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mx-lamour · 3 months

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OC ask: 6, 12, 22, 38, B, I

6. Do they consider laws flexible, or immovable?

Ezra probably sees laws as immovable. But, as such, laws are also finite. They only exist under particular circumstances. Ezra has been to many settlements, a few cities, and they're all a bit different from each other. The wilderness functions by its own rules. Then there's Barovia, and the other Dread lands. Laws are like lighthouses. They mark a potentially dangerous bit of landfall, but what you do with that insight is up to you. Keep sailing, or take a defined risk?

We'll not go down the rabbit hole of undefined risks just now. That's where terror and folklore thrive.

12. How do they deal with an itch found in a place they can’t quite reach?

I assume Ezra has flexible arms like I do, and I haven’t yet found an itch I can't scratch. However, the new prosthetic situation has been tricky for him. He's anticipating a more articulated hand soon, but for now he has what amounts to a wooden mitten, and it's not very effective for scritches. Sticks exist, though; arrow shafts, things like that. It's just enough to give his remaining hand that extra reach.

22. How does jealousy manifest itself in them (they become possessive, they become aloof, etc)?

Ezra has long been resigned to the idea that he doesn't get to have nice things (usually to do with caring relationships or a sense of belonging, not material wealth). So he goes through a kind of grieving process with envy. To witness something beautiful, that he wants for himself but knows he can't have, is as excruciating as it is inspiring.

Ezra also tends to be incredibly supportive of the object of his jealousy. He can't have this, but by gods, it is going to work for them. It has to work for someone. He'll live through it vicariously. (But I think this particular response has been unique to Barovia onward.)

38. What memory do they revisit the most often?

He has a few that crop up here and there. The first time he met Ireena, and sat up with her late into the evening while his companions slept. The first time he realized the Traveler was with him; he sent out a little prayer, riding in the back of Ezmerelda’s wagon, and a single candle flickered to life in response. The first time he read about Alek and Strahd hanging over a cliff, refusing to let each other go, and realized he would have done anything for a friendship like that when he was young.

But the one that he has revisited most often is the memory that's been with him the longest. It was the first time he'd set fire to a foster family's home. It was an accident, but it didn't matter. The effect was ruinous. House gone, people injured, livelihoods in ash. No one ever looked at him the same after that. Their fears had redoubled. That was the first time Ezra felt like a monster.

B) What inspired you to create them?

Autism. 😅 Now, an essay...

I was at a point where I had newly considered the possibility and was pretty sure that I was/am autistic. I had started to learn a lot about my own experiences (I wasn't actually diagnosed until about a year into the campaign, so very recently), and I used Ezra as an allegory to process some of what was being revealed to me. (I had also written kind of a horrible memoir podcast for the same purpose, and Ezra was featured in episode 5. I am not going to link it, haha.)

That aspect of Ezra wasn't actually intentional until I noticed I was doing it, but then I leaned in.

I don’t remember what made me choose a fire genasi initially. I had to talk it over with my DM when it came to me, because I liked the idea, but I wasn't sure it would fit well enough with the setting or the class I wanted to play. (At the time, I had been thinking about playing a rogue. My first and longest-running rpg character had been a rogue, and it had been a while since I played one.) My DM reassured me of the setting component, at least.

But I wasn't entirely convinced that I could pull off a blazing bright man being the kind of stealthy I was going for (this art is pretty damn accurate to how I saw him at this point in the process), so I took a little bit of a turn into my other most familiar territory: #i play clerics a lot, and some divine energy was certainly going to be useful in a horror setting. But I hadn't tried out the trickery domain yet, and that had the potential to still give me a little bit of that roguish flavor I had originally envisioned.

When, much later (my DM had been planning CoS for about a year before launch), it finally came time to nail down who this person really was and put them into a world, that was when my autistic revelations decided they were going to have Input.

I really ran with the personification of fire. What can fire eat? How would fire sleep? How is it viewed and interacted with generally by people going about their daily lives? With sentience, how does it feel about and react to this? I gave him little stims and sensory icks. Following through on the stealth aspect of trickery, I had him in disguise, but it was just masking. A coping mechanism for interacting with a world that didn't understand him and, beyond that, couldn't really teach him to understand himself either.

When my DM asked who his patron deity was, I wasn't sure. I looked at a few. When I decided on the Traveler (which had been vaguely familiar to me only through having created a changeling character for a previous campaign), my DM had this tell, that I assume all DMs have, where they get this glint in their eye that means they've made a connection and they're doing mental steeple-fingers up in there. But he discussed it very reasonably with me, and we agreed that it was a suitable choice, and that Ezra wasn't a priest or anything. The Traveler chose him, not the other way around.

Because of this (and tbh it's one of my favorite things to play with) I didn't even use most of his class abilities until we were well into the campaign, and those I did use were disguised as seemingly ordinary gestures to him. Eventually, though, it couldn't be helped, and we found ways for him to suspect that something more was happening there.

And, because I had played into his fire aspect so much when building his background, I started to give him levels in sorcerer, too. I had not planned on doing this, before we got into it, but it helped to stave off becoming too powerful too fast as a cleric before he figured things out, and it also allowed me to explore some of his fear and self-consciousness, because he had been put in this new situation where his ability to burn was becoming pretty vital and maybe even desirable.

So he actually had to face that, and when he started to let himself go a little bit more and explore his own power, that's when I would give him another level in [phoenix] sorcerer. And when he started to accept that there might actually be something looking out for him and started to get more comfortable asking for its help, that's when I would give him a level in cleric. (There were a couple exceptions to this, in which the mechanics were just going to be frustrating and weird if I didn't do it a certain way, but in general that was the idea.)

Ezra has been a seriously therapeutic character these last 15 months. He's been teaching me things about myself, and I've been trickling in on him things I've learned from my therapist (Ezra’s been with me longer than she has). It's a symbiotic relationship at this point. I inspired him and he inspires me. :')

I) Do you prefer to keep them in their canon universe?

Bro, what isn't his canon universe?

He’s from Faerûn, he got sucked into Barovia, and there he's stumbled upon the remains of people who might have even been from our irl world initially. He’s the child of a genie and an elf, he was born in hell, he’s been to places that shouldn't exist, his patron is the literal Traveler, and he's preparing to alter time itself. I couldn't contain him to a universe if I tried. Heck, the universe he came from can hardly contain itself to one canon. 😂

#ezra sunstar #my sweet little guy #curse of strahd oc #character backstory #character development #dungeons and dragons #emotional support oc #actually autistic #i love asks #character building

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hiswordsarekisses · 1 year

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This is a very important and relative word to this time we are in. This excerpt really jumped out to me: “…Do you hear the voice of God or do you only listen to the voices of men; perhaps, some self-help motivational preacher, a favorite pastor, teacher, or televangelist, or an internet prophet? These voices often contradict one another and just as often contradict themselves. The day is coming when the voice of God will be effectively silenced in our nation as we approach the end of this age…” Now is the time to turn off all the other inputs and get the Word of God down deep on the inside of us so that we will not be deceived!!!

“A FAMINE OF HEARING THE WORDS OF THE LORD by Lynette Hughes :

Amos 8:11-12: “Behold, the days are coming,” says the Lord God, “That I will send a famine on the land, Not a famine of bread, Nor a thirst for water, But of hearing the words of the Lord. They shall wander from sea to sea, And from north to east; They shall run to and fro, seeking the word of the Lord, But shall not find it.”

The Book of Amos was a warning for the Israelites, but it is also a warning relevant for the people of God today. He urgently warns us that if we continue to refuse to listen and obey God’s commands, there is going to come a time when the Word of the Lord will become scarce. God’s word will still be available, but it will be rare to find it. This famine is not something we should look for in the future but a very real and serious problem of the present day. In recent years we have witnessed a drastic decline in the preaching of righteous living in the church in America. Multitudes of pastors cower in fear of preaching or teaching the Gospel of Christ as it might offend sinners or make compromisers uncomfortable, or upset the church’s financial supporters and create large deficits in the available cash flow for staffing salaries, worship equipment and the latest church building project.

2 Timothy 4:3 says “For the time will come when men will not tolerate sound doctrine, but with itching ears they will gather around themselves teachers to suit their own desires.” The pews are filled with professed Christians whose spiritual ears begin to annoyingly itch when they hear the preaching of God’s Word. Those with itchy ears do not want to hear the hard truth of God's word because it will condemn their self-centered, worldly lifestyles. They have an insatiable desire to have their ears scratched with soft, soothing words that condone what they want to believe rather than what God's Word plainly states. They have no problem finding ear-tickling teachers who will eagerly water down the gospel, permit their unbiblical theology to go unchallenged, and assure them all is well in return for praise, approval and financial gain.

All across our nation, preachers are preaching a corrupt and worthless gospel that has no power to open the eyes of the spiritually blind or release people from their captivity to sin. The average Christian has filled up on spiritual “junk food” that has curbed their appetite but will only satisfy momentarily. In the natural, when a person is undernourished physically, sickness becomes a terrible problem because the weakened body is unable to fight off germs and disease. The same holds true in the spiritual realm. When there is a famine for the Word of God in the Church, when one does not partake of the Bread of Life, spiritual malnutrition, sickness and death soon follows.

Sin has become an outdated concept and is being culturally redefined while influential self-proclaimed church leaders sit silently as their followers are quietly swayed by popular opinion on such things as the definition of marriage, the acceptability of illicit cohabitation and the normalization of sexual deviance and killing children in the womb. Things formerly called ‘sin’ is now being touted as a disease called ‘addiction.’ And now not only Oprah but a plethora of false preachers, teachers, and modern-day “prophets” are perverting God’s Word and redefining for millions of unbelievers and nominal believers what it means to be a Christian. There is a battle for truth taking place. Our society has dropped the façade of religious toleration, and every effort is being made to suppress and dehumanize those who proclaim the truth of God’s Word.

This prophecy in the book of Amos has a dual application. Not only does it say that the words of the LORD are going to be scarce, but, also, that the people will not be able to HEAR or understand them. When they do hear them, none of God’s words will find entrance into their minds. They will make no sense to them. The words will sound like meaningless gibberish. They will not recognize them as coming from God, because they have hardened their hearts and willfully refused to listen to the warnings delivered by God’s watchmen to repent and obey.

Just as physical hearing loss may cause confusion, the same is true for spiritual hearing loss. Hearing impaired Christians don’t recognize their spiritual confusion is directly connected to their spiritual deafness. Physical hearing loss has been linked to premature death, but spiritual hearing loss can lead to eternal death.

If we have physical hearing loss, we must make every effort to focus intently on the person speaking. If you can only hear one or two words out of 5 words, you aren’t going to be able to make sense of what’s being said. Many Christians don’t want to listen that closely. They’re content just to caught a word here or there. What few realize is that spiritual deafness is the result of failing to listen intently to what God is saying. It’s a sin of pride that doesn’t want to hear correction. Zechariah 7:11-13 tells us: “But they refused to pay attention; stubbornly they turned their backs and covered their ears. They made their hearts as hard as flint and would not listen to the law or to the words that the Lord Almighty had sent by his Spirit through the earlier prophets. So, the Lord Almighty was very angry. ‘When I called, they did not listen; so when they called, I would not listen,’ says the Lord Almighty.”

We are in the midst of a catastrophic famine of NOT HEARING the Word of God. A blanket of deafness has fallen upon God’s people. We complain that God is silent, when the problem is: We are not listening. Jeremiah 6:10 says this hearing loss occurs when people ‘take no pleasure…in the word of the Lord.’ Rather than feast on the pure word of God, many despise it and prefer to gorge on lies. People have allowed their hearts to become hard rather than repent and obey. Even now many are running to and fro trying to find spiritual truth, yet when they hear it, they stubbornly refute it or ignore it because it goes against their traditions, their personal conclusions, and their carnal desires. In their intellectual arrogance, they have been led astray by the opinions and ideologies of men who have abandoned sound biblical teachings and teach perverse manmade gospels inspired by demons. Complicit in their own deception, God is allowing the preaching of His pure, unadulterated Word to become harder and harder to find, and it is only going to get worse.

This famine is the result of indifference to the Word of God, because it is neither valued nor obeyed. We are unable to prevent the perilous times that we are experiencing, but we can survive – we can even thrive. Now is the time to treasure the word of God in our hearts. None of us know how long it will be before the Bible is banned in America, but it is coming. Now is the time to store up our spiritual barns so we can nourish others who are parched with thirst and spiritually hungry. We cannot give what we don’t have.

How many of us are numbed, unresponsive, not reflecting, not internalizing, and not acting upon the word? If we value the truth of God’s Word, we will continually search it out, we will meditate on it until we hear God speaking to us through it: We will live our lives by it.

Are you prepared for the perilous days ahead? Do you hear the voice of God or do you only listen to the voices of men; perhaps, some self-help motivational preacher, a favorite pastor, teacher, or televangelist, or an internet prophet? These voices often contradict one another and just as often contradict themselves. The day is coming when the voice of God will be effectively silenced in our nation as we approach the end of this age.

It is vital that we understand a time of deep darkness is gaining ground, even now the word of God is increasingly discredited and proclaimed irrelevant. At the present, we have Bibles in abundance, yet even among professed believers few read it and even fewer understand it. But the veracity of God’s written word will never change. Have you prepared yourself to live in the midst of this spiritual famine? Is it possible you could be one of those who will be wandering, seeking and looking for the word of the Lord and be unable to find it? Are you searching the Scriptures for yourself? Do you hear God's voice? If not, is it because God is not speaking, or is it because you are not listening? Have you allowed your heart to harden? Are you uncorrectable and unteachable?

My friends, the feast is over and the famine has begun! We must begin to prepare for what lies ahead. Are you stocking your pantry with the food that can never be affected by drought or famine: that endures forever and leads to everlasting life?”

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roscgcld · 3 years

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RYOMEN SUKUNA || pretty little thing

note: am I simping for volume 12 cover sukuna once more? ...yes, and am not afraid to admit that. that man can glare at me and i will apologise for gracing him with my unworthy self lmao. but i do enjoy this entire idea of super mean and evil sukuna and his cutesy lover that can do whatever she wants to him and he wouldn’t stop her - not like he wanted to anyway lmao

pronouns: she/her

warning: mentions of murder and acts of murder as well, and if you squint a little there is mentions of minors, but it doesn’t play a big role in the story

The small group of sorcerers stood before the towering man, trying not to show the fear on their faces as they tried to look at the glowing red eyes head on. Sukuna was seated on his throne, two of his four arms resting on his while another was propping up his cheek; the other tapping his fingers on the plush fabric of his throne. He hated having his time wasted on useless things, and the socerers before him were starting to wear their welcome too thin.

Sighing tiredly, he tilted his head back, a sign that had the sorcerers tensing up. They knew that body language all too well - if they do not tell him what was the purpose of them coming all the way to him temple, and even daring to walk up to his alter will lead him to murdering them all in cold blood.

He doesn’t care how important they are in the town, or in jujutsu world either - to him, he is the most important. And everyone else is beneath him.

Well, everyone but one person, that is.

As if the Gods took pity on them, the soft sound of delicate footprints came from somewhere beside the group, causing the group to stop their whispers between one another at the sound of soft footsteps. Within seconds a beautiful woman walked out from the shadows and into the main room of the temple, her kimono trailing behind her delicately. The beautiful crafted garment hung on her frame perfectly; not too tight where it left little to the imagination, yet not too loose to hide her beautiful figure underneath it either. It was clearly crafted by a master craftsman, and the fabrics it was made of show how expensive it must have been.

A hana kanzashi was delicately placed on her perfectly styled hair, a streams of flowers hang off the end of the pin, giving the woman a more mysterious look as the sunlight casted a shadow over half of her face. She gave the sorcerers no more than an uninterested glance, trying not to roll her eyes at the sight of the group of mostly men - the same group of elders in her town that were so willing to sacrifice young girls to the man before them in exchange for peace.

She would know - she was one of those sacrifices, after all. However, the difference between her and the others was that instead of being killed after their purpose was done, Sukuna was now wrapped around her finger tightly. She can’t be too proud of it either; she was equally as obsessed with him as he was with her, so the better word to describe it might be mutual pining.

Sukuna will never admit that though, claiming she is just a foolish woman he likes keeping around for food and a warm body. But if she tries to get up and leave, or if he knows people are even thinking about bringing her harm? The world would suffer through Hell like they’ve never seen before.

Speaking of the man - Sukuna’s ruby red eyes watched as the woman made her way towards him, carefully climbing the steps of his alter like it was her own home; a soft pout resting on her lips as she walks closer to him. He didn’t get the usual burst of annoyance when anyone dared to look at him in eyes, or the anger he’d feel of having someone even daring to take one step towards the direction of his throne. Yet all he felt was amusement as he shifted in his seat ever so slightly; watching how the woman just made her way towards him and sat down in his lap like it was her throne.

Which it was after all, and Sukuna will let her indulge herself in such a luxury. He loves to spoil her, letting her do as she pleases

“Yes, my beautiful flower?” He hums softly as the hand that was once tapping his fingers along his seat reached up, stroking the apple of her cheek delicately as he raised an eyebrow at her. At that moment he didn’t care who was in the room - all that mattered was her. And he has a gut feeling he knows why she is currently sporting that cute pout of hers, her arms crossed over her chest adorably. “You’re taking too long. I got cold.”

Immediately a low chuckle rumble from somewhere in his chest as his other arm wrapped around her protectively, his tattoos a contrast against the unmasked skin of her bare thigh that was revealed by his simple action of pulling her closer. “We can’t have that now, can we?” He cooed ever so softly, something so foreign and so unheard of coming from a cold hearted killer that it scared the already terrified sorcerers even more. A few of them were even shaking at the sight of the woman, who was a mere girl when she was scarified, now perched in the lap of such a fearsome creature like she was a lazy house cat.

How can such a relation be so natural?

“What a pretty little thing she is, isn’t she?” Sukuna suddenly stated loudly, his ruby red eyes now dull and clearly showing his boredom as he turned to address the sorcerers before him once more. The woman from before just smiles softly as she curls up into his warmth, not caring about the others in the room; quietly purring at the feeling of a large hand stroking along her face delicately. An action that might seem hard for a man his size to achieve, yet he still somehow manages to treat her like fine china beneath his fingertips.

“I should thank you for being blind enough not to keep a beauty like this for yourselves, but it’s because of your blindness that landed her in my lap in the first place.” Sukuna continued into the silent room, the hand that was once cradling his cheek waved in the air lazily; a smirk tugging against his tattooed face. “All the ones you sent before as sacrifices were quite sad little things; blubbering and whining so much that I rather send their heads back to you so you can see just how pathetic they really were.” He sighs in annoyance, his face curling a little as he remembered all the past women he had.

Some were pretty, yes - but there was just something about them that just irked him. He didn’t know what it was; maybe it was their constant crying, or how they try to pretend to be head strong and threaten to kill him in his sleep. He just took what he wanted before slicing their head off just as he climaxes; not really caring for their own pleasure. It’s not his problem if they were satisfied or not.

However, when his little flower came, sniffling with tearful eyes at how she had been yanked away from her loving family; yet eyes curiously staring up at the man that she had heard so many stories about. There was just something in him that lets him know that she was the one. That she was the one that is going to scratch that insatiable itch that he has whenever he is sent a new sacrifice from the town that he is currently residing in. And he was right. “Yet, with that being said, that doesn’t mean I am not growing tired of your antics. Speak now before I make you.”

Immediately a few eyes glanced over at the woman in his lap, as if they were silently begging for her to lend them a hand. Yet this actual caused Sukuna to scowl as he looks over at the group, snapping his fingers to drag their attention back to him. “Who gave you the permission to turn your disgusting gazes at her? She can’t help miserable excuses like you lot anyway.” He scowls, his eyes narrowing in anger at how they thought they even worthy enough cast their dirty eyes on her, as if she would extend the olive branch to them after they’ve done.

Before he can do anything rash, the woman decided to step in, gently placing her warm hand against the exposed part of his chest from underneath the kimono he had worn. The feeling of the familiar touch caused him to sigh softly as he leans back into his throne once more, but he glared at them with the same intensity as before, watching them for a moment longer. “You know what? I think I know what to do with you lot. I mean, I hope you didn’t forget - you did make my little flower cry.”

Just as he finished saying that, he gave them all a sadistic smile before he swiped his hand in the air leisurely. His other arms immediately wrapped around the woman, turning her face away from the scene before them as the sorcerers all started to be sliced up one by one by invisible blades, the sound of wails and body parts flying about as they landed on the ground in bloody heaps. A few. who watched their fellow comrades be sliced up in horror before they tried to run, turning and running towards the entrance as if they can escape their fate.

They should know better than to try something so foolish.

“The clean up is going to be a pain, you know.” Y/N sighed softly as she looks up at her lover, knowing that he was shielding her from the horrors he had committed. If she was being honest, she had never seemed to fear how easily he dispose of others - whenever he does kill people, it usually leads to a much more wider and bigger picture at the end of the day. What she can’t stand though, is the mess he tends to leave behind. “The maids just cleaned the rugs too.”

“It’s their job, flower.” He just sighs and shifted her so she was straddling his lap leisurely, letting her hands rest against his warm chest as two of his arms wrapped around her waist. One of them rested against her cheek lovingly, letting her lean into his touch once more whilst his other hand went back to cupping his cheek in his hand. “You can still make it less dramatic, no?” She mumbles softly with a soft giggle, to which Sukuna just rolled his eyes at her comment.

“Why make killing so dull? I enjoy the flare of dramatics, flower.”

With a fond roll of her eyes she just leans forward to press soft kisses along his face, knowing that he will not push her away; not when his arms tighten their own hold on her. “Whatever you say, my King.” She cooed at him quietly, still placing feather-like kisses against his face as he closes his eyes for a moment. Soon he grew bored of them, and with a firm hand on the back of her head, guiding her face down to his. He presses a passionate kiss against her as she smiles, her hands trailing up his chest before they found themselves wrapped around his neck where they belong.

Maybe it was an obsession, or maybe it really is fate - whatever the reason may be, he’s going to make sure that his little flower is safe and content. Even if it means killing an entire army of people at her command, or tearing out his heart for her if she so much so as asks.

He is her slave, and he doesn’t see a reason to fight against his faith.

