#*drops this at your feet like a cat dropping a dead mouse*

[ulamspirals]

I did not choose to be here, it sends out, but I can help if you are willing.

Nobody responds.

What must they think of it? What truly when they stare, when they climb all over every angle and step. There is nothing and everything as well. It could be so much more than what it was intended to be—whatever that was.

#pathologic #[drops my weird polyhedron fic at your feet like a cat bringing you a dead mouse and then runs away] #the mortifying ordeal of sharing your writing #if only one person reads it and likes it a little bit i'll be happy

[op3ra]

pearl <3

#*drops this at your feet like a cat with a dead mouse* #pearl the observation car #stex fanart #starlight express #art or whatever #i looove drawing her. easily the easiest stex character to draw

[teyums]

a/n: cats are so funny because they genuinely think they’re doing something nice for you when they drop a mouse at your feet as an offering and it’s actually the opposite. i was watching my cat play with her little toy and it just brought the terrifying memory back to me bc WHY WOULD YOU THINK I WANT THIS? As soon as the idea came i wrote it, Neteyam just seems like the type LMAOO 😭

neteyam x human!reader

It takes Neteyam quite a while to understand the difference between Na’vi women and human women, especially the difference in what you do and don’t like. But you can’t blame him, you don’t look like his kind, you don’t smell like his kind, hell, you don’t even dress like them.

The Na’vi’s behavior very closely resembles that of a house cat on earth— you’ve noted after studying how Neteyam’s emotions portray themselves through his expressive tail, how his ears dip when he’s angry or perk up when he’s excited, or how he purrs when you finally agree to sitting in his lap instead of your chair while you finish up your work for the day. With the innate behavior of the two creatures mirroring each other almost completely, it’s no surprise that this also heavily factors into what they deem as ‘gifts’ for their favorite human.

Just as housecats will fetch their humans dead animals or rodents as an offering to them, the Na’vi way isn’t too far from that. You hated so much as looking at dead animals, let alone being near them, but when your childhood cat, Loki, used to bring field mice into the home and drop them at the foot of your bed, at least it was small enough for you to scoop into a grocery bag with pinched eyes and a hand over your nose while you fought back the tears of sheer terror.

Most of Neteyam’s catlike nature rendered adorable to you, and while you were more than willing to learn more about the ways of his people, this new custom he’d introduced you to had your heart dropping out of your ass like a brick and your soul exiting your body as if you could do without it. It’s when he shows up to the lab, a dead boar strung over his back with the biggest, toothiest smile you’ve ever seen spread on his lips until a bloodcurdling scream wipes it clean off his expression.

“Oh my God, ‘Teyam, get it away, get it away!” You shrill, so startled you almost tumble out of your desk chair, the hairs on your neck standing straight up as you divert your attention from the animal that’s almost the size of your body, a panicked hand splayed over your rumbling chest and the other extended out, palm towards him.

“What? You don’t like it? Should I have gone with a hexapede (deer) instead?” His brows gather in the center of his forehead when he steps closer and you immediately yelp and scoot back, the metal wheels of your chair screeching against the smooth tile with the effort of your retreat. He’s wholeheartedly confused, because any woman of his kind would find such a gesture as this one beyond thoughtful, and even romantic. Catching one of these things isn’t easy, and a clean kill with an arrow through the heart as to not rupture or damage the meat of the animal is even harder.

“I even skinned it for you!” He urges with a pout.

Your involuntary squeal interrupts his attempt to convince you as you fan your face with your hands, but it seems as if he’s still having trouble understanding.

“Perhaps I should have roasted it as well…” He ponders to himself with a hand pinching his chin, deep in contemplation while he keeps his catch over his shoulder and his eyes cast toward the wall, completely missing the way your trembling hands scramble over your desk for something to launch at him.

“GET IT OUT!”

He winces at the pitch of your shriek, astounded by how that loud of a sound could come out of such a tiny being. His brows raise before he quickly ducks to dodge the one-subject notebook that flaps past his head in a blur of fluttering paper, and he hurriedly obliges your wishes with a few steps back and a rushed ‘okay, okay!’.

Likes + Comments + Reblogs are much appreciated 💗

©teyums 2023

#avatar 2 #avatar way of water #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #neteyam x you #neteyam #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam fic #neteyam fluff #avatar twow #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x human reader

[kierahn]

yandere police officer x wanted criminal male reader :D?

A GAME OF TAG. [ y ! police officer x m ! criminal reader ]

yandere ! police officer x criminal ! male reader

warnings:

suggestive content (16+)

agressive handling from yan! officer

request/ask here.

a rushed update since i haven't posted in a while :] i have a long weekend ahead, i might be able to catch up with writing some of the piled up requests in my inbox.

× silas cromwell. it was a known fact to everyone in town that he and you were long-term rivals; like the two opposing sides of a coin. you were his favorite criminal. but you ? you didn't really like him that much; all snugged and smug in his police uniform. you were not one to get along with his kind too well.

× this game of cat and mouse between you and silas had been going on for about 2 years now. the young officer would always find himself facing a dead end everytime he tried to uncover your real identity. it was a pain in the ass for silas to chase someone he didn't know much about around.

× it was a frustratingly long chase, but silas would always find himself grinning at the thought of emerging as the victor of this game of chase you had started. little by little, his obssession with you grew.

× and, finally, he claimed sweet victory. what was more sweeter than having the most notorious mastermind himself in his grasp ? after 2 years of restlessly pursuing you, he finally had you on the tip of his fingers.

× "so what do you intend to do now, dear officer ?" the criminal asks smugly, his hands cuffed behind him and a blindfold taking away his vision as he sat on his knees before the officer. a delicious sight for silas to take in. "hand me over to the 'authorities' ? let their so-called justice deal with me ? tell me," you continued to prod him for answers, your smug smile never fading. oh, how he would love to break through that confident facade of yours.

× "i believe you don't fully understand, y/n." silas draws out after snapping out of his thoughts, standing before your kneeled form. a cold hand placed itself under your chin, sending a shiver up your spine. "i'm the authority. i'll be the one delivering justice." his voice dropped to a hauntingly low tone, holding a hint of threat that made something inside of you click.

× all this time, you've been the one in charge of leading the chase between you two; the one who was always on top of the game you yourself started. but now silas had taken the control out of your hands.

× "it seems like you're finally starting to realize," silas' voice started to move around you, your lack of sight heightening your sense of hearing. "GH–!" a harsh blow to your stomach causes you to slouch over in pain, a pained groan escaping your lips.

× you violently coughed, the harsh kick causing your breath to stop for a second. you pant heavily, drool spilling from your lips. for a flimsy officer like him, silas really knew how to use his feet to make it hurt. "that was very foul move, officer–" a cough, then a mocking laugh. "kicking down a defenseless opponent is completely unnecessary."

× a tug to your hair and a large hand encasing your cheeks tightly into a bruising grip. your laid-back attitude was starting to get on his nerves. why weren't you cowering in fear before him like he had expected ? you weren't taking him seriously at all.

× "y/n l/n, you have some nerve." you could sense that silas was very, very close to you with how his hot breath kissed the tip of your nose. however, you remained unfazed. you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you all vulnerable.

× but he would get his satisfaction either way. he always gets his way. "maybe we can find a better use for that pretty mouth of yours." his grip on your cheeks slightly loosened, his thumb glazing over your lower lip.

× "consider this my reward for winning this childish game of tag."

#male reader #yandere x male reader #x male reader #yandere male x male reader #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere #yandere male #kiahndere

[mxiaogod]

— 15. [FANTOMĂ] GHOST / SIMON RILEY  X FEM! AFAB READER

WARNING : MANHANDLING, DEGRADATION, PRAISE, FEAR PLAY, DOUBLE PENETRATION, KNIFE PLAY, BONDAGE, SPIT PLAY, MASK KINK, IMPACT PLAY, OVERSTIMULATION, BLOOD, PRIMAL PLAY, SIZE KINK, DARK CONTENT! NSFW, (DNI IF YOU AREN’T 18+)

A/N : The story will be substantially altered, and certain portions may not be linked to the original lore of COD. I do not play the game, nor am I educated in the military field; this is simply self indulgent. ALL OF THIS ARE A WORK OF FICTION AND IS LABELED AS DARK CONTENT, PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

And a big thank you for 342 followers.💐

— Ghosts are a tale, a haunting narrative; some may find them symbolic, but they are essentially a mental construct; some may believe in them, while others do not. They are terrifying, instilling fear in the hearts of those who cross them.

Your trembling fingers grasp the firm soil beneath you, gripping it with might. The thumping of your heart synchronizes with the heaves of your chest, under your nails are caked with dirt, twigs and dead leaves entangling with your hair. You’ve been running for what felt like hours now, you’ve fallen and got back on the soles of your bare feet more times than you can count, your frail fingers grazing the tender bruises trailing down your thighs as you  try to ignore the constant throbbing in your skull.

A twig snapping causes your head to snap up, wintry wands, waved by nature's hand, take on a bold black silhouette in silvery air; a sob caught in your throat. You get up by the palms of your hands, sliding your back up against the tree as you run, tears blurring your vision by the sheer fear that has its grip in your heart. Multiple debris has dug into your foot but you paid no attention. Through the dance of fog, the  twirl of mist, a small, cozy cabin sits atop of firm land, big enough to play cat and mouse with whoever is running after you. You immediately seek shelter, your frail body slamming the aging, oak door. You slam it shut, pushing an old book case to block the door with whatever strength you had left.

