#your grandma used to mutter about beings that steal people away and leave nothing behind. not even people’s memories

[sincerely-sofie]

“Yeah, remember how that one gal in middle school evolved from a pichu? It was the weirdest thing! She didn’t have any friends to let her evolve in the first place… She’s back in town apparently. She keeps asking people if they know about some kid who supposedly used to lived here. In a town this small, though? There’s no way that little boy grew up with us. We’d know if he did. After all…

“… In this town, everybody knows everybody.”

[writteninkat]

i - your grandma must have been strong

word count: 2,007

"I'll spend forever wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you."

index

You zipped your last luggage closed, huffing tiredly as you stood up. You looked around you- your empty room, your plain, pink walls that were once decorated with many posters and pictures, your floor that was once covered by a big fluffy white rug and some clothes and stuffed toys.

You sigh, smiling. You were surely going to miss this place. Your back tingles as you turn around to see your mother leaning on the door frame, looking at you with sad eyes.

"Do you have to go?" Her voice is soft and calming- it always has been. She's the only person who could ever calm you down especially when your father left the two of you to work at the Heroes Association in Japan.

"I want to be able to protect people. Children, women, the elderly... I wanna be someone people can depend on. Someone you can depend on." You place a hand on her arm which she covers with her own, he warm palm along with her soft smile about to send you to tears.

She nods, walking inside your room to help with your baggage. "The movers just finished loading up your other stuff. All we need is your excess baggage." She pushes the luggage towards the door, you mirroring her actions.

She cups both of your cheeks, looking you at you with adoring, glassy eyes. It's your first time being separated from your mother in you sixteen years of existence. The two have always been attached to the hip, you traveled everywhere together, even as the two of you had constant arguments you could never stay mad at each other for too long.

She was the only one you had.

"Stay safe in Japan, okay? If your father gave you a hard time, call me. I'll pick you up no matter what time it is, no matter where you are. I love you." She kisses your forehead and you finally let your tears fall as you wrap your hands around her thing wrists.

"I love you so much mom." You sob, hanging your head as your mother wrapped her arms around you. You hear a voice of a woman through the speakers, telling you your flight was taking off in a few minutes.

You quickly give your mother a kiss on the cheek before letting one of your guards assist you with your bags. You waved good bye to your mom and soon after, your trusted body guard.

You were on your way to Japan, to a new life, a new school, new friends and hopefully to reach your new goal: to prove yourself worthy of becoming a hero without your father's help.

You walk towards the giant gates of UA, taking a deep breath before finally taking a step inside the campus. Your heart thumped on your chest nervously as your palms began to prespire. You kept your eyes forward, not wanting to do anything with the teens around you as your only goal was to pass the entrance exam. You walked inside the building you were lead to, taking a seat at the very back in fear of attracting any unwanted attention.

"What's up UA candidates?! Thanks for tuning into me your school DJ! Just as your application said, today you will be conducting your exams in seven different locations! Your location has been assigned to you in the paper you were given." The loud blond man with long hair swept way to the back of his head announced, making you click your tongue. Not to be a mood buster, but isn't he being a little too loud?

You take the piece of paper he was talking about, eyes lower to read the letter that's written on it. Test Location: Battle Center C.

"Excuse me sir but I have a question." Your eyes fall to a purple-headed boy with glasses whose hand is raised. The blond teacher acknowledges him and he begins talking about how there are four villains in the paper you were given and not only three.

He then begins running his mouth about how a minor mistake such as this would be an embarrassment for a school such as UA. You scoff, muttering something about having a stick up his ass.

After the teacher ended his speech, you along with the other students began piling out of the room and to your designated battle centers. As you enter your specified location, you take out the black leather gloves from your pocket, wearing them. You clenched and unclenched your hands to make sure that it fit you well.

"Hey grandma." An unfamiliar voice catches your attention, unfortunately for you the rude nickname was directed towards you.

"Grandma?" You raise a brow, unsure what he meant by it.

"You white hair reminds me of my grandma's." He snickers, pointing at the white streaks of hair you have beside either sides of your face as a few other students chuckling behind him. He looks plain, very, very boring. "Why don't you give up on this exam, grandma? Your knees may start hurting."

The signal went off and the robots began moving behind you. As you kept a straight face, your hands begin glowing a blinding white light as a black with blue and silver accent claymore appears in your hands. You run to your left, applying your speed quirk as you ran towards the gigantic robots, swinging your sword vertically.

The slash creates the same blinding white light, the robots, the buildings and concrete ground that the light touches all disintegrating into nothing. You speed into the other robots, stealing the targets of other students as you accumulated your points. Once you finish and only a few robots are left, you return to your spot to where the plain-looking boy along with his little friends were still standing at, jaws hanging eyes blown wide.

"You grandma must have been very strong."

"I got in." You say into your phone and you hear your mother squeal in delight from the other end of the line. A smile breaks into your face and you feel your phone vibrate, signaling a new notification. As you pull your phone away to see what it is, your eyes widen in surprise as you read your notification banner.

'Mom' sent you $100.

"Mom what the heck is the money for?" You chuckle. "I'm not there with you but I want you to celebrate getting into UA. So go use the money and spoil yourself."

"Mom you don't have to-"

"Okay, mom mode off. I demand you go and award yourself eith the money I sent you." Your mom's tone switches from soft and caring to cold and demanding, making you chuckle. "That doesn't suit you at all." You laugh, you can practically /hear/ your mom pout at the other line.

"Okay, okay. I'll do as you say. Thank you, mom. I love you."

"I love you more my baby."

The call ends and you change out of your usual sweats and oversized tee. You put on a black spaghetti strap and high-wasted mom jeans. You hoop in a black belt and fold the ankles of your pants to show your white sock inside your checkered vans. You finish the look with medium-sized hoop earrings and a oversized red zip-up jacket which you leave unzipped with one shoulder hanging off.

You step out of your apartment, pocketing your keys and taking a deep breath in. Japan is just so beautiful, the scenery, the buildings, even the weather was perfect. You strut down your apartment building, scrolling through your phone as you searched for cafes nearby. It was a five minute walk of calm and relaxing vibes. You step into the cafe, eyes darting around the adorable cottage-core aesthetic it had going.

"Hey my name is Mio. What can I get for you this lovely afternoon?" The cashier beams brightly, your day becoming better and better with every move you make. "I'll have a strawberry shortcake as well as a strawberr frappe with extra foam, strawberry syrup and strawberries." You beam back at her and she takes your order with a bright smile, tapoing away on the computer's screen.

"Does your life depend on strawberries or something?" A rough and deep voice asks behind you, causing you to turn around. Once you do, your eyes widen at the sight of a young blond with vermilion eyes. He looked around your age.

"I like strawberries. Is it that big of a sin?" You ask, soft smile across your face as you cross your arms together. The guy had such piercing eyes, those red orbs looked like they could trap you in them forever.

"Not what I'm saying, but if you're that much of a strawberry fan, I recommend their strawberry pop tarts." His eyes drop to the display fridge beside you and your eyes follow his, landing on the adorable little tarts with red jam on top of them.

Just as you were about to order them, the cashier speaks up. "Your total is 1,500 yen." She smiles brightly, making you pout. You didn't want to cause more trouble for her seeing as your bill has already been printed by the machine.

You scan their QR code, paying virtually as she hands you your buzzer. "We'll give you a signal whrn your order is ready. You can find a seat and wait there thank you!"

You turn around at the blond who's looking at you expectantly, "I guess I'll have to try your recommendation some other time." You smile at him, walking off to the table catering two chairs. It was seated at the far back of the cafe, away from the many customers the cafe had.

You began scrolling through your social media, liking the posts of your past classmates and chuckling at some memes you saw.

A plate full of the same tarts with red jam is placed on your white table and you didn't have to look to see who it was. "Is this you way of flirting with me, rubies?" You ask, looking up at him with a teasing, smug smile. His face contorts into annoyance, "Hah? Flirting with you?" He scoffs, "Not a chance. And who're you calling rubies?"

"Your eyes remind me of rubies. They're pretty."

The blond's face relaxes and you push the seat across from you, silently telling him to sit down. He does as 'told', huffing as he watches you pick of a tart and bring it over to your lips. You bite on it, eyes widening as the flavor explodes in your mouth. It tastes sweet but not the sickeningly sweet kind, it's soft soft in the inside and lightly crunchy on the outside.

"You look like you just ate food made by gods." He chuckles, "You look dumb."

"But it really does taste so good!" You've never felt this much excitement since you found out you got into UA. And that speaks a lot given that you've only ever felt this kind of feeling with your mom.

"I should have bought the entire stock if I knew you liked it that much." Your heart skipped at his words. What is this feeling? You felt nervous all of a sudden, you can barely contain your smile and somehow, you didn't want to go home yet. This is a very new feeling for you. It's kind of... scary.

"I'm L/n."

Idiot. Stop it.

"L/n Y/n." You extend your hand towards him which he looks at for a few moments before taking. You shake both of your hands with a soft smile, your thoughts going haywire at how soft his palms feel.

"Bakugou. Katsuki Bakugou."

You pull your hand away, finishing the last piece of strawberry pop tart on your plate before your buzzer turns on. You pick it up, standing up. "Thanks for the tarts. See you around, rubies."

"Call me that one more time and I'll blow your face up."

You snicker, smirking. "Whatever you say, rubies."

[tomsrebeleyebrow]

No Judgement | peter parker x chubby!fem!reader

@juliebean247​ asked: Hii! I’m pretty new to tumblr but I’ve read most of your work and I’m in love with it all!! I dunno if you do peter x reader (if you don’t that’s ok, just ignore lmao) but maybe where we have chubby!reader who jokingly puts herself down all the time and peter just kinda snaps at her for doing it because he can’t stand the comments she makes- because he’s crushing on her...? Again- you don’t have to do this one or you can change it up!

requests are now closed

Summary: You are you, and damn you love it. Everyone knows it too, and they love you. Joking about yourself is common. But as soon as you feel down, you can’t stop but put yourself down. Sometimes harshly. And Peter can’t take it anymore.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Chubby!Fem!Reader

Warnings: angsty (mention of fat shaming, insecurities), a tiny bit of language (nothing too bad) but fluff at then end 

Word Count: 1945

A/N: first time (really) writing about our Spidey boy! 🎉🕷 also I kinda take my time with writing so sorry it took me a bit 😅 but I only feel accomplished when Like what I write sooooo bare with me please? 🙄🙊 anyway! thank you for your request sweetheart, I hope you will all like this little angsty fluffy as much as I do~ 💞 AND LOVE YOURSELF BECAUSE YOU’RE ALL BEAUTIFUL!!! 💖💜💖💜

masterlist

To hell with all beauty standards and perfection stereotypes!

You love your body as it is, from the smallest imperfection on your face to your curves and extra skin. And needless to say you are proud to show it. But sometimes other people’s look can be harsh on you, full of judgements as they don’t even know you but any opportunity is an open door to criticism.

So you got use to it like you didn’t care, and even made fun of it. More like made fun of yourself, actually.