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fantasydaydreamers · 3 years

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Aphrodisiac Chocolates Pt.2

Summary: Continuation of Part 1

Words: 2,504

Warnings: Lemon Headcanons/Mini Scenarios

Author’s Note: I copied and pasted the beginning from part one so this can be technically read on it’s own~ Happy Valentine’s Day, dreamers~ I love youuuu😩💕💕💕

~*~*~*~*

Valentine’s was here and you were running around last minute to find a gift for your man. You knew he would find something like that so trivial, but you wanted to get him something. Besides, not like he had any room to say that when you had a feeling he’s going to buy you flowers. The last-minute gift idea probably wasn’t the best move on your end, but you can’t go wrong with some chocolates.

Right?

Quickly scanning up and down the isles of the grocery store had you panicking at the empty shelves. Ahh yes…my luck in a nutshell. Sighing, you leave the store realizing this was the third one you came too. Running your hands through your hair, you walk back out into the shopping district and rack your brain for ideas on what to buy him.

The sudden whiff of chocolate had your head whipping up sharply. Your eyes immediately find the source and you quickly send a prayer of thanks before skipping over to the small pop-up stand.

“Hello!” Smiling widely, you look to the girl running the booth as she returns your smile cheekily.

“Hi! Last-minute shopping?” She asks knowingly, a teasing glint in her eye. You nod shamefully and the girl laughs in understanding. “It’s totally fine! That’s why I thought this would be a good idea to set up my own stand today. Not to brag or anything, but I make the best chocolates around.” In the last part, she lifts her hand to her mouth and whispers to you, winking when she finished talking.

“Well, thankfully I found you! I was just about to panic because I already know he got me flowers and I would love to do the same, but what can I say, I like to try and compete with him at this kind of stuff…ah…” You clear your throat noticing that you were rambling. “Anyway, how much for a box of chocolates?”

The girl giggles softly and hands you a wrapped black heart package of chocolates. “Oh, love. You can take these for free. On the house.” Looking up at her in disbelief and reaching for your pocket, she shakes her head and motions for you not to bother.

“Please take it! I hope you have a wonderful Valentine’s Day!” She offers you a wide smile and blows you a kiss once you finish thanking her. Sighing in relief that you finally got him a present, you begin to head home to prepare for your romantic evening.

~*~*~*~*

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” You scream, running into your man’s arms as soon as he walks through the door. He catches you easily, hugging you close to his body, the familiar warmth making you sigh in content.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” He echos, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. Pulling back slightly, he pulls his free hand closer to his body and it was then you noticed the bouquet of flowers he was holding. “I knew it!” You laugh and take them from him gently, smelling the petals.

He blushes slightly and scratches the back of his head. “Do you like them?”

You lean up and peck his lips softly. “Of course I do!” Looking into his eyes so he knows your being serious, you peck his lips again and pull back. “Time for your gift!” You exclaim, running over to the wrapped box of chocolates on the table.

He follows behind and holds out his hands as you place the box in them. “Mystery chocolates? Do not eat more than one?” He reads questionably, eyeing you for confirmation.

“Huh?” Looking down to where he was reading you furrow your eyebrows not noticing that before. “Oh! They probably have different fillings! Go on try one!” You say, not processing the last part, bouncing excitedly on your toes as he unwraps the package, a confused look on his face.

“If you say so.”

Dabi

You weren't surprised to see Dabi pick the darkest piece of chocolate out of the entire box. His turquoise eyes held yours as he slipped the candy past his lips, his tongue peeking out to lick the smeared chocolate on his thumb from his body heat.

The sight had you shifting your feet, your body heat also rising in degree. Dabi saw your reaction, of course, and smirked, making another show of sticking his thumb in his mouth and hollowing his cheeks.

"Dabi..." You whine softly, breaking his teasing. Dabi releases his thumb and chuckles, reaching out to cup your cheeks. Your hands reach up to hold his wrists to keep his warm hands on your face as you gaze into his soft eyes.

It was one of those rare moments you got to see of him when the two of you were alone. It made your heart flutter with happiness. "Are you going to kiss me?" You ask breathlessly, wetting your lips in anticipation.

"Does my good girl deserve it?"

The dominant shift in his voice had your heart skipping a beat as you felt the space between your legs clench. "Dabi?"

"That's Daddy to you, slut."

You gasp, feeling a hand wrap around your throat, Dabi's eyes darkening significantly. "Looks like my good girl needs to learn some manners first."

→ Type of Chocolate: Daddy Dom - This solid 72% dark cacao chocolate is a bittersweet flavor that's sure to satisfy your tastebuds. This chocolate enhances a person's primal instincts, their true dominant nature shining through. If already a Dom, it may make things more emotionally satisfying. If not, it's more sexually satisfying. It's rare to receive both from a partner, but if you do, good luck. The effect will last for a few hours depending on a person's libido.

→ Dabi: *is thrusting deep inside of you while pulling your hair* "So pretty for me, (Y/n)~ clenching down on me when I pull your hair. You like that?"

→ You: *drool escaping your mouth as your eyes roll back into your head* "Y-yes...daddy~"

Shinsou

A white chocolate piece topped with pink sugar sprinkles caught Shinsou's eye. Popping the whole thing in his mouth, he chews slowly savoring the flavor. "That was good. The inside kinda tasted like oranges?"

Shugging, he pulls you into a hug again, sighing into your hair as he finally gets to relax at home. "Long day...I'm happy I get to come home to you." Shinsou mumbles into your hair.

Or more like...he was nuzzling you.

"Shinsou?" You pull back and almost jump seeing his eyes have changed into slits, widening when you started to pull away. From there, your eyes landed on the purple cat ears emerging from his head, your hand coming up to touch them hesitantly. "Did you get hit by a quirk today?"

Shinsou cocks his head to the side, his cat ears twitching cutely making you coo despite your fear. You pull him into the bathroom, and for the first time in your life, you've never seen Shinsou's eyes get so wide with shock.

"Oh my God. I'm a furry."

You burst out laughing and touch the tip of his ear, a loud purr, similar to a moan left his lips, his face turning red "Don't do that."

The sound made you bite your lip, itching to do it again as heat filled your belly.

"Or what?"

→ Type of Chocolate: Pretty Kitty - A playful white chocolate topped with pink sugared sprinkles is the purrfect combination of a sweet treat. The effect will last until the person develops a strong appetite. For best results: use after eating a full meal for a lasting effect.

→ Shinsou: *is thrusting into you lazily, his tail swishing back and forth as he stares at you with cunning eyes* "Hah~ I wish I knew what this one would do so you could've eaten it-fuck-you'd be so precious as my little kitten~"

→ You: *whining as you tried to get him to go faster, the annoying cat-like grin on his face pissing you off* "God-fucking- speed up Shinsou!"

→ Shinsou: *stops completely* "And develop an appetite so soon? After you teased me? No, no, kitten...I'm taking my time with you tonight."

Aizawa

Aizawa hums and picks up a glossy dark chocolate piece with streaks of red marbling in it, his tired eyes widening when he bites into it. "There's a coffee ganache in the middle, hm." He looks surprisingly satisfied by the taste which made you laugh and roll your eyes.

"You sir," you point your finger into his chest, "need to appreciate the fine art of chocolate more often." Aizawa just rolls his eyes in response and begins to take off his scarves, ready to settle in for the night.

"Wait, did you want to go out or something? Take out?" Aizawa shoots a questioning glance at you making you swoon that he wanted to treat you to dinner. You think about it, realizing you haven't thought that far ahead into the evening.

You turn away for a quick second to go look in the refrigerator to see if there was anything at home. Just because going out seemed like a pain and you really wanted to spend it inside with Aizawa. "Well...it looks like we have enough food here. How about we stay home?"

Silence.

The lack of response had you turning around only to see Aizawa standing there with a glare on his face, a rope wrapped around his mouth, and his wrists tied together in front. As hilarious as it was, it was also equally as confusing. "What did you just do?"

Trying to hold back your laughter, Aizawa shakes his head in disapproval and manages to point at the chocolates with a finger. Your eyes widen as you read the back of the box and the different chocolates that were inside.

"Ohh..." You softly place the box back down and stare into Aizawa's annoyed gaze. Your embarrassment quickly turns into deviousness as you reach out to grab his bound wrists, pulling him into the bedroom.

"I know what you can eat for dinner."

→ Type of Chocolate: Wrapped Up - This elegant dark chocolate with its hidden coffee flavor will have you tongue-tied in shock. The effect will only last 45 minutes depending on a person's resistance. Use responsibly although this isn't strong enough to have full control. If a person is definite in resisting, it'll wear off immediately.

→ You: *removing the rope around Aizawa's mouth, you place your legs on either side of his head, lowering yourself* "Happy Valentine's Day, Daddy~"

→ Aizawa: *chuckles darkly* "Naughty girl...wait until I have my hands free. You're not going to be able to-nnf!"

Tamaki

Tamaki's delighted eyes landed on a milk chocolate piece with a white chocolate swirl on the top. Picking it up, he bites into it cutely and sighs happily. "Mnf! It has marshmallow inside," he mumbles around the chewy texture.

You laugh at his chubby cheeks, still flustered from you running into his arms earlier, reaching up to poke it. He flushes even more and you giggle at his cute expression. "Awhhh, you look like a little bunny, Tamaki~"

Tamaki swallows the candy and holds you're palm against his warm cheek nuzzling against it. The adoring gaze he was giving you only made you coo even more until you saw something big appear on top of Tamaki's head.

"Oh my God, you look like a bunny," you repeat again, stepping back to look at the purple bunny ears sprouting from the same purple fluffy hair. The seriousness in your voice had Tamaki reaching up to touch his head, eyes widening.

"I-I swear it's not my q-quirk!" Tamaki looks panicked and your eyes shift to the box of chocolates, realization dawning on you. "I can't change it, (Y/n)! What happened?!"

In the middle of Tamaki's panic, you pull him back in and kiss him, your hands coming up to bury in his hair, stroking the base of the soft ears. He whimpered against your mouth and you smiled. "Don't worry Tamaki. It looks like there's something in these chocolates~" Pulling him back for another peck, you feel his arms tighten around you and squeeze, making you sigh.

"Sorry...I actually had no idea what kind of chocolates these were since I was in a rush...but since we have this opportunity...let me see you're tail, bunny~"

→ Type of Chocolate: Fluffy Bunny - What looks like a simple milk chocolate truffle, is actually covering a soft, chewy marshmallow on the inside. The effect will last for a few hours depending on a person's libido.

→ You: *arches your back in a gasp* "S-so good for me, bunny~" *reaches down to brush against his tail*

→ Tamaki: *hic* "S-stop p-playing with my t-tail, (Y/n)...'ts sensitive..." *his hips stutter and shake as he humps into you*

Gang Orca

Sakamata immediately goes for a milk chocolate piece with gold flakes on top. He wastes no time plopping it into his mouth, closing his eyes happily. "The hazelnut spread is divine!" He chuckles and leans back in, placing a kiss on your forehead.

You closed your eyes to savor the feeling only to feel him move away. When you opened your eyes to pout and demand another, you gasp at the man in front of you.

Man.

"...Sakamata?" The man standing in front of you was breathtakingly gorgeous. He looked like a Greek god the way he stood there in his tall, muscular glory, his vitiligo skin making him seem even more ethereal.

His hair was long and silky black, and his red eyes bore into yours filled with absolute love and adoration. "Yes?"

You wordlessly hold out your hand, motioning for him to take it as you lead him into the bathroom. The two of you stood staring into the mirror, mouths agape that this was actually happening.

"Oh my God?" You break the silence and place a hand on Sakamata's large shoulder, feeling the human skin texture under your palm. Your hand trails lower and lower without you realizing, your mind drifting into dangerous territory. ...Is that different too?

"If you keep making me watch you feel me up like that...I won't be able to hold back." The silky voice washed over you making you shiver.

"...Then don't."

→ Type of Chocolate: Monster Fucker (yes i named this after that meme) - An innocent milk chocolate piece with hazelnut spread inside holds a surprise no one sees coming. Depending on who eats this, if you're not already human, this effect will have its reverse. The effect is strong and lasts for about 4 hours.

→ Gang Orca: *is catching his breath next to you while holding you close* "...Do you still love me as I am...or do you prefer this?"

→ You: *you gasp, whipping up to hold his face close to yours, seeing it slowly change back to the man you came to love* "I love the same orca I fell in love with. I love you for you. Always and forever."

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another-miracle · 3 years

Text

Nobody actually told Obi what exactly happened to make Shirayuki leave Tanbarun (now on AO3)

Leave it to Sarah to know the exact “right to the good part” scenario I needed to scratch my writing itch. This one’s for you @claudeng80 :) Set before Eisetsu arc when Shirayuki, Obi and Ryuu are still travelling on the road together.

Dinner starts off as a simple affair. Miss cooks up half the dishes while Obi settles the other half in the in-built kitchen of a decidedly-not-small room they’ve found themselves in (wonders what accommodation one affords with all that sweet Wisteria cash; they are delegates after all). A trade-off that they’d agreed on so that they could cook and have dinner in the same space they would reside for the night - instead of going down to the common area. Ryuu sets the table as best he can.

Eventually, they settle down to eat. The conversation steers towards Miss’ early days in the pharmacy - Ryuu still a boy who hid under tables, a fact present-Ryuu did not appreciate being brought up - and Miss still desperately trying to find her footing in a foreign land. It’s new to Obi, to hear of their endeavours before his arrival to Clarines, and he finds himself enjoying the journey down memory lane. That is, until Miss drops a wayward comment that catches the both of them off guard.

So casual, she says, “It’s so funny. And to think I’d almost had to live my life as Raj’s concubine.”

Ryuu freezes and his eyes dart over to Obi. Similarly, Obi’s glass has paused over his lips. It feels like the air in the room has been abruptly sucked out. The word ‘concubine’ rings in his ears as Miss continues to laugh between bites.

“What do you mean concubine?” Obi asks carefully. He’d thought she’d been invited to the palace to be a princess, or perhaps a lady-in-waiting. To be seen, not...

“Oh yes,” Miss shares, something almost fond lining her lips. “Raj and Sakaki-san had pretty wild ideas back then. Sent me poisoned apples and everything.”

“Miss-what?”

Shirayuki looks up, only now noticing Obi’s tone. Next to him, Ryuu lowers his utensils down and places them on either side of his plate. Obi immediately fixates on Miss’ form. His eyes dart down to her arms, searching for any scars, mind desperately rifling through memories of when they first met, whether she had been constantly wearing long sleeves. She’d worn leggings all this while hasn’t she? Obi resists the urge to bend down to look under the table.

“Oh,” Miss starts again, startling Obi’s gaze back to hers. “Oh! He didn’t get to me- I mean, he did. It’s a funny story actually- Zen ended up being the one eating said apple and getting poisoned. I’d only followed to get the antidote, but thankfully-” she glances at Ryuu, “Zen has had quite a resistance against most poisons, and he was fine.”

The sentence is met with tense silence. Ryuu seems to be staring at his plate as if the peas could conjure up a response. A part of Obi wants to shake the boy and tell him not to worry, to crack a joke to diffuse the air. The other part is blinded by red hot anger. The urge to retrieve his knives and march right up to Tanbarun to commit regicide thrums wildly in his temples.

Friend of the Crown? What on earth was Master thinking - working with someone like that. What on earth was he thinking? He’d spent every afternoon for a month, watching, not knowing, as the two - kidnapper and concubine-to-be - traipsed through the gardens of Tanbarun castle, sat next to each other for hours in the libraries. He’d carried the man on his fucking shoulders.

A touch to his hands and his eyes fly open. Miss’s hand is placed on his, on both of their hands. A small smile plays at her lips. Obi turns to Ryuu. The boy looks frustrated enough to cry.

Miss gives a small laugh. “Hey, it’s over alright? I didn’t bring it up to see you guys upset. It was just in passing. And look, we’re all here now. Royal delegates, serving the Wisteria Crown for the greater good of her people!”

Miss glances up at him, then flicks her gaze at Ryuu. Obi suddenly remembers how distraught Ryuu was when they returned to Clarines after their visit to Tanbarun, having only received news that Miss had been kidnapped. He also remembers the fear in his eyes when both he and Shirayuki succumbed to the then-Lyrias disease.

Obi sighs.

His hand reaches out to ruffle Ryuu’s hair. “Yeah,” Obi says, “Miss wouldn’t let something like that get her down. She’s strong, isn’t she, Little Ryuu?”

Ryuu stares up at him, unshed tears, his gaze darting between the both of them. Obi gives him his best reassuring smile; he knows Miss does too, even if he doesn’t look at her.

The boy sniffs. “Yeah- she is. Yeah.”

--------

Later when the plates are cleared and Ryuu has fallen asleep, exhausted from the additional emotional tirade he had earlier, Obi finds Miss by the window. She sits with her feet propped on the sill, arms wrapped around her knees, gaze focused on the distant horizon. The moon is out, deciding to grace Miss in all the splendour and glow her countenance deserves. If Miss thinks he looks good by the firelight, then it should be of no consequence for him to say-

“You look good in the moonlight, Miss,” Obi tells her, holding out a cup of tea and sitting down by her. Miss accepts the drink with a smile before looking out again. She is quiet - more so than usual. Obi sips his tea and waits.

She thumbs at the rim of the cup, looks down, then up at him. With a sheepish smile, she says, “I wonder if that’s something I might have heard from...men...if…”

She trails off, bringing the cup to her lips, the picture of grace and relief. Obi, on the other hand, is struck frozen for the second time this evening. That’s not what he meant. That’s not what he meant.

“Miss-”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Miss rushes out. “That wasn’t fair- it’s just- it’s my fault, I’d brought it up. I don’t mean to say that you’re like any of them- I don’t-”

Miss breathes, a shaky exhale. Obi watches as she struggles with something bigger than her, bigger than the both of them. It’s something more immense than even the distance between two countries, if he’s honest. His heart pulls toward her; the burden she has been carrying for almost two years - the shame, the fear - feelings he has no way of possibly understanding in this lifetime. He aches to reach out for her, but he’s not sure- in that moment, he rehashes every single touch between the two of them. Belatedly, he also finally understands why she’d run when Master kissed her.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs, an assurance that falls flat in the space between them. Miss hums in response, forcing out a smile at him in apology. And- Obi doesn’t want that. How many smiles has she hidden behind? Sweet words that fall from her lips - not just to him, but to the very people who’d wanted to kidnap her, to turn her into an object of possession, to reduce her brilliant mind and her wonderful soul and the endlessly faith-bearing light in her eyes into a mere ornament to be gawked at, prodded until nothing is left. What has he been doing? What have they all been doing?

Obi places his mug down on the table before sidling up to the sill, back to the scenery, hands clasped in front of him. He notices Miss is looking at him curiously. Obi sets his gaze on the ceiling, tracing the cracks in the concrete. He doesn’t do this- doesn’t offer more than platitudes to soothe, doesn’t give others more than he should, more than he can spare another human being. But- he thinks of the broken smile on Miss’ face-

“I’d almost lost my life once,” Obi tells the ceiling. “Thought myself hot shit and went around accepting jobs that were clearly beyond my pay grade. Risked my life because I’d thought it a resource to be utilized when needed - as long as it puts bread on the table, money in my pocket.”

Obi turns down and gives Miss a wan smile. “And it’s funny, because that was me when I met you. You, with all your incredible courage, this red-haired girl who’d walked forward in face of an arrow shot at her. Who’d saved an entire colony in face of a disease no one knew. Who’d jumped off a tower. Who’d walked straight back into the place she’d been running from, head held high, into the den of the very person who’d deigned her an object.

Miss flinches at this. And Obi aches.

“And-” Obi pauses. Breathes. “So much of me just wants to ride down the South back to Tanbarun, go up to Raj’s door and wrangle his neck - him and Sakaki both. But beyond that, Miss-”

Obi stares at her, willing the words, “You are beyond what anyone says of you, beyond whatever value anyone places on you. You’re not some object that someone just picks up and calls their own. Because whatever that’s in there,” Obi jabs his thumb against his chest, “it’s not something that can be assigned by anyone else. You are your own person, Miss. You belong to you. And it’s this you who has toppled boundaries, created antidotes, you and your brilliant mind, and your wonderful soul and everything that is you.

“And-” Obi wrenches his gaze from her, hand coming up to push down on his shoulder. “I can’t imagine myself without you. I’ve changed, because of you. Myself and many other people you’ve met in Clarines - Little Ryuu, too. So please-

“Don’t think you are anything less than who you have made yourself to be. Don’t let anything cause that- not Raj, not Master, not Izana, not even me. You are yours, Miss.”

Obi says it quietly, a whisper taken by the wind into the meadows ahead of them. But he knows Miss hears it all the same. Obi lets the words take up the silence, let them take root. He hopes, desperately, that in between the awkward cadence and messy phrasing, Miss may find some comfort in them. An unspoken assurance that he is on her side - always have, and always will be.

Sneaking a glance at her, Obi is startled to find Miss’ head buried in her knees, shoulder shaking.

He jumps up and immediately frets. “M-miss, ahh- I didn’t mean to make you upset! I’m sorr-”

In an instant, Obi’s hand is enclosed between both of hers, warmth effusing through skin. A warbled laugh escapes her and she looks up from her knees up at him. Arrested by the tears in her eyes, Obi watches as she smiles that broken smile again - only this time, he knows it isn’t forced. She brings his hand close to her, and places the back of it against her forehead. Obi’s hand twitches, almost aching to cup her face and rub the tears trickling down - but clearly Miss is having a moment as she closes her eyes and breathes.

“Thank you, Obi,” Miss tells him, words entangling around his fingers. “It never gets easier- I don’t think it will, but-”

She takes his hand and cups it against her cheek anyway, collapsing all his walls. “You, being here. You remind me that I’m worth more.”

He can’t resist his fingers running across the apples of her cheekbones. He wipes away every tear that falls and bends down close, leaning his forehead against hers. There are no words to describe the monument of a woman before him now, and as he draws strength from this little form of comfort he’s offered, he only hopes she receives the same.

It will not be easy, probably never will, as Miss says.

But Obi will be damned if she ever faces it alone again.

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #this has to be one of the most emotionally exhausting fics i’ve ever written #yixin’s fic

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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 3 years

Text

Freak (One Shot)

Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)

Warnings: your writer being a dick about the otp

Word Count: this is the first time that I had to remind a therapist about a session. Usually it was me who would forget about sessions or even booking sessions. But that was also because I was scared. Now I know that in order to get better I need to make a few changes with my way of thinking. Bonus? I did not cry during this PMS cycle.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

"...in summary, you touch any of my playthings, you will have to deal with the consequences." Kruge wants to pierce those eyeballs out but he has to stop himself in case he is taken a prisoner for harming the new king of Jotunheim on the very first night. "Understood, your grace," Helbindi gives a little bow and waits for Loki to open the door to his chamber before he lets his fangs out in pure animosity for the God.