You grab ahold of the ends of your dress, wet from the rain and caked with mud, wringing it with your hands. You start to look around, a measly wooden chair and table sits on the corner, spotlighted by the moonlight, book shelves after book shelves that are littered with rubbish. Your feet thud against the wooden floor as you near the lone desk. A wall of newspapers, pages torn from magazines and books are slacked onto the peeling walls. You grab one that piqued your interest, ripping it off the wall and reading it with trembling fingers.

As you take in the information, a prickling sensation by your nape alerts your senses, tears brimming your eyes as your gut drops. The paper crinkled in your hand as you fell to your knees. “No, no, no!” 

“Found you.” Strong arms held you by your armpits, lifting you into the air. A scream tore from your throat, pain spiraling up to your spine by being slammed onto a shelf. “Fuck! What do you want from me, please let me go!-” You were interrupted by a pointer finger touching your cold lips, “Shh” he said. You finally had the courage to open your eyes, widening as you were faced with a man bigger than you, his face concealed in a skull mask, eyes blown with primality. Your mind, hazed from previous events, is confused by the calmness emanating from him, but the danger was overpowering.

Your whimpers subside as tears lick the flesh of your cheeks. He brings you into the bathroom, tying your arms to the shower head with a crimson rope he picked up on the way.

He steps back and admires his work as your chest heaves from the intakes of air, nervousness and fear wrapping it hands and gripping your throat, along with your heart.

"What did I say, hm?" He inquires gently, his deep voice rumbling deep within his chest. He's so large that you had to bend your head back to face him. As a display of defiance, you shake your head and purse your lips.

“I asked you a question, love.” He repeats, “To- To stop roaming these forests.” you respond, voice steadying. “Right, and you didn’t listen.” you can’t help but feel ashamed for defying him at his disappointed tone. “You said I can’t be here because there are dangerous people around, but you’re lying, I haven’t seen anyone around, except you.” 

“Exactly.” His tone is gruff as he tears your dress off down the middle, ridding you of clothes except your underwear. You gasp and cross your leg, tugging your arms down in an attempt to cover yourself.

“You look so beautiful like this, all filthy and afraid.” As his fingers caress the apple of your cheeks. You flinch from his touch, turning your face to the side. “You scared of me love?” he says, almost humorously. “Isn’t that the reason you come here, everynight? To come see me? Because you know you’ll only get that fear you crave from me.” 

“Does it make you wet, knowing that people fear me? Knowing that you’re the only one who has gotten close enough?” He chastises, “Your curiosity will get you in danger, my love.” Your stomach caves, thighs pressing together as you try to resist the nature of your very being. You tried, tried to resist the chase, the thrill, the fear that this man has brought to you, but it had gotten so addicting, so inhabitable to the point you live and breath for it.

You tell yourself that it’s wrong, so wrong to be living like this, living with threats behind, chasing after you but you couldn’t resist the temptation, couldn’t stay away from him, so raw and untouched. 

His face had gotten closer, you could feel his hot breath on your cheek through his balaclava, your lips part open as you welcome all the ugly parts of him, all the sick and twisted elements that you’re willing to take from him, and he knows that with how you bare yourself to him, like an offering to a god. “Please.” One word was enough for him to kiss your lips through his mask, your hips immediately rutting against his thigh. “I’m going to fuck you til’ sunrise.”

His big hands grip the plush of your hips, helping you to tilt your hips back and forth in his thick thighs until he sees you forming a wet spot on his combat pants. “Look at that, grinding on my thigh like a little slut. My little slut.” He moves high thigh away, and you give him a desperate whine in return. 

A sharp, glinting metal trails from your sternum, to your hips, a sharp cry escaping from your lips as it digs through skin, just light enough to leave a scar. The knife moves to the side of your hips, tearing through the thin fabric of your underwear, baring your swollen cunt to him. 

He circles your clit with the rubber handle of his knife, spelling his name, you couldn't decipher it with your hazy mind, pleasure rolling off in waves. He trails it back up your torso, your slick sticking to your skin. “Spit on it.” He instructs and you do, sticking out your tongue and letting your saliva drip into the handle while maintaining eye contact. Your arousal and your saliva mix together as he inserts the handle into your cunt, your legs automatically widening to welcome his assault. “Feel so good” you moan through heaving breaths, he smiles under his skull mask, kneeling down on his knees as he lifts half of his mask, exposing his red lips, parted open and wet with his saliva as he sucks your clit into his hot mouth. You throw your head back, hips gyrating on his face as the knife pumps in and out of you, his hands that grips the sharp end of the knife, digging into it, his crimson blood trailing down his forearm dripping down his elbow onto the bathroom floor. Your eyebrows knit and your eyes close in pleasure, your hips shaking from the stimulation. He spits into your clit as he rubs it with his other hand, his eye trained on your face, there’s nothing he loves more than seeing your face contort with pleasure.

“Look down so you can see how I’m on my knees for you, bleeding and desperate to taste you, look and cum for me.” He stated firmly, you trail your eyes down and meet him and it was a sight you’ll never forget, pleasure climbs up your spine, coursing through your veins, consuming you whole.

“That’s it, scream for me, sounds so beautiful.” You come down from your high, head lolling to the side. He nips and sucks you clean until he’s satisfied, “That’s my good pussy, yes it is.” He coos. . 

He stands back up, throwing his knife to the side as he turns you around, the rope twisting harder into your wrist as you wail in pain. His combat boots kick your left feet to the side, widening your legs for him. He grabs ahold of your waist, his other hand pressing down your lower back, arching you beautifully.

He presses his hips into your bare ass, humping and thrusting as he releases groans beside your ear, you bite your lips as you thrust back, his movements getting harsher and harsher until you hear him zip his pants down, hurriedly taking his cock out.

You look back at him, stroking his cock, standing tall with his tip swollen and dripping with pre cum, veins bulging as he grabs himself at the base, his hips rutting into his palm. “Please- want it so bad.” You plead, throwing your ass back onto his hips as he catches it with his palm, steadying you as he guides the head in. “Fuck-”

“Does that feel good?” He asks as he pulls out, and thrust back in. “Oh I bet it does.” He pants as he thrusts his hips, making you take the entirety of his length. A beaded chain, wraps around your thighs, his hand curling against it as you feel it embed into your skin, the chain dangles as he fucks into you, his dog tag.

“Fuck, it’s too much, can’t anymore-” as your hands push his pelvic back.  

Smack!

“You’ll take it because I said so.” He said, thrusting harder, tilting his hips as he repeatedly hits your g-spot. “This is for doing a good job.” He whispers, wet lips ghosting the shell of your ear. You feel him spit into his hands, his thumb circling your puckered hole as he inserts it inch by inch, “And this is for being a good girl.”

“Gonna cum, gonna cum-” You warn as your head falls back onto his shoulder, he lifts both your legs up, lifting you as he continues to chase his high, his cock bulging out your stomach.

“So good love, so good, fuck, cum with me- now.” His ragged moan beside your ear pushed you to the edge, pussy clenching on his girthy length. His hot cum fills your pussy, your eyes rolling back, saliva dripping into the side of your mouth from the immense pleasure.

You feel your arms loosen, as he unties the rope that binds your hand. 

“Care for a bath?” He whispers, rubbing his warm hands on your lower back as he carries you bridal style.

“What’s your name, Ghost? Will you tell me?” You ask, doe eyes pleading.

Your eyes snaps open, jaw trembling from the cry forming inside your throat. You feel your hips itch as you scratch, your scar making an appearance.

S.R

Etched into the skin of your hips, your hair sticking to your neck from the sweat. You dreamt of him again.

But that’s all he ever was, a figment of your imagination, haunting your dreams, instilling fear into your heart.

A ghost, Fantomă.

#ghost cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost smut #ghost call of duty #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #cod smut #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #header by @/661ave #is he real or is y/n just delusional😧 we may never know😁

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 11

part 1 | part 10 | ao3

cw: period-typical homophobic language, explicit sexual content (if you are under 18 then kindly GO ON NYOW GIT come back when you grow your first gray pube)

It feels crazy, after all that, to just get up and face the day. Feels like last Fall all over again: he’s concussed in the back of class getting bagel crumbs on a worksheet with his face still pulverized. There’s a gross pang in his chest as he goes about his morning routine, his heart all squishy and bruised like some dickhead smashed a plate over it, but whatever, he guesses. Public education and minimum wage wait for no one.

Robin grills him the whole car ride: “Oh, my god, is he okay?? Is he alive? Is your mom okay? What the hell, Steve?” and he lets her ramble with wide, worried eyes; doesn’t even get to the part about Eddie. When they pull up to the school she gets out of the car and comes around to his side, knocks on his window and leans in when he rolls it down to give him a ridiculously long hug.

"Robinnn," he grumbles; his face is mashed against her boobs. "People are gonna think we're dating."

She bends to hug him tighter still, her bony ass hanging out his window where the whole school can see. "I'd date you in a second."

"You've literally said that you wouldn't."

"Platonically, I would!!"

She gives him one last squeeze, and he watches her waddle off, trumpet case awkwardly smacking her calves.

And then he just... goes to work. He goes to stand around a nearly empty store and pretend like he even has any work to do, restocks the already full displays of candy and buffs the countertops until they shine. Three hours in and he's run out of ways to look busy and Keith is “doing admin stuff” in the back, so he gives his mom a call. Makes sure she's okay; did she eat anything yet; any updates on Ernie?