“Man, her legs put together are the size of one thigh of mine!” you chuckle as you eat in the cafeteria next to MJ, Peter and Ned. All the table look at who you are talking about.

MJ playfully elbows you in the waist as she drinks her glass of water. “Shush (Y/N), everyone compares Bethany as a walking chopstick anyway.”

“I knoooow” you reply with a playful tone, munching on your pasta.

“You also look like chopsticks MJ, like from head to toes. Damn girl, you could just fly away with the wind!” you giggle while trying to steal in MJ’s plate. “And I will just stick to the ground like a pole!”

Even if you are laughing at yourself, you are actually the only one. You don’t catch MJ rolling her eyes with an exasperated sigh, Ned being kind of confused and Peter... well, clearly being annoyed.

“Alriiiiiight you little brat, stop talking crap ‘cause you still have to explain the last lesson to me before next class starts” grumbles MJ as she stands, her now empty tray in hand before taking it away.

“Yup girl, coming!” you announce, wiping your mouth with a paper napkin.

Peter follows each of your moves. All done eating you too stand, put your bag on your back and take your tray ready to follow MJ, who is already waiting for you near the exit of the cafeteria.

“Alright guys, see you in chemistry!” you happily sing while showing your biggest smile to the boys before leaving the table to join MJ.

The constant chattering of the students in the background hides the silent at the table. Ned finishes his yogurt before talking to Peter, but he stops himself when he notices his friend’s face. Tensed. Annoyed. And sad maybe? Ned has actually an idea of what is bothering his friend so much but knowing Peter’s personality, it would be a waste of time. Better to skirt the issue.

“(Y/N) is acting a bit weird recently, don’t you think?”

Peter only hums, more focus on mixing what is left of his yogurt than anything else right now. Head low and furrowed eyebrows, he keeps staring at actually nothing, just being lost in his thought and thinking. 

Thinking a lot, yes. About you. About how much you put yourself down way too much recently.

He can’t laugh at your cheeky comments anymore. He just can’t.

* * * *

Chemistry is your last class of the day, thanks the lords. You are finally reunited with all your three best friends so, hopefully the hours will pass by faster.

MJ writes (more like scribbles) lazily the answers for the report your duo has to give back at the end of the lesson, while you are the one having fun mixing whatever there is in the test tubes. Then you take an empty one and look through it.

“MJ, look” you whisper to your friend, trying to catch her attention. At first she doesn’t even care to turn her head towards you, until you insist by calling-whispering her name until she finally deigns to glance at you. Not really understanding what you want to show her, MJ brings her lab stool closer to you and frowns as she looks through your test tube. You brings the tube closer to both your faces.

“Look, Lara’s ass is as big as mine now” you kind of try to whisper, as well as not laughing out loud to not get reprimanded by the teacher.

In fact the glass tube deforms everything you look at when watching through it. And in that case, it is changing the shapes of your comrade’s bottom. MJ seems unimpressed and with her well-known bitch resting face, the girl simply goes back to her writings but not without sending you “are you serious?” glances.

Little did you know Peter could hear all your conversation, even three desks behind. The displeased look on his face is immediately showing and he almost breaks the pen he is using to write on the due paper. The slight crack of the plastic draws Ned’s attention.

“Dude, that’s my favourite pen!”

“Sorry, mate” grumbles Peter, putting the pen down and he sighs, leaning his elbows on the lab desk. He exhales loudly while ruffling at his hair. 

“You should talk to (Y/N), don’t you think so?” declares Ned as he takes two test tubes in his hands to deal with their contents. “You know, just to tell her how you feel and stuff like that.”

“I don’t know, man” retorts Peter with a low voice, his head now hidden in his arms. “I just- I can’t just say “hey (Y/N), stop running yourself down all the time because you are gorgeous in every way and I had a crush on you since high school and-”

“Peter stop, you’re mumbling like a freak” exclaims Ned, hoping to end his friend’s suffering. “Seriously, I noticed the face you do when she jokes about herself. I mean, maybe she’s not feeling great so you talking to her might sort things out somehow?”

Peter processes Ned’s words as his eyes follows you when you go ask something to the teacher. There is something about the kindness that emanates from your pretty eyes, the pink outline of your lips, the unique way your hair curves perfectly around your round face, but mostly your hourglass figure. Sometimes the boy finds hard to keep his eyes up. But you look so beautiful to him. That is mainly the reason why Peter can’t accept hearing you badmouthing about your appearance anymore.  

* * * *

The ringing bell announces the end of today’s lessons. Students are now filling every corridors, some going to their locker and other already leaving the building.

“I need to take some books in my locker, you coming with me MJ?” you ask your friend.

“Sorry, my mum’s picking me up ‘cause we’re going to my grandma this evening so I have to hurry” explains MJ, not too excited about the thought of it.

“I need to go to my locker too” Peter jumps into the conversation. He directly stares at you, a determined look on his face.

“Oh, uhm- alright then!” you cheer blushing a bit, still taken aback by Peter’s serious tone.

You wave goodbye at MJ and Ned as you start walking to your locker, Peter following close to you and receiving two discrete thumbs up from Ned. 

The main school corridor is now more empty, the steps of the last students resonating and almost fading little by little. You and Peter stop in front of your lockers, them being next to each other and just do your own things by taking and putting down what you need or not. Peter is more like fiddling with stuff, pretending to do something while his goal was obviously talking to you.

When he ears you zipper your backpack shut and close your locker, he violently - but not intentionally - slams his close a bit too harsh, making the loud metallic slap resonate in the empty corridor. You jump at that too and Peter just wants to facepalm himself at his own stupidity. 

“Err (Y/N), can- can we talk?” the boy mutters, now shy because of his sudden loose of confidence.

“Sure Pete, about what?”

Peter gulps as you stare at him, waiting for what he has to say. He is nervous now. How will you react? Good or bad? Will you ignore him after that talk because he offended you or misunderstood the situation? Will you-

“Peter? You’re alright?”

Your soft and worried voice suddenly takes him out of his mixed up thoughts.

“You’re gorgeous (Y/N).”

That is indeed straight to the point. Totally. First you blink a few times, not sure if you heard it right but seeing Peter’s serious face says it all. Your whole face is now blushing at his sudden compliment.

“P-PETER WHY DO YOU-”

“(Y/N), you are the most beautiful girl I know. Like in every way possible. You’re kind, smart, funny, a bit nerdy, outgoing, sometimes eccentric too but it’s part of your personality. But you’re also gorgeous in the way you dress because it shows your beautiful shapes off. You have nothing to be ashamed of in comparison to any other girl. You’re unique and I love everything about you, starting with your cheeks because they’re so round and full, but also your waist because its highlights your defined hips and I could go on and on for hours. It’s everything a boring, shy, awful and introvert guy like me loves. So please, stop putting yourself down all the time. You don’t deserve it and never you will. I don’t like that and I just want you to know that I loved you since high school and that I-”

You cut Peter off in his mumbling by putting both your hands on his mouth. When he finally stops - also remembering to breath again -, he finally notices how much your face and ears are red. You avoid looking at him, still not fully processing all the compliments and obvious declaration of love. Your heartbeats could almost break through your ribcage and your mind is a mess.

Seeing you conflicting with yourself, Peter takes your hands off his mouth and gently keep them in his. His look tries to search for yours.

“(Y/N), I’m serious about what I said. You know I’m awful with words but... Trust me when I say I love everything about you, a lot, so please love yourself as much as I do.”

After calming down a bit, you dare to look at Peter again, his eyes soft and reassuring. You are still at a loose of words because nobody said any of the beautiful things Peter just did to you. Nobody. And it warms your heart knowing that someone loves you how you are. You love it even more because you know it is Peter.

Peter squeezes your hands and with a impulse out of nowhere, he lightly pecks the corner of your mouth. He then moves his face back, smiling warmly at you.

“When you’re with me, there is no judgement (Y/N).”

“J-Jeez, Peter...” you stutter, you face still red of shyness.

“I’m walking you back home, come on” Peter mans himself up, noticing the school is completely empty with not a sound around. Detaching his hands from you, he picks your backpack up to give it to you. You take it with wobbling  hands, muttering a shy “thanks” before putting it on your back. Now ready to go, Peter extends one hand for you to take and this time, you don't have to be told twice. 

Hand in hands, fingers intertwine, you both walk through the long corridor, only you two remaining here. Peter’s warm hand reassures you in a strange way. But you like it. 

And you can’t stop the content smile growing on your face as you sneak a look at the boy who just proved you are worth it. Inside out. From head to toes.

And boy do you love this feeling.

🏷 Permanent tag list & mutuals 💖 (get notified)

@allegra-writes @tom-holland-is-spiderman @detroitbydark @blissfulparker @farfromhaz @xxtomxo @worldoftom @charismas-world  @stiles-banshees @americaxo17 @zabdisamor @princezzariel @mcuassemble @thatweirdomimic @juliebean247 @harryhollandwhore @spiderbibby @intiate03 @himynameishooman @bookworm06 @flowerboyparker @miraclesoflove @eridanuswave​ @jillanaholland @mendes-marvel @biebsmylife95 @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @tsh-darling @popbubblegumpop @fanficscuziranout

[king-finnigan]

Play With Fire - part 10

Warning! Torture. Still blueballing you with the actual murder but we’re getting there! That is not a sentence I ever thought I’d write, and yet, here we are.

Masterlist!

***

They make it to the prison without running into any police officers, and Geralt parks his car at the back of the building, leaving his keys in the lock. After all, they should probably steal a car after this to make sure they don’t get tracked as easily.

Surprisingly, his badge still works on the back door to the prison, and he and Jaskier slip inside. 

It’s quiet in the prison - it’s dinner time, by now, so the inmates are all in the dining room, with most of the guards. He’s confident they won’t run into any of his ex-coworkers in the hallways, either, since it’s only a short distance from the back of the prison to the director’s office. 

Well enough, they make it there without seeing another living soul - except for the one cockroach that scurried up the wall as they passed. It’s dark in the office, De Vries probably having gone home for the day an hour or so ago. 

He’s about to sit down in front of the desktop when Jaskier beats him to it. “Let me, love. Only my fingerprints, remember?” He wiggles his fingers in front of Geralt’s face in demonstration and Geralt chuckles, kissing them softly before Jaskier pulls his hands back, laughing as well. “Just tell me what to do, exactly.”

“Well, first you gotta turn it on.” 

Jaskier nods, frowning. “Right, yeah, right. Makes sense.”

He does as he’s told - for once - and turns the computer on, staring blankly at the screen for a few minutes as it loads. “It says I have to log in.”

Geralt frowns. “Hmm.” He opens the top drawer of the desk, digging through the papers. “It’s likely they haven’t changed the system yet, so soon, so she probably-” he smiles triumphantly as he pulls out a tiny piece of paper from the bottom of the drawer with Palmer’s login and password “-aha! She wrote the old one down.”

“Love, you’re a goddamn genius.” Jaskier smiles at him as Geralt scoffs, handing the paper to the younger man.

His face then contorts in horror as Jaskier starts typing with his two index fingers. “You look like a grandma.”