Loki makes sure to close the door behind him before he closes his eyes and rests his head on the silver frame with a thud. At least he won't have to keep up the facade of being composed all the time in this room. Did I make the right decision? His thoughts are running at a speed that would be considered normal for Pietro. This is the last place Aellae would invade. He inhales a lungful, his mind addressing a hint of lilac in the cold air. That is if she hadn't already done that. And all the fingers are pointing at Helbindi. I am sure Helbindi has something to d-wait...Lilac?

Those computing brows are suddenly furrowing in curiosity while those eyes open to dart around the room in question. At the other end of this immaculate and massive bedroom, you walk out from the direction of the bath, your wet hair a beautiful mess, your skin glowing in the faint light reflecting off the shining frost, your dark blue pyjama shorts showing off those legs that seemed to have toned a little, thanks to the workout this deadly trip has provided. Out of nowhere, winds are blowing into the bedroom from the balcony to bring Loki more of that lilac scent you are covered in right now. Those teasing soft punches of air are doing their best to tickle your exposed skin while teasing the God with a little bit of peek of some more. He does not realise it but Loki's eyes are stuck on you, his throat trying to gulp down whatever is frozen in there, just not ready to digest the poetry unfolding in front of him. Normally he would have scolded you for putting your used towel on that chair, but right now all his brain can comprehend is you raising your leg on his bed to apply some lotion on it. Your head turns in his direction and he is suddenly finding himself running into the sole vase on his right side. He is Loki- the God of mischief- so, of course, it does not take much time to bring that vibrating vase to a standstill. But he still keeps holding for another moment or two, for the fear that it might move again. Any third person witnessing this can tell it is not exactly the vase he is trying to still. "This painting is nice," he murmurs to himself while looking at a pictureless frame decorating the wall to his side, pointing to it and pretending to appreciate it. His hands, though, cannot seem to find a comfortable position. "You're back?" you ask him, still working on your leg. "Hmm?" He pretends to notice you for the first time, still not ready to lock his eyes with you, instead, playing with his fingers. "Oh, yes. Just...had to give a couple of instruction to the...uhh...boys." "I don't like that Helbindi guy-" you screw your nose and Loki seems to lose a couple of ounces of air- "he gives off bad vibes." "Yeah, yeah he does," he agrees with you, walking slowly and calculatingly towards the bedroom part of the room. Your leg switches. "I'm glad that you have the majority though. That too considering you have been away for a looooong time." You raise your head and he busies himself in the ferns kept at the entrance of the bed-chamber before asking himself what his idiotic ass was trying to do. Finally finding the strength, he looks back up at you and nods with a smile. Walk to the other side of the bed, he is practically giving the basic instructions to his brain now. She isn't going out like this, is she? That one part of his brain clad in some dark crevices questions him. That one simple thought seems to raise multiple silent alarms in his body. "So-" he tries to point at you and the door but fails and instead takes his finger to scratch an itch at the back of his neck- "you're going to sleep in now?" That glowy leg worth months of hair growth suddenly drops on the floor. And so does your face. Loki cannot make out what you're thinking because he is busy waiting for your answer. "You want me to sleep somewhere else?" It's just a softly put question. But your eyes seem to glimmer in sadness as if he just betrayed you some way. "What?" he is more surprised by the fact that you did not think of it as a possibility. Why would she sleep somewhere else? We've been doing it the whole trip! Well, the whole trip did not have rooms like this one, balconies like this one and certainly not a view like this one. Loki breathes, opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out for a good few seconds. He is still trying to make his mind look away from all the stray water droplets falling from your hair inside your clothes. "No-" he blinks, bringing his eyes back to yours, licking his lips, he is soft in his speech- "um, you stay here." Loki, you are a God. With the sudden reminder, he clears his throat, straightens his back and brings back that dominating energy in the room. "You stay here," he orders this time. Your quick smile is already melting that robust core of his. And that quick jump on his bed catalysis the effect. "Cool!" You sit there with your legs folded under you, thighs spread, and that shirt not covering as much as it is supposed to. "Woah!" you snapped him out of his trance as you took a little jump on the bed. The sudden glow in your eyes was sending a tingling sensation down his spine. "Oh," you exclaimed, going up and down on your thighs, "we finally have a hard mattress! God, I'm old!" Loki just stood there, watching you arch your back as you went up and down, testing the bed, and at the same time testing his fortitude. Why-why is she not wearing a bra? Loki smacks his inner self. That's what concerns you right now? "Stop that," he growls. One final jump and you are falling on your back with a long sigh. That tingle seems to have subsided but as it is going back, Loki's gaze cannot seem to come off your body- you lying with your limbs spread out as you groan out loud to remove that fatigue from your lungs. That double chin of yours is quite evident when you raise your head just a little to look for the quilt and bring it closer to you with your feet. Who does she think she is? A part of Loki asks. Beautiful, his inner voice answers without a pause, all dreamy eyes for you and your double chin. "By the Norns, you have to stop," the God growled again, making you pause your leg mid-air with the quilt in between your toes. You drop that quilt just like that and turn to rest your head on your palm. "Stop and...?" that low hoarse tone of your mixed with a wicked glow in your eyes lights up a section inside the God he should not be thinking about. Especially when it has the power to take over his brain. The next time he opens his eyes, you can witness a change in that usually brooding boy to something more...feral? Those bloody eyes of the only Jotun you know are sending you mixed reverberations. By the time you are trying to figure out what it is behind those eyes, Loki's leg is already on the bed and his body over you within two strides. Your hips are locked in by his thighs and he is looking down at you with a simmering gaze. You are definitely questioning all your freaky actions tonight. But I thought I would tease him a little! You know, to get his mind off serious stuff going outside that door!! And here you are, lying under Loki, your hands clasped close to your chest while your eyes are trying to figure out his next move, all the while unconsciously biting your lower lip. Not gonna lie, this blue version of him kinda looks sex- Loki's hands go down, right between his legs. You are about to catch your breath and cross your legs when his hands yank out the quilt from between the two of you to lay it over you. Your lips are still apart, mouth gaping, breaths at a pause while Loki flattens the fabric out over you till your neck before tucking it on your either side to the point that you cannot escape it even if you wanted to. Your brows furrow in disappointed confusion. Your hands are making that universal gesture of 'what the fuck???' under that damned sheet whereas Loki is proudly looking at his work. "That should keep you warm." “Dude!” Is all you can let out from your lungs before letting your body struggle to get out of this cosy prison. Loki gets up and away from the bed to undo his coat, looking away from you and smiling at this little achievement. “Don’t waste your breath, darling. I learned it from my mother. You cannot get out of that hold unless you have calmed down enough to-“ His words disappear when he turns back to witness you already deep in sleep; your lips parted, your head practically drowning in the pillow, and little snores already forming in your nostrils. “How exhausted were you to sleep within seconds?” He whispers, never taking his eyes off. I need to teach her not to sleep with her guard down in suspicious places.

The coat lay on the floor along with the familiar pants and shirt. Loki sits on the bed in a nightgown, letting his back rest on the bed frame while his eyes gather some much needed light sleep. The night outside is still if not for the periodic interruptions of crows here and there. The chill of this frozen land comes as a blessing for this Jotun, who is no longer regulating his temperature as per the Midgardian ways. His Jotun form too is breathing fine, even feeling better than before. A true blessing in disguise. “Mmm…no…I don’t like it…” you mumble in your sleep, opening Loki’s eyes before he knows what’s happening. His hand automatically reaches out for you, coming to rest on your forehead before realising he cannot use magic to get rid of any bad dreams. So, instead, he softly pats your head. Your sleep laden crinkled brows seem to find some peace from those soothing pats, going back to dreamless sleep and loud snores. Loki cannot help but burst into a silent laugh at those snores. How can someone so small and comparatively frail snore worse than a giant?! That laugh that crinkles the edge of his eyes seems to be slowly melting into a smile; and not any ordinary smile at that. It is bringing a sweet realisation with it; a realisation about this human. Among seven billion humans, this one seems to have brought him the comfort he never even dared to feel. The past few days spent in this human's company were far lighter and chirpier than the most extravagant days spent as a child in Asgard. There was no anxiety, no restlessness. Whenever he was not able to collect his thoughts, looking at this human used to bring everything to a standstill. Knowing that he is not alone this time brought a certain peace to his soul; brought solutions faster and escape routes quicker than his enemies could calculate. Is this what it's like to have a friend? To have the want to protect them, fight them, tease them, make their life miserable but never let anyone else lay a finger on them? Is this what friendship means?? As if to answer his question, your snores break into a snort before you wiggle inside your duvet to crawl closer to him in your sleep. Your hand stretches out from under the warm cover, take an elongated sigh till it touches Loki's arm and wraps those toasty fingers around his cold muscle. Loki has paused his existence for a second to make sense of this moment. She feels safe with you, a soothing voice inside him resonates in his core and he is watching you in a new light. Some moisture seems to gather at the edge of his eyes before he blinks it away and slides down to rest his head on the pillow right next to yours. He does not realise it but his arm is frozen in that place for you to hold on to it and there is a slight smile on his lips while his eyes are observing every single detail on your face. The God does not seem to notice a bubble being projected out of the bed to overtake the room with a warmth that is emanating from the celestial being himself. And most of all he does not seem to notice the voice hiding in the dark corner somewhere looking at you with heart eyes. I like this human. She can stay.

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sweetestlamb · 3 years

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Leave the Door Open

Summary: He doesn’t hate having someone in his house. Having her in his house but he knows he should.

Author Notes: Vincenzo was a roller coaster this weekend and I LOVED it every adrenaline filled, angst inducing moment of it all. They are pining in 4K and I had to write this. I am salivating waiting for their first kiss. I hope it’s crazy and impulsive and filled with ineedyouithoughtilostyou energy, it might be cliché but I am a simple woman. Until then I present more domestic(sometimes horny) Chayenzo moments this was very freeform I went in with nothing and just let my brain go crazy. There’s some angst again LOL oops

It’s unnervingly easy to get used to, having another person in his space despite his years of solitude and purposely pushing others away. Women had tried to sleep over before, sweat clinging to their naked skin as they coyly brushed a finger under the sheet trying to entice him to let them stay. It never worked. Not once. Sex was one thing- he loved being in control and hearing his name breathless on their lips as they writhed and screamed on his silk sheets- but sleeping over was a completely different animal and he was never stupid enough to give them that much leeway. It was dangerous for them to think this was something more than it was, he had an itch and they could scratch it. There were no feelings involved, at least from his end.

So when she showed up on his doorsteps and the urge to drag her into his arms overwhelmed him that should have been his first warning, danger danger do not proceed.

But she pushed past him before he could close the door in her face and unfortunately at the same moment he had a spasm in his hand and hesitated for just one second allowing her enough time to bulldoze her way into his apartment. He had contemplated kicking her still out but the look on her face stopped him in his tracks, she looked scared- ridiculously so. Even as she stuttered out nonsense about the suspicious hoteliers who wanted to harm her and made a show of swinging her bag as she told the story of the man breaking the lock on her hotel room, he could see the slight tremble in her fingers.

She was always a lightning rod of energy but that night it had been different. Her movements had been panicked and the urge to protect her overrode his self preservation.

It was a clear erroneous mistake on his part.

She’s comfortable around him, that much becomes clear all too fast when he wakes up to her swaying in the kitchen over a boiling pot on the stove- some kind of soup, he can smell the aroma of miso wafting across the room- but what catches his attention is her clothes, or lack of.

There is miles and miles of bare skin from his angle on the ground, her loose sleep shorts barely covering her legs and he raises an eyebrow as he takes in the top half of her body. Her wet hair drips onto the flowing pristine white shirt that is peeking out from beneath a cardigan. She’s taken a shower. Just moments ago, she had been naked in his shower, water cascading down her slim body curving over her breasts and sliding down her flat stomach in long slow streams until it reached her wet....

“Oh you’re awake! I made soup, let’s eat before work.” She brightly calls out to him, using his ragged oven mittens to transfer the steaming pot over to the low rising table in the center of his tiny living room.

His eyes savor her every move as she flounces over to him in that annoying way that he is starting to find cute. She carefully folds her legs beneath her bottom as she joins him on the ground, her smooth makeup free face coming into his line of vision. He’d always assumed that it was her lip tint making her mouth so red and plush and so goddamn alluring, but even bare the twin petals are too much for his sleep laden brain to handle. He sits up curling his blanket in his lap, balling up the material to better hide his little morning problem. He almost hopes this is a dream, it wouldn’t be the first time she visited him in one. They usually ended in sinuous screams and naked limbs twisting but sometimes they were like this, just simple moments that made him wake up with an ache in his chest. Those dreams terrified him the most.

“Yah! Are you listening to anything I’m saying?” Her voice cuts through the arousal thick fog in his brain, light pats on his cheek rousing him from his untoward thoughts. “What are you thinking about anyway? Why are you so distracted?” Her eyes narrow as she glances at him, slowly descending down his body almost reaching his groin and he flushes red coughing loudly before quickly moving closer to the table, hiding his lap entirely from her wandering eyes.

Their eyes meet in a tense lock and she looks curious and something darker that he has been seeing in her eyes the more they work together. He watches swallowing a groan as she leisurely licks her lips chasing the drops of soup that have escaped.

They don’t have time for this. There is so much to do and a part of him fears that she is using him as a distraction because she’s scared about her break-in, despite his constant warnings it had been her first real experience with how far Babel was willing to go to silence them, the first time she was in the line of fire. He had been her “hero” and that was evidently confusing her, making her think he was something better than he was. Contrary to the lie he had cowardly told her, he was nothing but a murderer. Once she saw him for what he truly was, she would want nothing to do with him- she was still a good person after all underneath her armor and brazen attitude.

He wants her and that is exactly why he can’t have her.

Those thoughts knock any desire promptly out of his body, he couldn’t forget that he wasn’t worthy of love.

Problem finally resolved he stands up, “Sorry I’m not a morning person. I need to use the bathroom, thank you for the breakfast. I’ll be back.” He can feel her eyes on him the entire way to the bathroom, those huge doe-like eyes that make him want to be a better man, but surely it’s too late for someone like him.

Right?

They had separated after work, him meeting up with Mr. Cho secretly to discuss the fate of the gold, it was another long conversation that left them with more complications rather than solutions and he can see the frustration on the other man’s face. He will have to keep an eye on that in case it becomes something problematic.

Something he has to handle, regrettably.

He yanks at the stiff ball of his necktie loosening it as he pushes his key into the lock and presses the door open, he hears her laughter before he sees her almost tripping on her black high heels carelessly discarded at the door. He pauses with a rumble, “First she breaks into my house and now she almost kills me at my own front door,” with a sigh he straightens the shoes, slipping off his own and stepping into his house slippers.

His heart lurches at the first sight of her, she’s wrapped up in the blanket he had placed around her quivering shoulders the night of the break in, only her head visible from the swaddle. She’s watching some variety show he has never watched but knows is popular here, a can of beer thankfully on a coaster on the table and too many empty bottles of soju. She turns to look at him when she senses his presence, that also disarms him because he is a man who can go undetected if he pleases and he had not made a sound upon his entry, yet she still knew he was here.

Then she makes him weak in the knees when she shoots a soft smile his way, her rosy lips slightly upturned but its the glow in her eyes that captivates him, those dark orbs come to life when they land on him as if they were waiting for him to flush with life and vibrancy.

“You’re home!” She calls out, still beaming at him and he stands frozen in the line of fire. She casually pats the cushion next to her, motioning him over as high pitched loud voices patter out from his TV.

Home. He has hardly ever used that word himself, long given up on the idea of having a place to call home. But seeing her like this, a fire that had been snuffed out a long time ago starts to rekindle, a desire he had long suppressed starts to bubble back to the surface.

I should leave.

He thinks foolishly, but he finds himself walking over to her, skin pebbling when a warm small hand reaches out and drags him the rest of the way from his suspended form.

“What took you so long? Why didn’t you answer my calls? I wanted you to get us some soju.” She snuggles into his arm as if this is normal for them, and with an urgent awakening he realizes that it is. Constant and casual touches flash in his memory, his hand on her shoulder as he escorts her way, her hands on his back as she carries his intoxicated body, arms wrapped around each other as they walk away from the scum that is Babel. His hands always find her body as if it’s a heat seeking missile and not once has she pushed him away, on contrary she moves into his touches and returns them just as frequently. As if they belong to each other, as if they are each other’s to touch.

What game exactly are they playing?

He has never lost before but suddenly it feels like his defeat is imminent.

“You already drank all the soju in the fridge? Are you an alcoholic? Should I have you admitted?” He grumbles trying to diffuse the situation but she chuckles at his words, resting her head on his shoulder now as she peers up at him with glossy eyes. His control wavers, fluttering like a flag in the wind.

“After everything I’ve done that’s the thing you want to get me admitted for?” She teases giggling into his collarbone and her breath ignites a flame on his skin that spreads like wildfire. “Oh. Why are you so red?”

He jolts up, only feeling marginally guilty when she falls head first onto the couch with his sudden disappearance. When she glares up at him he has to smother a smile at the cute affronted look on her face, he is a mafia member he shouldn’t use words like “cute” but he’s constantly breaking his rules because of her.

He escapes to his bedroom, surprisingly pigeon feather free the window securely closed for once and he looks back towards the living room with a smile, she was full of surprises. With a groan he pops his shoulder, letting the day’s tension melt away as he takes off his suit piece by piece, breathing easier when he unknots the tie and tosses it to his bed. When he is down to his boxers, he ambles over to his dresser taking out his silk pajamas- she loved to tease him about them but after running a sneaky hand over his arm, she has admitted that they felt nice on your skin- he had desperately wanted her to keep going. Dragging the bottoms on first he slides on the top, fingers on the top button when his bedroom door bursts open making him still his movement.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you that I ordered fried chicken that’s why I needed soj...nnngghh” her words trail off into nonsense as she sputters at him, eyes immediately locked on the lower half of his body and he almost laughs at her wide eyed stare before she walks closer, a hand outreached as she penetrates his skin with her unblinking stare. He can see the red blush spread across her bridge of her nose and he wonders if it’s from the alcohol she has consumed or if it’s something else?

She answers his questions with another step toward him, unflinching beneath his hard stare and he instinctively recoils, stepping back out of her reach but she double steps until they are inches apart, her fingertips hovering above his abs and then she closes the distance, stroking the ridges on his stomach making him groan, unable to contain the deep sound and he grabs her hand.

He can’t let his go any further.

“What are you doing? Haven’t you heard of knocking? What if I was naked?”

The blush covers her face completely at his words and he watches fascinated as her pupils dilate and a hungry look flashes across her pretty face.

She doesn’t look scandalized at the idea. He has seen that look many times. From her, more times than he wants to confront.

“Cha-young.” He states her name firmly, making her eyes snap away from his body at least this time she looks ashamed of herself for ogling him, but not tremendously so. It’s not lost on him that she hasn’t tried to leave the room once. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

It’s a warning. For both of them really.

It can tell by the twitch in her eyebrow she sees it as a challenge, without a word she grabs him by his shoulder tugging him closer until they are flush, her soft breasts pressing into his firm stomach and he groans when he realizes he can feel the flesh too vividly, she’s not wearing bra. Fuck.

“Who said I couldn’t finish it?” She retorts peering up at him with those gleaming eyes, too many emotions swirling around for him to pinpoint what is the driving force behind her actions.

His arms wrap around her waist, bringing her closer despite there being no room felt to do so. She moans prettily at his tight grip swaying unevenly into him.

She’s drunk.

He suddenly recalls all the empty bottles of soju on the table and he loosens his hold, he refuses to take advantage of her no matter how willing she seems right now, it’s the alcohol distorting her thoughts. He releases her waist and puts his hands between them.

“You aren’t in your right mind right now, we should stop.”

She shakes her head disagreeing, “I got drunk because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. The alcohol didn’t make me want you, it made me do something about it.”

He blinks at the comment feeling like her words are intoxicating him. His thoughts are incoherent.

“I know you want me too. Don’t push me away.” She pleads and he feels his resolve crumbling as he watches her bite at her lower lip, wringing her hands between them. She seems...nervous. Scared of his rejection.

It’s not fitting on the Cha-young he has grown to know and l...like.

With a sigh he steps forward much to her apparent shock, wrapping his arms around her in an awkward hug, complete with too rough pats on her back and he wonders if he did the right thing when she stands frozen in his arms but then she laughs brokenly before sniffling and burrowing her head into his chest. He can feel the wetness pooling on his skin, he hugs her tighter ignoring the voice in his head warning him that he’s letting her get too close.

it’s already much too late anyway.

He lets her cry on him until he hears admittedly gross sniffles and he starts to fear for his skin, tears are one thing but mucus is another. He might like her but there is still a line, snot is his line.

Thankfully, when he drags her away from him her nose isn’t running, just large tears streaming down her face. Looking at that face, he would probably allow her to drip snot on him; she looks so pitiful- it’s probably the first time she has allowed herself to feel her emotions and not put on a brave front for him.

He longs to tell her that it isn’t necessary, ever. He doesn’t need her to put on a show, he will accept her no matter what there is no version of her that isn’t perfectly imperfect in his eyes.

But he can never say those words to her.

“Let me put my shirt on and I’ll meet you in the living room.” He pushes her lightly, playfully glaring and shooing her away when she doesn’t immediately leave taking one final moment to ogle his body. He tries not to preen and fails horribly, it’s hard not to when the woman he wants so badly clearly wants him too- at least physically.

She whispers something that sounds like, “You don't have to,” and he raises an eyebrow watching her leave finally, with a long suffering sigh he stares down at his overly interested friend willing it away before dragging on his shirt.

it’s going to be a long night.

He can smell the delicious aroma of fried chicken when he finally exits the bedroom, she offers a leg to him as soon as he’s close enough and he easily accepts the food with a bite, letting her feed him until all that remains is the bone.

“You eat so well.” She praises and he flushes in embarrassment at her words, or more accurately at the feeling that swells up in his stomach at her deceptively maternal words. Unaware of his thoughts she continues feeding him until the food is all gone and she is looking at him with a satisfied grin.

He tries not to become too excited when she licks the grease from her fingers, before putting the bones on a plate.

