting those words in particular to be special as he bridged the gap between the two of you.

“I love ya so much more, don’t you go forgettin’ it.”

Kuroo Tetsurou

“I said I was sorry!” 

“Is sorry supposed to just fix everything, Tetsurou?” 

“Tetsurou? Are you seriously withholding me from my nickname privileges?” 

You cross your arms at his attempt to make you laugh, thoroughly angry with the mess your boyfriend made of things as his smile fades at your peeved stare. 

“Look, what was I supposed to do?” 

“How about not leaving my parents waiting for you at the restaurant that you invited them to for another one of your spontaneous volleyball practices?” 

“I texted you I had to cancel!” 

“That was a half hour before we were supposed to meet, Kuroo! They were so excited to meet you they got there early. God, why can’t you ever take things seriously?” 

“You’re right.” A bitter chuckle slips Kuroo’s lips as you falter at the sudden tone change, the volleyball gym seeming bigger than ever as his next sentence makes your lips tremble.

“Since I can’t ever take things seriously, then I must not need my serious girlfriend then, right?” Your eyes widen. “I can just find somebody else who won’t fucking hound me all the time.”

His cat-like eyes widen as the words slip his tongue, unintentionally coming out crueler than he intended. To make it worse, you simply stayed silent, your body physically backing down and away from him as you turned on your heel. 

“Wait, I didn’t-” 

“Do it then.” His chest just about shatters as your shoulders tremble, refusing to turn back around as your voice takes on an uncharasterically defeated tone. “I hope they make you fucking happy.” 

Kuroo runs a hand through his raven hair frustratedly at the way you rushed out of the gym, throwing a stray ball so hard at the wall before his vision becomes skewed with heat. 

He should have expected the next week to be utter hell. You left class before he could catch you by escaping to the bathroom with all your things, leaving school another way instead of the exit you always took together before he had to start club activities. 

“Kenma, what are you doing?” 

“You can’t come in here.” 

“I’m missing class for this. Let me through.” 

“She doesn’t want to see you.” Kenma shrugged, eyes on his handheld. “I told her I’d watch the door so you can’t surprise her during our breaktime.” 

“I’m her boyfriend. And you’re not her guarddog.” 

“No, I’m her friend.” Kenma’s eyes narrow at his childhood friend. “And last time I checked, you’re on the search for someone who isn’t her.” 

“So she told you.” 

“Dick move, by the way.” 

Kuroo’s calls go straight to voicemail, his emotions affecting his playing with each passing day. He leaves little notes in your shoe locker to meet him, heart sinking more and more with every time you stood him up. 

And it wasn’t until he saw you smiling again at a joke Yaku made that he truly felt like he was losing you. 

“Go home.” 

The sight wasn’t one you were expecting to see, Kuroo sitting on the steps to your house with his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, the dark bags under his eyes sparking worry within you. 

“It’s probably better if my parents don’t see you-” 

“I’m sorry.” His eyes seem to have lost a little of their glint, regret swimming in the tall boy’s pupils as your guard softens. “I’m so goddamn sorry I ran my mouth and said shit I didn’t even mean-” 

“Tetsurou-” 

“And I hurt you in the process. I hurt the one thing that matters to me the most, and I’m sitting here playing the creepy ex that stalks the girl he loves-” 

“You love me?”

“Doesn’t matter, does it? You’re done with me, and I deserve it-” 

He’s cut off with the sight of tears hitting the wood in front of him, lifting his head to see tears streaking down your cheeks. On instinct, he reaches out softly, rising to his feet to cup your cheek, astonished when you curl into his touch. 

“I’m so fucking mad at you right now.” 

“Noted.” Kuroo laughs somberly, a wave of emotion hitting him as you do something you hadn’t done in days. 

You look him in the eye, tugging him closer by the sides of his jacket. 

“But I love you too, you absolute idiot.” 

Kuroo grins into the kiss you press onto his lips, heart lifting in weight as he pulls you closer. 

“Does this mean we can go back to Tetsu?” 

“I’m going back to ignoring you-” 

“No.” Kuroo’s tone turns serious as he holds you a little tighter. “I can’t do that again.” 

You smile as he presses a kiss to your temple lovingly. 

“Being away from you was complete and utter hell, sweetheart.” 

Akaashi Keiji

“Tell me how to make this right.”