Jaskier shrugs, tongue poking out between his lips as he continues typing with two fingers. “I’m not good with technology.”

“My gods, how did you ever escape from prison?”

Jaskier shrugs again, beaming up at him as he smashes his finger down on the ‘Enter’ key. “By the power of my love for you.”

Geralt sighs, shaking his head lightly, smiling anyways, as he goes to stand behind Jaskier, laying his chin on his love’s shoulder to see the screen. He points at a particular icon. “Click that. Twice, dear. Twice quickly, now you’re just changing the name. Yes, like that. Now, click on ‘History’, then click ‘Clear’, ‘Clear all,’ yes.” He pecks a small kiss underneath Jaskier’s ear. “Well done. Now close it. Use the X, dear. Now, the other icon, that one. No, not that one, the one I’m pointing to. The one I’m pointing to, dear. No, not that one, the one I’m pointing to. Yes, that one. Again, ‘History’, ‘Clear’, ‘Clear all’, then ‘Disable Cameras’. That’s it. Now, ‘Employees’, yes that one, click on it. Twice, Jaskier. Hmm.” He frowns, committing De Vries and Stregobor’s adresses to his memory. “Now, turn the computer off. Right.”

He stands up straight again, smiling as Jaskier saunters through the office door, following the younger man into the hall, taking his hand. “Now we get the hell out of here.”

“And steal a car?”

“Yes, and steal a car.” He rolls his eyes at the smile Jaskier gives him, all sparkly eyes and rosy cheeks and sharp teeth. “And maybe murder some people, what the hell.”

And, by the gods, Geralt shouldn’t be fond of the excited look Jaskier throws his way at the mention of murder, but he does anyways.

---

Stealing a car isn’t difficult. Finding Stregobor’s house, a few blocks away, isn’t, either. Willing himself to actually let go of the steering wheel and opening the door, however, is.

He sits there, tensed up under the light of the streetlamps, darkness beginning to fall, hands clenched around the steering wheel. Jaskier’s hand is rubbing his shoulder in soothing, circulair motions, as he presses soft kisses to Geralt’s jaw and neck. “It’s okay, love, it’s okay. If you don’t want to go, then you don’t have to go. It’s okay. I can handle this on my own.”

Geralt knows Jaskier’s right, knows the younger man can just saunter into the house, pull the trigger or use a knife, and walk right back out without as much as a second thought. And he knows that Jaskier can stand his ground, if Stregobor were to fight back.

But he also doesn’t want to let his love do this alone. Doesn’t want to sit here in the car in deafening silence, waiting for the bang of a gunshot or the slam of the front door. He can’t just sit here and do nothing and wait and listen.

But he also doesn’t know if he can go in there, if he can watch someone being murdered - no matter how much that person is standing in his way. And that’s assuming that he’ll just be watching. That’s assuming he, himself, won’t be the one holding the knife or the gun or the sides of Stregobor’s head before he snaps his neck.

He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what to say, and even if he did, he feels like he can’t - can’t move, can’t talk, can’t let go of the steering wheel as his knuckles slowly turn white.

“Love,” Jaskier whispers to him, “it’s time, alright? I’m going in there, with or without you. I know that sounds harsh, but we don’t have much time left, we can’t sit here all night.”

Geralt exhales a deep, shuddering breath, then nods, once. 

He finally releases the steering wheel from his death grip, taking the gun Jaskier offers to him, tucking it into his waistband. He tries not to slam the door of the car when he gets out, but Jaskier seems to slam it extra hard, making Geralt cringe.

“Just to give ‘em a little heads-up.” Jaskier winks at him, diffusing the tenseness in Geralt’s shoulder, as he chuckles.

They walk to the front door, and Jaskier knocks. And somehow, that’s the thing that surprises Geralt the most.

He’s never imagined what it would be like to kill somebody. He has imagined Jaskier killing someone, though, but he’s never tried to think about the moments leading up to it, or the ones afterwards. He’s never thought he would be by Jaskier’s side, about to murder someone.

And even if he had, he never would’ve guessed that they would knock first. But then again, it’s as good a start to a murder as any. At least they don’t have to break in, at least they don’t have to try not to leave fingerprints everywhere.

Jaskier leans back a bit as they wait. “How do you want to do this, love? Just shoot him when he opens? Force our ways inside, tie him down, make him suffer a bit first? Your choice, love, I want you to be comfortable.”

Geralt nearly snorts at that. Yes, like he could ever be comfortable murdering someone. 

Maybe one day, a small voice at the back of his mind whispers, and he pushes it away.

He contemplates his options for a second. “Maybe tie him down and make him suffer a bit, and give De Vries a merciful death. She seemed alright. Stregobor is just a douchebag.”

Jaskier smiles at him, wiggling his shoulders a bit. “Ooh. Best of both worlds, I see. Bold move.”

Geralt opens his mouth to answer when the door opens, revealing a tired-looking Stregobor in a bathrobe and slippers. His greyish eyes widen in surprise at the sight in front of him. “Wh-”

Geralt pulls the gun out from his jeans, pointing it at the man. “One wrong move and you’re dead.”

Jaskier looks at him, mouth slightly agape in shock and wonder. “You’re so hot when you say things like that.”

Geralt scoffs, shaking his head slightly. He turns his gaze back to Stregobor, whose hands are up in the air by now. He motions with the gun. “Move back.”

Stregobor does as he’s told, stepping back a few feet, and Geralt follows him inside, gun still trained on the man, as Jaskier closes the door behind them, locking it.

Stregobor’s face contorts in anger, hands balling into fists next to his head as Jaskier grabs a dining room chair, dragging it into the middle of the living room-kitchen space. “You fucking traitor! I should’ve known, should’ve seen this coming. You motherf-” 

Stregobor’s sentence is cut short as Jaskier elbows him into the side of his head. The man falls down into the chair, groaning as Jaskier takes his hands, cuffing them behind the chair. “Nobody talks to my boyfriend like that, asshole,” Jaskier mutters, spitting in Stregobor’s face before taking the ribbon from the bathrobe, stuffing it into the man’s mouth.

The bathrobe falls open, and Geralt takes in the sight of Stregobor, a man who prides himself in his well-put-together appearance, sitting in the chair, hands cuffed behind the back, clad in only an open bathrobe, underwear, and slippers. And, strangely enough, it brings him joy - brings him an unbridled pleasure to see a man who looks down on others - on Geralt - humiliated and reduced to nothing in the span of a few short minutes.

He takes the knife Jaskier hands to him, kneeling in front of Stregobor, dragging the tip across the man’s cheek. “You’ll have to forgive me,” he mutters, eyes trained on Stregobor’s face, contorted in rage and fear, “this is my first time so I might be a little clumsy.”

Stregobor’s scream is muffled through ribbon of the bathrobe when the tip of the knife pushes clean through the skin and muscle of his cheek, into the fabric.

***

Tag list babey! (if you want to be added, just send me a DM or an ask, or put it in the comments, whatever suits you):

@just-a-himbo-and-his-feral-bard, @dandelionslute, @weakforjaskier, @the-blondey, @shipwrecked-nawtali, @bygodstillam, @rum-cream, @random-nerd-3, @allthethingshappening, @agentlewomanandascholar, @tschulijulesjulie, @noobtiedoo, @foddle-the-fiddler, @thenameislion-dandelion, @skai6, @thesmileyplant, @hysteria347, @pensandknittingneedles, @freak-fee-blog, @whenrainbowsend, @flustratedcas, @negatjazzy, @bridgehampton, @lookinforsomeabsinth, @dandelion-and-the-wolf, @sweetieplum

[ephemeral-afterlight]

Day 27: Ransom

(Protect those you love), prepare to leave it all behind.

Whumptober 2019 Day 27: Ransom

Word Count: 2161

Relationships: Intrulogical

Warnings: Kidnapping, physical violence/weapon (knife), blood and injuries, mentions of torture, threats of non-con to another character, vulgar/explicit language, mentions of drug usage/bad parenting/death of a minor character (not a side), cursing

A/N: hmm... i don't really know what to think of this one, to be honest. it feels weird to write right now, since i'm a bit sick, but i don't know. maybe it's not as awful as it feels like it is. who knows. anyway, have this shit. i'm not really a huge intrulogical shipper, since i don't actually ship remus with anybody (i hc him as aro), but logan fit so here we are.

It’s pretty cold here. Remus knows that being kidnapped and held hostage in a basement however far below the surface isn’t a particularly forgiving situation, but couldn’t his kidnapper give him a blanket or something? It’s too fuckin’ cold for this! And it’s weird, because the guy seems pretty warm himself despite not even wearing a jacket or anything, just a t-shirt, and it makes Remus a little jealous. Remus is always cold, but this place just makes it worse.

He doesn’t even know why he’s here, either. He’s not special, doesn’t stand out, isn’t known for any notable actions or anything. He’s just a simple guy, a dude who lives in a shit apartment and works two jobs in fast food and bartending. He’s pretty common, in society’s eyes, so… why is he here? 

The blow to the head had been delivered from behind, just after Remus has gotten into his apartment after work. It came when he least expected it, which is so not fair, because he would have loved to fight the guy. Have a fun old-fashioned full-out brawl in his living room at two in the morning, show him what he’s got. It could have been a fun end to his shitty night, but no, of course the guy had to take the coward’s way out and avoid the fight completely. What a fucking bore.

Now, sitting here tied to this chair in the middle of the room, Remus doesn’t even really feel the pain from the big knot on his head. There’s better things to worry about, like “Am I out of milk?” and “Will I get back in time to catch the season finale of the television show I’ve been following since the premiere?”. Besides, injuries are nothing new to Remus, having grown up playing only contact sports, so a little bonk on the head is nothing compared to the evenings he’d come home from practice or games with welts and bruises littering every inch of his skin. Before she died, his mom would freak out over the blood and cuts on his arms and legs, but then he’d give her a toothy grin with multiple teeth missing from being knocked out, and she’d just shake her head and clean him up. His mom was super cool, before she became a druggie and too busy fucking whoever was closest to come home and take care of her kids.

Anyway, Remus still doesn’t get why he of all people had to have been kidnapped, because it’s not like he’s some important figure or in any sort of position of power. He holds sway exactly Nowhere, and therefore isn’t exactly the ideal choice when stealing someone from their home for your own gain. Whoever this guy is, he’s kind of a dumbass.

“Listen up. You’re gonna sit here, smile into the camera really pretty, and you ain’t sayin’ a word unless I tell you to. Got it?” the guy demands as he sets up a tripod, and Remus just snickers. His kidnapper gives him a withering glare as he settles the camera into the correct spot, and then walk around to the other wide to line the shot up the way he wants it. “What’s so funny?”

“Just wonderin’ what the video’s for. Who you gonna send it to, my dead grandma?” Remus asks, licks his lips with a grin as he wiggles in his seat. The ropes around his wrists are tight, but definitely loose enough to slip out of if he pulls hard enough. Remus gets to work using his sharp fingernails to slice through through the rope one strand at a time, to try and reduce the circumference and be able to slide it far enough through the knot that he’ll be able to just yank his hands free. Remus guesses that all those years of putting up with Roman’s boy scouts phase weren’t a complete waste.