She’s fine, she's not hungry, he's alive but that's all they know for now, her tone distantly polite like Steve's nothing more than a friendly cold caller.

He shoves his fingers in his eyes ’til he sees stars when they hang up.

He calls the Henderson house next, leaves a message to apologize for skipping out early, promises that he'll be there next Wednesday and he can bring dessert this time. There’s a lunch rush after that, but the day still drags like a bad hangover, a dull throbbing in his bones, and when he finally gets home he collapses onto his bed and passes out on top of the covers with his dumb work vest still on.

—

Eddie's acting weird.

Steve sees him again on Friday, spots him and his uncle having a smoke out on the porch and wanders over to say hello. Wayne seems happy enough to chat; gives him all the news on Ernie — "Bastard's unkillable," he says, almost impressed. He’s stable now, should be home any day.

Eddie, on the other hand, spends the entire interaction behaving like a skittish cat, eyes darting to and from Steve, leg jiggling as he quietly puffs his cig.

Steve half expects him to slink off and come back to drop a dead mouse at his feet.

He feels his brows knit together, agitation creeping in. It's not like he thought they'd be best friends after a single night of ceasefire or anything — as if they'd start braiding each other's hair and trading their deepest, darkest secrets or whatever queer shit — but like…

He thought they might be cool now. At least a little bit.

And Eddie's not being rude to him, exactly, but that's somehow even worse. The polite disinterest. The subtle shift to the left. Back and away.

“Okay, well, uh...” Steve glances at Eddie, who's looking anywhere but him. Fucking fascinated by a loose thread on his ripped jeans, apparently, plucking at it with anxious fingers. “See ya around, I guess?”

Wayne says not be a stranger, and Eddie gives him a quick nod. “See ya.”

Steve grinds his teeth about it for the rest of the afternoon, then decides, like, screw this. It's a Friday night; he's not sitting around sulking all evening because Eddie Munson hurt his feelings.

He calls up a girl — some pretty blonde chick he remembers from the cheer squad — and sets up a date for later that night. Takes her to the drive-in, buys her a vanilla shake. The date's fine; it's good; it's fine. She's pretty enough, and she offers to suck him off when the main feature starts.

It’s not a good blowjob. Arguably one of the worst ones Steve’s had, and he’s had quite a few. She keeps gagging herself with these gross squelching sounds, barely getting even half of his dick in her tiny mouth and not bothering to use her hands to make up the difference. Just leaves them resting on Steve’s thighs while she makes fake whimpering moans like she’s sooo turned on by this; fucking as if; and somewhere in the middle of her repetitive, sloppy bobbing his mind starts to wander off. To the trailer, to the lot fees, the fucking pharmacy bills. Their ever-dwindling savings and what percentage of them he just wasted on this lackluster movie night; surely they’re gonna run out any day now; tick tock, tick tock.

"Um," the girl squeaks as she pulls off with a gross slurp. Steve looks down at his lap, sees he's gone soft. "Am I, like, doing something wrong, or...?"

Her voice is high and quiet, innocent and sweet, and Steve feels like an asshole. He squeezes himself at the base, gives a few quick strokes to get himself up again. "No, you're perfect, honey," he lies. "Stick out your tongue for me?"

She bats her eyes demurely and rolls over onto her side, gives him some kind of sexy pout before opening her mouth so he can jerk off over her. Steve works his wrist; tries not to be rude and look away, but her colors are all wrong. Strawberry hair. Blue irises. He squeezes his eyes shut, moves his hand faster and thinks of dark brown. Dark hair, dark lashes, dark eyes like the deep woods. Endless. Sort of mesmerizing. Nancy? "Oh, fuck," he gasps as he comes.

The girl squeals and jerks away from him, hands flying to her face. "Oh, my god! Oh, my god! You got it in my nose!"

"Sorry,” Steve grunts, shuddering through an aftershock. There’s cum on his hand, on his pants; all over this poor girl’s face. He thinks he got some in her eyelashes. "Shit, sorry, let me, uh—"

He leans over and rifles through the glove box, trying to find a napkin for her. No dice. Best he can do is an old McDonald's wrapper with a grease stain on the side. "Here, does— does this work?"

“Ew!”

“Sorry, I mean it’s that or my shirt, but then I’d have to drive you home shirtless, so-”

“Ugh,” she gives him a bitchy look. Tries to, anyway. One eye is glued shut. “Just give me that, please.”

His limp, spitty cock is still hanging from his pants when he passes her the wrapper. Flaccid and sad, like a white flag of surrender, and a bubble of hysterical laughter slips out. A choked burst of it, a pufferfished pfffft as it explodes past his lips. He’s not sure if it's the orgasm or the ridiculousness of the situation or if he's just plain lost his mind, but the girl glares at him, which...

There's still a glob of jizz on her cheek, so it doesn’t help matters much.

"I think you should take me home."

"Y-yep. Sorry. Yeah."

“Like now.”

Steve tucks himself into his jeans.

—

part 12

tagging whoever commented yesterday if your settings will let me @slutforcoffein @annabanannabeth @rani-mayida @awolfstudio @noodle-shenaniganery @yourmom-isgay @zombiecreatures @anne-bennett-cosplayer @thestarslittleking @evillittleguy @acedorerryn @messrs-weasley @bronwenmarie @lololol-1234 @estrellami-1 @jaytriesstuff @space-invading-pigeon @violetsteve @ahsokatanoss @slowandsteddie @zoeweee @silver-snaffles @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @thealwithnoname @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @hellion-child @stevesbipanic @trensu @steves-strapcollection @hotluncheddie

#trailer park steve au #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #wayne munson #claudia henderson #st fic #my writing #my fic

[slasher-male-wife]

"Can we keep it?": Bo Sinclair x GN reader

I just really like cats rn. I'm allergic unfortunately so I can't really have one but I love them so much. Cats are so silly and cute and sweet and I just want to hold a cat in my arms forever.

Warnings: Swearing, mention of a dead mouse, use of Y/N

You're busy cleaning up the inside of one of the stores in Ambrose when you hear a faint meow. You look around the store and try to figure out where it's coming from. You hear it again and start to follow the sound of the meows until you find a calico cat, sitting in a corner of the store. The cat is smaller and very dirty.

"Hi kitty." You say with a very sweet tone, bending down as the cat walks over to you. It rubs up against your legs and meows at you again. You smile and rub its back. "Oh you're just the sweetest little thing aren't you?" You ask in a silly voice again. You stand up and the cat keeps rubbing up against your legs. "How about we go get you some water." You say, leaving the store with the cat following behind you.

You get to Bo's gas station and grab a small bowl. You go to the sink and fill up the bowl with water. You set the bowl down and the cat starts to drink from it.

"You're a sweet little kitty huh? Oh yeah you're a little baby." You say in a stupid voice to it, scratching them behind the ears. You hear footsteps and soon Bo comes into the room. He looks at you then down at the cat. Before you can speak he talks first.

"We're not keepin' it." He says, crossing his arms over his chest. You frown and groan.

"Come on Bo! Just look at it's little face! We have to keep it!" You say in a pleading voice. Bo shakes his head and rubs his forehead with his hand.

"Y/N, we can't keep this damn cat." You roll your eyes and huff a breath.

"Oh come on Bo! You let Jonesie stay with us!" You look down and notice the cat is gone.

"Jonesie is a different case. Lester is the one who buys all of her stuff. I'm not buyin' a bunch of stuff for a damn cat." He says walking past you and moving over to find something. You turn around and follow him.

"Come on Bo! I need other things to interact with. Imagine all the time you could have to yourself if you let me keep this cat." Bo shakes his head again and looks over at you.

"The answer is no. And I enjoy spendin' time with ya. We're not keepin' a cat." You notice the cat walking back over to you and it has something in it's mouth. It drops a dead mouse at your feet and sits down. You smile down at it then up at Bo. He sighs and looks down at the cat. "It better kill a damn good amount of mice."

#bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair #house of wax #slasher x y/n #slasher x reader #slasher fanfiction

[1800jjbarnes]

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 | 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬

【Synopsis】 : You spent months proving who was better on the vast seas. But what neither of you suspected was falling in love at the same time.

『Word count』 :  2.10k

-> Genre: Smut, Fantasy, R2L, Angst/Fluff   

Paring: Pirate Captain!Bucky x Pirate Captain!Reader (Fem)

[Warnings] : Flirting, knife play. Threats. Swearing. Love/hate dynamic. Mention of blood. Making out. Love bites. Dry humping. Dominating. Nipple play. Oral. Fingering. Slight cum play. Unprotected sex. Cuming inside. Sappy shit at the end.

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It was like a little game to them. A game of cat and mouse. But whether you or James was the cat or mouse, neither of you knew. All you both did know was that one day, the game was bound to end. Disappear, or death.

Ruling the sea as the seductive and charmful pirate Queen, bringing all to bow at your feet. Then there was James, a ruthless and sadistic pirate King, bringing fear and respect to anyone that he crosses paths with. Until he met you. You didn't fear him, and he didn't fall for your seductiveness. A stalemate.

One night, there was a storm that was bigger than anything you've seen, crashing anyone that dared to venture on the water. Making you force your ship to an unknown shore bank on an unknown island in the middle of nowhere. Opting to wait it out rather than travel through. But someone had the same idea. James.

Both of your ships, side by side, in a large cave to stay out of the bucketing weather. Most of your crew knew one another already. Growing friendships, even though you and Bucky wished they didn't. He snuck aboard, seeing all his and your crew on the bank around a campfire they all put together. You stay on your top deck next to the wheel. Looking over all of them, not caring too much for small talk and socialising.