“Right, Y/N.” Akaashi refused to meet your eyes as he loosens his school tie, not slowing his pace for you to catch up with as he throws the doors open to the volleyball club. The usually put-together setter had an angry glint in his eye that silenced his awaiting teammates. “Let’s just go back in time before you agreed to be his partner.”

“Hey hey, what’s going on you two?” Bokuto jogs up, his worried tone making your lips tremble even more at the sight of Akaashi’s turned back.

“I came to you as soon as he made a move! I didn’t let him-”

“There shouldn’t have been an opportunity for him to make a move in the first place.” Akaashi’s jaw clenched as you shuffle in place.

“I didn’t do anything wrong, you think I wanted him to try to kiss me?!” You fight the waver in your voice, standing your ground. “It was a project for class. I didn’t know his intentions-“

“I told you what his intentions were, but you never listen.” Akaashi turns hastily, startling you and causing you to stumble slightly backwards into Bokuto.

“Akaashi-“

“Stop defending her. She never listens to me, and then comes crying to me when it turns out I’m right.” Akaashi snips at his best friend, ignoring the silent stares from his quiet teammates. “Why can’t you get it through your head, Y/N? I’m not your goddamn babysitter-“

“You’re right.” You interrupt, fingernails biting into your palms as you choke back a sob. “You’re not, you’re my boyfriend. I just wanted to respect you by coming to you with something like this, but it turns out I’m just a hinderance.”

Akaashi falters for a second, blue eyes widening a fraction at the angry heat that fills your eyes as regret begins to bubble in his stomach at his harsh words.

“Y/N-“

“Give me some space, Keiji.” You say softly, patting Bokuto’s arm to let you through as your shoulders sink in a defeated manner. “I promise I won’t come crying to you about anything else.”

Your steps echo as you walk out of the gym, Konoha breaking the silence first when the door shuts behind you.

“Hate to say it, but that was well-deserved, man.”

Akaashi closes his eyes, head falling back towards the ceiling as he tries to steady his breathing, pretending like he wasn’t scared of you slipping through his fingers. He willed himself to not allow himself to chase after you, his anger directed towards you fading as he forces himself to respect your wishes. 

It was obvious you were avoiding him. Akaashi had blinked when Bokuto had self-proclaimed that he needed you as his “study buddy” during breaks when you weren’t even in the same year as the owlish boy. It got worse when you seemed to panic when Akaashi willed you to talk to him, eyes refusing to meet his watery blue ones as you pushed him further away.

So he gave you your space, wilting with each passing day. It wasn’t until he accidentally bumped into you a week later, the setter turning hastily on his heel to walk in the opposite direction before a soft tug on the back of his school shirt wills him to stop. 

“Keiji.” Your wobbly voice makes him turn back around immediately, a soft palm already cupping your cheek gently. “I’m s-” 

“I’m sorry for being cruel.” The words are whispered against your forehead, Akaashi’s heartstrings tugging in the worst way possible. “I was angry at the situation, my love. And that sorry excuse you call a classmate. Please,” 

His grip tightens just a little more as he feels wet warmth drip into the palm that was cupping your face.

“Forgive me.” 

“I told you I wouldn’t come crying to you-” 

“I want it all, Y/N.” Akaashi pulls back slightly, voice cracking slightly as blue stares intensely into your irises. “I want all of you. Tears included.”

You swat his chest playfully as Akaashi manages a soft smile, hand threaded through your hair as he presses you against his chest.

“Do you still need space?” He murmurs, and you smile at the sound of his hearbeat picking up as he awaited your answer fearfully. 

“Nope. The exact opposite, please hold me?” 

His embrace relaxes immediately, and your heart skips a beat at the sound of his relieved sigh, his slight nod making the weight lift off your chest. 

“Good, now I can take care of your classmate-” 

“Keiji-”

“Nope, my love.” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, Akaashi’s eyes swirling with devotion. 

“No one gets to try anything with you so long as you’re safe with me.” 

Tsukishima Kei 

“So I’m the bad guy again.” 

“Do you want the honest answer, Kei?” You exhaustedly run a hand through your hair as Tsukishima’s scowl deepens, his long legs easily catching up with you in stride as he tugs on your wrist as the rambunctious court gets further and further away. 

“It’s not my fault you’re insecure.” 