“Nope. You got a brother, it’s goin’ to him,” the kidnapper replies with a sneer. He’s finally finished setting the camera up, presses a button to start it rolling, and the red light begins to blink. Remus raises an eyebrow as the kidnapper settles back slightly further from the tripod and pulls out a stack of note cards, and it’s with a barely contained giggle Remus realizes that he had to write his speech down.

“Proof of life,” the guy says into the microphone with a much deeper, more gruff voice than before, and it takes so much effort to not burst out into raucous laughter. “If you want your poor little brother here back to you alive, you’re gonna leave no less than 200 thousand in a bag at the address provided. Unmarked bills, no cops. You leave the money, and then you get your ass out of there. If you call the police or try to pull any tricks, little bro here is gettin’ a bullet to the face. Once I confirm the money’s clean, he’ll be dropped off somewhere within walking distance of help, alive. You have three days. If that money still isn’t with me by the time midnight rolls around come Saturday, he’s dead.”

The kidnapper presses a button on the top of the camera and the red light stops blinking with a little click. Just in time, too, because Remus busts out into uncontrollable laughter as soon as the camera stops recording. His lungs and chest hurt with how hard he’s laughing,  but he can’t stop, and the offended, angry look on the guy’s face just makes him laugh harder. 

“Stop fuckin’ laughing!” his kidnapper snaps, but his voice cracks at the end, and Remus is in tears. It’s pretty predictable when the guy rushes him and punches him in the jaw, knocking the rest of his breath out of his lungs in a pained wheeze. Remus barely has a moment to recover before the guy’s fist is buried in his gut, forcing a hacking cough from Remus’ throat. He wants to keep laughing, but now it hurts like a bitch to even breathe, so maybe staying quiet for now is the best option.

“I said I’d bring you back alive, not unharmed. Don’t fucking push me,” the guy growls maliciously, a cold glint in his eyes as he reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a switchblade, flips the knife out in a way that shines the metal’s reflection of the light in Remus’ face. How annoying. The kidnapper presses the knife into Remus’ throat, in the same spot he’s had tracheostomies performed when his airway was blocked, and the feeling of smooth, sharp metal just centimeters away from his trachea is almost comforting in its familiarity.

“Fuck you,” Remus responds hoarsely, spits as much as he can and it lands on his kidnapper’s chin. Remus knows he’s going to be pissed, knows the fallout will be painful as fuck, but he can’t really seem to bring himself to care. He doesn’t regret it, either, not even when the guy yells out in anger and slams his fist into Remus’ stomach again. He doesn’t regret it when the guy mutters something about teaching him a lesson, he doesn’t regret it when he replaces his switchblade with the bigger chef’s knife laying on the shelf in the corner, and he certainly doesn’t regret it when the guy returns with a sadistic grin.

Remus will brag about what happens next for so, so long after he gets out of here, because it’s the funniest shit he’s ever done. The disheveled man brings the knife to Remus’ chest and pushes the blade into his skin, slowly slicing it open as the fresh cut forms a bleeding slash. But Remus doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t even yell from the pain. He just moans, one that isn’t of fear but rather high-pitched and obscene, a mockery of sex that leaves him barely able to hold onto the laugh that wants to push past his harshly gritted teeth. “Harder, daddy!”

And that’s probably the last straw, because the end of the cut turns much less clean in the guy’s lividity. The blade presses deeper into his skin, draws more blood and elicits more pain to radiate from his chest, and it takes more effort than Remus would like to not cry out. As much as he doesn find real humour in this situation, he can’t really afford to die here, so staying the dominant, unafraid personality to this man who obviously fears a lack of control is important. He can’t show fear, because that will just bolster the guy’s confidence and keep his head clear enough to not make mistakes. However, if he’s upset and feeling undermined, his anger will cause him to slip up, and allow Remus the opportunity to turn the tables on him. It does sound easy in hindsight, but slacking off won’t help any, so Remus focuses in on burying the pain below a layer of numbness.

“You know what? Maybe I won’t send it to your little brother. Maybe I won’t return you at all. Maybe, I’ll just keep you here, tied up so you can only sit there as I torture your little boyfriend,” the kidnapper seethes, and his eyes narrow as an even more deranged smile slips onto his face when Remus stiffens uncontrollably. “What, that hit a nerve? You scared for your little boy toy? What was his name… Logan, right? I know where he lives. And I’ll steal him from his bed, bring him here and force you to watch while I slice him up. Maybe I’ll make you watch me fuck him, take care of him better than you ever could, hmm? How about that? Want me to fuck your boyfriend for you? I saw him, y’know, a cute little nerd with glasses. Nice ass, skinny waist… he’s almost like a girl. Maybe I’ll keep him for myself, after I kill you, fuck him every single day while he just cries for his poor ol’e Remus.”

No. No, no, no no nononono. How dare he?! You can do anything to Remus. You can threaten him, make fun of him, torture him, and he’d laugh in your face. But this guy has the fucking nerve to bring his boyfriend into this? No. Unacceptable. This isn’t-- fuck.

And Remus knows he should stay calm, not let his words get to him, but…he knows Logan’s name. And apparently, where Logan lives. What if he does take Logan, does hurt him while Remus can’t even do anything about it, helplessly tied to a chair? What if this guy hurts his baby, hurts his Logan, and Remus could’ve prevented it? It’s far too easy to imagine Logan’s eyes filled with fear, the attempts to stave off tears, muffled cries of pain. All he can see in his mind is Logan traumatized, and for the very first time, the thought of sex makes Remus feel sick to his stomach.

So with an enraged snarl, Remus yanks his hands free from the flimsy rope keeping then locked behind the back of the chair, and then lunges. He relishes in the surprised yelp, the angered fear in his eyes, the way he scrambles to fight back far too late. Because he’s pinned under Remus, and once he’s got someone in his grip, he isn’t letting go. For probably too long, Remus just sits there, beating his kidnapper with shaking fists. The man fell unconscious a while ago, hasn’t been a threat for minutes, but Remus doesn’t have any other way to take out his frustration besides sitting here on top of this guy, pummeling him to hell and back. Eventually, his arms fall limply to his sides, and Remus’ eyes dull as he slouches over. His breathing is light and trembling, and there’s a feeling welling up in his chest that he doesn’t understand, can’t pinpoint or identify. His legs feel like they’re on fire when he pushes himself to his feet, burn when he sways a bit in an attempt to keep his balance. 

Remus doesn’t know where he is, or how far he was taken from his home, but that doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what Remus has to go through, because as he climbs the ladder out of this cellar and emerges in a long, dark hallway, he knows. He knows as he trudges to the end, as he whips open the door on the other side to reveal an alleyway. He knows as he gets to the road, recognizes the bakery across the bustling traffic, and when he turns in the opposite direction of his apartment. He knows when he sees the green sign at the intersection, sees the familiar name of Logan’s street, when he approaches his apartment complex. He knows that Logan’s going to be okay, because he’s going to make sure of it, and Remus vows that nobody will ever be able to threaten his boyfriend ever again.

[buoyantsaturn]

Give ‘Em Hell, Kid (1/1)

to: @bookplush merry christmas annabel!!

summary: Meg needs a shopping buddy. Nico wants nothing to do with this.

word count: 1,756

read on ao3

With many of the campers away for the holiday season, camp was looking even more empty than usual. For the first time in months, Nico wasn’t the only one that had to sit alone at his breakfast table, though that didn’t make it any less lonely. 

He was about to clean up and move on to the arena when somebody sat down across from him.

“You must be a pretty big loser to be sitting here all by yourself,” Meg told him, getting comfortable. 

Nico raised an eyebrow, choosing not to point out the other scarce tables nearby. “You must be a pretty big loser to be sitting across from me right now.”

Meg’s eyes narrowed behind her glasses. “Touche.” She tilted her head curiously. “You know, I think this might be the first time I’ve ever seen you without that blond kid that smells like antiseptic attached to your hip.”

Nico frowned. “You mean...Will? My boyfriend?”

“Sure. Where’s he at?”

“Visiting his mom for the holidays.”

“Do you celebrate?”

“What?”

“The holidays.”

Nico rolled his eyes. “Which one?”

“That’s what I’m asking. So, what is it? Solstice? Christmas? Hanukkah? Or, uh. Another one?”

“Christmas.”

“Really?” Meg wrinkled her nose. “But you’re Pagan.”

“No, I’m Catholic.”

“Your dad is Hades.”

“Okay, fine. Pagan and Catholic.” When Meg gave him a weird look, Nico elaborated simply by saying, “My mom was Catholic.”

Meg leaned forward on the table with her hands folded under her chin. “I see…”

“Did you need something?”

“Yeah, I heard you can get people out of camp,” Meg told him finally.

Nico gave her a tired look. He got enough of this from Hermes kids who wanted to restock their illegal snack supplies. “Yeah. So can you. The border’s right over there, but I don’t recommend making a run for it, since we’re a few miles away from civilization.”

Meg rolled her eyes. “Uh, yeah, duh. That’s why I came to you. I need to go to a store.”

“For what?”

“It has come to my attention that I suddenly have siblings. One of them let it slip that they both got me something for insert holiday here, and now I feel bad that I don’t have anything to give them in return. So? What do you say? Take me to the city, and we can steal from some corporations together?”

Nico took a moment to consider this, then sighed. “Yeah, okay. I guess I could surprise Will with a gift when he comes back, then.” He broke out into a grin. “It’ll be an even better surprise when he finds out it’s stolen.”

They ditched their activities for the day so that Nico could shadow travel them into the city. They wandered down the street for a short while, not quite sure what they were looking for just yet, until they walked up to a Target and headed inside.

“Who are you shopping for?” Nico asked as they wandered past the greeting cards at the front of the store.

“Just Miranda and Billie, since everybody else went home,” Meg answered. “But I don’t know what they like, so it’s gonna have to be something kind of generic.”

“Get them flowers.”

Meg stopped in the middle of the aisle. “What.”

Nico turned on his heel to face her, his hands stuffed into his coat pockets as he shrugged. “Demeter kids like flowers, right? Get them flowers. Or, I dunno, pots. Soil.”

“That might be the stupidest thing you’ve ever said.”

Nico frowned. “Hey, I’m just saying what I know.”

“We can literally grow plants from nothing,” Meg reminded him.

Realization slowly dawned on Nico, and he said a nearly silent oh. “Huh. Okay, so that was kind of dumb.” He continued walking, assuming that Meg would follow. “What do you know about them?”

Meg blew out a long stream of air as she thought. “Well, Miranda’s dating Sherman, and she’s my head counselor. And, uh, Billie likes makeup. I think she has a crush on Valentina, but that’s just speculation.”

Nico paused near an aisle end cap. “So, probably not the best idea to get her these gay shoelaces,” he said, holding up a pair of rainbow shoelaces.

“Maybe when she comes out,” Meg said. “Or for her birthday. Whichever comes first.”

They kept heading through the store, occasionally pointing things out to each other as they passed certain aisles, until Nico led Meg down one of the crafting aisles. 