“Here, have some wine. The storekeeper said it was popular in Italy.”

She places the rounded curve of the wine glass at his lip and he inhales the intoxicating scent, Barolo, he can already smell the sweetness of the Nebbiolo grapes that have been long fermenting, it’s not a cheap bottle of wine or easy to acquire, not even for him while living in their country of origin. She must have looked all over to find that particular brand here in Korea.

He stares at her with a softness he has never felt for another, not even her late father. This is bigger and more consuming, the respect he felt for the man seems to pale in comparison to the bundle of emotions he feels for his daughter.

“Thank you.”

She simply stares, before returning his gaze and he accepts the wine glass by the stem tipping the deep colored liquid into his mouth, flavors dancing on his taste buds and he moans freely at the delicious taste.

They are already sitting closely, too much so for just coworkers but she moves nearer at his subconscious response, their knees knock into each other.

“Is it that good?” She whispers breathless, staring at his mouth. Again.

He nods dumbly, freezing when he feels her hand on his thigh.

“Let me see.”

He watches in a daze as she leans closer to him, his eyes following her face as she draws nearer and then he closes his eyes, tired of fighting this magnetic connection between them, he’s only a man and a bad one at that, he’s not good enough to keep pushing her away. He waits impatiently to feel the swell of her lips on his and blinks his eyes open when he feels a sudden weight on the wine glass instead, her lips curl around the ridge where his lips had just been. Taking his hand in hers, she lifts the glass and tilts it back into her mouth swallowing the liquid in a deep gulp before she pushes it back towards him, with a loud smack of her lips before moving back to her spot on the cushion.

“Mmmmm, you’re right that’s really good.”

His tongue is heavy in his mouth and his brain isn’t functioning well enough to give a response beyond staring at her with his mouth gaped.

“What’s wrong were you expecting something else? Did I get your hopes up? It’s not nice is it? ” She teases obnoxiously tsking at him body loose on the arm rest opposite of him and he knows exactly what she’s alluding to, recalls her face as he had leaned across the small space of the car. She hadn’t looked scandalized in that moment either.

No, she looked ready to risk it all. He was the coward who couldn’t risk anything.

He leans back with a huff, folding his arms.

“I guess it’s true, revenge is a dish best served cold. Do you feel good about yourself?” He pushes his lips out, not pouting whatsoever.

Mafia men don’t pout.

She snickers from the left of him, poking at this cheek gleefully.

“Oh my god, are you pouting? You big baby! You did it to me first!”

He has no argument to that so he doesn’t refute the claim, he just silently glares at the tv not hearing anything despite the volume being quite loud.

“Next time let’s both be brave enough to finish what we started.”

He turns to look at her, blinded by the hopeful smile on her face.

Maybe he’s wrong and it’s more than physical for her too.

If that’s true, then he needs to sever this bond sooner rather than later.

He doesn’t reply to her, drinking more wine to occupy his mouth and she doesn’t push him, humming before turning her attention back to the tv.

He collects all her different laughs while they watch the mindless show, the soft giggles and the full body guffaws that make her slap his knee and spill over into his space, her long hair thrown across his lap. He gives up on stopping her and finds himself smiling at her joy, offering her water when she starts to choke from laughing too hard. He pats her back and rubs her until she can speak easily again, she’s seriously a hazard to herself and he tells her as much.

She cheekily replies, “That’s why I need you then, you’re my Italian hero.”

He refutes that claim but he knows that she’s right, he would destroy anyone who tried to harm one hair on her head.

Moments later when he hears her light snores, he turns the tv off and makes to stand up and put some much needed distance between them but she halts him with a gentle plea, “Don’t leave me alone please.”

He stills at her words, staring at her closed eyes praying that she’s dreaming about someone else. That those words aren’t for him, he doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to ignore her appeal.

When her head falls heavily on his shoulder again, her body distractingly warm pressed against his own he knows he should push her away it’s the only way they can both get out of this unscathed.

But his decision making is all but obliterated, so he stupidly leans his head onto hers, deeply inhaling the sweet vanilla of her shampoo instead, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her closer, dragging the blanket over both their bodies, silencing his heart when it jumps at her easily molding into him and softly murmuring his name from deep slumber, “Vincenzo.”

Just for tonight, he will let himself have this.

One night only.

It’s all he can afford.

#vincenzo #vincenzo cassano #hong cha young #Vincenzo #chaotic couple #killer couple #I love their pining it's everything

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captaincravatthecapricious · 3 years

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Broken Ribs- Prompt Fill

What if the Hunters broke Jon's ribs in America? In other words, Jon does not have fun on an airplane.

cws: nausea, injury, disassociation, hospital mention, fainting

I am still accepting bingo prompts, send me a prompt, a character, and let me know if you want a fic or a drawing (crossed out prompts are filled, starred ones are ones I have asks for)! Card by the wonderful @celosiaa! Enjoy!

The air of the airport is oppressive. Close and loud with the pain lancing through Jon’s chest. Bustling people, ridiculously wide expanses of space all somehow abandoned and bustling at the same time.

It’s hot. He’s too hot.

Shoulder straps of his bag digging into his back, bracing against the weight, crushing ribs that crunch sickeningly as he jogs on hole ridden legs, shoes with worn down soles skidding, only grasping purchase with the help of his cane.

He can’t miss his next plane. He can’t. He needs to get back home… or rather the Institute. He doesn’t really have a home anymore, does he? Not his flat, certainly, and not with Georgie.

Just one more flight. A long one, but at least there will be no more running to catch planes, inconveniently at opposite ends of massive American airports.

Airports are already weird, empty spaces where everything is big and loud and expensive and sleepy all at once. Places where time has no meaning at all, and everyone is in both business dress and pajamas, sometimes at the same time. But adding the whole American thing to it… is odd. It’s not that it makes that much of a difference, every airport is actually very similar, but there is still something about the tang of ‘Rugged American Individualism’ that makes his skin crawl.

Or maybe that’s the lack of sleep, and the lack of a proper shower in… too long. He hates this. He hates this. He can’t stand the feeling of grit on his skin…. not since Prentiss, not since the circus. Between traveling and being followed and kidnaped again and now traveling some more… he’s sweaty and grimy and he wants to tear his skin off, or at the very least scrub it raw. Cut his nails to the quick, wash his hair a dozen times, scrub himself again for an hour under as hot water as he can stand for as long as his useless legs will hold him up.

He gets to his gate as the plane is boarding. Barely in time.

They take his cane at the front and he wants to cry. Limping to his seat in the very back, vision getting spotty with pain. He Really should have someone look at his ribs, they haven’t been right since the kidnapping. Just the universe’s punching bag, isn’t he? Kicked in the ribs by hunters. He hadn't even Done anything. (Well... he has now, but he hadn't at that point!

He just about collapses in his seat.

Middle seat. Shit.

Christ he's dizzy. Wouldn't be surprised if he's running a fever from the pain. His body sending all sorts of signals of distress: thirsty, nauseous, tired, shaky, panicked that he needs something or he'll pass out or cry, or.... or... or.... he doesn't know.

There is a tap on his shoulder. Window seat passenger wants to get through. Jon carefully eases himself to his feet. Trying very hard not to wince, or puke, or pass out. He limps his way up just far enough that Window Seat can get through. Just.

His ribs crunch as he sits again. He tries to covertly wipe the thin sheet of sweat from his forehead. A poor effort to detract from the attention his pallor and limp are surely getting him.

He sits absolutely still. His nose itches, but no... moving to scratch it would hurt too much. He just... won't move. The whole flight, ideally. But surely his bladder and bad leg will have other ideas about that. Jon sighs as shallowly as possible. Breathing hurts.

He drifts out of consciousness for a while. Isle Seat arrives at some point. The plane starts taxiing. Jon doesn't remember the pieces, but they occur.

He does notice the plane taking off. The acceleration of the plane. The stomach dropping climb. And all Jon can think of is falling. Aching chest tighter with panic.

The smell of tea made too dark and with too much lemon. What would have been a pleasant and soothing voice if he hadn't been plummeting with the acceleration of -9.81 meters per second per second without even the comfort of air resistance. Oxygen moving by too fast to snag a breath. He could have been falling for seconds, minutes, days, weeks, years, and it would have made no difference. Hitting the ground would have even been a comfort at that point.

He's gasping. Chest crunching under the strain of his breathing through the vice grip of terror.

He orders himself to take a very shallow, very measured breath. The plane is leveling out, and he doesn't want to attract any more attention.

Luckily he has always been good about deflecting attention. Had a panic attack in the middle of a maths class in secondary school, and not a soul noticed. Window Seat is staring out the window in fascination as the houses get ever smaller and are eaten up by the cloud cover. Isle Seat is napping.

Jon is very very very glad that he hasn't run out of dramamine yet or ...he would be a lot more not okay than he already is. He is out of pain meds. Unfortunately.

Should have bought some in America. You can get big bottles there. Big bottles. And God knows he needs them.

He clasps his hands tightly and try to pull his breathing into a careful and shallow rhythm.

He is drifting again when Window Seat lowers their armrest. It strikes him on the way down. Brushes him, really. He bites down a yelp. He curls protectively around his ribs, which causes them to crunch again. That Really isn't healthy sounding. Spots dance across his vision again.

He isn't sure how much time passes before Window Seat makes to get up. He almost doesn't have the energy to stand.

He's seeing spots again, and he doesn't know how he will manage to let Window Seat back in.

The seat in front of him has lowered their seat. Jon, in the back row can't tilt his back. Christ it hurts. It all hurts. The turbulence, the standing and sitting for Window Seat, the drinks cart making far too many rounds. He doesn't get anything. Can't stomach the snacks or the provided dinner, barely manages a couple sips from his own water bottle. He knows his leg would thank him if he got up and moved around, but the thought of standing is too much. The movie that he tried to watch was too grating and it just added to how Loud the plane is. Almost as loud as his hammering heart and the aching of his chest. He can't do it. He can't do it. He can't do it.

He bites back a scream when Window Seat orders another drink. The flight attendant jostling his ribs again, passing over the beverage. This has to be the third or forth time. How many drinks can one passenger need? How many more before Window Seat will need the loo again, dragging Jon to his aching feet again?

Jon bites back tears. He was awoken by Window Seat again. He'd apparently fallen asleep on Isle Seat. ...Or maybe passed out. Jon doesn't know. He's too dizzy. He doesn't look at Isle Seat. He wants to apologize, but the thought of speaking sounds too painful. He clings to control of his breathing. Shallow breaths. Slow, shallow breaths. Don't make the ribs worse, don't make the pain worse.

Jon doesn't remember letting Window Seat back in. He possibly remembers standing? Possibly remembers black spots eating through his vision? And then he's face down on his grimy tray table. A face full of the novel he picked up in the airport on his trip Before getting his ribs busted. He's pretty sure he passed out and hand't fallen asleep, but he can't be certain.

The flight attendant is shaking him awake, and Jon tries to hide the tears of pain that causes. Yes, yes, he knows. Tray tables needs to be folded away before they land.

Getting off the plane is hard. Window Seat is anxiously out of their seat and getting their luggage, meaning that Jon has to decide if he would rather sit back down, only to have to stand again when the way was finally clear, or he'd have to stand without his cane , bent at an awkward angle. All after digging under his seat for his bag. He thinks keeping it under his seat is easier on his ribs than getting it into and out of the overhead compartment... but he doesn't know. He is fighting unconsciousness again.

The plane is too hot. Too loud. His head hurts. His ribs hurt. Sick with pain, and shaky with hungry and dehydration. He isn't sure that food wouldn't make him feel worse, however. He skipped provided breakfast as well.

At least he can't remember much of the flight. Probably a blessing.

He finally limps to the front of the plane. He almost cries with relief when he is handed back his cane. He's so tired. So tired.

At least he doesn't need to get any luggage. All he has is is backpack and cane. And a text from Elias saying Daisy is already there to pick him up.

Right.

Best not to keep her waiting.

He doesn't think he can survive any more aggression. Not for a while.

He's too tired to even panic about being alone with her.

She shakes him roughly when she spots him. Demands to know why it took him so long, why he didn't text. All but shoves him into the car. That's more than he can take. He passes out. Cane clattering to the pavement, head striking the wheel with the force of his momentum.

When he comes to, he is being carried. He hurts too badly to move, feels too sick to think. He moans into the chest of whoever is carrying him. Doesn't even have it in him to start in fear when he realizes the only one with biceps that big and fair is Daisy.

They are going down a flight of stairs. He wonders vaguely if she's going to kill him... but then realizes he might take that as a mercy right about now.

Except she doesn't kill him. She's taken him to the Archives. He can hear Martin.

"Daisy! Jon! Daisy, what did you do! What did you do to him?"

Him... Jon? He tries to ask what the fuss is about, but only manages another moan.

"I didn't break him. Your problem now." She grunts that out, and plops Jon into Martin's lap. At least he thinks... after he possibly blacks out again.

Martin is patting his face. Martin is patting his face. "Hey, Jon? Can you open your eyes for me?" Jon tries. And fails. Eyelids too heavy. "Jon, what's wrong?"

"Hurts," he whispers.

"Hurts where?" Martin is cupping his face. Jon starts crying.

He can't respond.

"Jon can I take you to hospital? Please?”

“Ribs..."

"Jon, please?"

Jon doesn't want to go to the hospital, he just wants to sleep. Possibly just sleep right there and never move again. Martin is warm and soft and smells nice and is quiet. But he doesn't have energy to argue. He makes a noncommittal sound. "Stay?"

"Yeah, of course. I'll call us a cab, yeah? Get you checked out, then... you could come to mine, if you like?"

Jon really doesn't have the energy to respond, so he just... gives it up and closes his eyes. Letting himself drift and not worry about getting carried. Maybe if he's lucky he'll either sleep or disassociate long enough that he doesn't have to actually think about the hospital. Maybe he'll come back to himself on Martin's couch. He even lets himself hope that maybe someone will take the initiative and clean him up first. The idea of other hands on him would ordinarily be horrifying, but he's just too tired to care. For now... he'll just sleep.

#the magnus archives #tma #magnuspod #fanficiton #cw nausea #cw fainting #cw hospital #cw injury #cw broken ribs #cane user jon #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #daisy tonner #my writing #my words #fic #my art #whump

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jadethest0ne · 3 years

Text

In need of Refueling, Chapter 9 - Blue finds Red

Summary: “You?! Why would I trust you? You have brought me nothing but failure. Time and time again; nothing but disappointment!”

His father’s words might have been a result of his possession by the White Bone Spirit, but whether or not they were his true thoughts, Red Son vows to prove them wrong. To do so he seeks to attain a power strong enough to destroy his father’s immortal enemy. After all, he’d much rather throw fire at his problems.

Word Count: 927

Ratings/Warnings: Teen and up; injury, burns, angst and hurt/comfort, toxic thoughts caused by toxic parents, panic attacks, abuse

Notes: A short and sweet chapter, and an end to “Act 1″ of this fic. I should also note that I see MK, Mei, and Red Son as kids (mid to older teens at least), and Sandy would definitely see them as children, and thus I will be writing them as such.

Credits: Big thanks to @painted-arachnid and @simplyfornardo for helping me bounce ideas off of them. And also thanks to @lemonsqueazie for providing me with “Journey to the West” lore. I don’t know much about the original novel or other iterations, but I still tried to keep some things compliant with the lore. You should check all of them out, since they’re really great content creators with neat ideas!

Read on AO3

———-

It doesn’t take the group long to get back to the Noodle Shop. Pigsy takes up the job of bandaging up the Monkey King and treating his wounds. He asks Sandy to hold and support the immortal as needed, but after squirming around at first, he gets tired out and dips into a heavy sleep, allowing Pigsy to finish bandaging him. Pigsy turns to Sandy’s burnt shoulder next, but he refuses to be treated until Mei and MK are looked at. Mei has a slight concussion that requires some care, but other than that just needs rest. MK is physically fine, but emotionally worn, so Pigsy prescribes some rest for him as well. The three of them are sent to various beds and sofas in the building, but finding comfort in each others’ presence, they put the Monkey King in MK’s bed with the other two piling up some cushions in the same room and sleeping there. Sandy, Pigsy, and Tang all breathe a collective sigh of relief once they are asleep. Only then does Sandy allow Pigsy to take care of his shoulder.

Few words pass between the three men, except for some plans on how to handle the next few days. It is decided that for now Pigsy and Tang will keep watch over the Monkey King (and the two kids), and Sandy should head home and get some rest himself. Sandy complies, and after a long night finally heads back to his ship docked at the beach.

Sandy breathes in the chilly night air to clear his mind and relax himself after the day’s events. His shoulder itches, but he represses the urge to scratch at his bandages, and instead distracts himself by tugging a bit at his beard. He hums a small tune to himself, and goes through some of the things he needs to do before going to bed - feed the cats, water the plants, go through some of his medical supplies should he need any extra, maybe he could bake a cake or something tomorrow to cheer up his friends after such an arduous event...

Sandy is nearing his home now and is about to board his ship when a shock of red along the beach catches his attention. The lump of red peeks through patches of dirty brown. It looks vaguely human shaped. Perhaps a person who was hurt when MKs tidal wave crashed down on everything?

Sandy rushes over to the body and upon closer inspection he is surprised to find that it is none other than the form of Red Son lying on the beach. Sandy's eyes widen at this revelation. He's just laying there, unmoving. The boy is covered in mud and dirt and any visible skin looks to be heavily bruised and burned. His hair is in a tangled mess and his glasses are cracked. Sandy takes a cautious look around his surroundings before squatting down and carefully putting a hand up close to the boy's face. He can feel shallow puffs of breath brush across the back of his fingers. Ok, so he is alive, just unconscious. A few inches closer and Sandy touches the side of Red Son's cheek. The boy is alarmingly cold.

Sandy pulls his hand back and stands up slowly. Red Son is obviously hurt, and in this condition and being exposed to the cold beach air, he is not sure if the boy would make it if left alone. Sandy's first instinct would be to help the poor lad. But what would his companions say if he helped the very person who had so recently put them through so much pain? Could he really help the son of their most dangerous enemy? Wouldn't that be a betrayal of his friends’ trust? And what would Red Son do if--?

Sandy's thoughts are interrupted by a shuffling from below followed by a pained whine. He looks down to see Red Son looking up. However, he can't tell for certain if he's actually looking at him. The boy’s eyes don't seem very focused, even though his eyebrows are knit in attempted concentration.

Red Son's features then break into an expression he hadn't ever seen on him before. It is one of remorse and regret, and no small amount of fear.

His voice is pinched and hoarse when it comes out, and barely audible above the lapping of the waves by the beach, but Sandy still hears it when Red Son speaks. "I'm… sorry…"

Sandy raises his eyebrows. An apology?

"... father, I'm sorry!"

Oh, so it’s a case of mistaken identity.

Red Son continues to look up, unseeing, at Sandy, and continues with a desperate voice. "Please…! Don't abandon… me!"

He reaches out a shaky hand.

Red Son is an enemy and has done some terrible things. But he's just a kid, probably around the same age as MK and Mei. He certainly is at the same maturity level. Sandy would be hard pressed to say no to someone in need, even an enemy. But if there's one thing that Sandy could never do, was say no to a child pleading for help.

Red Son's eyes slide shut, his head landing back in the sand. His hand follows, but does not make it to the ground. Instead it is caught by Sandy's. His large blue hand envelopes Red Son's much smaller one, and he gently rubs his thumb over his tiny knuckles.

"Don't worry, my boy," Sandy says in a voice as warm as he'd use to greet an old friend. "I've got you."

END OF ACT 1

start || <– previous // next –>

#lmk #lego monkie kid #red son #sandy #in need of refueling #fanfiction #lmk fanfic #my writing #jadethest0ne #injury

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elle-imagines · 4 years

Note

Hello! I just want to say first that I adore your blog. I hardly ever find someone who also loves to do deep character analysis and I love it 🥺 Can I request headcanons of Sasuke with a delicate yet formidable s/o? Maybe add in nsfw if it's not too much trouble? Thank you!

Thank you so much for your kind words, it means a lot to know you like analysis, too! I hope to continue meet your expectations in the future now that I’m back. I love my Sasuke, so I got carried away. It’s a bit long!

~1500 words

NSFW below

SFW

When the two of you first met, he looked over you. He thought you were too gentle and meek in the way you carefully wrapped your kunai or leapt softly from branch to branch. He disregarded the warmth of your voice even when others were rough with you. Before you two got to know each other, he never appreciated fragility. His life never shown him it, so anything of that nature creates a feeling in him that brings discomfort. Or more specifically irritation, curiosity, and a hint of longing for gentleness he wish he experienced.

It began when you offered to clean his weapons. It was a task he could neglect at times, his mind on strategy and ruthless ambition. He agreed, and something urged him to keep you company. He wrote it off as wanting to watch your handiwork, not the pull towards your tame energy that pacified him. Your presence created serenity, a gentle silence as you worked clove oil into his blades while he watched a few birds perch comfortably on an uprooted tree. He thought he’d feel satiated, but peace, serenity, and gentility are scarce resources in his world. He sought this normalcy you provided for him. He was just Sasuke to you, and beyond his unrelenting pursuance of this path he took, he found moments where he only wanted to be a man for once. Just Sasuke. Just with you.

Your meetings continued over time, a respite from violence and anguish, in a secluded area overlooking a creek. You begin to bring meals when you notice him eating less. You brought tomatoes, molded onigiri, and cabbage, while Sasuke met you with a few fish he caught earlier. Every time he ate, he felt gratitude at eating home-grown vegetables he used to indugle in as a child. This sense of nostalgia and normalcy you brung urged him to begin a romantic relationship with you.

He began to know you, no longer overlooking you. He observed the way you grip things like a shinobi would, the lowering of your eyelids when someone was being abrasive. It’s almost as if he could hear you calculating, analyzing others and predicting their next move, your feet subtly shifting in a defensive stance under your dress. When you accompanied him to fight, his heart throbbed faster at the sight of your prowess. Your adaptability. Your cunningness. Your formidability. What was most threatening, if not eerie, was your ultimate control of every part of you, mentally and physically. Every word, every swing of the blade, every small nuance you did was with purpose. You knew just the amount of agony, just the amount of threat to let lay on your tongue, just the right wordplay to use to create doubt in an enemy. Your formidability came from your deliberation. Your formidability came from perseverance before those perceived to be more powerful than you.

Sasuke knows you.