"You look lonely." His voice sent a shiver down your spine. You hated how he had a way with you, but you would never let him figure that out. Instead, you just scoffed, turning to see him leaning against the beaming of the ship.

"I could say the same for you." You smirk, crossing your arms. He smiles at your words, walking over towards you slowly, making you take a small step back. But it was useless, having the opposite beam trap you from stepping away from the man.

"Guess we can be lonely together..." He smirks his arms on either side of you. His breath tickled your nose, making your heart jump in a beat. Looking away, you feel embarrassed, sneering at him.

"In your dreams, James." You spat back.

"Oh, trust me, all my dreams are full of you. And more..." He didn't move away. Instead, he retched for something in his pocket, making you raise your eyebrow at him.

"I want you." He bluntly says, bringing his knife out. It was all so sudden. Turning you around, his chest became flushed against your back, the knife coming up to the warm flesh of your neck. The cold metal makes your heart speed up.

"Marry me...or this silver will pierce your beautiful flesh." He kisses your neck, making you tilt it for him to kiss more of your hot skin.

"Bucky..." You whisper, feeling the metal carefully cut a small layer of skin, letting a drop of blood fall on the blade. The pain of the knife and the pleasure of your mouth causes your head to spin.

"Yes, my love?" He chuckles darkly, sucking on the path of skin, lapping it with his tongue afterwards. You drape your hand up, your body getting to his hand that holds the knife. You lean into him more, your ass brushing on his crotch. He lets his guard down ever so slightly, giving you a window to grab the knife, turn around, and pin him to the ground. Straddling him, the knife covered in your blood, now settle on his jugular.

"I don't think you have the guts to kill me." You smile, leaning down so you were inches from him. He let out a sigh, followed by a smile before putting his hands up in defeat.

"I could never hurt you unless you wanted it." He was serious, looking you dead in your eyes. All these months of chasing one another, trying to prove one was better than the other. He fell, even if he tried to deny it. He was in love.

"I might just take up your offer... love." You smile, bringing your lips just inches to his. Ghosting ever so close. He closed his eyes, drawing near as you finally slip your lips against his. He deepens the kiss, the knife now long forgotten as you both tangle yourselves in one another. Since you were the Queen of the Sea and he was the King, maybe it would be more fun to rule together…

-

Everything happened so quickly. He spun you around so your back could lay against the cold wooden deck of the ship. His hot tongue licked down your neck, nibbling your exposed skin. His right hand held your wrist above your head as his metaled left slowly pulled at your corset strings. He was taking his time with you, which made you wiggle in impatience. He chuckles at this, biting hardest on your top chest.

"Bucky..." You whisper, pulling at your hands, making him sit up so his face was hovering over yours. His nose brushes against you, feeling his breath mix with yours. Your tilt your head upwards so your lips could touch, grazing just slightly. Tease.. He smiles at your action, locking his lips with yours. His hand loosened, his guard dropping lightly. This gave you the perfect opportunity to slip your hands out of his grasp, putting them on his shoulders, and flipping you both in a quick movement. James hit the ground in a huff, looking up at you with a shocked expression.

"W-Well..." He smirked with a stutter, shifting slightly as you got comfortable on his lap. Your lips attach themselves to his neck, leaving your marks on him this time. His hands hold your hips, grinding your pelvis down hard onto his crotch. His hands squeeze your flesh. One moving to your ass, cupping it. You both groan as you both continue your assaults. Your lips lock with his, his tongue snaking into your mouth within seconds. A fight for power was heavy. Tongues, hands, position, everything. He grew impatient, wanting to take over this dance, so with his right hand, he drew a loud and harsh slap on your cheek, making you gasp against him.

"You like that Princess?" He bit your bottom lip, slapping the other cheek this time, making you sit up straight on his lap. Your hands rest on his chest, making him tilt his head at your movements. You guide your hands over his chest to his shoulders, leaning down so your breasts are pushed flush on him. Your lips inches from his ears, you whisper;

"I'm no Princess." Standing up, you walk away towards your captain's quarters. James layed there for a moment, watching you from his upside-down view. Your legs were perfect in his view. Your boots strapped high to your knees. They were tight, making you look longer. You made this man's heart do flips, and you didn't even have to try. You opened the door, turning to see Bucky still laying where you left him, watching your every move like a hawk.

"Well? You coming?" You call out, laughing lightly as you watch him scramble to get up as fast as he could. You turned your back to him, walking inside, he entered within a blink, shutting the door faster than how you opened it. He watched you with intensity, like he was a starved man ready to devour his prey. Your bodies collided the moment you turned around. His force weighted you down, making you fall onto the soft comforter on your bed that sits in the centre of the room. His lips trail down your neck, suckling hard, leaving bright marks in his wake.

You slipped out a moan, fingers raking through his tangled brown hair. His hands wandered over each part of your body, untying the last set of strings on your corseted blouse. You both were throwing clothes everywhere as your desires became more and more unbearable. He was left in his thick black pants while you were in your panties. His eyes gazed over your body, seeing scars and bruises from battles you've been in. You were a strong and independent woman who was the toughest person he knew. But now here you were, vulnerable and all his for the taking.

"Fuck you're beautiful." He cursed, kissing down the valley of your plump breast, his tongue licking strides over your hard nipples. Trailing down over your tummy, to the hem of your panties. He locked his eyes with yours for a moment as you watched in desperation to what he might do next. His teeth sank into the fabric, pulling it down by his teeth. Before you could even speak about his action, his mouth was connected to your clit, sucking harshly. You gasped loudly, maybe a little too loud in fear someone might hear you. But all you could think of was the sensation of his tongue licking lines on your folds. His fingers snaked towards your hole, before slipping one inside, and then another. You moan his name, gripping onto his hair roughly, causing him to groan in response.

He sat up, kissing his way to your collar from your hips. His face met your blissed-out expression, nose rubbing against yours. You look at him with hooded eyes, mouth hanging in a slight 'o' shape as he starts to pick his pace up with his fingers. Pushing in and out of your wet cunt in rough and hard movements.

"B-Bucky I'm..I-." You couldn't speak, feeling your brain fill with fuzz. But he knew what you were trying to say, adding his thumb against your clit until you came undone on his fingers. As you rode your orgasm he slowed, before pulling out. His three fingers that were deep inside your pussy, now enter his mouth as he stares at you while you moan at his actions.

"You taste so delicious, like the finest rum or wine." He growled, his voice deeper with more gravel in his tone. He slips his pants off, his cock springing free. Your eyes widen at it. He wasn't huge but his girth was impressive. You gulped as he crawled on top of you. Your hands snake into his hair, pulling him into a feverous kiss. His hand slides along your skin making you shiver. His hand grabs the base of his cock, stroking it for a moment before sliding the tip along your wet folds. You pull away for breath while you bite your lip, keeping your eyes on his. Neither of you look away, living in the moment of pure bliss. He wants to see every expression you make as he pushes each inch inside out. Your warm, tight walls clench around him sucking him deeper. His voice broke into a groan as your moans mixed with his. He started slow, pulling all the way until it was just his tip inside before pushing back deep with every thrust.

"Bucky, Ah, please." You stutter, your fingers tugging tight on his hair, making him growl at the sensation. He got rougher and harder. Sitting up your hands fell to the bed. He leans over while still inside you, grabbing a pillow that was sitting unused. He lifts your hips to put the pillow under you so it can give him a better position. His shallow thrusts now became even deeper, hitting spots you didn't think you could hit. Retching out, he grips both of your wrists, locking them above your head.

He snaps his hips, drawing a high-pitched moan from you with every harsh thrust. His one hand grips your hip, nails digging tight, fearing to draw bruises for tomorrow. The tingle in your stomach was becoming too much, and James could tell you were getting closer as your walls hugged him tighter and tighter.

"I'm gonna cum baby. Please, let me cum inside. Let me make you mine." He whimpered in desperation, panting as sweat formed on his brow. You moaned in response, fuzzy at his dirty words.

"Please, Bucky. Please do anything. I'm yours." You whisper, opening your eyes briefly to see him with his eyes screwed shut, chasing his own high. His grip was loose on your wrist, giving you a chance to slip them away, putting them onto his cheeks. He opened his eyes to your actions, seeing a smile gazing at your face. You looked at him with so much love, and it made butterflies flutter in him. You are perfect to him. Everything from your body, personality, soul, and being. You are his everything, and he finally has you. Drawing one last passionate kiss, you pull your body close to him. Both falling from your highs and feeling all your emotions heighten. He is your King, and now you, his Queen.

#1-800-jjbarnes #marvel #jjbarnes #bucky #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky fanfic #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky fic #bucky fluff #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #james buchanan barnes x reader #james buchanan bucky barnes #james bucky barnes x reader #james barnes #sebastian stan x fluff #sebastian stan x plus size reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Manic Monday - Wade Wilson X GN Reader

Title: Manic Monday

Wade Wilson X GN Reader

Additional Characters: Blind Al (Mentioned), Reader's mother (Mentioned), Wolverine (Mentioned), Professor X (Mentioned), and Reader's work (Mentioned)

Requested by Anon!