“What about something like this?” Nico said, gesturing to an assortment of sketchbooks, then grabbing a pack of multicolored pens off a shelf. “This is what I got for my sister, and she seemed to like it.”

Meg stared at the sketchbooks with deep consideration before she moved further down the row and picked up a smaller book instead. “Maybe not a sketchbook, but one of these journals might be better. And that pack of pens, too. Miranda might not like it all that much, but at least it’ll be useful.”

Meg took the pens from Nico, and stuffed them into one of the pockets of her coat, along with the journal. They weren’t exactly hidden from view since her pockets weren’t all that big, and Nico caught the eye of an employee giving them the stink eye. 

Nico made a show of turning to Meg and saying, “You know you can’t just put stuff in your pockets just because you don’t want to carry it. Give those to me.”

Meg frowned, clearly not catching on. “What are you talking about? I thought we--” Nico lightly kicked the toe of her shoe, and Meg stopped herself. “Oh! Uh, okay, fine, whatever!” She shoved the items into Nico’s chest, and continued around a corner. 

Nico followed, glancing around the area, though the fluorescent lights didn’t leave a single of the corner unlit. “Damn, there aren’t any shadows in this place. Hang on.”

He unzipped his coat and tucked the journal underneath the fabric, sending it into a shadow that would deposit the object in his cabin, then did the same with the pens. 

“How is that any better than my pockets?” Meg demanded, arms crossed.

Nico held open his coat for her to see that the items had completely disappeared. “Because you could’ve been caught. I just sent everything back to camp before anyone noticed anything.”

Meg’s eyes widened in appreciation. “Alright, cool. Let’s go look at makeup now.”

She guided Nico across the store to the overly-bright makeup section, filled with a million products that Nico couldn’t even guess what half of them were supposed to be used for. “Uh, what would Billie want?”

Meg shrugged. “I’unno.” She stepped toward the shelf and started grabbing things at random until her hands were full. Then, she turned back to Nico and shoved it all into his hands. “Okay. Done. Now it’s your turn. What are you getting for Will? A first aid kit?”

Nico tried to think as he stuffed everything under his coat and back to his cabin. “I mean, he wouldn’t hate that…”

Meg punched his arm. “Shut up, you can’t actually get him that. Get him something nicer.”

“Then come up with nicer ideas,” Nico shot back. “C’mon, there’s gotta be some section of the store that’s just full of basic gifts. Let’s find those.”

They wandered a full lap around the store until the registers were in sight, though right as they both turned a corner, they spotted it. The perfect gift for Will. There were rows and rows of ugly Christmas sweaters hung up along the wall, but the best one of them all was tucked away in the corner.

“That is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen,” Nico muttered.

“It’s perfect,” Meg agreed.

On Christmas morning, Nico once again found himself eating breakfast alone at the Hades table. Right as he leaned forward to stuff a bite of french toast in his mouth, something hit him in the back of the head. He found himself getting angry and turned to find whoever assaulted him, though there weren’t any suspicious figures behind him - and besides, he didn’t need to reopen that giant scar across the pavilion floor.

Nico looked down to find whatever had hit him, and saw a small, gift-wrapped package laying on the tile. He picked it up and pulled off the note attached to it.

To: Nico

From: Jesus

Christmas is basically Pagan anyway.

He tore the wrapping off of the gift and found the rainbow shoelaces he’d picked up while he was out shopping with Meg.

He looked toward the Demeter table. Meg offered him a thumbs-up. Nico flipped her off in return.

Will returned a few days after Christmas, unable to spend the full holiday season with his mom since she had to head back out on tour before New Year’s. As soon as he stepped out of the camp van after being picked up at the airport, Nico jumped on him and wrapped him up in a hug.

“Hey. I missed you,” Will told him, returning the hug. 

“Missed you, too,” Nico told him. “It’s boring having to eat all by myself every day.” Will rolled his eyes, and Nico pulled away just quick enough to see it. “Come with me, I got you something.”

He dragged Will back to his cabin - allowing Will a second to drop his suitcase at the Apollo cabin - and handed him the gift bag as soon as Will was seated on Nico’s bed. Will peeked underneath the tissue paper, and glared up at Nico.

“Babe, please tell me you didn’t get me an ugly Christmas sweater,” Will warned him. “I know I told you I’m Jewish, and don’t you dare try to pretend I never mentioned it.”

“No, I know. It’s not a Christmas sweater, I promise. Open it already.”

Will sighed and pulled away the tissue paper. He brought out his gift and let out a loud groan, dropping his head onto Nico’s shoulder. “An ugly Hanukkah sweater isn’t any better, you know! My grandma got me this same thing, and I accidentally left it at home for a reason, Nico! How dare you!”

Nico wrapped an arm around Will with a grin, and pulled him up to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m glad you like it!”

“I don’t! Go return it, right now,” Will demanded.

“No way! You got it just in time to wear it on the last night of Hanukkah! And besides, I can’t return something I stole.”

“You WHAT?”

thanks for reading!!

buy me a coffee

[ruffsficstuffplace]

And The AWRD Goes To... (Part 5)

“So what? You’re just going to shoot me?” Sucy asked calmly, the expression on her face as neutral ever, her hand in her bag and whatever she had in it.

“I will if I have to do it to stop you!” Akko cried, scowling as she held her weapon steady.

“You realize this is going to be a high crime if it kills me, right? That’s going to be a great way to start your fours years at Haven, dealing with a murder charge.”

“I’m pretty sure it’ll count as justifiable homicide once they realize what it is you brought here...” Akko growled, her grip on the front of the barrel tightening.

Constanze and Weiss looked at each other. The tension in the air was growing worse by the second, and there was a sinking feeling in Weiss’ gut that someone was about to get shot for real. She touched Constanze shoulder, the two of them shared a meaningful, wordless exchange; then, Constanze silently loaded her dust magazine into a collapsible submachine gun, Weiss lowered her weapon, and slowly made her towards them.

“Akko, Sucy?” she asked coolly. “What the hell is going on here?”

Akko turned her head, nearly swinging her gun towards Weiss before she froze, kept it pointed at Sucy. Sucy spared her a glance with her one visible eye. “Oh, it’s crazy girl’s friend,” she said, frowning as Constanze stepped up. “… And she’s brought company.”

“Her name is Akko, and in case you’ve forgotten, I’m Weiss,” Weiss said as she stepped up between them.

“And she would be?” Sucy said.

No response, as Constanze kept both her hands on her gun.

“Great, another weirdo,” Sucy said. “Well, at least she doesn’t try to talk your ear off.”

“What do you have in your hands there, Sucy?” Weiss asked.

“Oh, so you’re going to assume the worst of me and the best of your friend, even though she’s the one that’s got a gun pointed at me?”

“I’m fine being accused of bias right now, thanks,” Weiss snapped. “Now what’s in the bag?”

“Cursed bait,” Akko spat.

Weiss’ eyes widened. “Shit. Seriously?”

“It’s not cursed bait,” Sucy said cooly.

“What is that?” Constanze asked, a curious look on her face, her gun lowered though she kept her finger near the trigger.

“Like I said, it’s not cursed bait,” Sucy said. “I based the initial recipe off it, but this is ‘Manbavaran Grimm Bait’ now.”

“I bet it’s just going to be as awful as the original, though!” Akko said.

Constanze scowled. “What is that?” she repeated.

“Cursed bait was one of the worst things to have ever come out of the Great War,” Akko said. “Some scientists from Mistral discovered a concoction of herbs and chemicals that attract Grimm like kids to an ice cream truck—only way deadlier.

“It’s only because someone sabotaged the original batches and had Grimm swarming the original lab that it didn’t get even worse.”

“So put it down on the ground, leave it, and we’ll pretend none of this ever happened, Sucy,” Weiss said, pulling up her sword.

Sucy’s scowl deepened. “I don’t think you two realize just how much work, resources, and effort I put into this, how much I have at stake here...”

“And I don’t think you realize that I wasn’t asking.”

“How many Grimm will it attract?” Constanze asked.

Weiss and Akko turned to her, stunned, then horrified. “Are you fucking serious right now?!” they both cried.

Constanze grunted. “Yes.”

“Only a small pack of beowolves, herd of boarbatusks, maybe a single ursa—provided someone lets me use it properly, in the sane, easily handled amounts I planned to use it in,” Sucy said. “And if one of you does the stupid thing and tries to steal this bag from me, end up spilling it all, I’ve got enough firepower to level a mountain in this bag, handle whatever Grimm will come coming.

“If you manage to spill it on yourself, though, you’re on you’re own.”

“Do it,” Constanze said as her robotic arms started helping her rebuild her cannon. “Field testing.”

Sucy smiled victoriously. “Great—at least another one of us have sense here.”

Akko and Weiss just stared at her in disbelief and anger, Constanze stepped up to Sucy. “We’re leaving.” Weiss said flatly as she turned around.

“Yeah...” Akko muttered as she followed suit.

“What happened to working together with anyone you run into?” Sucy asked.

“I’m pretty sure my grandpa said that with the assumption that one of us WOULDN’T be recklessly endangering our lives on an even more irresponsible project!” Weiss said.

“Do you know how helpful this can be?!” Sucy snapped. “Getting Grimm exactly where we want them, steer them off from raids on settlements, lead them straight into traps—hell, we don’t even have to have huntsmen and huntresses risking their lives any more, we could just set up a whole lot of firebombs, and clean up the stragglers afterwards!

“We could save so many lives with this!”

Weiss and Akko just kept on walking, Sucy sighed and shook her head. Weiss cast a quick glance over her shoulder, saw Constanze stepping up to Sucy and the two of them trying to communicate, before she turned away and shook her head.

“… Well, it looks like you were right, Weiss: that girl really is nothing but trouble,” Akko muttered. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Weiss said. “I tried to make friends with Constanze earlier, too.”

Akko groaned. “Dust, just—why would anyone try to make that stuff again?!”

“Just let it go, Akko,” Weiss said. “They’ve made their choice, let’s not get tangled up in it.”

They stopped as they heard the unholy roar of a beowulf in the distance—a call to action for every Grimm that happened to be lurking in the area.

Akko frowned. “You… you think we should stick around and help? Just in case?”

“Ah...” Weiss frowned, looked over her shoulder back at the way they came.

A rainy, windy day, water gushing and pouring down the storm drains, the upper levels of the city kept dry and safe while the residents in the bottom rung sighed to themselves as they prepared to wade through waist-deep water, their homes to get flooded, possibly even drown if the storm surged and the rickety, poorly maintained safety features weren’t up to snuff.

A girl Weiss’ age, surrounded by thugs with weapons.

“Weiss! Help me!”

That same girl, running away from the scene, Weiss watching her on the ground, through the gaps in the legs of the gangsters before they descended on her.

“Weiss?” Akko asked.

Weiss flinched, startled. “Ah—no, let’s not… help yourself before others, right?”

Akko frowned.

“She did say she has enough firepower to handle what’s coming—and if not, Constanze is with her, and trust me, her backpack is packing serious punch, too,” Weiss said. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes! Whole pack of beowolves, all by herself.”