Sasuke knows your hands. Your hands, coordinated and fastidious in needlework and mending, warm and gentle in consoling an upset friend and caressing him into willing distraction. Those hands, as he observed, have also disarmed men more powerful than most with a complex hold. Blades fly from your hands with a flicker and a bend of air. A surge of chakra halves trees and shatters bone. His lips lift warmly at the feel of your calluses. He knows your hands. He knows the ruin and tenderness they could bring.

Sasuke knows your voice. He hears the radiance and softness you use with him and your friends. Even the lack of you speaking, holding your tongue when necessary, is a tactician’s move. He knows your voice can betray nothing, whether detailing a report to your superiors or debating for better support and protection for genin students. The fluidity of your voice can bring a council member down a notch, incite hesitancy in an S-Rank criminal, and soothe a child’s tears. This is the voice that hides fear under a mask of penetrating perceptivity and intellectual prowess. You sound as gentle as the ocean, but can morph into a persistent wave that will erode the strongest boulders into weak gravel.

Sasuke knows your walk. You’re gentle on your feet like he is, barely disturbing the ground beneath you even when you’re tired. He’s grown fond of seeing you reach on the tips of your toes for something, or land quietly on a branch. He has seen that walk change into one that makes a shinobi falter their fighting stance. No, there is not the sound of foreboding thumps on the ground at your approach. But, the swiftness of your arrival and departure, taking the consciousness of enemies before you is a bit more frightening because of something called underestimation.

Sasuke knows your eyes. The gentle squint because of your raised cheeks. The lashes he feels against his skin at night. Their openness and curiosity as they look into his eyes. Those eyes show acceptance and happiness towards him, and he is aware of the appreciation you furtively show to his physique. Those eyes pick up on the strain behind his own, giving unsaid comfort for thoughts he cannot express. He also knows the extent to which it absorbs surroundings. Holstered weapons on passersby, the rigidness of someone’s shoulders, the exchange of illicit materials near your preferred market. You remain quiet, meeting eyes with knowing that one more person knows something secretive.

Your delicacy mirrors his roughness, as the sun’s warmth soothes the moon’s frost. Your hands, as they rest on his back, mend and unfold muscles he didn’t know he tensed. In contrast, the directness of his voice as he corrects your stance while training you and the strength behind his sparring shows you his sincerity in helping you. As you both dress each other’s wounds, your touch is as remedying as your chakra, bringing him back to memories of his mother nursing scraped knees busted lips. His touch is heated and solid, firm but attentive, and brings you comfort in knowing you are protected willingly by a man who knows you don’t need it.

NSFW

With delicacy comes attentiveness and gentle handling, everything Sasuke needs when it comes to personal intimacy. Although having seen sexual activities at red light districts and dubious markets he encountered as a fugitive, he still has a rudimentary idea of sex. Based on what he saw, the depravity of it in these areas (and spotting a few paragraphs from his former sensei’s infamous book), it affirmed that it did not interest him more than it did most of his life. Even before he left the village, he had a dim interest in sexual topics thrown around before class, and dismissed the passing of lewd magazines during Warring States History class.

He finds people to be beautiful in the same way you find nature beautiful, not really ogling at breasts or legs. He appreciates your beauty in a whole way rather than specific parts of you.

Ideas of becoming intimate with you surfaced after a while, but he was hesitant to bring it up. It’s more likely you brought it up first and you both discussed it (though awkwardly).

He is nonchalant to the idea of sex, but he does have a steady libido which he equates to scratching an itch and releasing stress. Sex for him would be to give and receive sensual affection, and learn about each other in a different aspect.

Sasuke likes to have a routine when doing many things, including sex. He learns that you like his fingers to comb through your scalp, his staring at you from between your legs before beginning to taste you, how he holds your face in his hands. Predictability in this setting is best for him, so you make sure he is comfortable every step.

I feel that he is much more responsive to your hands massaging on his erogenous zones than directly on his sex. Trailing your fingers softly on his thighs, whisper against the folds of his ear, or kissing the insides of his wrist makes him shiver. Caressing him and embracing him closely gives him the most pleasure than outright handjobs.

Sasuke appreciates your patience with him. A lot. The lack of expectations you hold on him and the calmness you exude gives him peace.

Both of you don’t mind chasing non-penetrative release. Oral sex, slow grinding on his hips, and massaging is perfect for him. Mutual masturbation is an intimate way for him to watch you pleasure yourself and learn what you like from your movements.

Your gentility and skill at perceiving his small tics furthers your dynamic in the bedroom. You work slowly, watch him clench his jaw when you mead the muscles of his thighs. When he accepts your offer for oral pleasure, your deliberate slowness is what sends him over the edge. You look at him knowingly, calculating how to bring the most pleasure and understanding what he likes. You know the sensitivity he has when you cup him gently, or the sharp breath he takes when you hum while sucking repeatedly.

Sasuke enjoys you holding him after you two have sex, the air smelling like heat and salty sweat. You embrace him gently, affirming to him that you will always have him and care for him. As he holds you, you feel his endearment radiating off of him. Without words shared, you know he loves you, as you love him.

#sasuke #Sasuke Uchiha #uchiha sasuke #uchiha #Naruto Shippuden #naruto #naruto headcanon #naruto headcanons #Headcanon #headcanons #naruto imagines #free write #writing #imagines #imagine

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amydancepants-peralta · 4 years

Text

baby, I’ve got you on my mind

“Thank you for that update, McCla- I’m mean, McCarthur.”

Clearing her throat, Amy ducks her head down to focus on the paperwork in front of her, quietly praying that nobody has noticed her mistake. She knew the chances were slim, given that it was her third slip-up since her briefing had begun fifteen minutes ago, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that the concept of returning to work after three months of Pure Family Time was going to be way harder than she’d anticipated.

There had been a part of her that was so. eager. to return to work today, taking extra care to iron her uniform into perfectly symmetrical pleats and polishing her badge so that it shone with just enough pride. Rumours had been circulating around about somebody trying to make adjustments to her precision based filing system (and she wasn’t mad, she just wanted to talk to whomever they were), and as the weeks wore on and Jake returned to work, it became apparent that her FOMOW was no longer something that Amy could easily hide.

She has loved every single second of being a Mommy, right down to the sleepless nights and the cold mornings with her son sleeping snuggled warm against her, but there was no way that Amy could deny how much she missed the order of the NYPD. She had craved the regular flow of paperwork (some that even needed to be notarised); the meetings and seminars and conference calls and oh, how there were so many binders waiting to be filled.

In the past few weeks it had become habit once Jake returned home each evening, to spend the first half hour (at a minimum) telling her about his day - filling her in on any cases that had opened while she’s been away. She lapped up all the information eagerly, throwing out ideas as they came to her, and the sheer thought of being able to play a part in regulating justice to their city made her giddy with excitement. So Amy had been excited to return to work, if only to scratch the itch that her FOMOW had left her with.

As it turned out, she had a much larger case of something brewing underneath her skin - something that was increasing dramatically with every passing second.

Amy had FOMOM: Fear Of Missing Out on Mac.

It had, for example, been exactly one hour and thirty seven minutes since she’d walked out of her and Jake’s apartment, blowing goodbye kisses to her son as he rested comfortably in his father’s arms. One hour and thirty six minutes since she’d reconsidered the whole notion of returning to work, her fingers hovering over Holt’s number on her cell phone as she made her way down the stairs, and one hour and thirty four minutes since she’d convinced herself that she could totally do this.

(Also, it has been sixteen minutes since she’s realised just how many officers on her team had names that began with the letter M. And how her mind no longer seemed to be able to say any other name that began with the same combination of consonants and vowels without automatically reverting to her son’s.)

She hadn’t even passed the two hour mark yet, and already Amy felt like she’d been away from her family for eight years.

Her phone lights up from its resting place along the edge of the podium, and she glances at it quickly, trying her best to tamper down the racing heartbeat that accompanies the notification that her husband has sent her a photo.

This was it. This was the text Jake was going to send to her, that announced excitedly that their prodigy of a son had managed to figure out how to walk, fifteen minutes after she’d stepped out the apartment this morning. Or that he’d pronounced his first word - a clear and proud call for Daddy - and that Jake hadn’t managed to get video of it but it was so amazing, babe, I wish you could have been there to see it!

Her hands grip the wooden edges of the platform her Return To Work speech occupied, eyes glued to the background picture of Mac sleeping on an also sleeping Jake’s chest, and from the tables before her one of the officers clears their throat politely. The sound cuts through the spiral Amy was beginning to gravitate towards, pulling her attention back to her team, and with an apologetic smile she wraps up the rest of the briefing quickly. There were still four and half pages left of her speech, but it’s nothing that she can’t compose in an email when her mind is a little less preoccupied, and in all honesty the only order of business she can focus on right now is Priority One: Unlocking her phone.

There have been many, many advancements in the name of modern technology; and 2 hours, 53 minutes and 47 seconds into Amy’s first shift she has twice already cursed the fact that nobody has created the option for a person to be able to reach into their phone and touch the subject of an image. Never before has she had such a craving to squeeze her son’s chubby cheeks, to feel the unbelievably soft skin that she knows he has.

Her husband, in yet another display of sweetness, has been giving her regular updates on his and Mac’s day at home together - and two minutes ago he’d sent through a photo of their son, reclined in his baby seat, with apple sauce spread out allll over his cheeks. It was equal parts adorable and painful for Amy, for her to not be able to a) grab a cloth and wipe away the mess as her son grins up at her, and b) smother his tiny face with a million tiny kisses.

She missed him. Missed him more than she’d thought possible. Her arms felt empty without their son in them, and it’s nearly impossible for her to imagine what life was like before their family had become a party of three.

In absolutely no surprise to anybody other than himself, Jake has turned out to be an excellent father. He’s been by her side through the whole thing - even the middle of the night feeds, taking to burping their son like a pro - and the way Mac’s face lights up whenever his eyes land on Jake (and vice versa, it’s honestly just the sweetest thing to see) tells Amy all that she needs to know. Their son is going to adore Jake, and there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that her husband is EVER going to walk away from his family.

Distractedly, Amy shuffles the paperwork around on her desk, offering a tight smile to one of her colleagues as they pass. Get it together, Santiago. You are a badass police sergeant for one of the strongest teams in the entire NYPD. You can get through one shift without seeing your son. Her phone vibrates with an incoming heart emoji filled text from her husband, and she takes his support as fuel for her cause, standing up from her desk and taking purposeful strides towards the filing cabinets. You’re a badass police sergeant with a highly effective, strongly sought after filing system, and you can do this.

Her eyebrows knit in disgust as she opens the first drawer, taking in the messy array of folders that occupied the once orderly space, and she supposes she should be thankful in some way that there was someone in the office who thought that this hot mess worked better than her system (and therefore provided a worthy distraction for her entirely preoccupied mind), but in all honesty she’s just completely horrified.

Already composing a polite but firm memorandum in her mind, Amy begins pulling the files out of their incorrect positions, glancing at her watch as she gets to work.

Only five hours, two minutes and twenty seconds to go.

It’s 4 hours and 28 minutes into Amy’s workday when she hears the elevator doors open and a tiny gasp escape Officer Alvarado’s mouth, and with a quick lift of her head she notices why. Jake has suddenly appeared on her floor, with their son safe and sound inside the carrier strapped to his chest. His smile lights up the room - like it always does, even at home - and even though he’s clearly trying to make his way towards Amy, it seems that the sudden appearance of Mac Peralta in the precinct has garnered every single officer’s attention.

Amy’s not one to pull rank (honestly, who is she kidding?) but her footsteps are quick against the linoleum floor, increasing in intensity the closer she gets to her husband, and Jake’s already in the process of unclipping a strap as she nears. “I figured you’d probably be in need of a pick-me-up right about now,” he mumbles, his voice soft enough to only land in Amy’s ears.

Nodding eagerly, Amy shoots her husband a grateful look before smiling in Mac’s direction, stretching her hands out as he lifts his own in recognition.

“There’s my little guy!” She cries out, sliding one hand along her son’s back as his chonky little arms and legs begin to wave around in excitement. He coos as she lifts him out of the carrier with Jake’s help, and the sound buries deep in her heart as the feeling of utter completion begins to wash over her now that Mac is leaning against her chest.

Shifting her shoulder slightly, Amy tilts her grip slightly in an effort to show off to the crowd her greatest achievement to date. “Squad, meet our son - Mac.”

There’s a crowd of tiny waves, all of which are greeted with a tiny saliva-covered fist moving back and forth from Mac’s mouth; and after a few more minutes of leg squishing and attempts to reach out for various badges, Amy’s squad disperses - suddenly aware that absolutely none of them were currently doing their work, and that there was no way they could hide such a fact from their boss.

Jake’s palm rests against Amy’s shoulder as she leads them towards the third floor break room, a quiet eating space that has yet to be tainted by the questionable eating habits of either Scully or Hitchcock. “You have had many brilliant ideas in all the years we’ve been together, babe, but I think this one might just be your best yet.” Amy announces to Jake as she settles into a vacant chair, grinning over at her husband as he chooses the seat opposite.

He smiles, that gentle nod of his head that he does when he’s secretly proud of his actions kicking in, and Amy stretches her left leg out to brush against his. His beam grows brighter as he leans forward, brushing his fingers gently along the tiny curls that have begun to form on their son’s head before replying, “Safe to say, I’ve gotten pretty good and picking up on the my wife is having a meltdown style of texting.”

Scoffing, Amy cranes her head back slightly to take in her son’s adorable face as she responds. “I’d like to think I’ve handled today pretty well.” It’s a lie, and they both know it.

Letting out a soft laugh, Jake shakes his head slightly. “Tell that to the fifty-odd messages I’ve received from you today.”

She feels a soft blush wash over her cheeks, but Amy doesn’t care in the slightest. They both know that Jake fared no better when it had been his turn to return to work, and they’ve come to the total and utter acceptance that Mac Peralta just so happens to be the most adorable and addictive baby that ever graced the earth. Facts are facts, and there was no point hiding it.

“Okay, so maybe I’ve - ” Pausing mid-sentence, Amy takes a closer look at her son, fingers swirling around his soft hair carefully.

“Ames?”

“His hair has grown.”

Nodding, Jake scoots his chair closer, and the corresponding scrape sounds oddly loud as it bounces off the surrounding walls. “Yeah, he’s definitely going to end up with my curls. It’s both a blessing and a curse, but he’ll figure that out eventually.”

Amy shakes her head quickly. “No, I mean it’s grown. Since this morning.”

“Babe, it’s been five hours.”

“It has, though! See this curl? It’s WAY more pronounced than it was earlier today. It wraps around my finger twice now!”

His eyes are dubious, but if there is anything that Jake has learned by now it is not to doubt his wife, and so he responds simply with a nod. It’s not convincing in any way, shape, or form, but Amy is way too distracted to bother with a rebuttal.

“I knew this was going to happen! He’s growing so quickly, babe.” Her eyes have turned wide as saucers, and she can feel her eyebrows raising to nearly the point of her hairline, but none of that matters in the slightest. “We’re going to miss out on so. much! Why did we not take this into consideration?” Her lips press against the top of Mac’s head as she holds him closer, jiggling one knee on reflex as he wriggles slightly in her arms. Slowly, Amy begins to feel her chest tighten up as all of the niggling doubts of her returning to work rush to the surface.

“Ames”. Jake’s hands rest gently on top of her own, squeezing slightly as she raises her head to meet his. “We’re not going to miss out on anything. You have put together the most thorough, well-spaced out babysitting schedule that has meant that one of our friends or family is always going to be around when we’re not. With any luck, it’ll never be longer than eight or nine hours before we’re all home together again, and either one of us is always only a video call away.”

Nodding, Amy drops her head back down to leave another kiss on Mac’s forehead, and she takes in a deep breath of that incredible new baby smell while she’s there. Already, she can feel herself being to reset.

“There are going to be a thousand moments, some big and some small, and yeah, maybe we might miss a couple here and there, but the most important thing is that Mac is already so, so loved. He knows that, and we know that, and honestly that’s all that matters.”

Amy’s pounding heart slowly lessens its assault against her chest, and as Jake’s hands tighten their grip over hers she begins to nod. If someone had told her eight years ago that the immature cop that sat across from her would end up being the source of some of the sweetest things she’s ever heard in her life, she would have laughed in their faces. But here he was, holding his rightful title of Greatest Husband and Father Ever, and honestly she wouldn’t have it any other way. She smiles, leaning in slightly to bridge the gap between them with a chaste (read: work appropriate) kiss. “I love you so much, babe.”

He mirrors her nod with his own, throwing in a wink. “It’s easy to do, Ames. I am very loveable.”

She knows it to be true, but still Amy rolls her eyes. “Whatever, Peralta. You’re just lucky that we make pretty cute babies.”

“Liquid fire, Ames. I said it on Day One, and there’s no way I’m backing down.”

Letting out a contented sigh, Amy pulls Mac in for one last tight squeeze, taking in another hit of his perfect baby scent before standing. “Alright. I’ve got to get back to work now, otherwise it’s just never going to happen.” Leaving one last parting kiss on Mac’s forehead, she passes her son to Jake, still unable to tear her eyes away from him for too long. “Thank you so much for bringing him in today, this is exactly what I needed.” Her son grumbles out a protest in the sudden change of plans, and it’s all she can do to not pull him immediately back into her arms.

Jake smiles, reaching out to fiddle with Mac’s flailing right arm as he leans towards Amy for another sneaky kiss. “I figure once he’s big enough to fit into that NYPD onesie the squad gave us, we’ll just set him up with his own desk in the corner.”

“There you go, with another brilliant idea!”

Gripping Mac’s hand in his fingers, Jake calls out “Goodbye, Mommy!”, and oh, how Amy’s heart begins to ache. She feels it squeeze tighter as her two favourite men walk towards the elevator, and it gives one last protesting ache as the elevator doors slide shut. Her feet feel heavy as they turn away from the exit, and she flicks her wrist upwards to check the time again.

2 hours, 57 minute and 38 seconds to go.

There’s a vague memory of paperwork, interrogations, and a quick debrief as Amy’s shoes hit the pavement on the sidewalk outside the precinct, and her mind is still partially thinking of a case that landed on her desk late this afternoon when she notices what has easily turned into one of her favourite sights to see: her husband and son, waiting patiently outside for her return.

Her hands may be a little grabby as they reach for her baby boy, but Jake only chuckles as he passes Mac over, running his hand up and down her back in greeting as she smothers her son’s face in kisses. She mirrors the kisses with another one on Jake’s cheek as he reaches for her purse, gripping it with one hand as he takes her free hand with his other, and Amy’s smile is undeniably bright as they make their way down the familiar path home.

Tomorrow, she will interview a suspect and put all of her efforts into finally cracking the drug ring that had begun to fester on the streets of Brooklyn. Tomorrow, she will play her part in the takedown of a organised crime kingpin that has held reign for far too long.

But for now, Amy’s going home to spend time with her family - this little family of three that might be smaller than others, but that her and Jake have created on their very own, and nobody can tear away from them no matter how hard they try. Sometimes, she will be a badass sergeant that can take down New York’s worst with a swing of her fist. And sometimes, she’s simply a mother at home with her family, singing along to nursery rhymes and wiping spit-up from her blouse.

She misses her family when they’re not together, and she misses her work when she’s not in uniform - and even though there’s still a tiny portion of lingering doubt that maybe she won’t be able to handle both, with Jake’s fingers gripped tightly against her own on their walk home a sense of calm washes over her.

Both are equally important, and both are 100% worth it, and if one means missing out on something from the other, there is always going to be one Most Important detail to consider - that she and Jake were working hard to create a safe and loving world for their son.

And that was worth fighting for, even if it came with a little FOMO.

#a little something that came from nowhere last night #juuuust scraping in for April 28 #aka our National Holiday #the FOMOW is real #b99 fanfic #jake x amy fic #peraltiago fic #hope you guys find this sweet #title from Powderfinger ... Aussie represent!#my writing

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voiceless-terror · 4 years

Text

Interlude (The Magnus Archives)

Characters: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood, Mikaele Salesa, Annabelle Cane

CW: Mental Deterioration/Memory Loss, Some Fluff but Mostly Angst, Spoilers for 181

This is not a home.

Martin is smiling. Jon thinks it’s the first time he’s seen him smile in a while. He likes it.

_______

Jon wakes up to a smile.

It is Martin, looking peaceful and well-rested for once. It cuts through the hazy fog of his mind and lands somewhere near his heart. He deserves a break, doesn’t he? He can see the grime etched into the lines on his face- lines that shouldn’t be there, lines that he caused. Outside the birds chirp and a breeze rustles the trees. This is not a home, but maybe they can play at it. An interlude.

The rooms are luxurious. Martin stretches and pours tea from an elaborate set provided by Annabelle. Jon is thirsty and hungry but he’s not going to take anything from a spider unless he absolutely needs to. Martin disagrees, and Jon doesn’t stop him. It’s probably fine.

There’s a lovely clawfoot tub, barely big enough for two but they make it work. Martin lovingly works through his hair, sorting out tangles and scratching lightly at his scalp. Jon aches with nostalgia, remembering the days of the cabin when Martin had first tentatively touched him after months of the Lonely. They were always touching after that- holding a hand here and leaning against a shoulder there. When Jon ruined everything the touches turned desperate, like clinging to a buoy in a storm. Martin pours tea but the tea isn’t tea it’s spiders-

“Jon?”

He blinks. Martin has a hand on his shoulder. He’s relaxed, utterly at ease. They’re in Upton House. “You went away for a moment there. Still tired, eh? Me too.”

This is not a home.

When they’re clean and dressed in freshly-laundered clothes, Annabelle arrives. Creeping in the doorway, pointing them to a pantry and telling them to “make themselves at home.” They wait until she leaves to check it out. Jon follows Martin. He has already forgotten the way.

“Look at all of this, Jon! It’s like they raided a gourmet,” Martin scans the stacks, picking things up at random. He’s smiling so wide. Jon thinks it is the first time he’s seen him smile in a while. “What should we have?”

“Hmm.”

“Enlightening,” Martin rolls his eyes but is good-natured as ever. “How about some fruit?” He picks up an apple and holds it out enticingly. “Looks good!” he tempts with a sing-song voice. Jon doesn’t take it and Martin sighs. “Look, it’s only polite.”

“You can have some,” Jon replies. “I’d rather not.”

“You’ll have to eat sometime,” Martin says, taking a bite. “Time works differently here, I think.”

“Hm.”

