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redorich · 3 years

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-slips into your inbox-

Hullo red, 'tis me, Fidget. Here to haunt your inbox because you have gravely wounded me with so many things today.

First of all, sad Phil. God, he guts me. 'Impulse has a family, he does not need Philza.' has ripped out my heart. Please, this man has been trough so much. Willbur died by his own hands, Tommy he almost killed because he believed dream, and apparently not even Techno trusts him. After all, he did keep Tommy's location a secret from even him for a long time. (That Techno is loyal to a fault does not matter in this horrible interpretation of things.)

And then.

And THEN you hit me with the replaced family bit? Bdkandjakyba. My heart is weak and fragile, please Red.. Please I just... Want this family to heal a little. Someone please teach Phil that he can not shoulder the burden of the world by himself, that he was just one man in a war torn world who did the best he could. And his best wasn't good enough, but that doesn't mean he wasn't trying, that he is a bad person for it.

Like, Tommy had a whole, peaceful Server of well adjusted adults looking out for him and Phil had his bootstraps and the voices of the blood god first in his own and then in Techno's head.

It must've been hard to keep sane (I don't think he quite managed either.)

And maybe Phil doesn't go to see impulse to help him. Because he can see that the hermits are doing a much better job than he ever could, can see that Impulse is getting better not worse like Phil did all that time ago.

But Impulse now helped to save two of his sons. Perhaps Phil ought to make the journey and thank him, shoulders heavy with broken wings and broken hopes. He couldn't give his family what they needed, but impulse could. The hermits could.

It would be rude to leave this deed unacknowledged. (Perhaps Impulse or another hermit who's around sees the Trauma that seems to cling to this family like tar and thinks: Oh, it's free real estate(for adoption). You did mention Xisuma likes to adopt sad people.)

Cleo keeps nudging Philza to talk to Impulse. Philza's friendship with Cleo is new, so he can't yet tell whether it's an "as an immortal I'm telling you not to make a mistake" thing or an "I'm a nosy little weasel" thing. Not that Philza would ever call Cleo a nosy little weasel to her face, even if she'd probably take it as a compliment.

So, he goes and says hello to Impulse in his giant quartz base, even though he doesn't want to. Impulse, for his part, looks a bit taken aback, but takes the visit in stride.

“Y’know, call me crazy, but I got the impression that you don’t like me much,” Impulse laughs awkwardly.

Philza tilts his head, recalling his interactions with Impulse-- or rather, lack thereof. “Oh, ‘cause I was avoiding you?”

Impulse starts, caught off guard by the blatant admission. “Uh, yeah, I guess. Did I do something? I’m sorry if I did.”

Waving off the concern, Philza speaks freely. “Nah mate, you’re fine. I’ve got no quarrel with you. Anyway, I was just stopping by to say thank you. For-- for taking care of Tommy, and Techno too.” Philza smiles wryly. “’S more than I ever did for them, I guess.”

“You did plenty,” Impulse protests with a furrowed brow. “Techno talks about you all the time.”

The immortal blond blinks, as if he didn’t expect to hear that. “Eh,” he says in lieu of addressing it. Instead, he changes the topic completely.

“I’m trying out this whole ‘Hermit Therapy’ thing,” he says with a shrug, “so I guess that means I’m supposed to talk about my feelings or something? And I’m a grown-ass man, so that feels more than a bit condescending, but I suppose I’ll tell you my opinion so I can at least say I tried.”

Impulse winces at the harsh, uncaring way Philza addresses the situation. Should Impulse be offering Philza a place to sit? For all the redstone farms in the base, there isn’t a chair to be found. Philza doesn’t seem to care.

“I tried raising my kids. Failed.” Philza runs a hand through the long feathers on one of his wings. “You came in and taught Tommy more about being a person than I ever did. That’s fine, he deserves it. I can’t hold it against you.”

“I--” Impulse tries to interject, but Philza talks over him.

“You helped Techno-- I never did figure out how to do that. Again, he needed that, and I’d be a petty fool to get upset just because the person who gave him what he needed wasn’t me.” Philza’s mouth flattens into a grim line.

“But then,” he says, “you went above and beyond. You saw Kharneth hurting Techno-- my boy. And you gave him hope that Kharneth could be killed. Do you know how long I spent, trying to help him come to terms with the fact that Kharneth isn’t someone-- something that can or should be killed?”

Impulse leans back, shoving his hands in his pockets. He knows that Philza tried killing Kharneth, the Blood God, and paid a price, but...

Philza runs a jittery hand through his hair. “And then you did it! You killed the Blood God. And I thought, oh, this poor man doesn’t know what he’s done. Surely the Blood God’s powers will break this man’s mind-- after all, if I couldn’t handle it, how could this soft human hope to?”

Wincing again, Impulse stays quiet. Obviously Philza needs to say his piece.

“Then you did,” the immortal says. “Why is it that everything I’ve ever done, everything I’ve ever tried to do, you’re better at it than me? You’ve got my sons wrapped around your finger, you’ve got better control of those powers than I ever did, you’re goddamn happy,” the man spits.

“...I’m sorry you feel that way,” Impulse says in mild shock, groping for the right words.

“And the worst part!” Philza steamrolls over Impulse’s apology, “Is that I don’t even hate you!”

Impulse blinks. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You’re just...” Philza sighs, holding a wing in front of him like a shield. “You’re everything I wish I was, and I’m jealous and I’m mature enough to recognize that, but... is it weird of me to want to be friends with you too?”

Licking his lips, Impulse chooses his words carefully. “I’d love to be friends with you. For what it’s worth... You’ve got your own strengths, it’s just... harder for you to see them? Because you’re looking at everyone else’s strengths, comparing yourself to them, and evidently, uh. Finding yourself falling short.” He chuckles awkwardly. “I’d never last a month in a hardcore world.”

Philza looks away. “Hardcore, the one thing I’m known for. Easy enough for you to say.” He frowns, not because he’s upset with Impulse, but because he realizes he’s being a cantankerous bastard.

“I’m afraid I don’t know you too well,” Impulse says diplomatically. “Maybe... Yeah, let’s be friends.” He claps his hands together with the air of a man making a plan. “I’ll get to know you better, and then I can tell you what you’re good at, until you can learn to see it for yourself.”

The immortal swipes at Impulse’s head with a wing, but pulls the swing so that he only barely brushes the man with feather-tips. “Good lad,” he says gruffly, but he can’t quite hide his smile.

#mcyt #hc x dsmp #hermit!tommy au #impulsesv #philza #ph1lza #sleepy bois inc #zombiecleo #technoblade #me.cpp

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actualbird · 2 years

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so i'm relatively new to tot (like "i-just-started-two-weeks-ago kind of new) BUT i'm already loving vynartem's dynamics. and i just wanted to rant here so here we go. you can't tell me that vyn doesn't love getting on artem's nerves (i swear, the smile and the calm voice is intentional) and artem is just trying to keep his shit together bc if he doesn't he's gonna strangle vyn. dr. richter loves two things: 1.) tea and 2.) watching artem wing internally losing his shit bc of him. okay that's it

hullo, new-anon!! sorry this response took forever, ur entrance into tot just so happened to coincide w my entrance into Stressful Times hahahlskbdkfjgs but now im steadier and hehe welcome to tot!!!!!

vyn absolutely knows what hes doing to artem and enjoys it Greatly. ive given this a term, in the current fic wip im writing:

recreational irritation! it's like a Game, u see. if artem breaks, vyn wins. if artem doesnt break, vyn still wins because he knows artem cant do anything but be polite. this is just as if not More healing than tea. i love vyntem shithead-ery (be it platonic or ship) So Much

hope uve enjoyed camping out here, anon! i havent made anything this week but im itching to get back into the swing soon :')

#asks #anon #Now im clearing out asks i got b4 i closed ask box. might re-open it in a few days

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lunapwrites · 3 years

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(I am once again posting unedited nightmares to Tumblr.)

CW: strong language, violence, character death. The first thing Remus noticed was that the floor was cold. The texture rough against his stubbled cheek, scraping against his forearms as he slowly pushed himself up. He blinked blearily, eyes adjusting to the dim torchlight. Stone floors, stone walls, iron bars.

A cell.

His head was throbbing; there was dried blood in his hair. This time it might have been his own. He recalled bright lights, curses flying, sizzling past his ear. Red. Darkness.

A Stunner.

How did they find me?

He couldn't remember.

If he concentrated, he could hear breathing, other heartbeats. One, two, three... no, four. He scented the air; three male, one female. Human, goblin. Familiar — very familiar, though he was struggling to think beyond the pounding in his skull. He couldn't recall their faces.

Somewhere out of view, a door swung open: hinges creaking, wood groaning, scraping along the floor. A jangle of keys. This scent... (juniper berry and wood shavings and cheap dusty tea) this scent he knew.

rat rat rat

"Oh good, you're not dead," Peter said in a tone that might have sounded cheerful if not for the underlying tension of attempted murder and heart-wrenching betrayal.

"Sorry to disappoint," Remus replied. His voice was rougher than the stone he'd woken on and twice as cold. On the other side of the wall, two heartbeats quickened; a quiet intake of breath.

They know me.

"Ah, don't be like that, Moony. I've brought you supper."

"Think I'd rather starve, thanks."

Peter gave that snorty little laugh that Remus used to privately think was endearing and now just made him want to yank the bastard's brains out through his nostrils.

"Just as dramatic as ever, I see." He showed the plate to Remus. "It's just a bacon sarnie. Light on the butter and practically raw, just the way you like it."

It was the way he liked it, and Remus hated him for it.

"Why am I here?"

"Skipping right over the small talk, eh? That's not like you at all." Peter opened a small grate, pushing the plate through the bars. "Come on, Moony. You know why."

"Don't call me that."

If he hadn't been watching for it, he'd have missed the tiny flicker of hurt across Peter's face. The twitch of his brows, the near imperceptible thinning of his already too-thin lips. The shadows under his eyes darkening.

He looked terrible. He looked sorry. Remus hated him even more.

"Alright, Remus then. Or would you prefer Lupin?"

"I would prefer you didn't call me anything, honestly."

"Too bad," Peter said briskly. "I'm the jailor, so unless you just don't want to talk at all..."

"That would be lovely, actually."

"Liar." Peter grinned. "You love hearing yourself talk, always did. You were worse than James—"

The bars rattled as Remus slammed into them, fury bubbling in his veins. Peter leapt out of his reach, eyes wide, frightened as he'd been that night in the shack.

"DON'T!" Remus snarled, fangs bared. "Don't you ever speak his name!"

Peter stared at him, his hummingbird pulse slowly steadying as he remembered who was on which side of the bars. He put his hands up, placating.

"Alright, Remus. Fair enough. I'm sorry."

No you're not.

Peter hovered awkwardly for a moment, rocking on his heels like he had something more to say — like there was anything more to say. As if he had a right to be disappointed that Remus would sooner swallow his own tongue than accept anything he offered.

"Right. I'll leave you to it, then. Be back tomorrow."

Remus watched him slip out of the room in silence, the heavy door swinging shut, the lock turning with a dull click just as the plate shattered against the wall.

"Brought you some soup today," Peter said conversationally. "Figured you might need it after talking to Bellatrix."

He slipped the bowl through the grate; Remus didn't move from his spot against the opposite wall. Every one of his nerve endings was on fire, but he'd be damned before he'd show it.

"She really needs to work on her conversational skills," he croaked, and immediately regretted it. Peter's eyes sharpened, searching his face.

Nothing to see here. Not for you.

"She was always mad as a hatter before, but Azkaban really didn't do her any favours in that regard." Peter sighed, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed. "Can't say I'm upset about getting out of that one."