Akko nodded, though she didn’t look totally convinced. “Okay, if you say so, Weiss.”

“Let’s go hunt for relics...” Weiss said, ignoring the sounds of explosions and fighting just behind them.

“When you go hunting for relics, you’d think to yourself: temples, caves, ruins of pre-War civilization, and you’d be right—there will be relics there, but only because your grandma, myself, and a handful of other professors planted them there,” Nick said in the days leading up to initiation.

Boom.

Fire exploded out the exhaust vents on the back of Shooting Star’s axe head, sending the blade straight into the side of an Ursa’s head. The beast flinched, roared and swiped at Akko as she broke off the stuck blade, blocked its attacks with the shotgun-handle. Weiss rushed up its back while it was distracted, plunging her sword straight down its head, Myrtenaster crackling with electricity.

The Ursa roared and convulsed, before it collapsed to the ground. Weiss hopped off, Akko grabbed the blade and pulled it out of the fast evaporating Grimm; they gave each other thumbs up and smiles, until they noticed a boarbatusk already rolling towards them.

Weiss jumped out of the way, Akko holstered the shotgun across her back, holding onto the blade like a set of brass knuckles. The boarbatusk crashed into her, Akko started to glow golden as she grabbed it, and suplexed it into the dirt. Stunned, the boarbatusk sprawled out on its back.

It tried to get up, Weiss stabbed it in the gut; the Grimm squealed, before it started smoking, and disappeared.

“If you really want to find something that’ll impress us, think about the history, the context behind why all these precious works of art and culture were abandoned here in the first place. Imagine it: it’s the middle of the Great War, your government has just declared an all out ban on all art and forms of self-expression, where the hell do I hide these expensive, valuable paintings, my ancestor’s statues of the gods, and my personal collection of erotica for later retrieval?”

An alpha beowulf lunged at Akko, tried to wrap its body around her and hold her down for the rest of its pack. Boom. Fire exploded from the new hole in its gut, it staggered back. Akko rammed herself into it and knocked it down, before she detached Shooting Star’s blade, jumped on top of it and started punching it.

The other beowolves tried to jump her, but they were quickly perforated by a barrage of icicles from the side. Akko braced herself, surrounded by the golden aura once more, the icicles harmlessly crashing on her.

The fallen alpha tried to lunge upwards and bite her, she shoved the blade straight down its mouth; it reeled from the strike, Akko pulled out her hand, and shoved the barrel of her shotgun in instead.

Boom. Boom.

The alpha’s head fell slack, before it started to smoke and evaporate; Akko got up, dusted herself off, and she and Weiss carried on.

“The answer: down dry wells, buried underneath the foundations of houses or in trap-doors, and especially inside tunnels. Now and then, the people of Mistral LOVE themselves some motherfucking tunnels for everything—and by that, I do mean everything, so apologies in advance when you happen to see some shit.

“Not ‘if.’ When.”

Akko threw herself against an ancient, sturdy wooden door, slamming a creep into the doorway. The Grimm was unfazed, still gnashing its teeth and attempting to bite her, the others inside trying to escape with it. Weiss slipped Myrtenaster in through the gap, summoned a glyph on the tip and started spewing flames at the Grimm inside.

Horrific screeching filled the air as creeps burned, Weiss pushed alongside Akko when they started ramming at and frantically scratching at the door; even the stuck creep stopped trying to bite them, struggling to get free, until finally, it stopped moving, and turned to smoke.

Thud.

The door slammed shut, Akko and Weiss fell against it. After a few moments of listening in for stragglers, they opened the door, let the smoke out, and peered in with a flashlight. Their eyes widened, they slowly closed the door again, and proceeded to leave as quickly and as they could.

“Of course, it obviously won’t be easy. There’s tons of Grimm infesting all these forgotten tunnels, attracted to the security, or that smell of fear and despair that never really leaves some places. And of course, us professors don’t restock them, knowing that students aren’t likely to find them any time soon, so if someone before you already got to them and cleaned the place out… well, tough luck, kiddo.

“But, if you do find something, and come back with it…” Nick smiled. “Then you’ve have earned your place in Haven and then some.”

“Bah!” Akko cried as she let herself all to some grass just outside the entrance of a tunnel. “Let’s take a break: my flashlight’s batteries need recharging and I’m hungry...” she said as she laid her weapon across her lap, flipped out her flashlight’s solar panels.

“Agreed...” Weiss muttered as she sat down beside her in a much more dignified pose, checked the vials on Mytrenaster’s revolver.

“Umeboshi, Weiss?” Akko said as she pulled out a jar full of the stuff. “Myrtenaster isn’t the only thing that needs recharging,” she said as she cracked open the lid, held it out to Weiss.

“Thank you,” Weiss said as she picked up a handful of them, popped them into her mouth. “Mmnn…!” she squeezed her eyes shut and shivered. “Times like these I can see why Mistralian huntsmen and huntresses insisted they never left without these things...”

“You mean aside from the fact that they’re delicious?” Akko asked, before she shoved some into her mouth, giggling and squirming in delight.

The two of them spent a while eating, resting, reloading, and doing some cursory maintenance on their weapons. “Where do you think we’ll find our artifacts?” Akko asked as she honed her weapon’s axe head. “It feels like we’ve searched everywhere Uncle Nick told us we’d probably find an artifact.”

“I don’t know, but we’ll find them,” Weiss said as she cleaned out some excess dust with a stick-like tool. “For sure, though, we’re not going to find them just sitting here—it’s not like the gods will just decide to start ‘dropping gifts from the heavens on us mortals’ again right?

“… Akko? Is something wrong…?”

“Do you hear that?” Akko whispered as she tensed up.

Weiss frowned, and nodded. They put down their tools, stood up and readied their weapons, listening to the mysterious sound, getting louder and louder, a high-pitched, continuous noise like a scream, until finally--

Thud!

A red and black blur crashed on top of Weiss, knocking them both to the ground. Akko jumped, pointed her gun at them both, then gasped. “Ruby?!” she cried.

“Oh! Hey, Akko, good to see you!” Ruby said, a little dazed, a folded Crescent Rose across her lap. She paused, looked below her, and quickly scrambled back up. “Oh, shit—I’m so sorry! Are you okay, Weiss?!”

“I’ll live...” Weiss gasped as Akko helped her back up. “Worst case scenario: my family has great insurance when it comes to artificial limbs and skeletal reinforcements.”

“What were you doing up there” Akko asked as she pulled Weiss’ arm across her shoulders.

“I was actually just about to get to that--” Ruby began.

Weiss and Akko flinched as they heard the sound of a Nevermore screeching, followed by a different, distinctly human scream:

“RUBY…!”

“Ah, sorry to ask you guys a huge favour so soon, but could you help me save Diana?” Ruby said as she frantically reloaded Crescent Rose. “Everyone else I’ve run into is busy trying to hold off this GIANT horde of Grimm and a King Tajitu, or running away while they’re occupied.”

Weiss and Akko readied their weapons, their fatigue and injury forgotten. “What happened?” Weiss asked as she helped Akko stuff their equipment back in her satchels.

“Well, it turns out that if someone asks you to help test some experimental Grimm bait, you really should just say ‘No,’” Ruby said as they began to run through the forest, jumping over fallen logs and branches, weaving around trees, crunching leaves underfoot. “Especially if they’re trying to see just how much Grimm you might attract with a certain amount of bait!

“Turns out, there’s a point where it stops luring in MORE Grimm and just, uh, starts luring in BIGGER, meaner Grimm.”

[oblivcscence]

OKAY, I KNOW YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE HERE...

CANON. Also, this one’s really long & really really important.

Running was his one of his favorite things to do. That’s what he was known for, his speed and the freedom he felt when doing it. His lips were spread in a smile so wide that it seemed like his planet wasn’t darkened almost a year ago. It had been that long… a year of change, a year of destruction but in the end, it worked out for Damon, even if it brought him depression with a side of heartache. There were times where he’d stop being his normal self and break down alone or with Kaia and only in the safety of their home, the restaurant she had made. The loss of all his people, all the Xantrophns was a horrible impact on his life. When he could’ve tasted his reign but never got to it, he never had the chance to be king. A low huff left the running royalty as he made his way across the Detritus Ring. Hands pounding against the dusty ground, going faster with each bound. His tail raised to keep him balance as the fast creature made his way across to the market. Kaia had requested to get some things from there to lighten up her restaurant, there was almost a new theme each three months, sometimes she’d even decorate it to celebrate their traditions, keeping them alive. Most customers wondered what it was and upon asking, Kaia would tell them all about the holiday and why was it celebrated.

Slowly the Xantrophn came to a slow crawl, looking along the stalls before rising to two feet. Nothing seemed to interest the prince, most rusty and unworthy to be bought at such a high price. A small snort left Damon before he paused to catch his breath from the run he had just gone on. “Looks like I might have to turn up empty handed.” He grumbled, running a hand through his hair as he gazes at a particular stall. Trinkets of gears and metal shaped to look like things that were simple or complex. His golden eyes looking at a metal heart with the engraving of ‘My Love’ on it. Kaia was always into those cute cheesy things, but it was worth the smile on her face. Pulling out 10 credits he placed it down on the table before taking the small object in his hands. “Thank you for the business, mister,” replied the owner. “It’s lovely, thank you,” Damon responded back with a gentle nod, slipping the heart in a pouch he had hooked to his side and continued along the streets. The odd smells of the close restaurants left Damon’s nose to scrunch. Kaia’s at least smelt decent, inviting even these poor things should just run out while they had the chance. None of them could compete with the Ischyros’ baking. Too good and everything was natural.

As the Xantrophn made his way onward, he couldn’t help the feel of eyes on him. Burning with an intensity that he had to turn around only to see the crowd of heads that were shorter than him. An uneasy snort passed his lips, something was up. The feeling was practically nagging the king as he tried to shake it off and just get this shopping over with but still he was being shadowed but by what? Suddenly he felt a hand grip his wrist harshly, “you vermin, I knew I’d catch you.” It was the sound of an elderly lady, though as she spoke her tone grew harsh and a cane suddenly came out to whack at his knee. “Hey! Stop that.” Damon snarled, tearing the hold she had on him and taking a step back. “What the hell are you going on about? I didn’t do anything to you!” She only ‘tsk’ waving the cane close to his face before a clawed hand slapped it out of his view. “You did too, don’t lie to a grandma. I saw you steal from my shop, those big ears and that horrible tail that knocked everything to the floor. Such a mess.” She mused, poking his stomach with the stick. Damon, who was confused beyond any reasoning advanced to the little human, teeth bared. “You crazy old bat! I didn’t steal from you. You’re looking for someone else.” “No, I’m not. I remember that tail, the two spikes at the end,” hitting the said appendage with her cane, before looking back up at Damon. “You thought you could get away with stealing but not me, not Granny Hags.” ( Two spikes? ) Golden eyes looked down to the flickering tail almost finding it incredulous to think that another species would have a tail like his. He’s only met at least two other creatures with a tail and none of them were spiked like that. There was a soft sigh that left the creature before he spoke. “I’m not a thief, but I can help you catch him. What did he look like?” Damon asked, hoping that the crazy elder wouldn’t accuse him again. “Hmmm.” She hummed, rubbing lips together in thought. “Well, he was tall, like you. Had a tail, as I’ve mentioned earlier, two spikes at the end with plates along it, like you. Honestly, he looked exactly like you. Except,” She paused, the curved cane coming up and latching onto a golden horn before yanking the king down. A pathetic sound left Damon’s lips at the caught horn and with being thrown to such a small height he was forced to kneel. Pain laced around the golden outgrowth as Hags gave it a thorough look. “He didn’t have these beauties.” She commented, flicking them with an index finger. “My, these look good and strong.” “They aren’t for sale, you bag of bones.” Damon hissed, pulling free from the grip the cane had on it, shaking his head to rid the pain away. “So are you’re saying you saw a replica of me?” He’d concluded, raising to two feet as he tried to think of what it could be.