WC: 1,475

Warnings: Overworking Reader, cursing, Wade, slight mention of toxic mother, Reader needs a break (take a break reader), slight suggestiveness cause it's Wade, breif mention of death... cause it's Wade, partial nudity but like not really, plethera of nicknames, a bit of cat and mouse, blood mentioned, insinuations, movie references, slight angst, and fluff

Letting out a breath, you pushed open your door, shuffling in tiredly before kicking it closed with your foot.  You dropped your stuff by the couch and flopped down on it face-first. The soft leather of the couch enveloped you as you let out an exhausted groan. It was late. Way past midnight. You should have been asleep hours ago. But you couldn't help yourself. You had work. Suddenly, your phone alarm began to buzz and play 'Walking On Sunshine' by Katrina & The Waves, signaling for you to get up once more. Gaining strength, you pushed off the couch, blindly digging in your bag to grab your phone and turn off the alarm, ignoring the many texts from your… Less than a doting mother. Shutting up your phone, you let out a defeated sigh. Before pushing up off the couch, you quickly made your way to the fridge, grabbed your pre-made snack, and took a long swig of water from your bottle, draining half of it.

After putting everything away, you ran to your room, ready to get dressed for work, but you stopped briefly; spotting Wade on your bed. He was dressed in his crime-fighting suit, wearing your silk robe, reading a Highlights magazine. You shook your head, moving to your closet, and grabbing your next set of work clothes. 

"What are you doing?" You asked, quickly slipping on your Y/F/C scrub shirt, as Wade continued to flip through the pages of the magazine.

"Oh, nothing, darling," He spoke in a terrible posh accent. What movie were you in? Gone With The Wind? "Just doing my nighttime reading... Wishing my beautiful partner would just call in sick... And stay home with me. Oh! I found the hidden boomerang!”

You sighed, checking your watch before looking up at Wade. "You know I can't do that. You don't have a real job, so I have to be the breadwinner around here. You know... So we have money to have chimichangas?"

Sighing, Wade pulled off his mask, setting down his magazine. "I have a real job." He whined, before hopping out of the bed, making you realize he had been in your bed, with his damn crocs on. “Besides, I bet if we beg enough to the Professor, he’ll give us a nice wad of cash.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, running a hand through your hair, "Who? Uh, nevermind. Wade... What did I say about your crocs?" 

Wade looked down at his feet, looking back up at you, "Uh... That they go great with my eyes?"

You sighed, checking your watch again before you headed out of the bedroom, "I literally don't have time for this."

Wade scrambled over to you, grabbing your arm. "Come on, when have you had time for a break? Kicked up your feet, get a massage? I give great massages."

"I had a couple of hours yesterday. Thanks for the offer. Now, please let go. I don't want to be late."

Wade shook his head stubbornly, "Call in sick." He ordered softly, "You have been working nonstop. You need to rest. Look, you have little bags under your pretty eyes, you look like you haven't slept since last night. You're going to collapse, sweetheart, and then where will we be? You’ll be dead, I’ll die cause I don’t understand how to not be dependent on someone, and then I’ll have to move back in with Blind Al."

Your mouth snapped shut as Wade released your arm. But as you stared at him, seeing how serious he was... You shook your head. "You're never this serious, love." You mentioned, "Why all of the sudden are you being so..." You searched for the word, "So clingy? I mean, you are always clingy... But are you not feeling well?"

Wade shrugged. "No, I'm fine, honey butter biscuit. Just really worried about you. I thought you'd appreciate getting some sleep instead of sitting behind a desk all day, or going around helping people. Tiring those feet of yours..."

You sighed, headed back down the hall, "Can't today, Wadey. Too much to do. I can't be late." You called out to him before Wade grabbed your hand again and twirled you around as if you were dancing, and right into his chest. "Wade..." You scolded, "They could fire me... And then I'll be really ticked off."

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn, call in sick."

You sighed, before getting an idea, looking up with a small smile, "Wadey, would you please let me go to work?" You cooed, batting your eyelashes, "If you let me finish what I need to do, I'll promise to take a nap, I swear."

"Hmm, you really think I'd believe that?"

Smiling mischievously, you leaned forward, giving Wade a quick kiss on the lips before backing away slowly. "I'm sorry, but I have to do this, babe." You said before bolting to your bag, with Wade close behind.

Grabbing your bag, you ran behind the couch, Wade on the other side. Heavily breathing, you clutched your bag to your chest. Glancing at the front door, you looked back at Wade, feeling like a child as you tried to figure a way to get to the door without him getting you; but it seemed pointless.

"Don't do this, Y/N." Wade began, staring intently at you, "You're not going to win, I've seen how this ends, I’ve read the book adaptation."

You laughed humorlessly before nodding towards the window. "It's not the only way I can get to my car."

Wade looked at the window and back at you, "Nope, you're not doing that. Not while I live and breathe, and you know I can't die, sugar plum."

You suddenly pointed behind Wade, your eyes wide in shock, "Oh my god! Is that Wolverine!?" Wade was quick to turn around, eyes wide as he looked around.

"Where!? I must see if he wants to be in my new movie!"

With that, you ran to the front door, you grinned in victory as you reached for the door, before you felt two arms wrap around you, pulling you back inside. Twirling you out, as if you were dancing once more, Wade twirled you back into his chest. Turning, he dipped you, his hand landing on your thigh as he pulled it up against him. From this position, you felt like you had just finished dancing the Salsa. His face hovering over yours, his lips just barely brushing against your own. His breath fanned over your face, making you shiver. Before you could even say a word, Wade spun you around, where you landed on the couch with a small 'oof.'

"Wade..." You whined, "You're mean." You sighed, as Wade flopped on the couch, pulling you into his lap.

"You're the meany-pants in this situation, my dear." Wade began, "You made me think my one true love was here..."

You sighed again, crossing your arms, "Fine. I'll call out of work tonight and tomorrow." You huffed, trying to pry him off of you.

"Really? Oh, babydoll, you won't regret this! Tomorrow, we're watching The Wizard Of Oz and eating popcorn." Wade held onto you as if your life depended on it before you grabbed your phone and called your boss.

After that quick call, you went back to crossing your arms, relaxing slightly, you wrinkled your nose, "Wade, you stink."

Wade paused, lifting an arm up to sniff his armpit, "Do I?"

You nodded, "Yes, like blood, sweat, and tears. And now I probably smell like blood. And my bed is probably dirty as all hell because of you..." 

Wade hummed, “Tears of my enemies,” He said before squeezing you closer to him, "Well, I'll take a shower then... But only as long as you join me~" He winked at you, as you rolled your eyes.

"Fine, but no funny stuff."

Wade huffed, "You're no fun."

"Never am." You argued, "Now, come on, let's get cleaned up. I'm hungry."

Wade cheered, standing up and taking your hand, "Near, far, in our motor car! Oh what a happy time we'll spend. Bang Bang Chitty, Chitty Bang Bang! Our fine four fendered friend!~" He sang as he skipped down the hall with you, dragging you along. "Oh you pretty, Chitty Bang Bang, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. We love you!~"

You sighed, shaking your head as you smiled. Wade was so weird, but you loved that about him. You loved how protective he was, how determined he was; he wanted to protect you. He was perfect... Kinda. Sometimes you don't know who he's talking to when you enter a room. But, nonetheless, you loved the man. You loved everything about him... Even if sometimes he was a bit goofy. You couldn't imagine your life without him. You didn't think you ever could...

#requests are open #requests open #requested #requests #request #fanfics #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom #wade wilson x gn reader #wade wilson x y/n #wade wilson x you #wade wilson x reader #wade wilson #deadpool x gn reader #deadpool x y/n #deadpool x you #deadpool x reader #deadpool #cute #slight angst #fluff #the wizard of oz #chitty chitty bang bang #gone with the wind

[etherealacademia]

once again i crawl to u like a cat holding a dead mouse. i drop this at your feet. it is my harrowhark playlist.

#tlt #the locked tomb #harrowhark nonagesimus #tlt playlist #alecto the ninth

[ice-cap-k]

Owen Had a Cough

Hey! Got a new story for part of the 2024 MCYT Horror Gift exchange ( @mcythorrorgiftexchange ). This is for the amazing @some-stupid-wannabe-artist. I hope I did your request justice. It was honestly a lot of fun. Been a while since I bothered with Rats.

It's longer than my old whumptober stuff, so feel free to read it on AO3 here: Owen Had a Cough

____________________________________________________

Owen had a cough.

It wasn’t that surprising, since Scott had found the other rat passed out at the entrance to the boiler room. His friend had been down there for a long time, breathing in air that had been festering in the quarantined room. The basement had been downright hazy with all of the airborne spores. And Owen, well, Scott figured the bigger rat had gotten off lucky if all he had to show for such a stupid stunt was a little cold. 

He told Owen what would happen if someone went in there. The larger rat could be almost impossible to sway once he set his mind to something, so of course he decided to set his sights on fixing the infestation down there. First the bugs, then the fungus. Scott just wished his best friend had told him. Then he wouldn't have found him crawling on his belly four days since the last time they saw each other.

Other than that, though, the tinkerer seemed alright. He had apologized and admitted Scott had been right. Those words would have been like music to Scott’s ears if he hadn’t been worried half to death for the sake of his friend. Owen promised to never go down there again, which had given Scott some sense of relief, and life moved on. 

The cats were still a problem. The people living downstairs still chased them and their friends whenever they ventured out of the attic. And just today there were tiny little termites they’d gone to the effort of rehoming. But hey, life in the attic was full of surprises, so even that was typically atypical. Despite looking half dead on his feet the morning before, the large rat was starting to bounce back.