It was in that moment that Remus decided that the Killing Curse was too good for Peter.

He hauled himself to his feet, trudging over to the front of the cell on shaky legs, leaning over carefully to pick up his supper.

"I see you remembered my favourite again." He sniffed at the bowl of soup suspiciously, checking for strange ingredients.

Potato. Leek. Broth... chicken I think. Cream. Bacon again, probably leftover.

"Figured a taste of home might not go amiss," Peter said quietly, frowning. "I haven't poisoned it, you know."

"I'm well aware that the only thing you poison is friendships," Remus agreed. "If you wanted to kill me, I should watch for a knife in my back."

"...That's not fair."

"Isn't it?"

They stared one another down silently, Peter with his best rainy morning face on, Remus towering above him like a thundercloud. He slowly poured the soup out onto the floor, flinging the bowl back through the bars. Peter dodged at the last second; it bounced off the wall next to his ear and clattered harmlessly to the floor.

He'd learned his lesson since the plate, apparently.

"Right," Peter declared in an overly plummy tone as he pushed off the wall, "we'll just try again tomorrow, shan't we?"

The following day, Peter brought down bangers and mash; it was cold and grainy, and the bangers were burned to hell.

Remus ate it anyway.

"You know, as pleased as I am that you've stopped throwing tantrums over the food," Peter mused through a mouthful of toast, "I'm genuinely surprised you haven't asked me why I did it."

Remus paused, looking up from his plate through one, unswollen eye.

"Probably because it doesn't matter."

He spoke slowly, as if to a particularly dim child, as if he weren't lying through his teeth.

Peter scoffed, spots of colour rising to his cheeks.

"Please, like you didn't spend twelve years tearing yourself up over Sirius. Why should my reasons matter less?"

"I'll give you three guesses."

Peter wrinkled his nose, scowling.

"You always liked him best."

"Dunno what to tell you, Pete. He gives great head."

There was a muffled snort from the neighbouring cell. Dean, by the sound of it. A week ago, Remus might have even been embarrassed.

"Remus Lupin, unfiltered," Peter said with a wistful shake of his head. "I fucking missed you, you know."

"This is very good bread. Do give my compliments to whichever unfortunate elf was responsible for it."

"That would be me."

Remus snorted at him, raising his mug of water in toast.

"Here's to moving up in the world."

"Fuck off." Peter eyed him speculatively for a long moment. "It was because I wanted it to end."

Remus peered at him over the rim of his mug.

There was a dark intensity emanating from Peter. Not dangerous in the same way that Bellatrix or even Sirius was; sharp and sinewy, a predator stalking prey. It was as if Remus was moving among the stars and encountered a vast nothing that devoured everything it dragged into its field.

No sound, no light, just cold, dead silence.

"All my friends were dying or turning into people I didn't recognise anymore, and I was terrified," Peter continued quietly. "Every day I was terrified, and I just wanted it to end. I didn't care how."

He pushed off the wall, leaving without waiting for a response.

It didn't matter. There was nothing to say.

On the fifth day, an apple rolled off the plate as Peter approached the cell. It hit the ground, rolling at his feet. He leaned down to recover it, and the rest happened very quickly.

Remus rushed forward, his arm darting out to catch Peter around his neck as he rose back up, yanking him back hard against the bars.

"You always were an idiot."

Peter thrashed and struggled in his grip. His fancy silver hand clawed at Remus' forearm, more powerful than Peter had any right to be.

But Remus was stronger.

"I would be lying if I said I didn't miss you, Pete," he said calmly, tightening his grip. "I missed you every day, like a limb. I still do."

The keys were jangling against Peter's belt loop, against the bars. Remus could reach through and grab them now, if he wanted to.

"You weren't the only one who was afraid, you know? We were just kids. Only the rest of us learned to kill our enemies instead of our brothers."

It wasn't about the keys.

"My brothers died twelve years ago." The fingers scratching and scrabbling against his arm were weakening, slowing. "I buried one with his wife in Godric's Hollow, and they put up a little statue for them that I still can't stand to look at."

Peter's knees buckled, his weight against Remus' steady arm adding pressure.

"I buried the other in a little plot in Coxheath, and I used to wonder why it couldn't have been me. And I grieved."

Remus took a deep, slow breath. A holy calm settled over him.

"I want you to know," he continued in that same soft, conversational tone, "that everything you've done has amounted to nothing. That you are nothing, and no one will remember you."

Things happened very slowly after that.

Peter stopped struggling.

Remus counted heartbeats.

There were six.

And then there were five.

He reached down and pulled the keyring from Peter's belt, popping the beltloop clear off. It wasn't like Peter needed it anymore. He left the body against the bars, opening the door to his cell without looking back.

"Hullo Professor."

Dean was watching him open their cell door with wide eyes, more surprised — appraising — than fearful. Luna waved at him cheerfully, same as when he'd last seen her, if a little taller. Remus nodded to them both in greeting.

"I'd say it's good to see you both, but I'm rather sorry you're here. Can everyone move under their own power?"

"Ollivander and Griphook are both a bit worse for wear," Dean said apologetically.

"Alright, well give me a hand now then."

It only took a few moments for them to get Griphook and Ollivander situated on Dean and Remus' backs, respectively. Remus, in the meantime, had been coming up with a plan.

So long as they were quiet and careful, he could sniff out the exit while avoiding the manor's residents. They just needed to be quick about it; he didn't know how long it would be before Peter was missed.

But no sooner did he reach his hand out for the door than it burst open, revealing a particularly unhinged-looking Sirius, closely flanked by Harry and Ron.

There was a short pause in which the two men processed one anothers' sudden appearance.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Remus asked faintly.

"We came to rescue you," Sirius said with a vaguely affronted tone.

Remus turned around, looking at the assortment of prisoners he'd broken out and the cooling body of the jailor at the other end of the room, and then turned back to Sirius.

"Well done."

Harry let out a choked sort of noise that might have been either a sob or a snort, he wasn't quite sure.

"Right," Ron said quickly. "So, mission accomplished, let's go!"

He and Harry ushered Dean-and-Griphook and Luna up the stairs first, Ron taking point and Harry flanking. The moment they were out of the room, Sirius reached out and cupped Remus's jaw, brushing a thumb across his cheek. He felt something damp on his face.

"Have you been crying?"

Remus shrugged.

"Maybe. I didn't feel anything," he said quietly, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter. Let's go."

Remus pushed past him, following the boys up the stairs. Sirius followed close behind.

They didn't look back.

#remus lupin #peter pettigrew #malfoy manor #dark fic #angst #mild humor #lunapwrites #i am on my bs #finally #please note the cw #read at your own risk #wolfstar

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thetriggeredhappy · 3 years

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👉👈 hey so I rlly love your characterisation of sniper and I was wondering if you could write about something from his childhood? Thank you!

sniper as a kid is like hilarious to me because i think he really was some sweet and clever little shy dorky kid who always like stole and wore his dad’s hat and then one day one of his like classmates from high school asks his mum like “hey so what does he do these days” assuming it’s just a ton of weed and she goes “oh he kills people”

(warnings for passing implications of bullying)

The gaggle of children stood in a three-person semi-circle, staring up into the tree. Up, high above their heads, crushed helplessly into the branches and leaves, was a large, faded blue ball, quite firmly planted in place. Silence reigned, all of them looking at the rubber ball, sat resolutely much higher than any seven-year-old could feasibly reach, even with a particularly big stick.

“Nice one, Bruce,” murmured one little girl, and was elbowed.

“Well what are we going to do now?” another girl demanded, hands on her hips, glaring around at the other two of them from under her hat. “We can’t play without a ball.”

“Um,” the boy said, squinting up into the tree. “We should get it down.”

“We can’t just get it down, Bruce,” the girl said, deeply exasperated in a distinctly seven-year-old manner.

“We can’t just leave it there, Millie,” Bruce said right back.

“Well how are we going to get it down?” Millie demanded. “We haven’t got a ladder. And Katie’s parents aren’t home yet.”

“We could wait until tomorrow when we come to school,” Katie suggested, and both Bruce and Millie groaned. “It’d only be until tomorrow!”

“I’m not waiting until tomorrow!” Bruce declared. “We can get it down.”

“How?” Katie asked.

“I can get it down.”

All three children turned to look, and two frowned the moment they saw the boy standing there.

“Oh, ‘llo, Mickey,” greeted the third, Katie, waving at him.

“Hullo,” he greeted back quietly, hands still firmly tucked into his pockets, chin still firmly tucked down into the collar of his too-big vest, eyes tucked away under the brim of his hat.

“What are you gonna do?” Bruce challenged.

“Yeah, what are you gonna do?” Millie echoed. “You can’t reach that high either!”

Mickey shrugged his shoulders, drew a hand from his pockets just long enough to itch at the back his his neck, to tug on his hat, to push up his glasses. “Thought I could try to help, at least,” he mumbled. “I really can get it down if you’d like.”

“As if!” Millie said, voice tinted high in disbelief.

“I can do it myself!” Bruce announced with much more confidence than he had before. He rolled his shoulders, took three big steps towards the tree, and grabbed on with both hands. “Look, watch this!”

All the other children watched as Bruce, with absolute conviction, started pulling and shoving at the tree.

After a long few moments of watching the spectacle, Millie spoke up. “What exactly are you doing?” she asked politely.

“Shaking the ball down!” Bruce announced, and got right back to it. And in his defense, the tree did sway the smallest amount, but it wasn’t nearly enough to shake the ball free.

“Bruce, you’re going to hurt yourself,” Katie chimed in gently.

“I’ve almost got it!” Bruce insisted, entirely incorrectly.

“I’ll help!” Millie announced, and hurried over to the opposite side of the tree, also straining to push and pull and shove and tug on the tree, and it did help significantly, the entire tree starting to shake and sway. Still, it was entirely obvious that it wasn’t going to do anything anytime soon, the ball staying largely unshifted from within the branches.

“Maybe we should let Mickey help,” Katie tried, and got a glare from the other two children, who then promptly ignored her.

The tree shook more violently. The ball remained unmoved. Katie grew more worried. The tree shook more violently. The ball remained unmoved. Katie grew more worried.  The tree shook more violently. One of the branches, having had enough, fell loose and hit Bruce directly on the top of the head.

“Ow!” Bruce hollered, stumbling back and whipping his head in every direction, trying to find the culprit, eyes finally landing on Mickey then falling narrow and angry. “What’d you do that for?!”

“It fell out of the tree,” Katie protested.

“Can I try now?” Mickey mumbled.

“No,” Millie said, entirely firm. “We don’t need your help anyways!”

“Yeah, what are you going to do, hit it with your stupid rocks?” Bruce taunted. “With your stupid slingshot?”

“I don’t have my slingshot,” Mickey murmured. “I’m not supposed to bring it to school anymore. The teacher said it’s not allowed.”

“Doesn’t even have a slingshot anymore!” Millie laughed. “What are you going to do now, then?”

Mickey scratched the back of his neck, tugged on his hat, nudged up his glasses. “Just throw them, I s’pose,” he shrugged.

“We’ll tell on you for throwing rocks at us!” Bruce threatened.

“Then I’ll tell on you for chasing me around and trying to hit me,” Mickey snapped. Bruce and Millie recoiled. He shoved his hands down deep into his pockets again. “I’m just trying to help get your ball down.”

“You think you could hit it down, tattletail?” Millie asked, incredulous.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Because you couldn’t hit it!” she scoffed next.

Mickey paused for a moment before he bent to pick up a pebble. He rolled it in his palm for a minute before taking it between his thumb and forefinger, rearing back, and throwing it.