There is opera playing somewhere in the distance. The house is so big the sound only reaches them in echoes. How long have they been here? His grandmother used to play opera while she cooked. She had a nice voice, humming along with the radio. Jon liked to watch her. It was their ritual in the evenings. She was trying. Jon played along. It was almost like a home, but not quite. Jon wishes for it dearly.

This is not a home.

Martin is already following the sound of the music, eager to talk to their host. Mikaele. Jon is eager too; the temptation of his story is almost too much to bear. He matches his pace and they reach a parlor. Martin knocks before Jon can stop him.

Mr. Spider has a guest! But Jon didn’t bring him a cake. Mikaele smiles and they enter. He’s not a spider, but he’s housing one. Isn’t that the same?

They’ve slept for 71 hours. Jon did not dream. He wonders if Martin did. Mikaele offers them a drink though it is far too early. Jon itches for one, strangely. But he shouldn’t, and he won’t. Their host is coy, leisurely pouring himself a drink and smiling like he has a secret. He does. Jon wants it. There is a tape recorder here and Jon wants to take take take but Mikaele just gives it a delighted smirk, as if the suspicious activity is an exciting turn of events. Jon asks. Mikaele refuses.

No? Jon is confused. He’s not used to being denied, not anymore. Mikaele and Martin laugh but he does not find it particularly funny. But Martin is smiling. Jon thinks it’s the first time he’s seen him smile in a while. He likes it.

Mikaele asks how it is out there in Jon’s world. Jon doesn’t remember. How to put it into words? Does he even have the words to do so? Jon doesn’t think so. He only knows that he is hungry in a way he hasn’t been in a long time, and out there he was not.

Martin is talking. Martin is telling Mikaele about a quest to turn the world back to how it was. “Martin,” he admonishes. He doesn’t know why he is arguing with him. Martin sees the good, sees the potential and holds onto that desperate hope. It is infuriating but it is also what Jon loves about him. He is human and it is so, so beautiful. But Salesa is no salvation. He has carved out his corner of the world and he plans to stay.

Martin wants to stay too, for a bit. Jon knows this will not last- he would be too guilty, living in paradise while others suffer. And Jon can’t protect them here. Not from Annabelle. Doesn’t Martin know they need to be on their guard? Spiders only look for their next meal. Annabelle will devour them whole.

“Alright, I guess we can stay. Just for a bit.” Why does he say that? Jon is so tired. Martin is tired too. They deserve a rest in this nice big house. Jon has always wanted Martin to have nice things. For the first time he can offer something.

Mikaele is talking but Jon isn’t interested in small talk. He wants to know.

Look at him! Not three days without his master spooning knowledge into his head and he can’t bear it!

Mikaele is laughing but Jon is not. Martin asks again and the man indulges. It’s nice when Martin wants to know too. He knows he shouldn’t subject him to the statements when he doesn’t like it. But Jon wants to share his knowledge. He wants Martin to want it too.

Martin tells Mikaele he’ll behave. It’s impolite to badger your host, after all.

And Salesa is smart. Salesa prepared, Salesa survived. He is quick-witted and an excellent storyteller. Jon is entranced and he tries to drink it in but it is like empty calories, sweet and fleeting.

I can die.

… but still, if it means a comfort...anyway, no more stories I think.

You can’t trust comfort. But Jon tries, for the next few days. For Martin. Martin is at peace here and so is Jon, in a way. He’s never felt a hazy unknowing like this. Annabelle comes and goes but is never seen for long and Jon partakes in her gifts when the hunger gets to be too much. Martin tells him about the flowers and the trees. The sun hits their skin as they stroll the grounds. Jon can’t walk for long but he tries, because Martin is smiling. Jon thinks it’s the first time he’s seen him smile in a while. He likes it.

They see Salesa come and go. Sometimes they talk but Jon can’t remember what it’s about. The tape recorder hasn’t shown up again.

Martin curls around him in bed. “It’s nice, isn’t it?” he whispers.

“I think we need to leave.” Jon whispers back. It is the first real opinion he’s offered in days.

Martin pauses and then squeezes Jon a little tighter. “I know.”

This is not a home.

They pack and there it is. A tape recorder. Jon hasn’t seen one in days. He figures their peace wasn’t worth listening to, not for whatever is haunting them.

Martin asks one more time. But Jon can’t stay. He can’t remember how they got here. He is scared but the fear is gentle here. And that scares him more. He knows Martin will tire of this place eventually. But not in time for Jon.

Martin is worried about the implications of this. What happens if we actually do manage to- we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Jon doesn’t like to think about it. So he doesn’t.

Annabelle comes and Martin is angry. Martin wants answers.

The sun felt nice, didn’t it? Jon can’t remember what the sun felt like. Martin pours tea but the tea isn’t tea it’s spiders-

“Jon?”

Someone is talking. Someone is asking questions. Is the knowledge even worth it? Annabelle is answering something.

Elias once said that Jon chose this. Every step of the way, he pressed on.

Our world is made of choices, Jon, and very rarely do we truly know what any of them mean, but we make them nonetheless.

But did he choose this? Jon doesn’t remember. For some reason, he wants a cigarette. He toys with the lighter in his pocket.

Annabelle demurs. She is a spider, that’s what they do. Always behind the scenes, always underestimated.

“I can handle myself.” Martin always has. Martin is strong. Martin doesn’t need him. But Jon needs Martin. And Martin chooses him. It’s a blessing he doesn’t deserve.

“...I’m sorry, what?”

“We’re leaving.”

Martin takes his hand and they move towards the door. Annabelle speaks again but Jon isn’t listening.

“That’s the trouble with old houses. Full of spiders.”

This is not a home.

Annabelle shows them out. It’s fine. Salesa comes to say goodbye, but Jon has to...has to...has to…

Leave, right.

“Jon, let’s go.” Right, yes. They were leaving. Martin leads the way.

____

Jon feels better in the howling winds. He knows Martin does not, but Martin is brave. Martin is a kind soul. Martin couldn’t bear to watch others suffer when he thinks he can do something about it. And Martin chooses Jon, every time. Martin would never leave him and Jon is so, so afraid.

That might just be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.

For the first time, Martin knows something he doesn’t. Jon is as delighted by this as he is saddened. The time slips from his mind like a dream he forgot to write down.

It was nice. It was really nice.

Martin is smiling. Jon thinks it is the last time he will see it for a while.

#my writing #tma #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #jon/martin #tma spoilers #mikaele salesa #annabelle cane

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hard-boiled-criminal · 3 years

Text

Planetary Magick: 2

(Twisted wonderland x reader)

Masterlist

_______________________

Unedited

“Yeah…charming.” Apparently, by ‘charm,’ the headmaster meant ‘dilapidated and might have asbestos.’

An old Iron fence surrounded the perimeter, the bars mangled and twisted, as if something rammed into it over and over at each possible section of fence. You could only hope that whatever did that was no longer here. Unsurprisingly, the fencing was rusted in many places and had dead vines draped around them, no doubt having tried to survive on the fence but to no avail. What stood out as odd to you though, was the gate: it had an intricate design reminiscent of the black skeletal structure of a stained-glass window. Though it was odd to see these graceful curves and patterns on the gate compared to the arrow-headed fencing, it was something else that put you off. The gate itself was in pristine condition—no rust or dents whatsoever. You noticed an old, rusted padlock on the ground nearby, which was most likely used to seat the gate once upon a time, but that only lead to more confusion about why only the gate was so well taken care off.

The grounds themselves were mostly barren, save for a few vertical hedges and some dead trees. The dorm building itself sat atop the small hill and was in pretty bad shape. All the windows had been sloppily boarded up and patches of shingles were missing from all over the roof.

“Right, right,” Crowley brushed off your comment and lead you up the stone stairs towards the dorm. “Please come inside.”

‘Maybe it’s not that bad on the inside?’

Scratch that, you felt like the guy on the receiving end of “Sike! That’s the wrong number!” You didn’t think it could get even worse, but the interior proved you wrong. It was a complete mess inside; furniture stained and overturned, firewood and books scattered everywhere, cobwebs and spiderwebs in every nook and cranny, paintings and pictures either crooked on the wall or on the ground. The wallpaper was peeling at the seams with patches missing all over, and one of the wall sconces was completely broken, both the lightbulb and glass cover missing. And while the floorboards looked okay, there was no doubt in your mind that some of them were definitely rotted and would collapse under your weight in a heartbeat.

You turn and blankly stare at the headmaster. Did he really believe these were suitable living conditions? You were almost positive there was mold in this run-down dorm, and who knows which ones pose a threat to you since you’re an alien? “Does OSHA not exist here or something?”

“I’m sorry, but I do not believe I have heard of this ‘oh-shuh,’” Crowley replied, sounding honest.

“The Occupational Safety and Health Administration?” You got a blank look from Crowley. You sighed, “figures…” ‘Note to self: learn how to establish a government-funded fantasy OSHA so you can pile Crowley with violation fines. Or at least threaten him with them so he’ll fix up the damn place.’

“Staying here will at least keep you out of the rain,” he rushed to get his sentences out. Maybe he got nervous when he heard you say ‘safety and health?’ “I’m going back to do more research. Make yourself at home. Don’t go wandering around the school! Goodbye!” With that, Crowley rushed out the door in a hurry.

‘Well fuck. First order of business: cleaning up lest I die of never-ending sneezing fits.’ You were only able to get all the furniture upright before it started to rain, making you lose all focus and run to peak out a window, trying to get a good angle to see the rain, and hopefully lightning, through the boards.

You’ve always loved the sounds of rain and thunder. More importantly, there was finally something normal. Hearing the rain pattering against window and seeing the occasional flashes of lighting in the distance relaxed you. Out of habit, you counted the seconds between the lightning and thunder to estimate how far away it was. You counted eight seconds before you heard the low rumbling of thunder.

You sighed, content, before you remembered, “It’s storming! I can collect storm water!” You ran to the first door you saw and flung it open to see what looked to be a kitchen. Excited to finally get a round of good luck, you searched through the cabinets, grabbing any jars and bowls you could find. You found a total of three glass jars, which you removed the lids from, and two large bowls. You stacked the bowls and placed the jars as best as you could inside the top bowl before heading back out the front door. You walked out from the covered entrance into the rain and placed the containers along the side of the stone path so they wouldn’t be in the way. The rain started to fall heavily, forcing you to run back inside before you were completely drenched. Luckily, the large hooded cloak you wore kept you dry for the most part. You carefully pulled off the partially-singed wet coat and draped it across the back of the rocking chair you righted earlier to dry.

“Hyii! It’s really coming down!”

Startled, you snapped your head to face the direction the voice came from, only to be met with that same bakeneko (monster cat) that tried to incinerate you.

“Gyahaha! You’ve got this stupid look on your face like a spider being attacked by a water gun!” The bakeneko cackled at you. They must have snuck in when you set out the bowls and jars. “I’ll have no trouble sneaking back into school. If you think getting thrown out is gonna make me give up on getting in, you’ve got another thing coming!”

“Mm, well good luck little bakeneko. It might help to not set the school on fire,” you gave them some helpful advice.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. All that matters is that I get into this school,” the bakeneko brushed off your words. “Afterall, I’m a genius who is destined to be a great magician! I've been waiting for the Ebony Carriage to come pick me up. But... But... Hmph! The Dark Mirror just doesn't have an eye for this. So that's why I came here on my own. Not letting me in would be a loss for the world; humans just don't get it.”

“Well, I have to agree with you on the Dark Mirror part. Afterall, it decided to kidnap me, and I can’t do any of that flash-bang-boom magic you’ve been throwin’ around.” ‘But I can do other magick… I wonder if they have my kind of magick here… I’ll have to do some research later…’

“Wha? You can’t use magic? Pfft! You’re useless!” The bakeneko shrieked as a drop of water fell on him through the ceiling. “So cold! The roof is leaking!” He didn’t move out of the way before another drop hit him. “Fgyaa! It keeps coming! My adorable ear fire is gonna go out at this rate!”

‘Instant karma, bitch.’ You sighed, “I guess I’ll go get one of the bowls.”

“Magic should fix this leak up real quick, but you don’t got any.”

“Yeah, yeah, I can’t make things go boom, I get it. If you’ve got such a problem with the leak, why don’t you fix it yourself, bakeneko?” You said over your shoulder as you walked to the door to collect one of the bowls from outside.

“Huh? Help you? No way! I’m just a regular monster staying in a rainy place. You better get a can of tuna ready before I do any work.”

You shrugged. “Fine. Suit yourself.” You felt a drop of water land on your head this time. ‘Looks like I’ll need to get both of the bowls.’ You grabbed your damp cloak from the rocking chair and quickly threw it on before running outside towards the bowls. They had already collected about half a centimeter of storm water, and not wanting to waste it, you poured the contents of the bowls into the closest jar. Sprinting back inside, you first placed the bowls down at your feet so you could quickly peel off your now-soaked cloak and hang it back on the rocking chair. You placed the bowls under what looked to be the worst leaks in the lounge area. ‘I wonder if there’s a cleaning bucket or something in a closet somewhere.’

“Yo, I’m gonna go see if they’ve got a bucket somewhere,” you notified the bakeneko, not getting an answer, as expected.

You peered over into a nearby hallway, suddenly much more nervous as you stared down the long, dark hallway. ‘This feels like a horror game and I hate it.’ You tentatively took a step forward, and then another. You made it about five slow steps in before the floor loudly squeaked under your weight. ‘I just had an interesting thought: Actually, fuck this.’ You spun on your heel with false bravado, your entire body now tense. As you stiffly walked back towards the lounge, you froze in place as you felt the familiar tingle of eyes watching you. ‘Okay. Don’t look back. Just. Just keep walking. Put one foot in front of the other.’

It turns out it didn’t matter if you looked back or not because three ghosts suddenly appeared in front of you. They… didn’t look how you’d expect ghosts to look like. These ones looked more… cartoonish. They weren’t half as scary-looking as some of the monsters you’d seen in Scooby-Doo.

One of the ghosts giggled while the other two spoke, “We haven’t had a guest in so long…” Said one.

“I’m itching for some action,” said the other.

“Yeah, no, I’ll pass. I’ve had enough excitement for one day, thanks,” their completely underwhelming appearance circumvented practically all your initial fear, leaving you with only pure exhaustion. You didn’t have much of a filter in this state, but you didn’t really give two shits about what you said when you were tired anyway.

“Why are you talking to yourself…” the bakeneko walked around the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. “Gyaaa! G-g-g-g-ghooosts!”

Looked like someone was afraid of the cartoon ghosts.

“The people living here got scared of us and left,” a ghost explained.

“We’ve been looking for more ghost pals,” another spoke. “How about you guys?”

“Deadass? Fuckin’ go for it.”

The ghosts and bakeneko looked a bit shocked that you blatantly agreed to let them kill you to turn you into a ghost.

“Wow, you guys aren’t up to date on humor, are you?”

The bakeneko was the first to snap out of disbelief and shouted, “Grim, the Great Magician, isn’t scared of some ghosts!”

‘Heh, I ain’t afraid of no ghost.’ You had to mentally remind yourself to not start humming the ghost busters theme.

Grim, as you now learned his name was (you think), spewed more of that bright blue fire, completely missing all of the ghosts.

“Where are you aiming?” The ghosts mocked him and laughed. “Over here, over here!”

“Shoot! Stop disappearing!” Grim uselessly shouted at them and continued to be a living flamethrower.

“My mans, please, stop. At this rate there’ll be no dorm left to keep us dry.”

“Shut up! Don’t try to give me orders!”

“…I’m too tired to deal with this shit anymore. Fine. I’ll get you a can of tuna if you win without burning the house down.” You mumbled the first part before speaking to Grim.

“Wah? Mm, I-I’m a genius. I won’t let one—” Grim tried to keep his stubborn pride but was interrupted by the ghosts’ mocking laughter. “Bunch of cowards, ganging up on us!”

“Two cans. Take it or leave it.”

Your new offer seemed to change Grim’s tune in a heartbeat. “Hey, you! Tell me where the ghosts are!”

“’Kay. On your left,” Grim followed your orders and managed to singe one of the ghosts with his flames.

“I hit it!” Grim shouted, now sounding excited. “Alright, let’s chase them all outta here!”

Cue you shouting directions at Grim and him spewing fire in said directions. In all honesty, it felt like a pokemon battle. Except your pokemon was a talking cat with a holier-than-thou attitude. And you were fighting actual ghosts—not ghost type pokemon—actual previously-living-human ghosts. After a few minutes of Grim burning the ghosts, however that worked, they eventually fled the scene of your would-be murder.

“E-eh? We…won?” Grim spoke with the disbelief of someone who has never won in life before.

“Yup. Good job bakeneko Grim.”

“Ha-heee, that was scar—No, I wasn’t scared at all!” Oh Grim, what caused you to act like your pride is what matters the most? “This is nothing for the Great Grim! How ‘bout that, ghosts? You done?”

“Hey, don’t taunt them, bakeneko. If they come back, I’m not giving you directions.”

“Why do you keep calling me ‘bakeneko?’ What’s that even mean?”

“Mm, it’s because you’re like a bakeneko. They’re mononoke, yokai, that resemble cats,” Grim looked ready to protest, but you continued before he had the chance, “and are extremely powerful. If you anger a bakeneko, your chances of getting out alive are slim to none.”

“Hmmph, well, I suppose The Great Grim will allow you to call him by such a title.”

Before you could continue to talk about bakeneko and other mononoke or yokai, Crowley came in through the front door just as you and Grim made it back to the lounge.

“Good evening,” he greeted. “I have graciously brought you supper.” That’s when he noticed Grim beside you. “You’re the monster that ran amuck during the entrance ceremony! I threw you out of the school! What are you doing here?”

“Hmph! I exterminated the ghost problem! Be grateful!” Grim puffed out his chest as he spoke, continuing to act high and mighty.

“Hmm? What do you mean by that?”

“…There were ghosts here that wanted to turn us into ghosts,” you blandly explained to the headmaster.

“Now that you mention it, there were some prankster ghosts living here so students keep away from this dormitory. And that's why it is now empty. I'd forgotten that.”

You half-heartedly glared at the headmaster. ‘Oh, how convenient. You put up the broke alien in a haunted house with killer ghosts that you just so happened to forget about.’

“However, hmmmm…” Crowley either didn’t notice or acknowledge your glare. “For you two to work together to get rid of them.”

“I'm not gonna overlook that "together" comment. They were just standing there watching. And I did this for a can of tuna—Ah! I haven't gotten that tuna yet!” Grim spoke, still holding on tight to that attitude of his.

‘Grim, I swear to whatever deities rule this place that you aren’t gonna get those cans of tuna if you keep up this habit of pushing others down to raise yourself up.’

“I'd like the two of you to show me how you exterminated those ghosts.”

‘Crowley, no—'

“But we already got rid of all the ghosts! Before that: Give. Me. Tuna!” Oh Grim, so we can agree sometimes!

“I shall be the ghosts. If you beat me, I'll give you tuna cans. For I am gracious.”

“Uh, no, wait, Mr. Crowley, please—”

“Now then, Transformation Potion!” Crowley pulled a vial of liquid from his coat and downed it in one go. It didn’t take long for him to become transparent and ghost-like.

“Eeeeeeeh, I don't wanna. This is a pain and I have to team up with them again…” Grim whined.

You let out a heavy sigh. “Bakeneko, maybe if you show him how strong your magic is, he’ll let you be a student.”

“Grrrnnuuu,” Grim grumbled, annoyed. “This is the last time! You absolutely, absolutely have to give me the tuna!”

And you found yourself in a pokemon battle once more; this time, it was you and a bakeneko versus an actual living breathing person that can turn into a ghost.

‘If it’s a pokemon battle, might as well use pokemon rules.’ You pointed at the see-through headmaster, “Grim, bite him!”

“Hah? You really are a stupid human!” Grim shouted and spewed fire instead, though he missed like before.

“Fine, we’ll use your fire, but I’m explaining the pokemon system to you later. On your left!”

Turns out, pokemon battles can get boring when it’s just the same thing over and over again. Eventually, it seemed the effects of the potion wore out and Crowley returned to his usual opaque self.

“Hee-haaa…” Grim was panting, trying to catch his breath. “How 'bout that!”

“I can't believe… There is a person who can command monsters,” Crowley spoke in mild awe mixed with disbelief.

‘…Does this world not have pokemon? Should I?... No, I shouldn’t… but what if—what if I introduced myself as Gary Oak and just… no I can’t do that. I can’t tell people “smell ya later.”’

“Hmmm... Actually, my teacher senses were telling me since the uproar during the entrance ceremony that you have talent as an animal or wild beast trainer.”

‘…This man is really making this a cliché pokemon plot… Is this how it all started? Am I the original trainer!? Nah… Unless—’

“But, no matter how…” Crowley began muttering to himself, to quiet for me to make out.

“Hey, just let him stay here,” you were exhausted at this point and the bakeneko had honestly grown on you some. Plus, you needed him around in order to explain pokemon to him.

“What now? Let a monster live here?” You couldn’t see Crowley’s face behind the mask, but you were sure he was giving you a judging look.

“Well, I mean, he did just show you the magic he’s got, which is a whole lot more than I’ve got, and you’re letting me stay here. So why not let him stay? He still a magician, he’s just, well, in the shape of a cat.”

After a few seconds, Crowley sighed, “It can’t be helped.”

“Funa!? Really?!” Grim’s eyes widened and lit up as bright as his flames.

“However, I can't simply allow someone, let alone a monster, into school who wasn't selected by the Dark Mirror. Also, I can't let you be a freeloader here until you return to your own world.”

“Talk about short-lived joy…”

“Listen until the end,” Crowley then turned to you. “Concerning the fact that your soul was called here, the school has to take responsibility as the owners of the Dark Mirror. For the time being, you'll be permitted to stay in this dormitory for free, but other necessities you will have to provide for yourself.”

‘Uhhh what? I don’t even have my own clothes. How the hell am I supposed to live with no money or ID?’

“Seeing as you have nothing to your name,” he gave a slight chuckle for reasons unknown, “here is my proposition.”

Your mind immediately jumped to all the horror stories you’ve heard of what comes from owing shady people favors. The growing panic must have shown on your face according to Crowley’s next words.

“No need to fret, I'll have you do maintenance and odd jobs around campus. From what I can see, you're pretty decent at cleaning,” he said after glancing around the room. “Would you two like to become the "handyman" of the school? This way you will receive special permission to remain on school grounds. You'll also be able to research going home or study whatever you desire in the library. For I am gracious. However! Only after your work is done.”