He was even leading the way as they raced back up to the attic with the others. Claws scrabbled at the red carpets lining the halls. The trash talk was flowing freely, and the bathroom was in sight.

“Oh, come on. I’m already at a tactical disadvantage with this dress,” Martyn huffed. His claws hooked over the edge of the side table. Owen was already pouncing off the edge towards the mouse hole in the wall. There was no catching up now so Scott turned to help haul Martyn up. Willow and Crow passed by beneath the table legs, still aiming for the doorway. 

“Thanks, Scott,” Martyn breathed. He smoothed out the wrinkles of his maid’s dress with padded fingers as Scott leaned against a nearby plant pot. 

The ceramic was cool against the fur lining his bare back and the hall was quiet, save for the excited squeaks of the returning rats. The cats were nowhere to be seen. The human residents were busy elsewhere. They were free to enjoy themselves without worry for a little while.  How everyone else wasn’t tired yet was beyond Scott. His lungs hurt from all the running on top of all the laughter. This place was making him soft. 

“Of course,” he said absently, mind already back on the race. Even if he wasn’t physically keeping up, his eyes followed Owen as his best friend leaned out of the chewed-out hole. 

“Oh no you don’t!” he squeaked as the two smaller rats passed beneath him. 

Scott flicked his ears back as he watched Owen launch himself from the wall. His arms and legs splayed as he dropped. A star-shaped shadow passed over Willow and Crow. The two rats had just enough time to look up. They were already running, but Owen’s aim was true and he crashed into Crow with a pained WHUMPF! Both of them went rolling tail over ears across the floor, knocking over Willow in the process and leaving all three of them sprawled and groaning. 

It was just a bit of roughhousing. They were rats. Scott himself had leaped off the tallest bookshelves in the library and safely landed paws first on the tile more times than he could count. Despite knowing that, though, concern drove him forward. He pushed off the pot and was leaning over the edge of the table in an instant. His eyes raked over the three for signs of injury. His ears twitched at the rustle of fabric behind him. Martyn was there, looking over his shoulders.

“Is everybody ok?” he called.

“I’m okay,” Willow called back almost immediately

Crow managed to untangle its limbs from Owens. It rubbed at its head with a paw, claws parting strands of red and black fur until Scott could almost make out its eyes. “Owww-ow-ow-owww,” it groaned.  “That really hurt. I think you bruised my tail. What were you-”

Its words were cut off by a drawn-out, wet cough. While Willow and Crow brushed themselves off and stood up straight, Owen only rolled over. He curled up into a ball, pulling his knees up to his chest but unable to keep them there. His arms wrapped around his heaving midsection as his whole body shook. 

His coughs were like nails on a chalkboard to Scott. Wet and shaking, they wracked his friend’s lungs and rattled his ribcage with each one. 

It was easy to forget that Owen wasn’t at one hundred percent until moments like these. They weren't short either. The gaps between stolen intakes of breath were long and drawn out. The coughing fit seemed to last an eternity if eternity could be packed down and contained in the span of minutes.

“Are you okay, Owen?”

“Try taking deep breaths.”

“My mum used to say it helps to put your arms up over your head. If you can hear me, try that.”

Owen did try. It was a feeble attempt, but his arms only left his torso long enough for the tips of his fingers to reach his shoulders before another wheeze sent him curling back into himself. 

So yeah, Owen had a cough. 

Martyn whistled. His voice was quiet in Scott’s ears. “He really is getting sick. I suppose that’s what you get for not drying off after a dip in the pond.”

He didn’t answer. Only slipped off the edge of the table to rush to his friend’s side. 

Let the others think that. If Owen hadn’t told anyone else about going past the plastic sheets in the basement, then it wasn’t Scott’s place to tell that story. Owen would be so angry if he thought Scott went around telling people things he might be too embarrassed to talk about. 

“Come on now, Owen. Let’s get you up. You’re okay.” 

His friend didn’t protest as he looped his paws under the taller rat’s armpits and pulled. Now he could feel firsthand the way every muscle in Owen’s body tensed and untensed with the dwindling coughs. The way his lungs practically vibrated around the fluid there. Getting Owen upright helped. His lungs didn’t have to work so hard to keep up. Scott let him go to see if he could stand on his own, and the hacking noises subsided. He looked tired out from all that effort, but at least his breathing had returned to normal.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better.” He sounded tired too. 

“Ya sure,” Crow asked. There was still an edge of annoyance in its words, but it was duller now. Its tail was no longer whipping around frantically. Rather, Crow and Willow were standing close and shifting uncomfortably from side to side. 

Owen nodded. The corner of his lips pulled back into a half smile. “I’m sure. Just needed a second, but I’m good.”

“Good. Then apologize.”

“What!?” Owen looked affronted. “Why?”

Crow crossed its arms in front of its chest. “Because you cheated.”

“Did not.”

“Did so!”

“Did not! I was just being creative and came up with a new way to beat you both.” Owen’s smile lengthened to a full-blown grin as he looked from Crow to Willow. “Besides, neither of us made it to the attic so it’s not like I won at your expense.”

“You could keep going,” Martyn chimed in from where he was still standing on the tabletop. 

“Ah… I think it would be a good idea to call it a day,” Scott insisted. He wrapped a paw around Owen’s arm and gently tugged. “Let’s get behind the tub and up to the attic.

To his credit, Owen didn’t argue back or struggle. He looked too tired for that. Instead, the bigger rat let him tug him along and then kept going toward the top as Scott let him go. The tile was cool underfoot. The smell of floral soap was sweet and fresh. The path behind the tub was clear, almost like the bathroom itself was welcoming them home.

“I think that might be for the best. It’s been a long day,” Owen finally admitted, standing a little straighter as he strutted across the room. “It doesn’t really matter who wins anyhow.”

“Yeah, but I totally would have won,” Crow muttered, and Willow giggled. 

Scott smiled. This was much better. He and the others were just about to follow Owen when the sound of scrabbling caught their attention. It was coming their way. Everyone tensed, turning to see the source of the noise.

So help Scott, if that was a cat on its way-

A familiar purple shape came bobbing down the hall towards them. Scott felt himself let go of the breath he hadn’t meant to hold while the others began to relax around him. 

“Took you long enough, didn’t it,” Martyn shouted with a bark of a laugh.

The rat came to a stop behind Scott and doubled over. His breath was coming in heavy pants, despite the slow jog. The loser of the race that was no longer taking place. “Hey,” Acho finally managed to sputter as he reigned in his breathing. “What did I miss?”

___________________

Scott padded down the steps leading from his home to the main floor of the attic. 

His flower garden was still alive, despite the incoming cold, and the vegetable patch he had managed to throw together was one of the rats’ main sources of food now that snow covered the ground. The sunlight coming through the attic windows was just enough for his plants to keep growing, and it made his new home feel a little bit closer to his old one. 

Now that he had more than enough food for himself, he was consistently helping to keep everyone fed. Just earlier this morning he and Owen had sat down together for lunch. Scott had thrown together all the food. Now he was stepping away from his cooking pots with chicken soup, ready to be passed out to anyone looking for a warm meal.

He handed out full bowls to Oliver and Sniff, then Shelby, then Jimmy. With each rat fed, Scott had a nice chat to catch up before saying goodbye and moving on. When he stopped by Eloise’s art gallery, he was surprised to find El and Bek arguing inside.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that,” Bek was saying. She leaned against the wall in between frames of paintings, watching El pace back and forth. 

Not daring to say a word, Scott reached out and wrapped his knuckles against the side of the open doorframe. Thump thump thump.

The two rats looked up in surprise, only to relax as they realized it was only him. “Hey, Scott.”

“Hi!” He stepped into the room. “Brought some chicken soup.”

Bek’s ears perked up. She pulled away from the wall with a smile. “Oooh! That sounds quite good right now, actually.”

“I brought plenty for both of you. Here.” He held one bowl out to El. “And here.” Then he shuffled across the hollowed-out room to pass another to Bek. Both brightened as they took it.

“So, is everything alright?” he asked, glancing back and forth between the two. “You two looked pretty serious a second ago.”

Bek shrugged. She slurped loudly, drinking the broth directly from the edge of the bowl in loud gulps. Scott tried to offer a spare spoon, but she didn’t take it when he held it out.

“Bek, please…” Eloise groaned.

The shorter rat lowered the bowl and smacked her lips. “Sorry. I don’t think anything’s wrong. El’s just being weird about things again.”

“I am not,” the taller rat snapped. “If anyone’s being weird, it’s Owen.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Is it his cough again?”

“No.” She said immediately, then hesitated. She silently weighed her words in her head, tail flicking restlessly before she amended, “Okay, yes, technically. He was definitely still coughing today, but that’s not the real issue this time.”

The cough wasn’t the issue? What scheme could Owen possibly be getting up to this time?

Scott folded his arms in front of his chest. “Then what was the issue?”

“He’s being weird. He’s acting really weird and I don’t like it. Me and Bek got back from a pantry run and when we walked into the gallery, Owen was just… I don’t know. Sitting in a corner in the lower level?” She flung her spoon towards the open door leading to the scaffolding platform and still bare white walls that were waiting for future masterpieces. “Like, there was nobody else here. He just had his head resting against his knees, arms wrapped around his legs, like he was taking a nap. The light was off too, so I didn’t see him right away.”

Bek shivered. “Gave me a real fright, when you turned the light on and he shot to his feet. You screamed.”

“So did you,” El shot back. “Neither of us saw that he was here until the light came on.” 