All eyes turned up into the tree. The pebble tonk’d harmlessly against the ball in the tree and landed down by Bruce’s feet.

“You didn’t even hit it down!” Bruce exclaimed.

“I wasn’t saying I could hit it d—“

“That was a little pebble! That’s stupid!” Bruce declared, and looked around, moving over to a rock embedded in the ground and starting to haul it out of the dirt. “You need a big rock like this one!”

“That’s not going to work,” Mickey said.

“Thanks for trying, Mick,” Katie assured quietly.

“I wasn’t trying to knock it down, I was just going to—“

“Watch this!” Bruce declared, managing to heft the rock into his arms despite it being visibly difficult. “This is how you knock a ball out of a tree!”

“Show him, Bruce!” Millie agreed, just as confident.

“You’re just going to hurt yourself,” Mickey said, a little more firmly now.

“Am not!” Bruce said, and reared back, swung forward, swung back once more, and used the momentum to launch the rock as hard as he could muster.

It thunked against the trunk of the tree hard before flopping back down the two feet to the ground, shaking the thing profusely. Another branch tumbled down, landing soundly on the top of his head.

“Ow!” Bruce yelped, and turned to glare at him again, angry. “That one had to be you!”

“Branch, again,” Katie replied.

“I’m just going to get the ball down,” Mickey said, a little annoyed.

“Don’t you dare!” Millie said, and turned to the other two. “Right. So we need a rock big enough to knock it down, but small enough to throw.”

“Maybe we don’t throw any more rocks,” Katie said. “Maybe we wait for my mum to get home and I can go get a ladder.”

“That will take ages!” Bruce complained. “I don’t want to wait that long!”

“We can play other games. We can jump rope, maybe—“

“You two never let me jump!” Bruce whined. “I never get a turn!”

“Yes you do, but you’re awful at it,” Millie replied. “But if you’re going to complain, then no jumping rope.”

“I just want to get the ball down!” Bruce said.

“Well we can’t, so we have to either wait or do something else,” Millie said. “Want to run a race?”

“I hate running races,” Katie huffed. “You two never want to race me.”

“You’re a really good referee! And you’re really really slow!” Bruce replied.

“Maybe we should just go home,” Millie said, arms crossed again. “Since we can’t do anything fun if you two are just going to whine.”

“Oi.”

All three looked up towards the source of the voice, and Bruce squawked in indignation as a rubber ball beaned him right in the forehead.

“That time, it was me,” Mickey said from his place up in the tree.

“How’d you get up there?” Katie asked, eyes wide.

“Climbed.”

“But how?” she insisted.

“Branches, mostly. Anyways. There’s your ball,” Mickey said, swinging his legs slightly.

“Oh, you—!” Bruce grumbled, trying to throw the ball back at Mickey. Mickey just followed the ball’s path with the turn of his head as it instead hit a branch a good two meters away and fell back down.

“Climbing trees again, didn’t your dad already tell you off for that?” Millie taunted.

“Here I thought you didn’t like tattletails,” Mickey said right back.

“Maybe we should call you Koala Mundy,” Bruce teased, picking the ball back up again, face red. “Sitting up in trees. Having those dumb pointy teeth.”

“Koalas don’t have pointy teeth. They’re herbivores,” Mickey pointed out. “And I like koalas, besides.”

“Well, maybe we should just leave you stuck up there!” Millie said.

“I can get down just fine,” he shrugged, nudged up his glasses.

“Well—well, we don’t need you anyways!” she said, and turned on heel and stomped off and away. Bruce made a vaguely affirmative noise, following after. “And you don’t get to play with us just because you got down our ball!”

“Awright,” he mumbled, watching them leave.

“Thanks for getting the ball down! Bye, Mickey!” Katie was kind enough to call before hurrying back away.

“Bye, Katie.” A pause. “Oh! Katie!”

“Yeah?” she asked, turning back around to look at him.

“Er. My mum said to tell your mum. One of the herding dogs had her puppies. Wanted to know if you were all still looking for more. They’re koolies. Er. They’re... they’re really good dogs and we can’t keep them all and my mum said your mum is really nice so to ask her before we just sell them.”

“Okay! Thanks Mickey!” she called, and waved again, and hurried off.

“Okay. Bye,” he mumbled, and looked towards the ground below to start figuring out how exactly he was meant to get back down again.

#shut up me #tf2 #team fortress 2 #everybody talks #my fanfiction #que?#we stan a tiny king

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zira-blackwell · 3 years

Text

Check and Mate + [Penwell feat. Belle]

In which Zira successfully steals the first cobblestone and grows closer to her goal...[takes place: August 29]

@arthur-of-camelot, @labellerose-acheron

[tw -- graphic threats of violence]

BELLE: One would think that maybe having the King of Britons ‘round for a spot of tea was intimidating, but Belle was used to entertaining such characters of legend. After all, she was married to the King of the Underworld. And she’d dined with the Great Prince of Enchantra Forest. Had worked for the Queen of Swynake’s Fairy Hollow.

Besides, she quite liked Arthur. He was not quite as brash as some legends made him out to be. In reality, he was rather quiet, contemplative and thoughtful. She had her knight-memories, of course, of a young man who had been slightly more boisterous, but she found she liked this settled down second-life version of Arthur. The two of them got on quite well, especially considering the brash nature of a few of their comrades in arms. Yes, she was including Merida in this assessment.

They were meeting today to put the final touches on the trip to Elfhame. Belle’s notebook that she kept specially for this was out on the table and the teapot had cooled, the two of them already on their second cup each. The house was quiet. Hades and Toulouse had the children for the day, to give Belle the proper focus to plot the way she needed to.

And she was rather satisfied with the plan, overall. It was risky. There were a million ways that it could go wrong, but they’d done as much as they could. Overplanning would just get them in their heads about it.

“I don’t trust this fae prince, but I believe he at least intends to get us there and back in one piece. Other than that, the plan is solid. Don’t you think?” she asked, looking over at Arthur.

ARTHUR: The trip to Elfhame was one that Arthur had briefly considered taking part in himself. He wanted to, and thought that he should, seeing as he had lost Excalibur to someone after having tracked it down. But then he thought better of it. Largely because he was the sheriff of this town, and Arthur couldn’t leave the town defenseless if Zira did anything. He didn’t trust her not to do something.

But he did want to help as much as he could with the planning and with making sure that his knights had the best chance possible to retrieve Excalibur. If he couldn’t be there himself, he would do his best to support them here.

Arthur took a small sip of his tea, considering the notebook once more. “I do believe it’s the best plan that we have.” Did he think there were a lot of things that could go wrong? Yes, but there was only so much that they could plan for. The rest was out of their hands.

“I don’t trust him either, and it would be wise to keep a watchful eye on him, but I think he knows not bringing you back would have consequences. Tiana and I will be here and alert. If he were to return without any of you...it would not end well for him.”

BELLE: Belle nodded thoughtfully, smiling a little at the protective edge to Arthur’s voice. She thought it was nice and Bedivere recognized it too. There was an affection there that wasn’t hers, but she couldn’t deny. It was such an odd feeling. She wasn’t the kind of person to be coddled, but Arthur had a way of saying things that just sounded…warm. Not patronizing.

And while Belle was secure in the knowledge that Hades would raze Elfhame to the ground if she didn’t come back in one piece, it was nice to know there were others who felt the same way. Belle wasn’t the biggest team player, but she could admit to its advantages.

“I think he’s aware,” Belle told Arthur with a little nod. “He’s given his word to bring us all back and the fae are bound by their word. I think I covered all the loopholes, but even if I haven’t, from what I understand we only need him to get to Elfhame, not back again.” She smirked, a little light of mischief in her eye.

“Besides, I—“

There was a knock at the door.

Normally, an unexpected knock at the Acheron’s door was always cause for slight concern. Even Shuck, who had been contently lying on the floor near them was on his feet, a growl rumbling in his throat.

Belle was unperturbed. “Oh, I should get that,” she said, even though she had no idea who it was. She smiled at Arthur and then stood, moving to the door. Shuck walked ahead of her, his massive body blocking the doorway.

“Shuck, move,” she huffed and pulled the door open without looking.

“Ah, hello, Dr. Blackwell,” she said breezily.

“Hello, Mrs. Acheron.”

ARTHUR: “As long as we’ve got the basics covered it should be alright. And as I said, there are a few of us staying back so he would be held accountable.” Arthur believed that it would be alright. And he trusted his knights to have a good head on their shoulders. Belle going when he couldn’t helped him feel better as well. He knew that unlike some of the others, she usually had a pretty sound logic and wouldn’t just jump right into something.

He startled a little at the knock on the door, glancing over at Belle. Had she been expecting someone else? They hadn’t discussed that.

And then Arthur heard the familiar voice and he was on his feet in an instant, stepping behind Belle ready to back her up however he could. He didn’t have a sword on him, which felt like the worst mistake of his life, even if it was odd to go around with a sword strapped to your waist in this day and age. “Zira...what are you doing here?”

BELLE: Belle knew that she should be alarmed.

Actually, she was alarmed. She could feel her heart beating, but she also realized that she wasn’t in control. Her hand was on the doorknob and it had turned without her say so. It didn’t make any sense. Only that she knew she was somehow enchanted. Belle knew what that felt like. She had had magic used against her plenty of times.

She opened her mouth to say this to Arthur, to warn him, but nothing came out.

Instead, she could only look at him incredulously for a moment before turning back to Zira, who was smiling pleasantly at them.

“Hullo, Arthur. I would love to stay and chat, but as you are aware, I’m very busy these days.” Her gaze cut back to Belle. “Would you be a doll and fetch me what I’ve come for?”

“Of course,” Belle said, her brain supplying: cobblestone. She gave Arthur another horrified look before she found her feet moving of their own accord toward the stairs a few steps away.

ARTHUR: This shouldn’t have been happening.

How was Zira doing that? She hadn’t stepped inside or gone anywhere. Why was Belle doing exactly what Zira had said? It was like...well it was as if she was being controlled.

Arthur immediately stepped in between Belle and the stairs, an arm coming up to block her way to them. “And you expect that to work, Zira? Just have her walk over and bring it to you? Do you think that I would allow that?” Arthur asked, eyebrows furrowed as he steeled himself up.

He didn’t know what Zira was trying to pull, but he refused to allow her to get away with the cobblestone. The knights had found it and fully intended to keep it safe from her. “I suggest you leave.”

BELLE: Belle let out a little sigh of relief as Arthur stepped in front of her. She wasn’t in control of her actions. She knew that much, hopefully he realized it too and didn’t think Belle was betraying him. Belle was many things: not a very good team player, small and slight and not a very good fighter, but she also wasn’t someone who would betray someone. Not unless they betrayed her first. And Arthur hadn’t ever done that. In this life or the last.

But, she couldn’t speak.

“Hm, Mrs. Acheron, would you be a dear and inform Arthur of what I told you?” Zira said from the door.

“If anyone tries to stop me, I should slit my throat,” Belle repeated automatically. She blinked after she said it and turned to look at Zira, eyes wide with horror.

Zira just smiled. “Good girl, now run along.”

Belle looked again at Arthur and then reluctantly, but without her control, stepped around him and headed up the stairs. Her heart pounding. All she could think was she was glad the children weren’t home.

“I didn’t think I’d have to tell you to stay out of my way, Arthur, but apparently I was wrong,” she heard Zira comment with a sigh as Belle ascended the stairs.

ARTHUR: He couldn’t help but glare at Zira, though he reluctantly stepped out of Belle’s way. He couldn’t allow harm to come to her, though Zira’s methods were low. Despicable really to use someone in this way.