“Eeeh!? I'm not okay with that!” Grim complained. “I wanna wear that fancy uniform and be a student!”

“It's fine if you're unsatisifed. I'll simply toss you out again.”

“Ffgnnaa!? I get it! I just have to do it. Just do it!”

“’Kay.”

“Wonderful,” Crowley clapped his hands once in delight of our agreeance. “Then, you two starting tomorrow, endeavor to be the best handyman at Night Raven College!”

“Cool, now that that’s settled, headmaster,” he turned to face you. “I’m, like, about to pass out from pain. I’m covered in bruises and burns, plus my vision is blurry and I can’t focus on anything. My eyes are like a camera lens that twenty children smeared their greasy fingers on. You’re magical in that flashy, immediate results way, right? Doesn’t that mean you or someone else can help me not feel like I want to peel off my skin? It’d be cool for my skin to not burn when I get cleaning solution on it tomorrow.”

“Oh, uh, yes, of course,” Crowley almost seemed sheepish, as if he were embarrassed to have not truly noticed the state you were in until now. “While healing magic is not my forte, it should be enough to heal the wounds you have.”

He pointed his palmed towards you and you watched as it began to glow a pale yellow. Slowly you felt your burns and bruises dull themselves to just faint aches. He kept this up for about a minute before he extinguished his magic and pulled his hand back.

“Now, the worst of your wounds are still be a bit tender, but they should be completely healed after a good night’s rest. So, off you go then; sleep now so you’re ready for work in the morning,” He shooed you off with a hand gesture.

“Thank you, headmaster. C’mon Grim, let’s get going.”

As you and Grim headed up the stairs, the headmaster turned around and walked out of the building. Each step creaked under your weight as you trudged up them. While the pain was all but gone, your fatigue was still all-consuming. You followed Grim down the upper hallway, since it seemed he already picked a room before, probably when you went to find a bucket. You followed him into a room in a similar condition as the rest of the dorm. Across from the door sat a fireplace in the center of the opposite wall, a large mirror mounted above it. There were tall windows stationed on either side of the fireplace, almost as tall as the room itself. Towards the left side was a chair covered by a gray dust-cloth, and on the right sat a simple twin-sized bed. You pulled the duvet off the bed and shook it out, watching as you made a cloud of dust dance in the air. As soon as you placed the comforter back on the bed, Grim jumped up and curled himself up in the center of the bed. You were too tired to do anything about that; you’d just have too try and sleep around him. After shaking any dust off of your pillow, you slid yourself under the covers, one leg dangerously close to sliding off the bed. You fell asleep in record time that night.

. . .

You had a rather rude awakening the next morning consisting of Grim yelling at you and pawing at your face because the ghosts were back. Streams of blazing blue fire almost singeing your face made this one of your worst morning experiences to date. With a final warning of there being a one-sided prank war, the ghosts phased away.

“We’ll get rid of you eventually!” Grim shouted after them, but there was nothing but thin air left.

“C’mon, bakeneko. Let’s go see if there’s any food in the kitchen,” You beckoned Grim with a small wave.

“Hmph. Fine. But there better be tuna!” Grim said with a harrumph and trotted out the door ahead of you.

As you went down the stair at the end of the hallway, you saw Crowley standing in the lounge room, waiting for you and Grim.

“Good morning, you two,” he greeted when he noticed you. “Did you sleep well?”

“I was sprawled out then fell out the bottom! Just how ramshackle did you let this place get?” Grim shouted, equally as upset about the state of the dorm as you were. “Then the ghosts woke me up, this is the worst!”

“Like the dead,” was your response.

“Even though you just got tossed from another world you can still be cheeky, wonderful!” Crowley was as upbeat as ever. “I came to speak to you about your work for today. Today you are to clean the campus, but campus is quite large. Cleaning it all without magic is impossible. So, I'd like you to clean Main Street to the main gate to the library, understood? Please watch Grim closely so he doesn't cause a scene like yesterday.”

“I’ll try best,” you said and shrugged. You didn’t know what you’d do if Grim went out of control; you’re not fireproof, after all.

“I'm counting on you. You have permission to have lunch in the school cafeteria. Take care of your work enthusiastically,” and with a flutter of his feathered cape, Crowley took his leave, presumably going back to campus.

“Tsk, no way I'm doing any cleaning,” Grim scrunched his nose at the thought. “I wanna go to class and, bang! Boom boom boom! Use a bunch of awesome spells!” He punched at the air with his ‘booms.’

“How ‘bout we just go to the library after we finish cleaning. Besides, libraries are where they keep all the old forbidden knowledge!” Yeah, under lock and key so no one can read them, but you weren’t about to tell Grim that. “Imagine just how much the other students will revere your power if you master ancient magic!”

“Well, what are you waiting for, human? Let’s get going!”

“Okay but let me collect my storm water first. If I wait too long, it’ll all evaporate.”

“Hmph, fine, but make it quick!”

You quickly jogged over to your bowls and jars that each held a good two inches/five centimeters worth of storm water. You poured all the water you collected into one of the jars before carrying everything back inside. You set them all down on the kitchen counter, then checked the cabinets for a lid to the jar. After finding a lid and sealing the storm water in the corresponding jar, you met back up with Grim in the lounge.

“Alright, let’s get moving.”

“About time,” Grim sauntered off, sass radiating from him with each step.

. . .

The campus was bustling with life, students with hair every color of the rainbow going every which way. After a couple minutes of walking towards what you hoped was Main Street, the crowds began to thin out, students having made it to their respective classes. It wasn’t all that hard to find Main Street, seeing as it was the busiest and largest street on campus. What you weren’t expecting was the street to be lined with seven statues of iconic Disney villains.

‘I thought… I thought I was supposed to be on another planet or world or something? Why are there Disney Villains? Are you telling me that Walt Disney himself was able to expand his franchise across all of time and space?! And maybe across dimensions and alternate universes too?! Hey Walt? You’re taking it too far, man.’

“Uwaaaah~ Amazing. So, this is Main Street. I didn't get a good look yesterday but what's with these statues? All seven of them look pretty scary. This granny looks especially snobby,” Grim said, making a face at the Queen of Hearts.

“You mean the Queen of Hearts? Yeah, she played croquet with flamingos as the mallets and hedgehogs as the balls. While they were alive. Not cool if you ask me. Or most people. Animal cruelty is bad.”

“Ehh?! Why would this lady do that?” Grim looked appropriately confused.

“Who knows? Besides, the Cheshire cat is way better. A true chaotic neutral, that one.”

“Who’s that? And what does a cat have to do with this granny?”

You were about to answer before you were cut off by a new challenger approaching. “You don’t know about the Queen of Hearts?” They had a boyish appearance with short, messy orange hair and a red heart stamped over their left eye.

‘Actually, we were just about to discuss the Cheshire cat, but go ahead and assume, I guess.’

“You know her too? Is she important?” Grim asked the redhead, his attention easily being grabbed by this newcomer.

“In the past, she was the queen who lived in the Rose Maze. She was someone who valued rules and discipline above all, strict in all things from the march of the Card Soldiers to the color of rose bushes. It was a land of madness where all submit to her rule. Why you ask? Because or else it was off with your head!” The heart-eye boy monologued with some dramatic flair.

“That's terrifying!” Grim shrieked, probably at the thought of someone chopping his head off.

“It's cool! I like it. Nobody would listen to a queen who's just nice all the time, right?”

‘Uhhhh, that queen is a tyrant, and tyrants are what lead to revolutions so… vive la révolution.’

“I suppose. A strong leader is better.” Oh, Grim, you sweet summer child who doesn’t know the difference between strength and fear.

“By the way, who are you?” Grim asked.

“I'm Ace, a fresh-faced first year. Nice to meetcha~” The boy, Ace, said with a musical lilt.

“I am Grim, a genius who'll become the greatest magician. The dimwit over here is (y/n). They're my henchmen.”

“Bakeneko, don’t you dare put me on the same level as a Scooby-Doo villain’s underling.” You glared at Grim who gave a sheepish chuckle in response.

“You've got an odd sounding name.”

“People from different places have different names. It’s called culture.” You said blandly, trying to cover up your growing anxiety.

Ace shrugged. “I guess. Just never heard your name before.”

“Hey, Ace,” Grim grabbed his attention; you could feel your shoulders sag in relief. “The lion over here with the scar, are they famous?”

Well, Ace seemed to have this handled, and you didn’t need to hear him summarize the Disney villains. Instead, you ignored him and went over to the statue of Hades and looked at him.

‘If this confirms that Hades also exists in this world, does that mean I can work with him? I know many witches back on Earth work with Greek deities, with Hades and Persephone usually being the best of them to work with. Hmm… I’ll have to do some more research.’

You then crouched down to read the stone plaque engraved in Hades’ pedestal. The large plaque read: “The lord of the underworld and guide to the wandering souls of the dead. He carried out his fearsome duties with diligence and care, m…ing even the de…t to offer their aid.” Some words had eroded away, becoming mostly unintelligible sans a few letters.* You tried to make out those two unknown words, tracing your fingers around the grooves in hopes that just maybe you’ll be able to figure out enough of the letters to piece the word together.

“No matter how long you stare at it, you’re not gonna get anything out of that, y’know,” Ace said from behind you.

You sighed and stood up, your momentary reprieve from your anxiety over. “Well, it doesn’t hurt to check.” The plaque didn’t have any information you didn’t already know, except for maybe the words you didn’t know.

“Anyway,” Ace cleared his throat, “He's the Lord of the Underworld! He rules a land crawling with evil spirit on his own. No doubt he is extremely skilled. Even though he's got a scary face, he did that detestable job without ever taking a vacation, and his sincerity won over Cerberus, the Hydra, even the Titans, to fight for him.”

“Hmmm, Hmmm. So having talent doesn't mean you get to be haughty.” Grim hummed in thought.

‘Oh, my sweet tiny bakeneko, you’re learning about manners; I’m so proud.’

“And the last one, with the horns?”

‘Oh hell yeah, Maleficent! We stan an absolute queen. Besides, who doesn’t love dragons?’

“That is the Witch of Thorns from the Magic Mountains,” Ace said, addressing Maleficent with a title rather than her name. “Noble and elegant, even within the Seven, she is top class in magic and curses! She can summon lightning and storms, cover an entire country in thorns; her magic is on a whole other level. There was even a time she transformed into a huge dragon!”

“Oooh! A dragon! All monsters look up to them!” Grim shouted excitedly.

“They're all so cool~” Ace spoke, almost dreamily, before his tone did a 180 and turned snide. “…Unlike a certain raccoon.”

“Pfft... Ahaha! I can't bear it anymore! Ahahahaha!” Ace broke out into laughter. “Aren't you the guys who went crazy at the entrance ceremony? You were summoned by the Dark Mirror even though you can't use magic, and you, a monster, weren't called but still trespassed. Yeahhh, it took everything I had not to lose it at the ceremony.”

“Whaaa!? You're a rude one!” Grim fumed, his ear fire growing in size.

You just stood there and narrowed your gaze, your anger and anxiety fighting each other for full reign. Anxiety won out in the end, keeping you silent when met with his jabs.

“And now you aren't allowed in and got regulated to be a janitor? Haha, how lame,” Ace continued mocking the both of you.

‘It’s not like I had a choice in the matter…’ You clenched your jaw while Grim growled. You could feeling the anxiety bubbling in your stomach, beginning to rise.

“On top of that, you don't even know about the Great Seven,” Ace just didn’t know when to stop. “How ignorant can you be? As I recommend you go back to kindergarten before coming to Night Raven College.”

Grim’s growls got louder as Ace continued. You, on the other hand, couldn’t bring yourself to speak and defend either of you. You felt your throat begin to close up.

“I thought I'd just mess with you a bit, but you really blew my expectations away. Unlike you two, I actually have classes to attend. Keep this school squeaky clean, you two~” He gave you a patronizing wave before turning on his heel and sauntering away.

“This jerk! He's just gonna say that and leave! I'm ticked off!” Grim opened his mouth wide.

“Wait, don’t—” You weren’t fast enough to stop Grim from using flamethrower, for a lack of better terms, on Ace.

“Oh! Watch out! What're you doing!?” Ace angrily yelled at Grim, having just barely dodged in time.

“It's what you get for making fun of me! I'm going light up that fire-head of yours!” Grim matched Ace’s volume.

“Fire-head, huh? Heeeeee. You've really got guts picking a fight with me. I'll turn you into a puffy, little toy-poodle!”

Grim spewed more flames at Ace’s threat.

‘Nope, fuck this. Fuck this. I can’t breathe, dammit!’ You hid behind the nearest statue, which happened to be Maleficent, and kneeled on the ground, trying to steady yourself and calm down enough for your throat to reopen. You bent over to rest your head on the cool grass, closing your eyes and covering your ears, trying to block out the sources of your near attack. You focused on the feel of the grass against your forehead, feeling the separations between the different blades. They were still a bit damp from the morning dew. The more you distracted yourself from the thought of Ace: stressor of the century, the more your throat relaxed and allowed you to draw breath normally once more. You jumped when a shriek pierced through your ears, completely bypassing your hand barriers and reversing all the progress you made towards calming down. Worried that the shriek meant someone got hurt, you jumped out from behind the statue. Instead of someone being hurt, to your relief (you weren’t excited about being an accomplice to assault), the Queen of Hearts’ statue was blackened.

“Crap! The Queen of Hearts' statue is charred!” Ace yelled, the dread on his face matching the shriek you just heard from him.

“It's because you're blowing the fire around! Just let me fry you!” Grim shouted back at him.

“You really think someone is just gonna let you fry them?”

“Enough!!! Just what is going on here!” The voice of Crowley boomed at the three of you, making you flinch.

‘…Fuck,’ looks like you’re not going to be able to avoid an anxiety attack after all.

“Guh! Headmaster,” Ace went rigid.

“He's going to tie us up with the 'lash of love'!” Grim yelled. “Get outta here!”

Though they tried to run, both were caught by Crowley’s whip, foiling their escape plans and making them both yelp in pain.

“Hurts just as much the second day in a row!” Grim whined.

“This is my Lash of Love!” Crowley was furious, and it seemed like he wasn’t going to calm down anytime soon. “It'll be another hundred years before you can outrun me! I told you just yesterday to 'not cause any trouble', didn't I? Then you go and char the statues of the Great Seven!” He directed his words at Grim before turning to Ace. “I very much would like to see you expelled.”

“Wait! Not that!”

“And you,” Crowley looked at you, making you freeze in place. “This is not how you supervise Grim.”

You opened and closed your mouth like a fish out of water, unable to gather the breath to form a single word. How could you talk when you were struggling to even breathe?

“My goodness,” Crowley huffed in indignation before turning to Ace. “You, what's your grade and name?”

“Ace Trappola, first year.”

“Then, Trappola, Grim, and (y/n), as punishment, I order the three of you to wash 100 windows around campus!”

“Nyaaa!? It's all cause this joker was making fun of us!” Grim protested, his fur standing on end to make him look bigger and more intimidating. It didn’t work.

“Eeeh!? Me too?” Ace looked at the headmaster in disbelief.

“Most definitely! After school, meet in the cafeteria. Understood?”

“Fiiine…”

“Nothing but misery since yesterday!” Grim complained.

Soon, both Crowley and Ace left, and you felt your body slump in relief, your knees buckling under you.

“Wha—hey, human! What’re you doing?” Grim ran up to you, genuinely confused.

You held up a finger to say ‘gimme a minute’ while you caught your breath. “Sorry…Grim…” you said after a minute, panting between words.

“Why are you out of breath? It’s not like you were running or anything.”

“This…this just happens… sometimes…” you shifted from kneeling to sitting cross-legged, leaning against the statue of Maleficent behind you. “I’m not very good with yelling… or with people, for that matter.”

“Hmmm,” Grim hummed in thought. “You humans are weird.”

You gave a soft chuckle at that, “that we are, Grim. That we are.” The two of you sat there in silence for a minute or two as your attack gradually faded away. “Hey Grim? I have a proposition for you.”

“Hah? What do you mean human?”

“What if we skipped lunch so we can make Ace suffer a bit?”

“Heee! Now you’re talkin’ my language!” Grim grinned widely, showing of his shark-like teeth.

*That was all I could make out from the plaque you can see in the seven statues background image.

A/N: Life’s been pretty shit recently hasn’t it.

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nikibogwater · 4 years

Text

Shedding Layers--a Tales of Arcadia fanfiction

“There is a piece of Nari’s head on the sofa!”

Winter has hit New York City, and unfortunately for Douxie, Nari forgot to tell him something important about the season.

Another ToA fic about the Magical Siblings and their Therapy Cat, done partly in collaboration with @poetryinmotion-author (thank you for all the help! ❤). I am SO excited to share this one, you guys. It was a real treat to work on.

Read on Ao3

Or under the cut:

Winter had finally settled on New York City. The freezing air bit like a wild animal, and depending on the day, there was often either rain, sleet, or snow driving against the windows of the apartment. Douxie kept a space heater running twenty-four hours a day now, but even so, Nari spent most of her time huddled beneath a stack of comforters. The yearning for freedom that had tormented her mere weeks ago was long gone. Now, she wanted nothing more than to burrow into her pillow and doze the day away. Douxie had been understandably concerned at first, but she assured him that it was quite normal for her to go into something of a hibernation state come winter. She always made a point to be awake when he came home from work, and between his and Archie’s company, and the wonderfully soft cocoon of blankets Douxie had provided for her, she could honestly say that this winter wasn’t nearly as terrible as she would have expected.

Then came a particularly gloomy Tuesday morning in November when Nari awoke to a telltale tingling feeling at the top of her skull. She groaned and pushed her face deeper into the pillow. She had forgotten about her yearly shed. It usually only took a day or so, but it was always so uncomfortable. It started with the base of her antlers itching. Then as the limbs slowly began to come loose, they would wobble around on top of her head, causing a very unpleasant feeling of imbalance until they finally broke clean off. The top of her head would be a little sore for a few days afterwards as well. Still, there was nothing for it but to just wait it out. She tugged her blanket cocoon tighter around her shoulders and snuggled back down again.

She didn’t have the chance to go back to sleep before she felt Douxie’s hand touch her shoulder, and she emerged from her burrow just enough to peer at him with one sleepy eye.

“Hey, sorry,” he said softly. “I was going to leave a note, but then I felt your aura waking up, so I thought I’d just tell you: I’m working a double shift today. Going to be pretty late, so don’t stay up waiting for me. Make sure you eat today. It’s supposed to be overcast until after dark. Archie will be here, but I want you to call me if anything happens, alright?”

“Mmm...I will be fine,” Nari mumbled, clumsily disentangling one of her hands from the blankets to pat Douxie’s where it still rested on her shoulder. It felt like he told her the same thing every morning, but she supposed that as her guardian, he was entitled to a little fussing. “Have a good day.” She felt Douxie’s aura glow warmly as he squeezed her shoulder before letting go. He tucked the blankets around her snugly before straightening and zipping up his hoodie. Nari heard him cross the floor, pause to scratch Archie behind the ears and throw on his heavy winter coat, and then with a jingle of keys, the click of the door, and the soft hum of magic as he activated the protective seals, he was gone. Nari lay awake for a while afterwards, feeling his soul as it traveled, until she could sense that he had safely arrived at the bookstore where he worked. With a satisfied sigh, she pressed her face as deep into the pillow as she could, wincing as the base of her antlers gave a tingly throb of protest, and went back to sleep.

*****

“In my opinion, the leader of the town should have lost more than just her arm. They should have given her a fitting villain’s death.”

Nari glanced over at Archie, who was perched on the back of the sofa by her shoulder, watching the credits roll for the movie they had just finished.

“But she was kind to her own people, Archie,” Nari argued, swirling her mug of cocoa for a moment before taking a sip. “Perhaps she was consumed by her hatred for the forest, but I do not think she deserved death. It was better that she suffer the loss of her arm and learn from it.” She drained the last of her cocoa and set the empty mug on the floor, grimacing as her antlers jostled on top of her head.

“Are you alright?” Archie asked as she leaned back in her seat, pulling her arm out of the comforter she was wrapped in and massaging the base of her left antler with her fingers. “You’ve been scratching your head all day. You don’t have fleas, do you?” He began to draw away from her warily.

“No,” Nari giggled. “It is just my yearly shed. It always makes me itch.”

“You shed your antlers in the winter?” Archie resumed his place by her head, staring up at the limbs in question with curiosity. “I didn’t know that.”

“It never came up,” she replied, wiggling her left antler experimentally. “This one seems almost ready.” Archie reached out a paw and gingerly prodded the extremity. It wobbled again, and his pupils expanded with interest.

“Yes, I should say so...” he murmured distractedly, batting it a little more forcefully. Nari giggled again as he sat up on his hind legs and swiped with both paws.

There was a wooden creak, and then a snap, like the sound of a branch being broken. Archie lept back as the antler dislodged from Nari’s head and tumbled down into her lap. There was an awkward beat or two of dead silence. Nari was the first to break it.

“That is one down,” she sighed in relief, picking up the dead limb and turning it over in her hands. “I am not sure what to do with this, though. Do you want it?” she asked, looking up at Archie. He slid down from the back of the couch and sniffed the offering, considering it for a moment.

“...No, thank you,” he said at last. “It is significantly less interesting when it’s not attached to your head.”

“Maybe Douxie will know what to do with it.” Nari set the antler down beside her and stretched her arms above her head with a wide yawn. Outside, the wind shrieked, and a fresh flurry of snow flashed in the glare of the city lights. “I wish he was home,” she murmured. “It is an awful night to be out.”

“Yes, I certainly don’t envy him just now,” Archie replied, jumping to the floor and stretching his own legs. “But don’t worry about him. He’ll be alright. Wizards are very resilient, you know.”

“His soul is already tired,” she whispered, closing her eyes as she reached out with her magic, feeling the weary glow of his aura. “He always works too hard...”

“Yes...” Archie sighed, his ears folding back slightly. “He does.” The Familiar shook himself and looked back up at Nari with a reassuring smile. “But that’s a problem for the daylight hours, hm? You look ready to keel over.” He shifted into his dragon form, picked up her empty cocoa mug between his paws, and flew it over to the kitchen sink. He came back to the sofa and nudged Nari’s head where it was beginning to droop against the armrest. “Come on. Don’t want you falling asleep here and getting a sore neck.” Nari hummed sleepily and eased off of the sofa with another yawn. Archie turned off the television and the overhead lights, then slipped back into his cat form and crossed the room to Nari’s bed, where she was creeping beneath the covers. Once she had properly secured herself in her blanket cocoon, the cat curled up against the crook of her legs, and with the sound of his gentle purring in her ears, she quickly drifted off to sleep.