Scott tilted his head. That certainly was… unusual. “Okay. Yeah. You’re right, that’s weird. What was he doing?”

“See!” Eloise straightened. She dropped the spoon back into her soup so she could scratch at the side of her head with free claws. “That’s what I asked him. All he said was that the dark felt nice, and then he rushed out.”

“Felt nice…?”

“We’ve been trying to figure out what he meant by that for the past half hour,” Bek added. “Eloise’s convinced the human girl slipped him some potion that’s turning him nocturnal-”

“We’ve already had to deal with potion issues.  I don’t understand why you think it’s so far-fetched. I still vividly remember getting turned into a CAT of all things!”

“But I think whatever cold he caught is just making him tired.” Bek finished.

He waited patiently for either of them to continue. For them to take the conversation somewhere else, or break into laughter and call it all a joke. When they didn’t, he awkwardly twitched his tail. They were both looking at him expectantly, waiting to see how he would reply. “Uh, I think Bek might be onto something.”

“See!”

Eloise was still balancing the bowl of soup in one paw, but she threw the other into the air and groaned. “Fine. Sure. I know mine sounds crazy in comparison, but neither of you saw his eyes. I swear, they were glowing when he looked at me.”

Bek scoffed. “Eyes don’t glow.”

“His did,” El insisted. “I swear, they really were glowing. Owen’s eyes aren’t supposed to be bright blue like that.”

Her words sounded sincere. There wasn’t a teasing bite, or smile pulling at the side of her lips. No twitch in the corner of her eye from struggling to keep a straight face. She was serious.

Scott’s tail went ramrod straight. “Blue? You’re sure?” 

She nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Did either of you think to go after him to check if he was alright?”

The two girls exchanged side glances before turning back to him and answering in unison.  “No.”

Of course they hadn’t.

Scott brought his paw up to his forehead. He pressed his palm against the center of his forehead as if it could chase away the headache that was starting to develop there. He took a deep breath in and sighed. “Which way did he go? I think I’m going to go check up on him and make sure everything’s alright.”

“He turned right when he ran out the door,” El said. “Not sure where he went, since he didn’t stick around long enough to let us ask. We’ll go with you and help you look for him.” She stepped forward. The now cold bowl of soup was placed on a nearby shelf next to the bowl Bek had just finished emptying. 

“We will?” Bek asked.

El nodded once more. “We will.”

Scott was grateful for the help. He didn’t argue as both girls followed him out of the gallery. With more eyes searching, they checked high and low across the attic. As they went, Scott dropped off more bowls of chicken soup and asked around if anyone had seen which way Owen went. It was Oli who eventually pointed them in the direction of the little food mart. 

Sure enough, Owen was inside the brick build rummaging through the chest inside. He pulled out a rather limp-looking bunch of lettuce leaves and began to nibble as they spotted him. 

“Owen,” Scott called. He rushed to the door with Bek and El hot on his heels. His best friend turned, eyes wide. They were notably not blue.

“Hey guys,” he greeted, waving the lettuce in his paw at them. “What’s up?” 

 “We were looking for you.”

“Yeah!”

 Eloise shoved her way forward. “What is wrong with you?!?” She had to squeeze into the small mart to do it, and the room was starting to get too cramped. Bek tried to follow, but she was too wide to fit in the small space and quickly gave up. Instead, she pressed herself against the glass window and watched with ears pinned back against her head. 

“Wh-” “Eloise and Bek told me that they saw you napping in the art gallery,” Scott supplied. 

“Oooooh, so that’s what you mean…” He looked a little sheepish as he put the leaves in his paw on top of the chest. “I wasn’t napping. I was just, you know… enjoying the dark.”

Eloise planted one paw on her hip. “You know that makes no sense whatsoever, right?”

“Don’t know what to tell you. It just felt nice. Good on the eyes, and the wall felt cool. It’s not like I thought much about it-” Before Owen could finish his sentence, Scott could hear the breath catch in his chest and rattle. The big rat doubled over, and both Scott and El backed away to give him space. Owen kept his elbow firmly over his mouth as the watery coughs took hold. When he finally managed to reign his breathing back in, he lowered his arm and opened his eyes.

Scott could have sworn he saw the briefest flicker of blue. Or maybe green? Something bright and alien to Owen’s dark eyes. But the color was there and gone in the blink of an eye. Had he just imagined it? Perhaps it was a trick of the light?

“Well, maybe you should go back to your clock and take a nap,” El snapped. She looked disgusted as she backed out of the room. “Get some good rest and get over that cold.” 

Owen let himself slump against the side of the food chest. “That… that might not be a bad idea,” he admitted. “The going back to the clock part. No promises on the nap.” 

Where seconds ago Owen had seemed content and full of life, the sudden coughing fit appeared to have drained all of that out of him. He looked tired now. Drawn out. Like some of the color had leached right out of him. It hadn’t even been that violent or lengthy of a fit. He often had much worse as of late.

Not to be put off by Eloise’s reaction, Scott readily offered his paw out to Owen. “How about we all go back to your clock? I’ve got plenty of chicken soup you can have if you get hungry.”

“That does sound pretty nice...”

Owen took his offered paw, and Scott tried not to focus on the way Owen’s fingers felt clammy and cold between his claws.

____________________

Christmas time was getting close and the attic was abuzz with excitement. Plans for a Secret Santa gift exchange were underway. All the rats were finding themselves a part of the holiday season rush as they prepared their gifts. 

Martyn had taken charge of this one. He had set up the whole event, convincing everyone that the best way to celebrate the Christmas season was with homemade gifts from the heart. He had set up the raffle to decide who would be giving their gifts to whom. He was the one who had set up the post box outside of the bar for everyone to submit their names for the event. He had even done up the entire building in some of the most over-the-top seasonal decor Scott had ever seen and the farm rat was loving it. 

Tis the season, and Scott was embracing it as much as anyone. He had already planned on giving a gift to everyone, but there was no way he was going to turn down the opportunity to join in on a Secret Santa. That just meant that the name on his list would get two presents instead of one. Scott was ready to go all out for it. 

Yes, it seemed like the holiday season had started to help some of the rats calm down and put to rest some of the old squabbles that had been going on for some time now. They had something to focus on, nice deeds to do, super cute decorations to put up, and the occasional visitor coming in from the cold outside to make their day a little more topsy turvy. That was where most of the excitement came from nowadays: the random people who just sort of showed up. Other than them, life in the attic was pretty peaceful.

So Scott was surprised when, late one night when he was ready to drop off his note at the bar post box, he heard frantic shouting and horrible retching noises. 

He froze about ten paces away from the bar. His fingers clutched tight around his book as something slammed and there was another shout. What on Earth was going on? 

He swiveled his ears to get a better listen. That was Martyn’s voice. What he thought was incoherent shouting turned into panicked, somewhat broken words. 

“Oh geez. I can’t believe… Ugh! Oh, come on! Why you… I just- You know, you’re lucky I don’t bar you from the bar again. Keep it in the can. That’s it. Deep breaths… There you are. Oh! Uh… Good lord! That’s so gross. You know, I’ve already got one crime seen taped off at this establishment! I don’t need another!”

Martyn’s babbling was repeatedly broken up by the sound of someone gagging and the splash of something wet hitting metal. 

Scott crept forward on soft paw steps. He was not sure what he had stumbled upon, but Martyn sounded close. Keeping his tail low to the ground and book against his chest, Scott inched his way around the side of the building until he could make out Martyn’s back in the dim lighting. 

Martyn’s ears were pinned against his head. His tail twisted with discomfort, and his eyes were looking everywhere but at the figure slumped over the tin can next to him. He was rubbing his scarred arm back and forth along their back like he was trying to comfort them, but the motions were stiff. 

Another retch split the air. Another sound like a garden hose being switched on, and the figure’s shoulders heaved. Martyn flinched. 

“You didn’t even have anything to drink,” the barkeeper mumbled.

“Is everything alright?” Scott called.

Martyn patted the other person’s back once more before turning to face him. He looked queasy himself. “We’ve got a bit of a mess in the bar right now,” he said with a grimace. “I wouldn’t suggest going in there at the moment.” 

“And who is that? Are they alright?”

“It’s Owen,” Martyn said simply. 

Sure enough, the next gag turned into a cough so ragged it sounded like ripping fabric.

“And I’m gonna be honest, I don’t know if he is alright,” Martyn continued. “He came here asking about details for the Secret Santa. Seemed fine one moment, and then threw up all over the entryway the next. And the counter. And my back room when I tried to bring him out here.” He gestured towards the bar’s back door. There were a few wet spots near the doorway that Martyn pointed to that Scott didn’t want to focus on too closely. “And before you ask, I didn’t pour him so much as a glass. Alcohol’s got nothing to do with this one.”

“I can believe that,” Scott nodded. He dared to inch closer. A sour smell hit his sensitive nose when he came within a tail’s length of the two other rats. Sure enough, it was Owen. His goggles had been tossed to the side, out of the way as his head hung in the tin can Martyn was using as a rubbish bin. His clothes looked crumpled and wrinkled. His tail and ears hung limp. “Oh, Owen,” he breathed, already pitying his poor friend. 

“Hey, Scott…” Owen’s words echoed and warped around the edges of the can. His voice sounded small.

“Are you feeling worse?”

“I’m fine.”

Martyn snorted. “Tell that to my carpets.” 

Owen’s ears drooped a little bit lower. “Sorry about that.” 