And once again, he wished he had Excalibur with him, that he could use it and swing at Zira and stop her evil right then and there.

Alas, he did not, and he couldn’t allow Belle to come to harm’s way. They would have to accept this loss. As infuriating as it was. “Really? You should know better than to expect me to just roll right over and let you take anything you want.”

Arthur stepped a little closer to Zira. “You might win today, but you will not win with this ridiculous scheme of yours. I will defeat you.”

ZIRA: The problem with being so moral and chivalrous meant you were so incredibly predictable. You could never gain the high ground because you weren’t willing to do the things that needed to be done. It was why Arthur was losing. He could not bring himself to use people the way that Zira did. He wanted to make friends with his minions. He cared about them. If their situations were reversed, Zira would let Belle open her neck and bleed out all over her new rug.

(There might be only the slightest twinge of regret in a mother recognizing a mother, but children lost their mothers every day.)

Zira had known that this would work. Had been so confident that she’d waited until Arthur was here to call on Belle’s compulsion. Nuka had done such a wonderful job with it, she would need to remind herself to thank him when the time came.

The floor creaked above them and Zira glanced up before looking back at Arthur.

“But isn’t that exactly what you’re doing? Rolling over and letting me take exactly what I want?” She stepped closer until she was right on the threshold, though she did not want to let him know she was magically bound to stay outside the house.

“You do not want to lose anyone and that is the difference between us: no one else matters as much as breaking the charter. I will leave a river of blood so deep I will wash this town into nothing more than a memory and stain the earth so nothing else can ever grow here.”

ARTHUR: He had only ever loathed one person as much as he loathed Zira in this moment. And that was Mordred, the person responsible for his death. Zira...she had a thirst for blood that was revolting and horrific, and she didn’t care who she would go through to get what she wanted.

“No. I’m not. Like I said, you win this time now, but you will not win the war. I will figure out how you did this.” And he would safeguard his knights so that something like this couldn’t happen again. He would make sure of it.

He took a step back from her, a cool smile spread across his face. “You will try. But you will fail. I look forward to you seething with frustration when all your little fantasies turn to dust.”

Arthur couldn’t help but glance back, worrying about Belle and how she was doing. He wished that he could do something to stop what was happening. He hated how powerless he felt at this moment. They would have to do better.

ZIRA: Arthur was so cute. He reminded her of a badger trying to defend itself from a lion. Admirable, but ultimately foolish. She supposed she could appreciate his tenacity and the belief in his cause. Even in the face of failure, he tried to keep his pride. At least he would not be boring to kill. In fact, he’d probably make it rather fun, dying like a martyr.

The top of the steps creaked and Belle appeared, descending the stairs. Zira smiled at her, denying Arthur a proper answer to his challenge. The beautiful, tragic woman slipped between them and dropped the stone into Zira’s hands, who curled her fingers over it.

“Thank you, darling.”

“You won’t win,” Belle snapped, her eyes burning with tears.

“Yes,” Zira’s eyes flicked toward Arthur. “Your king said the same thing.” She let out a put on sigh, especially considering vampires didn’t breathe, as she put the cobblestone in her bag.

“I look forward to seeing you try and stop me. Ta ta.”

And with that, she turned and sauntered down the walkway. Going a few steps before speeding up and disappearing into the dusk.

ARTHUR: As Zira turned away and left, Arthur let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. Okay. So they’d lost this one. He wasn’t going to let that happen again. They could make this right. He was determined to make it right again.

But for the moment, he turned and stepped over to Belle, glancing her over carefully. “Are you alright?” He asked. Zira had threatened the woman’s life, and though no harm had come to her as Arthur hadn’t allowed that to happen, he still felt he needed to check in. Even if no physical harm had occurred, her bodily autonomy had been taken from her.

“I’m sorry. What she did...that was...well I know she has to have some form of magic...but I would never have guessed her capable of controlling someone like this.”

BELLE: The moment the stone fell into Zira’s hand, Belle felt her body return to her. She touched her neck, then her chest—feeling her heart beating frantically against her rib cage. She leaned against the stair bannister, but as soon as Arthur turned his gaze on he, she snapped to, like a proper soldier.

The team of Knights was mostly Mundus, as it had been before, and Belle refused to seem weak just because of that. She had dealt with far worse. If anything, she was just annoyed that it had been so easy for Zira. Her hand clenched into a fist around the banister and she took a breath. There was an intention for her to smile at Arthur, but it turned into a grimace.

“I’m fine. I’ve had worse,” Belle reassured him.

“Possessions are worse, let me tell you,” she chuckled dryly, trying to inject a bit of humor. Thinking about it, though, Belle had had her body snatched by her plenty of times. From possession to death to, well, pregnancy to be honest. Though, this didn’t feel like that.

It felt like—

“Oh. Wait—I know what that was. I-I think.” Belle brushed past Arthur as her brain turned back the clock years and years now. To a much more naïve Belle. Her gaze looked toward the door and then the kitchen.

“She didn’t cross the threshold, did she?” Belle asked, turning to her king. “I think she may be a vampire.”

#bdrparthur #bdrpbelle #penwell #zelle #check and mate #heating up y'all!!

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moon-yeongjun · 3 years

Text

Rabbit Asks Eeyore for Help || Moon Donkey

Summary: Jun plans for a trip away, and goes to Gregory for help. Featuring Eomma, who I love.

Follows: Dalmajung Cat Got Your Tongue?

@notmuchofatail

JUN: Jun was a cat.

Unfortunately, this fact had not changed despite Jun’s most fervent hopes that Ting-Ting’s, er, diagnosis of sorts was false. He had stubbornly clung to denial as long as he could that this horrible curse could only be lifted by the Royal Sorceress of the Nihon Court (a real thing...in a real place…). Maybe it was temporary, he reasoned! Maybe if he closed his eyes and wished very hard! When that didn’t work, he had bargained with every mysterious force in the universe to give him his human body back in exchange for a lifetime of good behavior. He’d never drink again! He’d go to church TWICE a week. Hell, he’d get married to a very nice Korean woman before the year was up! When that didn’t work, anger quickly dissolved into grief, and while he caterwauled for about an hour, at the end of it he only felt exhaustion, and a sense of dimming acceptance.

He had to go to Nihon.

Through the portal in the dumpster behind the Moon Market, where Haru had popped out over a year ago.

And he had to convince a sorceress (who was a CAT!) to have pity on him.

Dammit all to hell.

Now, Jun had never done this sort of thing before (traveling to other dimensions, dealing with sorcerers etc etc), so he really didn’t know how long it was going to take him. Which meant, before he left, he needed to sort out a plan.

Jun finally...revealed himself to Eomma first. It had been as terrible as one would expect. What mother wanted to hear their first-born son had been cursed into the form of a cat? The whole “Yes, I’ve been lying to you about Haru’s true origins all along!” and “Yes, she was actually a cat princess I’ve accidentally promised myself to!” went over just as well. But after convincing Eomma not to kill Haru, she of course agreed to run over the market in his stead, because what else were they going to do?

The answer was: Gregory Eeyore.

Jun had thought long and hard about it. Moons didn’t like to ask for help. Questions and rumours would spring up if they turned to Eomma’s church friends, and Vixey was just getting her own business off the ground! So, Greg. Of course, Greg. Eomma called him up and asked Greg to come to the farm for a little meeting.

Now here Greg was, sitting on the couch. Eomma put down a cup of tea for him before she sat down. “Now er...don’t be alarmed,” she said, as good-naturedly and calmly as she could. “You might find all of this a shock, but trust me, Junnie has it all under control. Erm, Jun-ah?”

Jun sighed and then hopped onto the coffee table. “Yes, hullo, it’s me, yes, really, yes, I am a victim of a curse! Just another day in Swynlake, isn’t it, eh!” he tried for humour, to bark out a laugh, but it came out a bit shrieky. Jun winced. “Oh, that was embarrassing.”

GREG:

It wasn’t too bizarre that Gregory had been contacted to come to the Moon Farm. He’d been coming three or four times a week ever since Mr. Moon had decided he was going to work there for his mental health or whatever, at least. Sometimes he stayed for breakfast - usually when Eomma insisted, and rarely he swung by outside of those times to drop things off for them from his own mother.

So Gregory hadn’t really batted an eye at the woman’s phone call, agreeing to swing by after he’d closed up Ruff to Fluff for the evening. The only difference was, of course, the lack of Jun.

At least in the moment. However, he figured perhaps he had to stay late at the Market or..was on a date or doing something important. Jun always appeared to have very little free time to sit around and do nothing, after all. He was a very busy man - and...Gregory was sure with all his issues (re: mental breakdowns, possibly curses, etc) that he didn’t help with that. He wasn’t going to question it though, even if he was curious on what Eomma could possibly need from him that didn’t involve the eldest son too - instead just agreeing to tea and thanking Eomma quietly when she placed it in front of him.

His brows furrowed almost immediately however upon her comment - knowing that despite the words themselves, they only ever elicited a concerned response from him. Now don’t panic, but… - don’t be alarmed! I’m sure it’s nothing but-

Words like that were never actually followed by good things, were they? Head tilted slightly as she continued, his lips parting slightly as if he was going to question her almost immediately when he found himself caught off guard again. Jun-ah? Wait...what?

Try as he might to avoid it - Gregory could have sworn his jaw hit the floor when the delicate little paws of a cat hopped up onto the coffee table. Greg’s gaze swept over it almost immediately, always having been drawn to animals of course - and for a moment - he might’ve thought it was a joke. That the… shock that his mother was referring to was the fact that Mr. Moon had adopted a cat! That alone would have been quite a shock to him too. Enough of a shock for him to handle, really…. But then the cat spoke.

The cat spoke and the cat sounded just like Jun. Acted just like Jun. Was Jun. “...Oh my god.” Came the words before he could stop them, his hand covering his open mouth as concern knit his brows deeply across his features. Mr. Moon…. Mr. Moon was a cat. A cat. What the f— “...What… what happened?” He finally questioned, gaze slipping between the (admittedly very cute and adorable!!) Cat-Jun and Eomma.

JUN: Jun grimaced. Well, he supposed not really, because cats did not have the same facial muscles as humans. So his lip curled a little and his eyes narrowed and he looked off a bit to the side, squirming in his own fur. Aish, he knew this was going to be embarrassing, but he was never ready for just how embarrassing! Every single time he had to reveal himself to someone (ahem, so far-- Tae, Ting-Ting, and Eomma) he was sent further down a hole of humiliation he never wanted to crawl out of.

With Greg, that hole was especially deep.

He was supposed to be Mr. Moon after all! Not many people called Jun that-- not many people respected him the same way Greg did. Now, Jun didn’t quite understand why and he definitely didn’t deserve it, but that didn’t mean Jun wanted to lose Greg’s respect either. Over the last few months, his quiet and steady presence had grown into the grooves of this place, as if he were one of Jun’s most beloved fruits. And my, wasn’t that an apt metaphor? When Greg had arrived on the farm, he was wilted; now, he had bloomed!

At least, he wasn’t threatening to disappear into the country sides of France or what-have-you. A marked improvement.

Would that all be lost now? Would Greg find the Moon Farm unsafe? Would he be horrified to learn of how Jun had lied? His ears flicked back and forward. He didn’t want to tell him any of it.

But Jun had to. If he didn’t, Eomma would.

“It’s-- it’s a bit of a story,” Jun chewed out after a prolonged beat of squirmy silence. His tail lashed again. “Agh, and it’s going to sound ridiculous, trust me, I know! I thought it was ridiculous the whole time--”

“진짜 !” exclaimed Eomma, followed by some more annoyed Korean that only Jun (thankfully) could understand. It translated roughly to: So you say, and yet you brought that beast straight into our home, let me feed her at our table--

“Eomma, I know!” Jun mewled in distress.