****

A few hours later, Nari was violently torn from slumber by a sudden, sickening pulse of ice-cold terror that pierced her aura like one of Skreal’s icy daggers. It was accompanied by the sound of Douxie frantically crying her name, his voice twisted with fear. The wood nymph yelped and blindly tumbled out of bed, accidentally throwing Archie off of her in the process, who yowled in surprise as he landed on the floor next to her. Nari struggled with the blankets wrapped around her, disoriented and somewhat panicked, and felt her powers seizing up, preparing for a fight. Surely only the return of the Arcane Order could make Douxie sound so petrified. Before she had the chance to disentangle herself, or even ask what was happening, he sprinted across the room, dropped to his knees beside her, and ripped the blankets off of her. Ignoring her second yelp in response to the sudden exposure to the cold, he grabbed her face between his trembling hands and frantically looked her up and down, hazel eyes blown wider than she had ever seen before.

“What happened?!” he demanded in a horrified whisper. “Were you attacked? Where else are you hurt?” He didn’t give her a chance to answer before turning his attention to Archie, who was emerging from underneath the bed where he had taken shelter. “Archie, are you alright? Was it the Order?”

“For goodness’ sake, Douxie, calm down!” Archie ordered a tad irately, readjusting his skewed glasses. “What has you all upset?”

“What has me...?” Douxie stared at his Familiar incredulously. “There is a piece of Nari’s head on the sofa!” He thrust his hand out and pointed at the piece of furniture in question--Nari’s left antler was laying innocently right where she had left it earlier.

“...Oh,” Nari squeaked, both relieved and embarrassed. Douxie returned his attention to her, now clutching her tightly by the shoulders. “No, we were not attacked. It just fell off earlier today.” She had been hoping he would find this information reassuring, but if anything, he looked even more aghast.

“It just....fell off?!” he echoed hysterically. “What do we...D-do we call a doctor? Or a vet? Who are you supposed to call for this kind of thing?!”

“Nobody! I am perfectly fine, Douxie!” She grabbed one of his hands in both of hers and squeezed, trying to send a wave of calm into his frantically churning aura. “This happens every year.” Douxie’s eyes moved from her face, up to her one remaining antler, and then over to Archie, as though looking for a second opinion.

“Most antlered creatures have what’s called a shed around this time of the year,” Archie said in a calming, matter-of-fact voice. “It’s perfectly natural, and it doesn’t harm them. It’s really no surprise that Nari experiences the same thing.”

“And it will grow back!” Nari added hopefully, squeezing his hand again. “So please do not worry.” There was a somewhat uncomfortable pause, during which the only sound was Douxie’s labored breathing, which gradually became slower and softer. Finally, he seemed to deflate, the tension in his aura dispersing as he heaved an enormous sigh. A moment later, he gave a mirthless chuckle and gently pulled Nari into an embrace.

“...Fuzzbuckets,” he muttered. “I think I just aged three centuries.”

“I’m sorry,” Nari whispered into his shoulder. “I should have warned you. I just forgot all about it.”

“Does it hurt?” he asked, easing her back enough to see the top of her head.

“...A little,” she admitted, hating the way Douxie’s aura paled as she said it. “But it will be fine in just a day or two.” He gave her a sympathetic look and gently ran his hand over the top of her head, fingers ghosting delicately across the small bump where her antler once grew.

“It will grow back?” he questioned anxiously. “For sure?”

“Yes,” Nari assured him. “Sometime in the spring.” Douxie’s aura settled a little more at the reassurance, but he continued to look despondent as he stared at her. “...What’s wrong?” she asked nervously.

“...It’s just...You’re....lopsided,” he stammered, looking embarrassed.

“Oh.” She reached up and felt her one remaining antler, wiggling it experimentally. “Wait, perhaps I can...” She tugged on it gently and felt it begin to break away from her skull. Douxie gaped at her in abject horror as she pried the limb off of her head with a sound like that of wood peeling. With a final crack, the antler was in her hands, and a bare-headed Nari smiled up at him hopefully. “Is this better?”

It took the shocked wizard a long time to find his words, as his eyes flicked between the top of her head and the dead limb she cradled in her hands.

“...I think I’m going to be sick,” he mumbled, one of his hands coming up to cover his mouth.

“Don’t be rude, Douxie,” Archie scolded as Nari visibly shrank with disappointment. “This is a perfectly ordinary process for her.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Douxie muttered, hastily pulling the small demigoddess back into his arms. “S’just been a day. Someone was signing books at the store today, and the crowds were absolutely ludicrous, I haven’t been able to sit down since lunch this afternoon, and then I come home to find out Nari is losing bits of her head...” He trailed off with a heaving sigh and rest his cheek against her hair. “...I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

Nari tossed the antler aside and folded her arms around him. “My poor Douxie,” she whispered, pressing him against her tightly. He sighed again--this time in relief--as her aura wrapped around his, sharing her warmth and energy, and easing some of the tiredness that was weighing down his limbs.

“...Thanks,” he breathed as she pulled back. She looked a bit drained, but pleased, as she gave him a nod and smile. He ruffled her hair gently, still mindful of the sore patches where her antlers had broken off. “...There isn’t....anything else like this that I should know about, is there?” he asked hesitantly.

Nari was about to tell him no, when she caught sight of Archie’s golden eyes staring up at her with a mischievous gleam. He gave her a conspiratorial grin and a slight nod. “Well,” she began slowly, looking back at Douxie. “...I do secrete a deadly toxin from beneath my fingernails if I am agitated.”

All of the blood immediately drained from Douxie’s face.

“...What?” The wood nymph burst into a fit of squeaky giggles, while next to her, Archie collapsed onto his stomach and howled with laughter. “...This is abuse,” Douxie groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do you realize how many beats my heart just skipped? You’re bloody psychopaths, the both of you.”

“It’s your own fault for making it so easy,” Archie retorted, while next to him, Nari was trying to gasp out an apology between her giggles. Douxie huffed and gave his Familiar a playful shove.

“Would a cup of tea make up for it?” Nari asked, once she was able to regain control of herself.

“It would be a good start, at least,” Douxie replied with a fond grin.

Ten minutes later found the three of them on the sofa, mugs in hand, Nari wrapped up in her favorite blanket once more and curled against Douxie’s side, Archie sitting on the wizard’s lap and purring like a small engine.

“...I don’t suppose you have any idea what we should do with those?” Douxie asked, nodding towards the pair of antlers now resting neatly on the island countertop.

“I was hoping you would,” Nari confessed, taking a sip of her tea. “I have always just left them wherever they happened to drop. I liked to imagine they would bring good luck to whoever found them.” She smiled ruefully into her mug. “I suppose that is rather childish of me.”

“I like that idea,” Douxie said firmly. “Tell you what: I don’t have to go in to work until four tomorrow. We’ll eat out for lunch and then find a nice back alley to leave them in, where some poor sod can find them and pick up a bit of good fortune. Sound good?” He glanced at her sideways, his expression soft and his aura glowing with a gentle affection that, even after four months, Nari still sometimes struggled to process. She gave him a shy smile and nodded, pressing her face into the side of his shoulder as her fingers tightened around her tea mug. The wind howled outside, and Archie continued to purr.

Yes, winter here was downright pleasant, Nari decided, as long as you had a family to share it with.

#tales of arcadia #toa #wizards: tales of arcadia #wizards: toa #douxie #nari #toa archie #the magic siblings #and their therapy cat #found family #fanfiction

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fivegoldpieces · 4 years

Text

"Do we have a deal?"

The hag leans forward and extends her hand, fingers hooked unnaturally as she grins. Saliva pools at the corner of her mouth, constantly dripping on the table.

"Deal."

Soulless eyes pin the monk, but Beau doesn't flinch, not when she feels the leathery texture of too-old skin, not when fingernails dig into her bruised knuckles, not when shadows move towards her as she shakes the hand offered.

The hag reclines in her chair, head thrown back in satisfaction, a bark of almost-laughter pulling itself from her chest. She waves, and the monk hears the thud of the door open behind her, "Better start saying your goodbyes soon."

"How long do I have?"

The grin on the hag's face grows impossibly wide. "As long as I give you."

Beau says nothing, does nothing but turn around and walk out of the hut, jaw clenched and fists shaking.

---

She manages to ignore the burn at the corner of her eyes, up until she closes the door to the hut. She feels rather than sees the Nein - the prickle of attention on the back of her neck, the bated breaths as she turns to to them, the itch in her throat begging to be let out as she sees the fear on their faces.

She tries not to cry when she tells them, she does, really.

But Fjord is making the same face he does when he's about to collapse during their workouts, and Caleb is staring off into space - his hand twitching as if he's looking for her shoulder to hold onto, and Yasha has the same expression she did when she woke the day after they left Lorenzo dead, and Caduceus looks more scared than he had ever been on the Ball Eater, and Nott is looking at her with such loss and gratitude and pain, and -

Jester has drawn back, her tail rigid behind her, the tinkling of jewelry familiar to the monk's ear absent, her hands slowly curling into fists, her body shuddering with each breath as if she was being punched in the gut, her eyes full of hurt and confusion and anger, fangs almost poking out in a snarl, the ground below her starting to harden and freeze.

A sight to behold. Something she had hoped to see more than once.

Beau falters, lets whatever words on her lips tumble out into silence. She steps towards Jester, hand reaching out for hers -

Her hand grabs nothing but air.

---

Beau blinks and she finds herself standing in a room, boots tracking mud onto hardwood floor, hand falling limp by her side.

Her stomach churns and the room is spinning, so she finds somewhere to sit, let's her eyes jump around the room. In the corner, a large bed meant for a dog. Shelves all around her full of trinkets and books. A familiar statue tucked in between a book and a potted plant. Almost unnoticeable, if Beau hadn't been privy to how it was hidden.

She feels the tingle of magic climb up her spine and curl around her ear - Sending.

She sucks in a breath as she hears Jester, asking if she's alright, asking where she is, asking her what she did, sent one after the other.

"-don’t you answer-"

She tries to make a sound, a noise, something, but pain sinks its claws into her neck, chokes her until she can barely breathe, the voice in her head the only thing keeping the shadows of unconsciousness at bay.

"-love you so much, Beau, why-"

The tears come slowly, warm like the rain in Kamordah.

---

Reani finds her in the living room, hours later. Her delighted smile fades into worry at the sight of Beau: alone, freshly-bruised knuckles, scratches from brambles and thorns, clinging scent of swamp, eyes puffy. She sits down next to her - gentle, as if she's afraid Beau would run away.

Beau almost laughs. There's nowhere for her to go now.

---

Beau tells her the gist of what happened and Reani insists on letting her crash on the couch as long as she needs, says it’s the least she could do for a friend. Beau doesn’t know how to thank her, so she resolves to make herself less of a burden than she already is.

She may not be a monk anymore, not in name at least, but she'd always been quick on her feet and smart with her fists. The guard reckon her too skilled for perimeter watch, so they send her out with the patrol groups to fight dire wolves, wyverns - any creatures that get too close to the mountain.

Some days she visits the forge with Reani, learns how to communicate with her hands from Deilin, even picks up some smithing skills from Umi. Other days she finds herself deep in the stacks of the Vellum Steeple, reading anything and everything she could get her hands on. A couple of times she helps the archers with target practice - Fen always manages to land in a few good shots.

Days blend together. Umi doesn’t glare as strongly when she calls him Umi. Fen even shoots her a not-frown every once in a while. She falls into routine.

---

Early mornings she works out behind the house and tries not to think about tusks and the scent of seawater. She helps take care of the plants and tries not to think of carefully pressed flowers or the taste of freshly-brewed tea. In the Archive, she finds herself listening for the rustle of pages and the scribble of ink on paper to accompany her own. The thwack of arrows and bowstrings remind her of the thud of crossbow bolts and the swish of alcohol.

She refuses to set foot inside the bakery.

---

Everyday, magic crawls its way into her ear and whispers of what she gave up. Sometimes it’s Caleb, bringing updates about the war. Other times it’s Caduceus with cryptic messages that make her head hurt. Most of the time it’s Jester, talking about her day, who they saw, what they did.

Some days all she hears are snippets, their voices broken up like waves against rocks. Other days it’s as if they’re right next to her and she has to fight the urge to talk back, the pressure in her lungs growing unbearable if she even entertains the thought.

On those days, she finds herself wandering around the city. Every society has a criminal underbelly, and Uthodurn is no exception. Beau pieces together locations and meeting places from conversations she and Reani have over dinner.

She joins a fighting ring, let’s the crunch of bone and the warmth of blood drown the voices out. Afterwards, she steals mail. She never gets caught.

From criminal, to monk, to Expositor and hero of a nation, back to where she was before. She expected as much.

---

It’s almost impossible to see stars from the back Reani’s house, but if Beau presses on her eyelids hard enough, explosions of color paints the barren ceiling of rock above her. In a way, it reminds her of Hupperdook - this time, she doesn't have flower necklaces, but goodbyes she has plenty.

She wonders how Kiri is, wonders if her and Luc and TJ would’ve gotten along.

Reani joins her sometimes. Sometimes they just stare at the ceiling, sometimes they talk. When they do, it's mostly Beau listening and Reani talking.

"Your friends are strong," she says one night, the light of her halo making interesting patterns in Beau’s vision, "The war is over now. I'm sure they'll find a way to break the curse."

If they still wanted to.

Beau bites her tongue until she tastes metal and stares up until the explosions blur together.

---

“Beau, I know you can hear me. I don’t know why you won’t answer, but I hope you’re okay, wherever you are. We’re trying to-”

“- find a way --- the hag --- traveling to ---”

“- be fine --- Just hold on, okay? --- you so much. I wish --- showed you --- I’m sorry.”

---

"You loved her didn't you?" Reani asks one night as they limp towards her house - dire wolves had caused trouble in the woods north of Uthodurn.

Beau pauses by the door, then bends down to unlace her boots. Distantly, she thinks of her first battle against a remorhaz - fists burning with each punch, taking note of the half-orc, keeping track of the tiefling in the creature’s grasp, ears tuned to the murmur of arcane magic, hardened bone sinking into her side, taste of metal filling her mouth, then warmth as her muscles stitched itself together, strong arms holding her, purple eyes full of anger directed at the slithering creature.

She pulls herself out of her memories, the weight of the Aasimar’s stare still trained on her making her shoulders tense. She places her boots by the door.

“Yeah,” Beau croaks out, coughs to clear her throat, turns and meets her gaze “I- Yeah.”

Reani simply nods, something akin to understanding in her eyes. She shuffles closer to Beau, lays a hand on her shoulder and pulls her into a hug.

---

The Sendings stop coming.

One shot becomes two becomes five becomes ten becomes twenty becomes more and yet the dullness doesn’t come, doesn’t drown the burning in her lungs nor the searing ache in her chest nor the tiny bit of relief that she doesn’t have to listen to her friends move on without her.

A dwarf is eyeing her, brown eyes and light brown skin, smirk playing on her lips. Pretty. Beau smirks back.

She places a platinum piece on the bar, feels the confused stare from the dwarf as she leaves.

---

One hit against the jaw, two steps to the right, five jabs in a row, ten seconds to take a breath, twenty minutes deep into the forest.

She cleans her boots outside, leans them against the house to keep the floors clean. Reani is nowhere to be seen, but there's a healer’s kit on the table waiting next to a plate of food.

She swallows down the scream in her chest and curls up on the couch until morning comes.

---

Reani tells her to wait at The Broken Stool, said she had something exciting to show her. Why she told her at the crack of dawn, Beau didn’t know.

She moves to drink her mug of ale when a hand yanks on her shoulder, bringing the tankard down to her lap. She swears, snaps her head up -

- but then -

The clink of jewelry. Strong arms around her shoulders. Rough pointed bone against her cheek. Cold weight on her wrist, hot tears on her collarbone, the scent of pastries and blood and sweat and smoke -

"Jes’?" Beau chokes out, muscles locked and heart pounding because this can't be real, "Is this- Is it really you?"

The hold on her tightens and Beau feels a nod, a horn jutting into her chin. The pressure in her lungs leaves with one breath and she melts against the tiefling, wraps one arm around her waist, runs her fingers against the base of Jester’s horns. One moment stretches into two, and the stares from the other patrons make her skin itch but she doesn't care.

Jester pulls herself from the embrace, just enough to be able to face her. Soft hands cup her cheeks, thumbs tracing the dark circles underneath her eyes. Purple stares so intensely, flit everywhere its gaze could reach - lips to chin to temple as if the tiefling was committing each shape and feature to memory, like she's scared Beau would disappear if she looks away.

Her lungs ache, breathless in the best and worst way, and she can’t stop herself -

"I'm sorry."

The gentle strokes against her skin stop. She catches a flash of something in Jester's eyes, too quick for her to figure out but potent enough to make her shoulders tense. She averts her gaze, tries to chase away the sudden feeling of cold creeping into her stomach.

Silence seeps in, floods the space between them until she feels like a ship chasing the horizon. Beau finds herself eyeing the entrance, the windows, muscles locked and ready to flee but she doesn't want to leave.

A quiet sigh barely reaches her ears. She feels Jester's palms slowly drop from her face to her hands, their fingers intertwining.

"I was mad at you, you know?" says Jester softly, rueful smile tugging on her lips, "So so mad."

Beau tears her gaze away from the window calling to her and turns to Jester, slew of words ready to run out of her chest - apologies, explanations, neither. She meets her gaze, expecting to see anger, hurt, disappointment, all three even.

Yet all she sees is tiredness, a mirror to her own, and suddenly all the words on the tip of her tongue vanish.

Jester watches her own fingers trace circles on the back of Beau’s hand. “I think I scared the others a bit, how angry I was” she laughs, short and subdued, “I wish you were there to see it, you would’ve been so proud.”

“I’m still mad. And we still need to talk. All of us.” she looks up at Beau, gives her hand a squeeze, smile growing a little bit brighter, “But right now I’m just really glad you’re not like, dead or something. Like, the hag was saying all of these crazy things when we were killing her, like she was all like ‘she’s already dead!’ and we were all like ‘fuck you!’ and then she was like ‘her soul is bonded to me for eternity!’ and - ”

“Wait,” Beau interrupts, “You guys killed Isharnai?”

Jester rolls her eyes. “Well duh. How do you think we got to you?” her brows furrow, “We Sent to you like, right after it happened, did you not get it?”

“No. I got the other ones, and then they just kinda stopped coming, like a few weeks ago,” Beau shrugs, rubs the back of her tingling neck, “Honestly, kinda thought you guys were dead. Or finally got tired of me.”

Jester jerks back, sputtering, “Tired of you? Beau, we would never, we love you so much!”

Beau makes a noncommittal hum, shrugs again.

“We do,” she insists. “I love you so much,” Jester finishes quietly, blinks once, twice.

Beau feels dizzy, the somersaults in her stomach doing nothing to help. “I love you, too, you know that.”

“No!” Beau’s face falls, and Jester panics, lets go of Beau’s hand and waves her arms around, “Wait, no, I mean, yes! I know, you love me, but I mean -”

“BEAU!”

They jerk away from each other, the shout clearly heard over the din of the tavern. Her heart stutters - she knows that voice.

Nott bursts through the entryway first, almost unrecognizable to Beau in her halfling form, if not for the crossbow on her back and the jade bracelet on her wrist. Yasha runs in afterward, Frumpkin resting on her head, almost trips on Nott in her haste to get inside. Caduceus hurries inside, nearly hits his head on the door frame. Caleb and Fjord stumble in right on his heels, both of them out of breath.

Caduceus sees her first and begins to squeeze his way towards her, murmuring apologies to the bar patrons he jostles. Fjord follows suit, dragging Caleb by his coat sleeve. Yasha and Nott keep close behind them, Frumpkin slinking between a half-elf's legs.

Jester pulls away from her, keeps a hand on her back and her tail wrapped around Beau’s wrist. The somersaults in her stomach are back again, except this time they’re jumping on her lungs and scratching under her skin and beating on her throat and -

She closes her eyes, imagines the resounding splash of breaking waves, gritty sand in her mouth, the blast of wind against her skin leaving goosebumps in its wake. She counts one, two and breathes a little more loosely.

Her eyes blink open.

Standing in front of her, panting, sweating, questionable stains on their armor, growing grins of disbelief - the Mighty Nein.

---

A second passes, then two, then more - no one saying anything. The longer the silence stretches, the more her stomach drops, the more the door calls to her.

"Um.” Better that it’s her who breaks the quiet, she figures. “Long time no see?" Her voice cracks, and her eye twitches, "Fuck, shit, I mean-"

Then. The shape of buttons against her calf. Calloused hand on her shoulder. Scent of incense and ink and saltwater and tea. Furry chin digging onto the top of her head. Strong arms around her. Mix of green, pink, white, blue, ginger, blurring together.

The tears are sudden, but she welcomes them all the same.

---

Reani arrives later, knowing grin on her face as she slides next to Beau at the table. The rest of the Nein waves, busy playing a Xhorhasian dice game Yasha was trying to teach them.

“Exciting enough?”

Beau snorts, nudges her on the arm with her shoulder. “You’re such an ass for not telling me,” she says, no actual malice in her voice.

Reani just laughs, shoves her back, Beau doesn’t even budge.

“Really though,” Beau says, tapping the table, “Thank you. For this. For everything. I owe you.” She coughs, rubs at the corner of her eyes.

Reani pretends she didn’t notice Beau’s voice crack, her grin settling into a smile. "We're friends. You don't owe me anything," she pulls Beau into a quick side-hug, lets go. "Just visit more often and take care of yourself."

They watch Fjord lose against Nott, cackling as he gets even greener, being forced to drink a mix of Caleb’s ale, Nott’s whiskey, and Jester’s milk. Nott slams her flask onto the table, flings the dice towards Beau. She catches them easily, rolls them around in her palm.

“I challenge Beau to this - Bunions and Dice? Whatever this game is called - and whoever loses has to pay for the drinks of everyone in this tavern,” the halfling gestures wildly, nearly toppling Yasha’s ale. Nott holds out her hand, eyes squinting, “Do we have a deal?”

Beau stares at the hand, smirks, and squeezes the hand offered to her.

"Deal."

#critical role #beaujester #fic #my writing #I've been staring at this for too long

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