You flinch. “Well maybe you shouldn’t let the girls in the stands cling to you after your matches. They were all over you, Tsukki! And you didn’t seem to mind it one bit.” 

“What?” Annoyance brims the blonde’s voice as he takes another step forward, clenching his jaw when he sees the quiver in your lip, distrust filling the atmosphere between the two of you. 

“Afraid that they’re prettier or better than you’ll ever be?” 

You feel as if the wind was knocked out of your lungs, breath catching in your throat at his insinuation. His guard slackens almost immediately, clicking his tongue before turning away, too proud to apologize for the words he regretted as soon as they slipped his tongue like venom. 

“Yeah.” You laugh humorlessly, making brown eyes dart over to your expression immediately. “You’re 100% correct. I am afraid you’ll find someone better than me in all aspects. Because I love you, you absolute asshole. Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

The silence that befalls the two of you in the deserted hall is broken when you flinch away when Tsukishima tries to take a step towards you. 

“I didn’t-” 

“You never mean to do anything, Kei.” You say in a hushed tone, turning your back on him in an attempt to shield the hot tears slipping down your cheeks. “But you somehow always manage to.” 

The win for Karasuno didn’t mean much to the blonde that night, hoping that this would just go away and things would be back to normal. However, it was anything but. You didn’t look his way once in class, disappearing when it was over. Your voice trembled as you had avoided his seemingly stoic eyes through his frames, simply stating that you wished for some time away from him. 

He was fine. Or at least pretending to be on the outside. In truth, he would never find better, because you were it for him, words that you would never catch slipping his mouth. So he put on a front, pretending that your absence had zero effect on him whatsoever. Pretending the brush of your body against him in the hall as you pass each other didn’t make the blonde want to cave. 

It was the smile you shot at Hinata during one of your breaks that caused him to. The first glint in your eye in awhile, and it had been caused by him of all people, prompting the tall middle blocker to tug you by the forearm into the corridor.

“Tsukishima-” 

“I hate this.” 

You falter for a second, guard back up in a flash as your back touches the wall. “What did I do?” 

“You didn’t do anything, and it’s pissing me off.” 

“I don’t follow-” 

“I was wrong.” His forehead touches your shoulder as you stiffen before relaxing against his familiar touch. “I don’t care how many times I have to apologize. You win, okay? I’m sorry.” 

“This is a rather aggressive apology-” 

“Y/N.” Tsukishima lifts his head so it’s level with your height, unprepared for the way tears brimmed your eyes at the proximity, your guard diminishing. 

“What if you do find someone better one day, Tsukki?” Your voice cracks, inner fears trickling to the surface. “Do I need to prepare myself to lose you-?” 

You gasp as Tsukishima’s jaw ticks before kissing you intensely, his hand touching your lower back to pull you closer. 

“No. You don’t need to do something stupid like that.” His eyes were slightly glaring at you, a flush across both his cheeks. “Because there is no one better than you, okay?” 

It was your turn for heat to flood your cheeks as your eyes widen a fraction, his breath tickling your ear as you stutter. “Kei-” 

“I love you too. I said it, are you satisfied now?”  

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

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[butterfluffy]

Hi fluffy!

Can we get Mihawk for your msa event please

“my strange addiction”

⠀⠀ੈ♡˳· wine drunk, the vampire-like man made up his mind—and that is to finally come and get you to satisfy his addiction..

⠀⠀➧ fluff? | yandere!d. mihawk × gn!reader | oneshot

⠀⠀➧ warnings — contains yandere themes, (slight) violence, and kidnapping/abducting/confinement. get out of this fic if you're uncomfortable with these. mistakes and swearing are present too.

⠀⠀➧ requests are closed until further notice!

⠀⠀꒰ 🍨 ꒱ notes: welcome to “my strange addiction,” which is a writing special i made to celebrate this account reaching 500+ followers.

requested by: anonymous — thank you for the request, anon! i had quite the fun on writing mihawk as a yandere, hehe! 🫶

by continuing, you consent into reading this oneshot fanfic which contains yandere themes, violence, and confinement. if uncomfortable with these, please don't read this fic. also, do not go blaming me, i gave you a warning.

Hearing the unpleasant sound of crows cawing loudly, your eyes cracked open, finally waking up.