Eomma just sucked her teeth and picked up her cup of tea. “Go on then, tell him about the 걸레같은 년.”

Jun winced. Not going to translate that.

Whiskers twitching, he glanced toward Greg with a pathetic expression, struggling for another few seconds for the words and then finally bursting out--

“Yah, fine! Haru is a CAT! She was a cat all along, from a distant cat kingdom and I didn’t know, I tried to take care of her, eh, I thought-- oh, she was a stray! And then POOF! One day she was a woman! She didn’t know what to do, so yes, I helped her again, I signed her up for a cellphone and gave her a job, and then I thought, hey, what a good idea, I’ll pretend to date Haru so my eomoeni gets off my back! I didn’t know it would end like this!”

“You made a deal with a cat demon!” Eomma shot back at him.

“She’s not a demon, Eomma! She’s a normal cat! It’s a spell, it’s-- a weird marriage spell!”

“You really didn’t like Kim Do-yeon that much? Why, because I like her?”

“Eommaaaaaa, this isn’t about Kim Do-yeon!”

“My son made a deal with a cat demon and now look at him!” Eomma repeated to Greg this time, flourishing a hand. “Gregory, this is why you should always listen to your parents. I bet Gregory would go on dates with nice girls that his mother likes.”

“I AM A CAT, CAN WE PLEASE NOT TALK ABOUT MY LOVE LIFE!” Jun mewled, his fur puffing up.

Eomma raised her hands again, then sipped her tea.

Jun turned back to Greg, flattening his ears and crouching down. “...Does that answer your question?”

GREG: Okay.

...okay. That was… that was a lot of information that Gregory tried to follow in a very short amount of time. His head whipped back and forth easily between Jun and Eomma, like he was invested in a terribly long volley of a tennis match. Back and forth - the quick and sharp words between mother and son as Gregory felt himself tug his lip ring between his teeth, gnawing on the metal like the discomfort gnawed in his gut.

He tried to focus on the big picture. To...process it in his mind in a more simple and compact way. In his head, the story went something like this: Eomma wanted Jun to talk to a ‘nice girl’ that she liked by the name of Kim Do-yeon, and evidently Jun did not wish to do so. He hadn’t a clue where on the timeline that fell, but not important. Then Jun found a stray cat that he helped take care of (which was good!! Very cute that grumpy Mr. Moon would take in a stray!!) Not so cute was the fact the stray turned into a full grown woman. One that… as of five minutes ago Gregory had thought to just be the man’s girlfriend.

Oh - and said cat-woman (normal cat?? So… cursed...to be a woman??) was from a distant… cat kingdom.

...what?

Belatedly - Gregory realized quite a bit of time had passed since Jun last spoke. He’d simply been staring in his direction with that same blank look on his expression as he struggled to take that information in and form… any cohesive thought about it. Straightening up mechanically, Greg cleared his throat, hand moving to rub at his temple as his tongue wrapped around words a few times before he could only shake his head.

“...uhm---... n-.. No.” He admitted. If anything, it just opened up so many more questions for him to ask. There were a lot too!! However they were… likely not as important at the moment (even if Greg was… incredibly curious about a cat kingdom). Priorities though. Jun was a cute cat right in front of him. That was kind of a problem. “..I-... I still don’t uhm…. I don’t...see how that involves...you becoming a...cat. I--.. Did… did she turn you into a cat??” Is that why his mother kept calling her a cat demon? “...Or-- I-... I’m sorry I just..” This is a lot he almost said. However...if it was a lot for him he couldn’t imagine how Jun felt. Or..well, actually he could. At least an idea, given he thought he’d been cursed just recently too.

“I...I mean are you … okay?” Stupid question, perhaps.

JUN: “Am I okay?” Jun responded incredulously. And he stood up on all four paws again, fur puffing up. “Do I LOOK like I’m okay to you?! I could be stuck like this forever!”

Hopefully not. He was getting ahead of himself.

Luckily, Eomma chimed in. “Aish, hush,” Eomma said to him, swiping a hand through the air. “That’s no way to talk to a friend. Just answer his questions.”

Jun growled low in his throat. He didn’t want to.

The fact of the matter is that he had purposefully avoided the how. Part of Jun still did not understand himself. This was what Eomma kept forgetting in her quest to make Jun the bad guy here-- this was all news to him too! When Haru first appeared, she’d not explained the details of the spell that sent her to Swynlake. She hadn’t mentioned a mysterious cat sorcerer named Purrseph, who obviously had her own motives.

Maybe Jun should have inquired more deeply into these things. But he wasn’t a sorcerer, or a fairy, or a...a...animal shapeshifter! He was a gardener. A grocer. A mundus.

Just…Jun.

So to him, Haru’s story was something out of a faery tale. He wished it could stay that way. Why he of all people-- a gardener, a grocer, just Jun-- had been thrust into the narrative made no sense. Look at him! Did he look particularly heroic? He was no knight in shining armor. And definitely not a prince.

Aiya, at least the black fur hid the fact he was definitely blushing. His blood felt like it was on fire!

“Haru...did not mean to. She-- agh.” He grumbled again and swiped an annoyed paw over his whiskers like he was batting away an annoying fly. “I suppose I should have mentioned Haru is not just a cat, she’s...a Cat Princess.”

“HAH,” Eomma barked.

“And she...had to wed a Cat Prince in a different kingdom to unite the lands or… stop a war or something.”

“HAH,” another laugh from Eomma.

“But she didn’t want to--”

“Children are all the same,” sighed Eomma.

“So she asked a cat sorcerer--yes, very funny, Eomma, I know! Erm, anyway. She asked a cat sorcerer for help. According to her, the cat sorcerer cast a spell that would lead her to her own happiness. That’s how she ended up in Swynlake. And apparently, the theory is that once Haru and I … we… uh... ”

Eomma tsked under her breath.

“It isn’t like that!” Jun shot quickly toward Eomma. “We shared a moment of true happiness together! It was just-- a cup of coffee after Chuseok! We fell asleep watching a drama! It was nothing inappropriate or, or grand, or anything! But I woke up and poof, I’m a cat, and I’m supposed to go back to Nihon and marry her, I guess!”

“Over my dead body,” said Eomma.

“Obviously. I just need to get the spell lifted, that’s all. And then everything will go back to the way it was and we can all collectively agree to never mention this again!”

GREG: Gregory shrank back a bit almost immediately at the older man (cat’s) response. Half of it was because that tone that Jun used so easily made him uncomfortable in any situation - but the other half stemmed simply from the fact he….appeared as an angry cat. And while Greg had gone through a lot of things in his life, he’d always been incredibly good with animals. Never had one turn on him in anger in any walk of life. Even the scared dogs at the shop would never turn on him in anger. So it was… weird to see a cat angry. Weird to feel like he might reach out and try to bite or scratch him (and truly he didn’t know if he would).

Either way, the urge to reach out and comfort him like he would a normal cat was immediately ignored. He was not going to have the very first time in his life that he was attacked by an animal be from Jun.

So instead Gregory just leaned back slightly, putting a bit more distance between the pair of them as he listened with a deep frown to the hesitant explanation of.. What exactly had happened to cause this. An explanation, of course, that had him adding new little tidbits to that already too wild story in his mind. Cat Princess. Got it. Right… why not at this rate.

Though Gregory had half a mind to hush Eomma the same way she had Jun for him - though he didn’t dare. He didn’t find the humor in this at all. Even if he could tell it was… bitter humor, Gregory still didn’t feel any inclinations of a smile. Of a laugh or even the slightest shift of humor in his expression. If anything he felt his frown tug down even deeper as he rubbed his hand over his mouth in deep rooted concern.

His expression did shift slightly at Eomma’s tsk, his gaze lifting immediately to Jun’s own with raised brows - and he was just about to interrupt and tell him whatever detail he was about to share was… not important. Gregory didn’t need to know whatever Haru and him had done together to… seal whatever curse this was!!! Jun was quick to interject though, filling that gap quickly and Gregory cleared his throat lightly in relief.

So - ...alright,..Eomma → Jun+Kim Do-yeon=Happy Eomma, unhappy Jun. Caring Jun adopts stray cat. Cute. Stray Cat (Princess Cat) → full grown woman. Not cute. Fake couple. Not cute. In place of a true love’s kiss - a… true moment of happiness or something. (Cute) Poof, Jun is a cat and needs to marry the Princess Cat in the Cat Kingdom. (Not cute!). Again - as noted when Jun was originally helping him with his ‘maybe curse’, this wasn’t Gregory’s first rodeo. His boyfriend and him broke up to leave the country to find a way to break his curse and he hadn’t returned. Hadn’t...spoken to him.. Seen him. It’d been...well over a year. Honestly it was terrifying to never know what became of him. To think that.. Something like this could happen to Jun and that he’d just up and disappear forever too!

Blowing a deep sigh through his lips, Gregory leaned forward again as he swept both of his hands over his face - massaging his temples roughly. It was...a lot. A very large amount of things to process and Gregory didn’t know if he was mad at Haru for letting this all happen or for Eomma for blaming Jun so much for something that was clearly out of his control. Being angry wasn’t going to help though - and clearly he was called here for a reason..

“....———okay…. So… What can I do? How--.. How can I help?” A hopefully… less stupid question.

JUN: Finally! The reason they were all here.

If only Jun could have started here, but Greg had deserved the explanation, especially because the truth of the matter was-- Jun had no idea how long he was going to be gone. He hoped he could get everything sorted in a matter of days. Get in, find Purrseph, claw her until she listened, lift the spell, and poof! He’d wake up in his bed with thumbs and everything! Whatever happened to Haru, he didn’t know-- it was one of the thoughts he was pushing away. It wasn’t his business. Despite whatever friendship they’d been building… and maybe something more, or at least, he’d had that brief, ill-advised thought last night which was clearly part of the reason he was LIKE this-- it was probably over. Good riddance, and all that. He-- he didn’t care.

But he would need her up until the point he was human again. And he needed Gregory too.

He cleared his throat. “Right, yes. Er, see-- Ting-Ting told me the only way to lift this sort of spell is to go to the sorcerer who cast it. Very annoying. I’ve got to head off to Nihon later today with Haru, and I’m not exactly sure how long I’ll be gone. Probably not very. Haru assures me she knows exactly where that cat sorceress is hiding. So, well, they don’t have boats and cars and things there-- it’s all wild terrain, you know, um, think Lord of the Rings, I guess-- so it might just be a bit of a trek… maybe a-- a week, tops.”

Eomma sighed. She had no comment for all this-- he knew it worried her. It worried Jun too, but he was trying to pretend like it didn’t.

“So I er, just need a bit of help with the store. Eomma will do most of the work, but...but well, if you could help her out. Mostly during the weekdays, er, opening it up--she needs to get my sisters to school, you know. It won’t be that hard, I can walk you through everything, and I created a whole manual of instructions after my um, my abeoji died, just in case, so-- it should all be sorted.” He licked his muzzle, eyes darting down and then up. “I know it’s quite the favour to ask. You...you have your store too.”

GREG:

I’ve got to head off to Nihon. I’m not exactly sure how long I’ll be gone. Maybe a week, tops.

Gregory felt himself stiffen at that - straightening up a tad as that discomfort clenched again in his gut. Jun was leaving. Jun was leaving Swynlake to find a way to lift his curse. He still remembered that night his ex-boyfriend last flew into his window. The way he stood in his room and tried to explain that he was leaving - that he didn’t know for how long, but he needed to break his curse. That he was closer to doing it than he’d ever been before and that this would be it. The final steps. That he’d come back when it was over… I’m not really sure how long it’ll take.