( Was it possible for… no. No, it couldn’t. ) He was the only one left, the last of the Xantrophns there was no way. No fucking way that one could’ve escaped. He saw it all burn. The memory of the look his father gave him before he left their fiery home, Tresten’s cries to let him die with mother, Saiga’s pure rage for revenge… and Wolf. The young brother falling as he attempted to get to Damon. Behind blue lips, his teeth would clench with anger, finding his fury start to rise even from the thoughts of the destruction. It had been a year but his wounds would always be tender and it would always hurt, no matter the cost. “Of course, I’m saying that you idiot. Now come, I’ll bring you to my shop, where the miscreant stole from. Since you’re an alien, I think that nose of yours would be useful, is it not? And from the way it scrunched, I know it works pretty darn good. I can barely smell the crap here anymore, thank the star.” The elderly woman would ramble on as she wobbled through the streets, the cane extended, nearly hitting the ankles of the people that passed. A few minutes ticked by before the two would come to the entrance of a small shop. A sign read ‘Granny Hag’s Hopes’ on top of it. He suppressed a cruel laugh to threatened to leave him at the title, finding it almost stupid. “Just right through here.” She pointed to a tiny door, slipping in with ease. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Damon muttered under his breath, going down to four legs and with some trouble getting through the door, though the inside was worse, it did provide some space to kneel.

“He stole my favorite thing in this store.” Hags would grumble, walking down the aisle and to the register where she sat on a stool waiting for the lumbering fool to catch up. “You gonna take all day or what?” She’d snap tapping in a few numbers before the tool would open. “I did get a clue from the thief, as he was leaving his ear was caught on something and he left this behind.” A small golden earring was in the middle of her palm, blood around it edges. After having some trouble getting passed the useless junk, Damon finally stopped to see what she was holding and a part of him froze. The smell of it… the blood. There was no way. “You said this belongs to him?” Hags nodded, placing it down. “I thought it looked pretty enough to sell, so I want my daughter to clean it up but just came home yesterday night. When it happened.” Damon could care less about this woman’s daughter, he was interested in finding the crook who stole from her. The smell was all too familiar, that was the blood of a Xantrophn. HE WASN’T ALONE. “Do you mind if I have that until he’s found? It’ll help my sense of smell if the scent gets faded.” There was a moment’s pause as the granny gave Damon a glare of suspicion. “Alright, but you have to bring it back.” Damon nodded. “I will.” Soon taking the small thing and bringing it close to his nose. A small sniff of the Xantrophn’s blood was enough to make the creature turn away from it, the stench horrible but useful. After lifting his nose and getting the aroma, he’d place the earring inside his pouch with the metal heart before setting out again. “I’ll be sure to catch this crook, don’t worry,” Damon called behind him as the king left the run down shop and began his hunt.

From the market stalls to the edge of the town his trail leads him all over the place, several times passing by left and right, some spots he could see a scuffle or broken glass, the scent would vary from strong to weak within a matter of seconds. At one point he came across a dead carcass tucked away in a dark alleyway, flesh ripped to see bloody bones and barely recognizable of an alien species or not. There was no concern for Damon, he knew the smell of a dead Xantrophn and it wasn’t that. “You must’ve been hungry. All alone, maybe even scared…” He muttered, looking at the small bloodied footprints. It was a Xantrophn, the thought of that alone made the king more than happy. The joy and sadness he was experiencing colliding together made his mind undecided on what to choose. At least he wouldn’t be the only one of his kind left. As he continued to follow the trail, Damon wondered if it was someone he knew. A part of the king was sad it wasn’t female, but that didn’t matter one way or another. Kaia was his mate and he’d never turn his back on her. Though he knew that there would’ve been an opportunity to continue the pure blood Xantrophn if the thief was one. Though due to the evidence from Granny Hags it was male.

After traveling another three hours the demon came to a stop at a surprisingly empty lot. No one was there but the scent was very strong now, there was no denying it. He had to be here. Damon was about to address his presence but was suddenly cut off as two thralls came crawling out from where he had just entered. A low growl sounded as an even bigger one stood in front of him. “Looks like we found our dinner, boys!” The leader would call out, giving Damon a disgusting smile. His tail lashed furiously at the sight of them. His anger from earlier flaring back, golden eyes burning to life at the thought of fighting. To seek revenge. “He looks big enough to share, what do you say?” The biggest advanced, horns ready to pierce the Xantrophn as he charged. A loud roar sounded passed the creature’s lip jumping up just in time to hop on top of him and rank large claws all the way down the thrall’s back. In turn, the thrall voiced an equally loud roar, whirling around as the others came into the fray, their teeth snapping at Damon. One latched onto his ankle, biting down harshly to the blue skin while the other attempt to get behind the king, he was soon shot down with a sharp stab to the face from Damon’s tail, falling back dead. A hiss as deadly as ever sounded passed the Xantrophn’s lips as he shook his foot harshly, kicking the beast in the side and throwing it halfway across the area before the large one came back for more, ramming horns into Damon’s cloak, just above his shoulders. “You pathetic piece of shit!” The king snarled, gold dripping down his foot and coating his black claws. Though he was injured Damon’s legs were up frantically trying to kick at the beast’s stomach and barely missing by a few inches, almost to taunt him. “I can’t wait to see what price your horns would make, being gold.” The thrall snickered a hand coming to grab Damon’s torso before backing up. Rearing his hand back, the leader threw him across the lot and with a hard thud the king would land roughly with his stomach on the ground. “Fuck.” He’d spat, crawling to four legs slowly. “You’ll pay for that you oversized cow.” Damon hissed. A laugh left the thrall before charging at the Xantrophn again, horns pointed directly at the chest. Bunching up his muscles Damon was about to jump before a strong grip on his ankle and tail prevented him from doing so, the thrall he had kicked away, having more strength now that he recovered. “Let go!” He hissed, front claws clawing the fallen one’s face, each hit making the grip weaker though it was too late. Golden irises looked up to see the leader a few inches away, preparing himself, the king closed his eyes tightly. So close to finding the other Xantrophn, so close that he’d actually mean something. Damon waited for the pain to stab through his chest, to feel the defeat and last hope of the Xantrophns. Though all he felt was guilt, slight pain, and fear of his death. He didn’t want to die, he didn’t want to leave Kaia to defend herself. He couldn’t. He waited but still, it never came. Slowly the creature would open his eyes, seeing a form on top of the thrall pulling on the large horns with all of its might. The thrall no longer in control of his direction began to fall backward. As quick as the form disappeared it came back, ranking long claws down the chest continuously. Blood flying, making a pool on the ground and coating the king’s savior.

“Bleed you bloody bitch! Bleed!” Damon could hear him chant, as each slice brought the beast closer and closer to death. Slowly recovering, the demon would rise to two legs finding it almost impossible not to see the tail on the form lash lethally. There he was. “This is what you get for hurting MY KING!” Roared the Xantrophn, as a ball of purple-black venom was spit onto the thrall’s visage, sizzling it to the bone and leaving the large beast to finally die. ( King… ) Golden eyes blazed with a pride he hasn’t felt in a long time, he knew that this one would be true. “Whew, now that that’s done.” His rescuer would continue, though something about this Xantrophn was far more familiar than normal. The red-brown skin tone, the markings, his voice, hell even his hair all seemed to point to someone that clicked in Damon’s mind. “B-Bultin.” There was desperation in Damon’s tone, a longing he knew that made him look weak but the king could care less at the moment. He didn’t want to admit but he could feel tears stinging his eyes as the Xantrophn turned to reveal amber eyes. “I knew you’d find me, Damon.” He spoke as lips pulled back in a huge smile. Bloody as it was, Damon still invited it in with his own. “I…” He was speechless, to think this rascal who stole from an old grandmother was his best friend. “Holy shit.” The man he thought of would breathe. “That thrall certainly had a strong will, huh? At least he didn’t stand against us. The Xantrophns, especially the king.” Bultin nodded, giving Damon a bow out of respect. When he would come to raise he’d be greeted by a strong hug. A laugh shook the friend’s shoulders as he returned it. “I missed you, Dammy.” He voiced into the king’s chest, giving his back a few pats before taking a step back. “You have no idea how good it is to see you. No idea.” Damon could feel his voice crack slightly as he tried to fight back the tears. For a year he was alone, being called a king of nothing, a king of the dead. But now that Bultin was here, Damon had hope. Even if it was just a little, he still had it. “I’m glad to see you too, brother. But I would suggest getting yourself looked over, that bite seems nasty and I wouldn’t want you getting a horrible infection.” Golden eyes seemed to look down at the still bleeding wound, a part of him had forgotten over the emotions he had felt but now to the mention of it, the pain started to settle back in. “Here let me help you, just like the good old times,” Bultin commented coming alongside Damon and wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “You know where a healer is?” His friend would ask and soon the smile only seemed to grow. “Yeah, I know the perfect one. Trust me, you’ll love her.” With the two Xantrophns reunited they slowly started to make their way back home.

[ficdirectory]

Blink (An AU Fosters family fic) Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

Waking up at 6:00 in the morning is still a thing that comes way too naturally for Jesus.  He hasn’t really let himself think about how hard traveling might be.  But he wakes up on edge and stows his yellow fleece in his backpack, trying not to think of another morning three years ago.

Then, he’d had to do everything like usual. Jesus couldn’t let Him suspect anything.  Couldn’t let Him know that Jesus was really thinking about getting away.  Planning it.  That morning (and every morning he’d had access to an alarm clock) Jesus had gotten up at 6:00.  That Last Day, he had made sure his backpack had everything he wanted to take with him, but nothing that would make Him think Jesus was trying something.

Because of this, the minute Jesus sees the backpack, he gets a feeling in his gut.  Hypervigilance.  He kinda wishes they could change their minds and stay home, like he was thinking they would.  The luggage situation alone has been brutal.  He knows the minute he goes downstairs all the bags are just gonna be sitting there.  Perfect size for little boys to get hidden inside when an asshole steals them or worse.  (It’s why he couldn’t stand the sight of his little sis in one, even if she was just playing.)