“Ugh... My head hurts..” You muttered, a frown on your face as you sat upright on the bed you're on, which you noted to be rather... Unfamiliar.

“Ah?” You gasped out after a few moments, now fully awake, looking around the spacious room your in.

This is not my room.

You said to yourself, holding your breath, clutching the bedsheet tightly when you were hit with the realization.

“Where the hell am I? I.. This place, I don't know this place. All I know is that—” click.

Startled by the door clicking and creaking open, your head was quick to turn to its direction, eyes falling on this tall, good-looking, raven-haired man.

“Mhm, my love, I see that you finally woke up. Would you like to eat breakfast now?” He asked, approaching you with breakfast in his hands.

“I.. E...Excuse you? My... Love? Do I know—wait, who even are you? What—why am I here?” Interviewing the man who lightly chuckled by your questions, he hummed, setting breakfast down the table beside the bed before he went on to answer your inquiries.

“Ah... Mhm, first question, I am Mihawk. Dracule Mihawk, your lover.” Mihawk stated, causing you to tilt your head to the side.

A lover? Do you even have one? Moreover, do you even have a history with this man who proclaimed himself as your lover?

“But I—ah, nevermind.” About to object, you were quick to fall silent, not complaining furthermore to this handsome being before you.

“Then... I bought, well, abducted you here. Had quite the trouble since you were unwilling to come with me, even though I had asked you nicely.” Says the man with a shrug, his answer shocking you.

“You what?”

“Did you not hear me, my love? Would you like me to repeat what I had said previously?” Taking steps closer to you, you shrieked, backing away from him, rushing to the window.

“Don't come any closer, y..you creep, kidnapper!” You exclaim, backing yourself to a corner near the window, processing everything as you thought of what to do..

“That's not very nice of you to call me that, Y/n.” Mihawk utters, taking the almost emptied bottle of wine sitting on the desk and pouring it to his cup, calmly approaching you once again.

“Will you just behave here and accept this?” He whispers with a sigh before he emptied his cup in one go, dropping the glass on the floor, shattering it. Now standing in front of you, staring you down like a hawk with his preying eyes.

“...N..No!” You shout, pushing him away then setting a foot on the window, ready to jump down when—

“Careful, darling. The drop from here is pretty high. I can't have you dead.” Mihawk warns, quickly taking your arm before you could fall and pulling you close to him, embracing you.

“Now, just stay here with me, alrig—?” “Can't you take a fucking no as an answer!?”

Wriggling away from him, you took a shattered glass piece and pointed it at the raven-haired male who raised a brow.

“Sorry, I can't. I'm not, and will never take that no of yours, my love..” Taking the glass piece from your shaking hand, Mihawk held your hand, driving you to the bed, pinning you down as he pricked your skin with the shard, causing it to bleed.

“..So you'll have to stay here with me, whether you like it, or not....” He hums in a husky tone, licking the blood off your skin before he quickly pressed his smirking lips on yours, deciding to hold you captive just so you stay with him, if possible, forever...

© butterfluffy 2022

ʚїɞ · likes, comments, reblogs, and/or feedbacks are highly appreciated!

[the-doctor-3000]

The Lost Queen {Alice In Wonderland x Reader}

Chapter four: The Tea Party

As they walked deeper and finaly saw something in the distance, a small tea party that seemed like it has been going on for years, a mill house which it was half destroyed and the tea set was an odd admixture of cracked pots and chipped cups. The tablecloth is stained and threadbare, the chairs lopsided. Y/n then remembered a little song, she didn't understand how she knew it, but seeing this place kinda popped the song in her head.

"🎶A very merry un-birthday. To me?

To you. A very merry un-birthday

For me? For you

Now blow the candle out, my dear

And make your wish come true

A very merry un-birthday to you🎶"

Sung y/n lowly as they walked and the March Hare started waking up at the sound of this voice, y/n panicked and she stopped as she saw Mally coming out of a teapot yawing. The man, who they assumed to be the Mad Hatter, twitched a bit his lip and brightened at the sight of the two small girls, his clothes even perked up. He started walking on the table and when he was right in front of them he knelt to their eye level. He took y/n and gave her a bear hug.