What if Mr. Moon never came back either? What if he left to lift his curse and Gregory found himself alone again? He’d lost his boyfriend. His best friend left for University and never said goodbye. Hadn’t contacted him since graduation. He couldn’t lose Mr. Moon too - but he also couldn’t ask him to stay. It wasn’t fair - and it wasn’t… realistic. The man was a cat and… obviously had a very good idea of how to solve it.

But the thought still terrified him. He didn’t want him to go.

“I--.. It’s fine.” He said perhaps too quickly, offering a slight dismissive wave of his hand. “I-... Ian can..basically run my shop without me.” Any of his employees probably could. They were all incredibly trustworthy and he’d trained them to. They’d all learned quickly - but Ian covered a lot of the important business work aspects. Knew how to operate the books, to close up or open, how to handle appointments and customers and inventory. That was why Ian would always be the one to get the keys when the time came.

So Gregory wasn’t worried about that.

“It’s not..it’s not a problem. I uhm… I mean I can..I can just come here and help on the farm a little earlier - and then go back and open for her like you would. And uhm… - Go to class or my shop or Board stuff during the day and check in again near closing. It’s.. - it’s more than doable.”

JUN: People often thought that Jun was not a very emotional person, or that he wasn’t very empathetic.

This was a mistake.

Now, he wasn’t as empathetic as he could be, and yes, he did make decisions based on logic and facts. But Jun knew when people were upset. Maybe it was all the training in hospitals. Maybe it was growing up with three sisters, being raised by Haleomoni and Eomma before his abeoji was ever in the picture. Whatever it was, he’d become especially attuned to Gregory’s stormy emotional states-- and he saw the boy stiffen, and knew that this was not good news.

But Eomma had cried too. This annoyed, sarcastic version of herself was a shield she was putting up for Greg, so she wouldn’t cry again. But she had asked him-- how long will you be gone? How can I live without you, my Yeong-junnie?

Jun frowned a bit, squirming again as Greg looked away from him and, naturally, agreed, like the very good boy he was. How readily and easily he agreed too. It tugged Jun’s heart. It made him feel worse.

He was bringing so much worry to all the people he loved, when it was supposed to be his job to carry it.

And so that was why Jun hopped from the table onto the couch, where he situated himself next to Gregory. He put a paw on the boy’s leg. “That would be wonderful, Gregory. Really, from the bottom of my heart… thank you,” he said. “And… and look, it really is not as scary as it sounds. Haru tells me there aren’t even any predators where she’s from! They’re the, er, top of the food pyramid so to speak! So I’ll be back before you know it! I promise. Who else can keep this town in check, eh?”

GREG: The sudden blur in front of him startled him, a hand raising slightly away from his side as Jun hopped across the gap and settled beside him - a fuzzy little black paw resting against his thigh. Much like the gentle hand that would rest across his knee or shoulder in an attempt to comfort him - Gregory knew that even if it didn’t physically carry the same weight, it carried the same implication. Despite the fact Jun was the one in this situation this time around, he was still doing his best to comfort him. To make sure Greg was okay.

His fingers curled gently into a fist, if only to resist the urge to reach out and scratch the small kitty behind his ears - to pull him against his chest and hold him close like he might’ve Calliope or Faith at the shop. Maybe then he could stop Jun from going. Keep him safe and find a way to get him out of his curse without him having to leave.

Lips parted to say something - but the words caught a bit in his throat. Forcing him to swallow that small lump as his gaze shifted briefly to Eomma before it landed back on Jun’s own again.

Despite his furry appearance, his eyes were so incredibly telling. Still the same dark eyes. The same bright, expressive eyes that often told him more than Mr. Moon ever would himself. The conversations the other man could hold just in his looks - from the gentle assurance, to stern reprimands. Even now - he could tell Jun’s words were genuine. Even if he knew there was… uncertainty there. But...he couldn’t blame him. Who wouldn’t be uncertain about going to a cat kingdom to demand your physical form back - but… the promise was genuine.

A week tops.

“...Of..of course. It’s..no big deal. It’s like--...the least I can do after all.” He was still...forever in debt to the other man, after all. Whether Jun wanted to acknowledge that or not. Clearing his throat a second time before offering a quick smile, Greg shifted again slightly. “That’s uhm...that’s good though. I uhm… - I’m sure it’ll be fine. ...knowing you - it’ll just take a look and you’ll be back to..to normal and on your way home.”

JUN: Yes, Jun was trying to comfort Greg, but he needed to hear it himself. The more he repeated it out loud, the easier it became to believe the strange story of it all-- that he would go, do his silly little hero’s journey, and come back in the end. That was how it always went, after all! At least, in every book and tv show and movie he had ever seen. The hero always came home.

Some hero you’ll be, he thought sardonically to himself. But if Greg believed in him…

Jun glanced back at Eomma, who gazed on worriedly. He cleared his throat. “Well-- er now that that’s settled-- I can go over a few specifics with you. Eomma, you don’t have to stay.”

Eomma nodded. “Thank you Gregory. This is very kind of you.” She got up and then reached over to squeeze one of Gregory’s hands gently, a small, tight smile on her lips. “You are a good boy. Jun-ah, tell me before he goes, eh, I want to send him home with more leftovers!”

Eomma went back out to her pottery studio, leaving Jun to talk to Gregory about the second part of his favour-- the most important part, really.

“I just wanted to say-- if you could look after her too,” he said much more quietly. His ears flicked backwards, as the shame bubbled up from the pit in his stomach. This was his job. It was one thing to let the store down, all those customers, and another to leave his eomoni all alone. She was a capable woman, of course, but-- only a year had passed since Abeoji died. He could sense her dread, her fear, almost like it was a smell caught in his ridiculous cat nostrils. And it was all his fault.

When Jun came home, it was where he was supposed to stay, so he could care for her, and his sisters, and Tae-yah. What if he didn’t come back?

No! Of course he’d come back. It was not an option. And until then…

“She might come across as very casual about this whole thing, but I know it scares her. Please, try to keep her spirits up. An-anything you can do.” A note of pleading sharpened Jun’s words. “If you need any help at all, also, please don’t hesitate to lean on Yeong-tae as well. Remind him that he is the eldest son while I am gone. He has to take that seriously-- but not too seriously, he should--focus on his studies too, of course, that’s first--”

The more Jun spoke, the more panicked he started to feel. Best to just stop, and so he did, abruptly.

GREG: Somehow Gregory managed a smile for Eomma as she got up and squeezed his hand - his head nodding gently. “...s’no problem.” He dismissed easily one last time, letting that smile stay on his lips just until the woman stepped from the room, where it then quickly faded back into the same frown that was often etched onto his features. The very one that still carried the worry he held for the older man.

A worry that only seemed to grow tenfold when Jun spoke up again, Gregory’s gaze immediately falling back down to that black cat beside him. He looked so… small. Scared. The ears pressed back against his head, the uncertain movements of his tail. See, Greg had always been good at reading body language, it was one of his skills of knowing when people wanted nothing to do with him, but even better than reading human body language? Was Greg’s ability to read animal’s body language. A skill that became especially important with his job at the shop.

So...he could see the discomfort in Jun’s figure. The… anxiety that seemed to spike through his small frame, only confirmed by the way his words grew seemingly faster before they abruptly came to a halt in all.

Mr. Moon’s request was a valid one, of course. One that Gregory would agree to quicker than he’d agreed to watch the store. It was...a no question situation - but the hint of desperation in which Jun requested it made him nervous too, and in the end - his own empathy overruled his logic.

So his fingers uncurled from his palm as they gently reached out to wrap around the back of Cat-Jun’s neck - thumb softly petting behind his ears as he nodded in easy agreement. “...Mr. Moon.. You don’t have to worry about that.” He spoke quietly, letting his hand rest upon his neck before it moved down slightly to gently scratch against his shoulders and the stiff tension he might’ve held there. “...course I’ll watch out for her. ..Keep an eye on her, Tae and your sisters while you’re gone… - but..” He trailed off slightly, his brows furrowing again as he swallowed another slightly larger lump in his throat.

“...You--.. It’ll just be a week. You’re coming back.” He finished - firmly, even. It wasn’t a question. Mr. Moon would come back (and as a human, no less) in just a week tops. “You promised…” He reminded, a little softer before his fingers stilled in the other’s soft fur. “...You promised. N’I promise I’ll look after them.”

JUN: Yes, he promised.

And oh, it was humiliating, everything about this was humiliating, but Jun closed his eyes at Gregory’s touch and let himself relax, if only for a moment. He hated this body-- it wasn’t his-- but with his eyes closed, he could at least forget that. With his eyes closed, he did not have to be a cat. He did not even have to be Mr. Moon, not anymore. Though he didn’t know what that made him-- if he were not Mr. Moon, the eldest son of the Moon family, what was he?

But Jun did not have to answer that question, at least not in those few seconds where he was not Mr. Moon at all, because only Mr. Moon would have the answer, eh? Instead, Jun got to have a few seconds just to himself. He got to have a comforting hand, and let himself listen to a friend’s kind words.

When he heard a rumbling, like a gentle murmur of rain, he didn’t realize it was him, purring, until he opened his eyes again.

And then the purring abruptly stopped.

And Mr. Moon was Mr. Moon again. Mr. Moon did not purr. Mr. Moon did not need comfort. He had quite a lot of work ahead of him actually. Normally, that work was familiar and routine: get up, do farm chores, open the store, run the store, run the errands, close the store, wake up, do farm chores…

But really, what was so different about this if he thought about it as one long errand, eh? It was bound to frustrate him, as most of his errands did!

Yes, one long errand, and dealing with people-- er… cats he did not want to deal with, and plenty of red tape, but then: home.

Jun cleared his throat. “Er-- yes-- of course. Exactly. One week, and then I’ll be back,” he said confidently, like he’d never doubted at all. “...Thank you again, Gregory. It’s… very…” Jun cleared his throat, feeling the heat under his fur. “I’m glad I can depend on you.”

GREG: He wouldn’t mention it.

Not if he wanted to live, of course - but Gregory was always going to remember the way the cat in front of him seemed to relax. The way his eyes closed and that soft rumble of purring filled the empty space between them. Perhaps if it had gone on any longer, he might’ve even seen the jet-black paws curl against his leg and knead the material of his jeans gently. But it didn’t - quick as it started, the purring came to a halt as Mr. Moon opened his eyes again and Gregory quickly took that as his cue to let his hand slip off the other man’s figure and instead rest on his own thigh.

Greg wouldn’t dare be weird about it. It was a cat - but it was still Mr. Moon. Still his elder. Still a respected businessman - and still in a situation that Gregory could only begin to understand. So he wouldn’t mention this, likely ever in his life. He’d consider that another addition to the endless debt he owed to Jun. Keeping this secret safe with him for as long as he lived, even if the man hadn’t yet asked that of him.

“...please don’t mention it.” The younger man said instead with another dismissive shrug. “It-... it’s never even a question.” And while Gregory didn’t know if Jun could depend on him, ...well at the very least he could try for him.

No matter what he asked, he’d try for him. Which was perhaps why he was even still here in the first place. Mr. Moon had basically asked him to try. So he was. So he too would try with this - make sure he did his very best to keep an eye out on Mr. Moon’s family and his store. To help his mother open, close or anything else she needed in between. Hell - Gregory would have gone to a Cat Kingdom to fight for him too if Jun asked.