Jesus showers because he’s not sure about the shower situation at Grandpa’s cabin.  He can hear everybody whining outside the door about him taking up all their time.  They have to be out the door by 6:30.  So Jesus tries to hurry.  But in the end, they are still rushing.  He hates rushing.  It makes him feel like his feet are gonna be yanked out from under him.  Like he might get killed.  It’s terrible.

But Jesus knows his family doesn’t have time for triggers this morning, so he shoves all his big reactions down deep.  Forces himself to keep a calm demeanor.  He gets in the car with Mama, since she’s the calmer driver, and Callie and Mariana are in there, too.  (Mom’s in the other car with Brandon, Jude and Frankie.)

He swallows.  He left the house without eating breakfast.  Just like Then.  Jesus takes a deep breath and locks down that thought, too.  He’s gone way longer without food.  Without water.  This is okay.  Moms love him and they make sure all of them can eat.  It just doesn’t feel like a sure thing right now.

Jesus hangs onto his backpack, which he’s got on so the straps are behind his shoulders, and the pack part is in front.  Mari and Callie are sleeping.  Jesus can never sleep in cars.  He looks out the window.  Mama’s tense about everything being last-minute and she keeps losing Mom, who stops a bunch.  (Frankie has to pee.  They need breakfast.)

Even though it’s nowhere near the ideal situation Jesus needs it to be, he accepts the breakfast sandwich and makes himself eat it, knowing it would be worse not to eat anything at all than to eat something, even if it reminds him, in every single way, of being There.

The crinkling of the wrappers fries Jesus’s nerves.  He stares at the napkin he got handed with the sandwich.  Still remembers how one of those felt in his mouth.  How it made him gag.  How he bit The Hand that did it.  How he got knocked out.

“Aren’t we almost there?” he asks after half an hour.  He knows they’re headed to an airport (part of Grandma’s gift was plane tickets), but they have to be almost there.

“LAX is a ways away yet, bud.”

LAX.  They’re going to LA?  The same LA where he hid in plain sight for four years of his life?  The same LA where he went through actual hell?  Did Moms mention this, or is he just too dumb to connect the dots - to see the obvious?

“Okay,” he says, even though nothing is okay right now.

Jesus can feel himself getting a little more distant.  This time, he doesn’t try to stop it. He can’t make this damn drive again.  It’s too much.  He wants to go to sleep to cope but sleep has never been easy for him, and definitely not sleep in a car.  So he zones out, staring out the window.

This is really gonna suck.

Deerwood, Minnesota

Pearl hates crying because it makes her feel weak, but she can’t stop.  The idea of her safe space being invaded by people she doesn’t know has her emotionally wrecked.  If she can’t even trust people she does know, how is she gonna deal with eight strangers?  

She’s tried avoiding Gracie, but Gracie won’t have it and keeps pressing her nose into Pearl’s hand.  Even though Pearl’s wrapped around herself on the couch - knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them - Gracie’s on the couch beside her.  She’s allowed to do whatever necessary so Pearl can’t completely isolate while she has her feelings, and Gracie takes that seriously.  Keeps licking Pearl’s face.

“Yeah, I love you…” Pearl manages.  “I just need you to stop right now, okay?  Stop!”

Her hands are shaking uncontrollably, and Gracie nips at them.  

Pearl’s off the couch, pacing, tears rolling down her face.  “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here!  I have no idea who these people even are!  I haven’t seen Stef since I was fourteen years old and even then she was years ahead of me, married with a baby and now she has a wife!  And six thousand children!”

Gracie barks lightly.

Pearl turns abruptly to face her: “I know!”

She keeps pacing, her crying veering toward gross uncontrollable levels, when Gracie snags her sleeve.  Leads her over to the corner where a fiber optic curtain hangs, decorated with purple LED lights.  If she turns them on, Pearl can stand it dark, because the purple shows brighter.  Behind the curtain is a swing, which offers pressure in a way that can calm her down when nothing else can.  Gracie knows this, and she knows it’s a good idea to get Pearl here before her crying jag makes her sick.

Unsteadily, she switches on the lights for the curtain and turns the rest out.  Gets in the swing, and lets it hold her.  Lets it sway.  It is calming.  When things get out of control, it’s easy to lose track of things that help, but that’s why she has Gracie.

Pearl breathes deeply.  Lets herself swing for several minutes in total silence, mesmerized by the purple lights.  It does the job - distracting her from her panic.  She still has to walk Gracie (has the whole day to get through), but it’s starting to seem a bit more manageable.

“Thanks, girl,” she calls softly.

Gracie sticks her head through the curtain and licks Pearl’s face.

LAX

They get to LAX, and Jesus is pretty sure Moms don’t have a clue what this is doing to him.  The sibs (even Mariana) are either tired or excited about the idea of a last-minute trip.  Whatever the case, nobody’s first thought is him.

He wishes he’d thought to bring sunglasses or a hat.  If he’s gonna be recognized anywhere, it feels like it would definitely happen at the scene of the crime, so to speak.  No, he hadn’t ever gone to the airport Then, but this is as close as he’s come in years to being back.

They have to head through security which means he has to take his shoes off.  His sweatshirt, too.  While Moms talk everybody through this, it’s something Jesus needs much more time to take in.  Taking clothing off is always a tricky thing for him.  Even shoes.  Even a hoodie.  Even if he has other clothes underneath.

But he goes to Level 3 (automatic) and just does it.  Everybody else is handling it without a problem, so he should, too.

Mom comes alongside him once he gets his clothes back.  “It’s possible, love, that you might be picked out for further security screening.”

“What’s that mean?”

When she explains, he nods.  He’s not okay with it, but he can’t control who does what to his body, his clothes, who puts him in a damn duffel bag as a nine year old.  (He’s surrounded by plenty of those.)

Turns out that he’s not picked out to get scanned and messed with by the officers.  He could have totally dealt with it.  He was kind of a pro at dealing with it.  But whatever.

Just before they board, someone motions him aside: “You’re going to have to dump that,” she says, motioning to his water.

“Sure,” he says, tossing the water in the trash (with all his backup water).  It makes him feel like he’s losing himself piece by piece.

On the plane, he’s surrounded by strangers, except him and Mom end up by each other.

“How are you, love?” she asks.

“You know...okay…”

“Yeah?  You’re handling this really well.  I’m proud of you.  If you need anything, you let me know, yes?”

He holds onto his bag, still worn around his front.  “I’m good,” he says.  

They don’t know that he used to wear his bag turned around whenever he was nervous about walking into That House when He was home unexpectedly.  That it felt like extra protection when he was totally unprotected.

Jesus is surrounded by strangers.  There’s a random dude on his other side that keeps talking to him the whole time.

“I can’t say why, you just look so familiar to me.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Jesus comments, falling back into lying so easily it chills him.

“Well, I can see why.  You just have this face, you know?  This head?  Looks like someone I’d swear I’ve seen somewhere before.  What’s your name?”

“Sir,” Stef butts in, before Jesus can let the name “Josh” slip from his lips.  “I’d appreciate it if you could leave my son alone.  We’ve had a long morning.”

The dude mutters a foul name under his breath and it makes Jesus want to punch him.  Mom has a hand on his, though, and is whispering, so he has to focus to hear her.

“Listen to me.  It is okay.  You’re with me.  As long as you’re with your family, you are safe.  You don’t owe that guy your name or anything else.  He can be as mad as he wants to be about it.  Yes?”

“Yeah, you don’t have to sit next to him…” Jesus whispers back.

“Face me, love.  Don’t even turn toward him.  I’ve got you.  Okay?”

He tries to do a word find but the letters are blurry.  Someone’s coughing and someone else’s baby’s crying.  Jesus doesn’t think his stress is showing but it must, because of what Mom says next.

“Headphones?” she cues gently, and Jesus breathes a sigh of relief.  He can block out the baby and the asshole all at once.  

He shuts his eyes, clutching Mom’s hand.

It’s after 1:30 in the afternoon when they touch down at MSP.  It’s disgusting and snowy.  Jesus puts his blanket around him, over his sweatshirt, with the hood pulled up but it does almost nothing.  The only one with close to a winter coat is Frankie, who has reached epic levels of crabbiness, due to being confined and sleep deprived for a long time.

Jesus knows the feeling.  He keeps the headphones on because of all the people.  Lets Mariana lead him through the crowd.  Focuses on staying right with her.

They rent two SUVs and he ends up in Mom’s this time with Brandon, Jude and Mariana (because she hasn’t let go of him.)

Jesus’s stomach growls loudly, but he doesn’t pay attention.  Barely registers them driving through a Taco Bell.  The food smells good and nasty at the same time.  Like grease.  There are more napkins.  Jesus inhales the three tacos like they’re nothing.

Feels a tap on his arm.  Jude.

“I was saying, I still think you could be a competitive eater or something,” he says like Jesus is a hero.

It’s been forever in the SUV and Jesus feels less and less here, and more and more There.

He shrugs and pulls his headphones back up.  Stares out the window at the snow forever.  It doesn’t look anything like the snow Isaac played in.  It’s just on the ground.  It’s cloudy out like the whole state is depressed.  

Jesus knows how it feels.

They stop and spend way too long shopping for winter coats at Target.  Jesus doesn’t go in.  Mariana can’t resist shopping, but Brandon’s over it so he stays behind with Jesus.  Jude goes in, though.  Brandon gets him to take his headphones off and listen to the latest cover of a song he did.

“It’s Something in the Water by Carrie Underwood.  Listen,” he says and sticks a CD in an old-school Discman.

“You just carry that around with you…?” Jesus asks.

“Well yeah in case we don’t get cell service or something and you wanted something to listen to.”

Jesus listens.  “Never heard of it,” he says, dismissive.

“Well, yeah, I was kinda counting on that,” Brandon says.

But Jesus plays it again and again and again,  It keeps him from sliding between the seats in the back of the SUV as they wait.  It’s not his favorite thing by Brandon, but it works.

Everybody finally comes back.  They hand him an brownish-orange and white jacket, and he puts it on right away.  It’s so warm.

When he feels somebody tap him again, he blinks.  They’re in front of a massive cabin.  It looks super nice, especially compared to the puny-looking one next door to it.  

“Jesus, why don’t you head inside?” Mom says, sparing him from seeing even more luggage, probably.  She hands him the keys.  “Figure out where you wanna be.  Take Frankie, yes?  Hold her hand.  It’s icy.”

“Come on, buddy,” he says, as Frankie clutches at one of Jesus’s hands with both of hers.  “Want a lift?”

“Yes,” she shivers.  “It feels like my leg and my arm got freezed…”

“I got you,” he lifts her high in his arms.  Settles her on his hip.  “What do you say we check out Grandpa’s cabin?”

“Is Grandpa here?” she asks.  He can actually see her breath.  It’s that cold.

“Nope.  He’s at home in California.  He’s just letting us borrow it for a while.”  Jesus grabs the keys from his pocket and sticks them in the lock.  It makes him feel so powerful.  So in control.  To be the first in a place.  To be in charge of unlocking it.  To know it will be empty when he does.

He pushes open the door, and it’s huge, and it’s empty.  The first thing he sees is a bear rug on the wall, and right next to it?  A deer head.

Oh hell no.  This is not gonna work.