"It's you."he said cheerfully, looking at the two girls

"No, it’s not."shouted Mally "McTwisp brought us the wrong Alice. And y/n doesn't even remember us... She might as well not be her."y/n looked at the dormouse with sympathy

"It’s absolutely Alice. You’re absolutely Alice! I’d know you anywhere. I’d know him anywhere. As for y/n, it is her. How do you explain the song?"Mally did not know how to respond and she looked at y/n happily as the Hatter took the girls by their hands and pulled them back over the top of the table. They tried not to step on any teacups. "Well, as you can see we’re still  having tea. It’s all because I was obliged to kill Time waiting for your  return. You’re terribly late, you know… naughty. Well anyway, Time  became quite offended and stopped  altogether. Not a tick ever since"he said as he placed some stuff on the two chairs beside him so the girls could be high enough 

"Time can be funny in dreams."said Alice as she sat down

"Yes yes, of course. But now you two are  back, you see, and we need to get on  to the Frabjous day."

"Frabjous day!"exclaimed happily the March Hare and Mally

"I’m investigating things that begin with the letter M. Have you any idea why a raven is like a writing desk?"asked the Hatter

"Downal wyth Bluddy Behg Hid!"they shouted in unison

"I'm sorry, what?"questioned Alice

"“Down with the Bloody Big Head”. Bloody Big Head being the Red Queen."explained Chessur as he appeared on the other side of the table

"Come, come. We simply must commence  with the slaying and such… Therefore, it’s high time for Time to forgive and forget. Or forget and forgive, whichever comes first. Or, is  in any case, most convenient. I’m waiting."said the Hatter as he looked at his pocket watch

The March Hare took his pocket watch out of the teapot and listened to it ticking 

"It’s ticking again!"said the March Hare

"All this talk of blood and slaying has put me off my tea.~"said Chessur as he put his cup down

"The entire world is falling to ruin and poor Chessur’s off his tea."spat Hatter

"What happened that day was not my fault.~"continued Chessur, calmly

Suddenly enraged, the Hatter's colors became grey and black as he stood up and slowly approaching Chessur

"You ran out on them to save your own skin."he said as Chessur shrunk back a little "You guddler’s scuttish pilgar lickering…"y/n looked at Alice and ran to her and closed her ears "…Shukem juggling sluking ur-pals. Bar lom muck egg brimni."

"Hatter! Language!"yelled y/n and they looked at her as she had her hands on her hips and glaring at the Hatter "Careful with your language on the table."she shook her head, not knowing where that came from and sat back on her seat.

"Fez... Thank you. I’m fine."said Hatter as he pulled himself together

"What’s wrong with you, Tarrant? You used to be the life of the party. You used to do the best Futterwacken in all of Witzend."said Chessur as the Hatter looked proud, y/n, upon hearing the name Tarrant and Witzend, she felt herself looking into the distance.

"On the Frabjous day, when the White Queen once again wears the crown, again. On that day, I’ll Futterwacken… Vigorously."

~Flashback~

There were two teenagers, one with red hair and one with h/c. They were dancing outside of the castle along with their animal friends. 

"Tarrant, can you do the dance?"she asked

"Futterwacken? Of course m'lady."

"Call me m'lady one more time and I will forbid you from going to tea parties."half joked y/n

"Well n/n, I will dance only if you play your flute."

"Okie dokie."she took her white and f/c flute and started playing and upon hearing the sweet melodies, Tarran begun dancing his crazy dance

Everyone watched in amazement

~End of Flashback~

"Y/n, are you alright?"asked Alice, y/n nodded

"Um... Did you dance this Futterwacken with a flute one time?"asked y/n, looking at Hatter/Tarrant, who quickly brightened up

"Yes. It was one of the greatest days in my life. You cherished this dance so much that your sister, the White Queen, told me if I could dance it in your memory."

"My sister? The White Queen?"

"Uh-huh."

"Huh... Talking animals, smiling cats, talking flowers... crazy tea parties."y/n looked at Alice "If this is a dream, I really need to see a doctor."

"Why?"

"Because this is crazy... Completely bonkers.... And I love it!"exclaimed y/n and there was a crazy spark in her eyes that she hadn't had for a long time as she smiled brightly, she then spotted a small piece of sugar

She took it in her hands and threw it with her leg on March Hare who threw at her, with his turn, a strawberry. Mally was laughing in the background but she stopped as a piece of sugar hit her on the head.

"Oops."said y/n