“...maybe uhm…” He cleared his throat then, knowing better than to let them get stuck in an awkward gratitude cycle. “...Maybe we should actually go over a few things, yeah? I wasn’t cool enough t’get the summer job at the Market like everyone else so.. We gotta touch the basics.” He teased with a small smile.

Anything to lighten the mood.

#para #moon donkey #i love these guys nobody gets it #just think there should be a moon donkey fanblog on this site tbqh #greg is so funny in this also i love him

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orangeeveningsky · 3 years

Text

The Mind Cottage Where Lost and Forgotten Things Go

Hullo, Tumblr-verse!

It’s been two years since my last post and yes, I thank my Maker everyday that I’m still well and alive.

I’m proud to say that I have survived the weirdest year in the history of post-modern truth: the year of 2020.

And boy, what a wild ride that year turned out to be! What with Covid-19 pandemic and other mess in between, that happened in my real life. Never have I ever thought that stranger things could outdone the happenings in the year of 2018-2019 in my life, but yeah unfortunately, it did.

It’s like, if and/or when the water flows slowly in my river of life, it must be the sign of “the calm before the storm”.

Anyways, this time I want to share my thoughts on my grand new year’s resolutions for 2021 which is “to let go, let God, and move on.”

To tell you the truth, I’m someone who easily share sentimental values in everything that I do or own. I can spend a whole day trying to pull a KonMari method, cleaning stuffs in my room only to realize that I only cleaned it for like a few hours at first, and spent the rest of the day actually reminiscing the memories that I shared with those stuffs. Hence, I didn’t throw out most of that “junks” since I felt those stuffs ((sparked joy)).

I know, this is extremely counterproductive and believe me, this embarrassed me to no end.

I have long realized that this is a bad habit that would haunt me later in life, but I didn’t expect my sentimental attachment to worldly stuffs, was actually still the tip of the iceberg in my inner self journey.

I just realized that, NEWS FLASH: I actually store every memories, every reminiscences, every scars, every wounds, both physical and psychological ones, not in those worldly stuffs, but in the most secluded part of my brain: My Mind Cottage Where The Lost and Forgotten Things Go.

People who know me in real life tend to marvel at my knowledge of trivia.

My brain has difficulties in remembering advanced maths or those numbers or sciences-related stuffs, but it absorbed trivial things, just like how sponges easily absorb water.

I can still remember one of my first memories from when I was still a toddler very vividly, but I can’t recall the formula for the circumference of circles that I used to study in high school. Isn’t this very strange?

I used to think this is the only advantageous quality that I possessed, little did I know that this particular Mind Cottage is like a double-ended sword that could both save me and kill me. And yes, the continuation of my life largely depends on how I swing that sword.

Recently, I fear that the sword tried to choke my throat, and it wasn’t done against my will.

Just like how the water flows out of the drainage when the pipes are broken, a few weeks ago, I unintentionally let my guard down when I faced the source of all the things that went awry in my life. And then BOOM! All those awful memories that I have buried in the deepest hole of my mind cottage, started to rise and then came out with full force.

It hurts.

Oh, it hurts so bad, as if it was still fresh from the oven of hell’s kitchen.

It didn’t help that what I buried was not the marks of physical scars, it was mostly psychological wounds that had no stitches whatsoever. I spent some time in agony not knowing what to do with it, I tried to shake off the unpleasant feelings that engulfed my chest, and to attack the day as per usual, but to no avail.

Until today.

And you know what the strangest thing is? The thing that can cure me from this psychological torment also comes from the same mind cottage, but from different room. This room is no hell’s kitchen, it’s the room of warm and fuzzy feelings. The room that gets the most rays of sunshine all year round.

What makes this discovery becomes even more miraculous is that I actually have to let go of a few things first, in order to find the keys back to that warm and fuzzy room. I have to let go of one of my oldest possessions, the one that have stayed with me from my teenage years.

At first, I didn’t want to let go… (I’m sentimentally attached to my stuffs, remember?)

But then, I closed my eyes. In my mind, I scrolled through the memories and reminiscences that I stored in that object, all the contents and faces that have made me inexplicably happy and entertained. That’s when the Eureka moment hit me:

“Hey, hang on.. I can still remember all those wonderful things so clearly, even without having to hold the object physically. Even without me opening the object, and sorting out the contents directly in person, I feel my face beaming with a smile when I imagined those things all over again, just like the first time I experienced it.”

Just like how I still keep my warm and fuzzy room in my mind cottage after all these years, the hell’s kitchen will still always be there too, for as long as I live.

It’s only a matter of:

Whether I choose to dwell on those awful memories and experiences in the hell’s kitchen until it lingers in my brain and overshadow my focus from the warm and fuzzy room and other wonderful rooms that can be build in my mind cottage in the future, or I choose to take the precious lessons that I had learned in the hell’s kitchen, albeit the hard way, and let it go the way it supposed to go, then move on and go on my merry way for brighter days ahead.

So yes, today is a very special day, indeed. The day when I truly, whole-heartedly, learned the meaning of “let go, let God, and move on”, and I’m so READY to put this moves into action!

Lastly, to my readers (or just, whoever stumbled upon this post):

I sincerely wish that you may find your keys back to your warm and fuzzy rooms too and please do remember to stay away from the hell’s kitchen.

Here’s to more rays of sunshine for the mind cottage in the near future!

#life journey #musings #eureka #inner journey #well being #psychological wounds #move on #let go #let God

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sevens-evan · 4 years

Note

calendiles 52?

52. things you said with my lips on your neck

i uh. took this places

“Hello?” Jenny calls. The Sunnydale High library doesn’t look the way she remembers it. Probably something to do with the giant snake monster that destroyed the building while she was taking a year off in New York, trying to recover from almost being murdered. Instead of neatly organized shelves and swinging doors with portholes on them, the library is mostly a giant pit filled with dust and spiderwebs, and the occasional burnt remains of a book spread across the floor. Rupert would never stand for it.

But that’s why Jenny is here, of course—in Sunnydale, and in the library itself. Because Rupert is gone.

“Hello?” Jenny calls again. Shouting probably isn’t the best searching technique, but if Rupert is here, he already knows where she is. There’s no point in hiding. She walks farther into the library, past the ruins of the front desk, and skirts the edge of the crater where the Hellmouth lies. She climbs the half-ruined stairs up to the second floor, where a few bookshelves still stand, casting long shadows in the dusty sunlight that streams in the windows above. She steps between two shelves—

—and immediately, arms wrap around her waist. She stiffens, holding her breath, but the touch is horribly familiar. Her back presses up against her assailant’s chest, and a face presses into her neck, lips dragging against her skin.

“Hullo, Jenny,” Rupert says. He’s different, too—his accent is thicker, less posh than Jenny remembers it. Probably something to do with the fangs she can feel poking through his lips and brushing against her neck.

“Rupert,” Jenny says.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Rupert says, sing-song. “I like Ripper, now.” Despite her situation, Jenny snorts derisively.

“Ripper?” she says. “How troubled-youth can you get?” She leans back against him, and finds none of the warmth she associates with Rupert’s body. Only cold flesh beneath thin clothes, sending a chill through Jenny’s body. “Having a midlife crisis?” Rupert—Ripper just laughs at her, cold, pointless breaths against her neck.

“Oh, you smell delectable,” he says. “I don’t know why Angelus was so set on killing you, when he could’ve just eaten you instead.” He licks her neck, leaving a cold, wet stripe on her flesh. “I might just keep you alive, you know,” he says. “Wouldn’t that be fun? Drink you nearly dry and feed you and water you till I can do it again.” He groans. “What do you say, Jenny? You could make me a better man. I could only drink from you. I would never have to kill again.” Jenny grits her teeth.

“I say...” She pauses. Ripper leans in, rubbing his face against her cheek.

“Yes, darling?” he says eagerly.

“Go to hell.” Jenny shoves backwards, and Ripper is just off his guard enough that she sends him stumbling backwards.

Straight into a beam of sunlight.

#calendiles #jenny calendar #rupert giles #btvs #my fics #fic: calendiles #jenny-calendar #answered

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the--highlanders · 4 years

Text

19. Celestial

on ao3.

A book in one hand, a cup of tea in the other, the stars bright above him, and all from the comfort of his own room on board the TARDIS. Yes, the Doctor thought, he could get used to this sort of thing. It was an oddly human pastime, this relaxing business. Oh, that was hardly to say he had never sat quietly and read a book before – though he had been told he had never quite done enough of it, in his years at the Academy. But to sit and read purely for the pleasure for it, to bask in taking his time with it when a simple flick through would have done… well, he had the needs of his human companions for food and sleep and relaxation of their own to thank for that.

The door creaked open.

Only by a few centimetres, and it quickly rocked its way into stillness again, but he glowered at it anyway. He had just been getting to a rather exciting part, and the door had just had to go and ruin the suspense.

It swung open a little more, almost as if it had read his thoughts and wanted to spite him. Perhaps it had.

“There’s no need for that, now, dear,” he said, patting the wall by way of placating the TARDIS, though in truth he felt more than a little peeved. “I know you’re keen to be off again – but we’ve all found something to occupy ourselves with. I don’t suppose there’s any chance of you doing the same.”

He had expected the door to swing closed after that, the TARDIS roundly but not unfairly chastised. But it stayed as it was – opened even further, perhaps. Only when he looked again did he see that there was someone standing behind it.

So it had not been the TARDIS trying to get his attention after all.

“Sorry, dear,” he murmured, patting the wall with rather more affection this time. Distantly, he heard the ship give a rumble that could almost have been an offended huff. “Ah – hello, Jamie.”

“Hullo.” Finally acknowledged, Jamie pushed the door open fully and stepped inside. His eyes wandered slowly across the room before eventually settling on the Doctor, taking in his book, the covers pulled up to his chest. “You’re busy, I can -”

“No, no, it’s quiet alright.” Shuffling over on the bed to make room, the Doctor patted the space beside him. “I’m not too busy for – whatever it is you need.” As Jamie came closer, he realised that there were dark shadows under his half-closed eyes. “Have you been asleep?”

Jamie nodded. “Woke up,” he mumbled.

“Nightmare?”

A long pause – then Jamie nodded again.

“I see.” He tapped at the blankets again, and Jamie eased himself down slowly, as stiff and tentative as if he was still feeling whatever hurt he had experienced in his dreams. He perched himself on the very edge, so far over that it must have been uncomfortable. “And you’d like to spend the night here, is that it?” Jamie mumbled something indistinct. “There’s no need to be embarrassed, Jamie.”

“I’m no’ embarrassed,” Jamie said, a little too quickly. “Just – tired, that’s all.”

“Mm. Well.” The Doctor flicked over to the next page of his book. “If you’re sure.”

He held Jamie’s gaze for a moment longer, then turned back to his book. He had just taken in the next line when - “I couldnae go back to sleep, I – I didnae want to be alone.”

“Go on, then.” Nudging him off the bed, the Doctor held the covers up, and Jamie eagerly clambered beneath them. He curled himself on his side, back carefully turned towards the Doctor, still perched on the edge so they did not touch. “You can just ask, you know.”

They lapsed back into silence, Jamie lying there quite still, the Doctor going back to his reading. It was rather a shame that the suspense had been well and truly broken – but the warm weight of Jamie beside him drained him of any irritation. And besides, the book was enjoyable, but not quite so thrilling that he minded all too much.

He was just beginning to grow tired of it when Jamie spoke again. “There’s stars.”

“Mm.” Tilting his mug back to drain the last dregs from it, the Doctor set the book aside and looked over to frown at him. Jamie was still folded in on himself, looking for all the world like he was asleep, though if he leant over a little he could see that his eyes were still open. “Where’s the stars?”

“On your ceiling.”

“Oh!” The Doctor glanced up at them, as if he had only just noticed them himself. “So there are.”

“Is that what’s outside, then?” Jamie jerked his head towards the bedroom wall, as if they were on the edge of the TARDIS – or indeed as if the edges of the ship’s interior butted up against their reality, and there really were stars outside. A figment of the human imagination, of course, something stern in the Doctor’s mind reminded him – but a charming one nonetheless.

That same voice reminded him of just what stars they were. “Ah – no,” he said. “No, they’re – different stars.”

He did not need to see Jamie’s face to know that wheels were turning in his mind, and was relieved that he seemed too tired to push further. “Would ye – talk to me?” he asked instead. “Ye dinnae have to, but – I still cannae sleep. Maybe if ye read me a wee bit of your book, or somethin’.”

“Oh!” The Doctor glanced back at the book, discarded on his side table. Of course he had been foolish enough to leave out the bookmark – and he was not so invested that he felt like rifling through to find his place. “It isn’t that exciting,” he admitted. “Though I suppose that might put you to sleep faster.”

“Don’t ye have a story of your own, then?” Jamie’s words were mumbled, half-lost against the covers pulled up to his chin. For all that he had just said he could not go back to sleep, he seemed rather close to it. The sight of him looking so content sent a rush of affection through the Doctor, and he was not sure which frightened him more – the feeling itself or the knowledge that it was not entirely unwelcome. “Can’t ye tell me about somewhere you’ve been?”

“But I’ve already been there,” the Doctor pointed out. “It isn’t as exciting for me to remember as it is for you to hear it.”

“Isn’t it exciting just tae tell it?” Jamie rolled over, and the sight of his cheek half-squashed against the pillow made the Doctor’s heart clench. He could hardly say no, not when Jamie was looking at him so pleadingly.

“Oh, alright, then,” he grumbled at last. “You’d best make yourself comfortable.” Grinning triumphantly, Jamie squirmed his way further under the covers until there was almost nothing left of him but his eyes, wide and eager. “Now. I suppose there was the last time I met the Toymaker...”

#second doctor #two/jamie #fanfic archive #my writing #sketchtober 2020

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ineffably-effable · 3 years

Text

Honey Trapped (aziraphale/crowley crack!fic, 1.6k words)

Summary:

What happens when @racketghost makes a film reference that goes completely over my head, and I’m left pondering the question of how Crowley might come to believe himself a bee.

Notes:

Unbeated. All mistakes are my own.

(Link to ao3)

Slight warnings for some platonic, non-consensual cuddling from someone not currently in their right mind.

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4 months after the narrowly averted armageddon.

2 weeks and 6 days after Aziraphale and Crowley moved into a charming cottage in The South Downs.

2 weeks, 5 days and 10 hours after a comical series of misunderstandings left them both under the impression the other was only comfortable with platonic cohabitation.

Shortly before Elevenses.

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Aziraphale was a creature of habit.

Every Sunday he made his way into town to pick up pastries to go with his morning tea. This particular morning was no exception. Shortly after breakfast he had left Crowley to his gardening and set off to visit the local bakery.

All in all, he’d been gone less than an hour.

Certainly, he thought to himself, not enough time to excuse (or explain) Crowley standing in their front yard - wings out for all the world to see - rubbing his face into a sunflower.

“Crowley?”

Aziraphale called out to him more out of habit than out of an expectation he would reply. Although unlikely, he supposed it might be possible Crowley was trying out some new unconventional method of gardening.

That particular hope evaporated when the demon looked up and stared at him with an entranced expression on his face, sclera blown wide and orange pollen clinging to his skin.

“Are you- ah” Aziraphale took a few cautious steps forward, a little unnerved by the vacant stare, “Are you feeling well, dear?”.

Crowley tilted his head to the side, but otherwise only stared unblinkingly back at him.

As Aziraphale drew nearer, he noticed Crowley’s nose start twitching. The demon had flicked his tongue out and was alternating between sniffing and tasting the air. In a flurry of movement he spread his wings and beat them with such unnatural speed they emitted a low pitched buzzing sound. Before Aziraphale could react, Crowley flew straight at him. In a matter of seconds he had wrapped his arms around the angel’s shoulders and pulled him in close, effectively pinning Aziraphale’s arms to his sides as he pressed their bodies together. (Blessedly, Aziraphale managed to hang on to the pastries - but it was a close thing). The more the angel attempted to extract himself, the more Crowley tightened his grip. In fact, as if encouraged by the movement, he nuzzled Aziraphale’s neck and started lapping with his tongue all over Aziraphale’s face. When Aziraphale flinched, Crowley took advantage of the angel’s shocked gasp to start licking directly into his mouth.

This act proved a bridge too far for Aziraphale. He recoiled, wrinkling his nose at the sickly sweet taste of pollen, and exerted a small amount of angelic strength to push Crowley away.

Unperturbed, the demon flew back across the yard, ostensibly in search of a new flower to harvest.

Well, thought Aziraphale. That was a thing.

He watched as Crowley selected a new flower, favouring one large enough that he could start tonguing it enthusiastically.

"Hullo Mr. Fell." A familiar voice called out. Looking past Crowley, Aziraphale noticed a bemused adversary waving to him from the swing on their front porch, his diminutive hell hound on his lap.

"Adam!" Aziraphale greeted, faking a composure he didn’t feel as he miracled the pollen from his face and his disheveled clothing to its previous state. "I don’t suppose you happen to know what's gotten into Crowley?"

Adam grinned.

“He bet me I couldn’t hypnotize him.”

Aziraphale resolved never to leave Crowley without supervision again.

“So now he believes himself to be a... bee?” Aziraphale guessed (taking into consideration of the demon’s recent affinity for flowers and buzzing).

“Yep.”

When no further information appeared forthcoming Aziraphale voiced the obvious question:

“Why?”

“Bees are great. Pepper’s mums keep a hive and- ”

Recognizing a tangent when he heard one, Aziraphale nipped it in the bud.

“Sorry, dear boy, I meant why were you discussing hypnotism?”

“Brian’s Dad is trying to quit smoking and the doctor suggested hypnotherapy,” Adam said quickly, in a way that suggested this was not his first time telling this particular story, “but his Dad fell asleep during the session so Brian asked if I’d give it a shot. Pepper and Wensleydale thought I should see if Mr. Crowley could teach me how.”

Aziraphale blinked.

“Adam,” he began, “Surely you realize it would be wrong to coerce someone?”

‘‘Yeah, but Brian’s dad wanted to try it.” he insisted, “We told him my godfather was a magician and he was going to teach me how.”

“You told him Crowley was a magician?”

“He looks the part. ‘Just needs a spot of eyeliner, that one’ Mum said - ”

(Aziraphale possessed enough self-awareness that he recognized how ridiculous it was to be offended by that. He also recognized now was not the ideal time to engage in a conversation about how a spot of eyeliner did not a magician make.)

“- so I popped over here to chat to Mr. Crowley and he said I probably wouldn’t be able to do it because it’s more of a snake demon trick than an occult trick.”

“I see.”

“That’s when I bet him that I could.”

“Right.”

Crowley chose that moment to repeat his trek back over to Aziraphale who, now wise to what he was after, was able to narrowly avoid being pounced on before shooing him back off towards the flowers. Adam did a very poor job of hiding his amusement, but wisely kept his mouth shut as Aziraphale turned back to him.

“Do you have any idea why he seems quite so insistent on licking me?"

Adam snorted and concealed it poorly with a cough.

"Well, Pep’s ma said the worker bees swarm around their queen? They sniff her out so they can feed and protect her.”

"Oh."

Adam grinned but otherwise ignored him.

"He’s always around you, so seems reasonable he’d think you were important?"

A little distance away, Crowley hummed in displeasure as the flower he was nuzzling collapsed. Aziraphale performed a quick miracle to enlarge one of the nearby violets to keep him occupied.

"Is there any particular reason you haven’t restored him yet?"

“Nah, just waiting for you to get back."

"Me?"

"Crowley suggested that I should wait for you if anything happened. I think he was worried about stinging me or something." Adam rolled his eyes. He stood up and walked down the steps, Dog at his heels. "You want me to do it now then?"

"Yes please."

"Sure."

Adam waved a hand and suddenly Crowley was coughing and spluttering, wiping his tongue clean on the inside of his shirt.

"What in the ever loving fuck?"

"Back with us, dear?" Azirpaphale asked sweetly.

"Angel what the sodding hell is going on? Everything smells like flowers-" he felt along his face, "- I'm sticky. Why am I sticky?"

Adam glanced sidelong at Aziraphale.

"Adam, what are you doing here?"

"Just visiting, thanks for the help Mr. Crowley!"

"Help with-?" Crowley’s face fell. “-don’t tell me you got it on your first try,” he growled.

Aziraphale feigned a sudden interest in his hands.

"Thanks for the chat Mr. Fell."

"Anytime dear, you're always welcome. Did you want a croissant before you go?"

Adam grabbed one from the proffered bag. He made a “cheers” gesture before biting into it and promptly vanishing (along with Dog).

"Angel?"

When Aziraphale turned Crowley was standing only a few paces away from him, looking stricken but considerably less orange.

"Yes dear?"

"Please tell me I didn't stick my tongue down your throat."

"Well, that's a little hyperbolic-" he began consolingly, "- I mean, even with your tongue the length it is, you could barely reach my tonsils."

When he finally looked up Crowley was starting at him in horror.

Stung, and not caring to conceal it, Aziraphale turned for the cottage. "Well, no harm done then. Let’s get you a cup of tea."

"I’m sorry angel, I’d have never done that if I was-”

"Never?" Aziraphale asked, somewhat sharper than intended.

Crowley blinked.

"Not on purpose!"

"That inspires confidence."

"Aziraphale."

"No? Would you prefer coffee? The croissants are fresh, maybe some human food would do you good after all the pollen you’ve ingested-"

"Aziraphale." When he turned, Crowley was regarding him with a bemused look.

“Yes?’

"Was it any good?"

Aziraphale didn’t quite manage to avoid cringing.

"It was rather like being licked in the mouth by an enthusiastic puppy,” he quipped. “Not much finesse I'm afraid.”

Crowley shook his head. He rubbed a hand over his face, and pulled slightly on his earlobe while not quite making eye-contact.

"Well apologies if my technique was subpar, there was the slight impediment of believing I was a bee." Crowley responded waspishly.

"Of course, dear." he gestured back towards the cottage, “Shall we?”

"Seems like it's only fair I should get the opportunity to defend my honor." he offered a little too casually.

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows.

"Consider it a professional courtesy. I'm the original tempter and you've impugned my abilities."

"Indeed," Aziraphale played along, pursing his lips to keep back a smile "In the face of such unassailable logic who am I to disagree?"

"Right." Crowley said. He walked up to Aziraphale, nodded, and tilted his head. "Right," he repeated. Moving swiftly, he snaked an arm around Aziraphale's shoulder and brought his hand up to cradle the angel's cheek as he leaned in. The kiss was forceful but chaste. When Crowley made to pull back Aziraphale darted forward and gently nipped his bottom lip. That, plus a completely unsubtle pout, soon had the demon kissing him back in earnest.

By the time they parted Crowley looked exceedingly pleased with himself.

"Well?"

"Overall?” Aziraphale smirked, “A considerable improvement."

"Excuse me."

"It’s only fair I deduct some points for the overwhelming taste of pollen."

"Angel?"

"Yes dear?"

"Buzz off."

#is it not enough to write fic #must it also be good?#I'd apologize but you were fairly warned #my writing

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