The apology seemed to take Martyn off-guard. Owen didn’t normally apologize so easily. Not without a couple of jokes or light teasing mixed in for good fun. It made Scott want to ask his friend ‘What’s wrong with you,’ but he knew he probably wouldn’t get an honest answer, let alone an honest one. 

“That’s alright,” Martyn finally said, giving Owen another gentle pat on the back. “I’ll just clean it up-” Owen pitched forward into the can again and dry heaved. Martyn yanked his paw away and stuck his tongue out, clearly struggling not to gag as well. “I’ll clean it up later. Blegh!”

Scott stepped up to place his paw on Owen’s shoulder. His grip tightened slightly when Owen’s heaving stopped and his friend relaxed into his grip. “You go ahead and clean up your bar now, Martyn. I can stay out here with him for a while.”

Martyn’s blue eyes narrowed at him. He almost looked relieved as he glanced back and forth between Owen and Scott. Only the twitching of his tail tip hinted at his hesitance to leave Owen while he was still like this. “You sure?”

“It’s fine. He’s my best friend. I can watch him.”

That seemed to be enough to convince the barkeeper. “Thanks, Scott. I’ll come back out here once I take care of Owen’s mess.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Owen grunted into the can.

“I know,” Martyn said before stepping back into the bar and pulling the back door closed behind him. 

The back of the bar was quiet for a moment. The only noise was the slight scrape of Owen’s nails against the bin and the rise and fall of their breathing. Scott was half afraid that if he tried breaking the silence, the pause in Owen’s coughing and retching would end and all of his troubles would come rushing back. Instead, Scott lowered himself onto the floor where there didn’t seem to be any suspicious-looking puddles. He crossed his legs out in front of him and pressed one shoulder against Owen’s side. 

It was Owen who broke the silence first. “Why are you here, Scott?” His voice didn’t sound so small this time. 

Scott shrugged. “I was going to turn in my book for Secret Santa when I heard the commotion.”

“Oh…”

“You?”

“Something similar. I wanted to talk to Martyn about the chances of someone not being able to make it to the gift exchange.” 

“What did he say?”

“That a gift could be given to someone else who can give it to the right person on the day of. Or we could just arrange to swap gifts with a delivery. I didn’t get the chance to ask him about when it would get delivered.”

“Oh.” 

They fell into silence once more. A moment passed where Scott could feel Owen shiver. His muscles locked up and claws dug into the rim of the can. Scott braced himself for the sound of gagging, but it never came. Owen’s breath quickened, then gradually slowed back down. His muscles untensed, and the threat passed. As he relaxed, he let himself slide down the side of the can to sit next to Scott. 

When Scott looked over, his dark eyes flickered blue-green in the low light.

“I really think I might be okay now,” he said slowly. “I think the worst of it has passed.”

“You should still stay right here, just in case. I don’t think you should be taking any chances right now.”

Owen winced. “I think that’s fair.” 

“You’re sick.”

“Maybe,” Owen huffed. Even now, he couldn’t sit back and accept that it might be true. “I could have just had something bad to eat.”

“What have you eaten so far today?”

Owen’s face instantly fell into a regretful frown. “Or maybe not. It probably wasn’t the food.”

“Why? What all did you eat?”

“The last thing I ate was the dinner you offered me.”

Scott had prepared a nice picnic basket with cabbage rolls, fruit salad, and ratatouille. They had enjoyed a nice outing on Owen’s balcony, bundled up against the brisk winter chill. They were all dishes Scott had made countless times before. None of them could possibly have made Owen that ill. 

Before Scott could ask him about lunch, the other rat hunched his shoulders and started coughing once more. It was gargled and sharp. The ripping noises that shook his lungs were enough to make Scott want to pull his chef’s hat down over his ears to keep the sound out. As the sound of Owen's hacking grew weaker and eventually died out, Scott watched Owen turn to spit into the can. 

“Your cough doesn’t seem to be getting any better,” Scott mused. 

“I know…” he said, annoyance and exhaustion evident in his voice. “It’s such a pain and it won’t go away.”

“Have you been resting?” 

“As much as normal.”

“Any more weird instances of hiding in dark rooms?”

“Scott…” Owen’s tone was bitter.

“I’m not going to complain. Getting a few more naps in would be good for you. So have you?”

“Maybe, but it’s not napping.”

“Uh-huh.” Scott didn’t believe him. “It’s winter, Owen. You never really stopped to slow down after you went into the basement. I think if you want it to get any better, you should take a few days and stay in bed.”

Rather than complain, or wave Scott off and say that he was fine, Owen seemed to seriously consider his words. His arm snaked over his waist. He clutched at his stomach like it was threatening to spill its contents again. “Do you think that would help?”

“I don’t think it would make anything worse to try.”

Owen brought his head up only to let it fall back against the can. Thunk! “Aw, but it’s going to be boring staying in bed all day.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll come to visit. And so will the others. We’ll keep you busy while you take it easy.”

“You promise?”

“Promise.”

“Good. Can we get out of here now, then? I think I want to go home.”

Scott pointed to the paw still wrapped around Owen’s waist. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Honestly…yeah,” he said. The grip he had on his stomach loosened. “It doesn’t feel like my stomach is on the edge of bursting anymore. It kind of feels stable now, you know?”

“Mm-hm,” Scott hummed. He bumped his shoulder once more against Owen’s and then unwound his legs so he could stand up. “I’ll go tell Martyn we’re going to get you home.” 

The barkeeper hadn’t made his way back out to them yet. Scott had a feeling it would be a while before Martyn finished cleaning his bar up. While Owen and Martyn didn’t always see eye to eye, Martyn would probably appreciate being told that they were leaving. The alternative would mean heading out without saying a word and letting Martyn come back to an empty back of the bar and no clue whether Owen was alright. Considering how he had been trying to comfort Owen when Scott first got here, it was probably safe to assume Martyn would appreciate the heads-up.

That and Scott still had his book to drop off. He was already here, after all.

Owen thumped the back of his head against the can once more. He tilted his head back so he could smile appreciatively up at Scott.  “Thank you.”

“And I’m going to ask if he has a bag or something we can take with us, in case you get sick again on the way back.”

The smile fell into a frown so suddenly, that Scott couldn’t help but laugh.

He brushed his dungarees off as he stood. His tail, cramped from being sat on for so long, gave an experimental wave to work the pins and needles out. Then he picked his way past Owen and the can.

Some morbid curiosity took hold of Scott at that moment. Before he reached the door, his gaze passed over the rim of the rubbish bin. It was still pretty dark, but he could make out the wet shine of the puddle at the bottom. 

Scott was no doctor, but he guessed that the dark red tinge to it wasn’t natural. Not considering what Owen had claimed to eat most recently.  Nor were the fleshy, glowing cyan chunks floating on top.

___________________________

Owen was finally getting some rest. 

Scott didn’t even have to beg him to stay in bed. He didn’t have to pester his friend with apologies and nervous requests to stay put. Owen didn’t fight him on anything anymore and didn’t complain about being cooped up in his room at the top of the clock.

That’s how bad it was.

It had Scott on edge.

The farmer rat couldn’t sit still. He busied himself coming over to visit all the time. Owen’s clock wasn’t messy, but Scott busied himself trying to clean some of the lower levels. He chewed on chunks of wood and wool, shaping them into nice things he could work into his Christmas gifts for the others. And when he ran out of ideas for things to do with what was already here, he took it upon himself to bring his hobbies closer and reduce his number of trips away from the clock.

Owen didn’t have a kitchen, but that didn’t stop Scott from hauling over his pots, pans, or even an entire stove so he didn’t have to stray too far to cook up a few meals. 

Most bowls and platefuls went to the many rats who came to visit their bedridden friend. It gave them a chance to stick around longer if they had a meal at the ready. Some meals were brought up to Owen. Soups proved especially difficult to carry while climbing up the gears to Owen’s room, but Owen was always grateful to Scott for bringing them. A few dishes were whipped up purely for himself. A rat’s gotta feed himself, too. 

Every time he poked his head into the dark bedroom, he would catch a flicker of blue-green before Owen registered that he was there and would greet him. Once, Scott made no attempt to make his presence known when he entered the bedroom. He didn’t knock against the door frame or call out, assuming that Owen would simply spot him in a moment or two. He did not. Scott waited, and waited, and watched as Owen simply stared at the blank wall. There was nothing to see. It was too dark for him to make out the natural grain of the wood. His unfocused eyes stared, and now Scott fully believed Eloise’s claim that Owen’s eyes glowed in the dark. 

And yes, Owen still had the cough.

A couple of days on bed rest seemed to have no effect on the malady. If anything, it was worse. They kept a thimble on the side of the bed at all times now. When Owen felt a coughing fit coming on, he would reach for the bucket and hold it close. As the coughs shook his body, he would sometimes cough up… something.

The first time Owen coughed it up, they hadn’t thought to have the thimble nearby. His friend had done the best he could and leaned over the side of the bed when something solid and wet went splat against the wooden floorboards. Scott had to clean that one up. Whatever it could have been was solid. Soft, but solid. Pulpy. It was always an unnatural mix of teal and orange.

Funny. He normally liked those colors together. Now though… This wasn’t cute.

The night behind the bar had been dim, but he still recognized it as the stuff he had seen in the tin can.

Scott had no clue what it was supposed to be.

After that, Scott made sure Owen had a thimble at all times. He instructed his friend to cough into it whenever he could. Then Scott could take care of the mess later. 

That proved to be somewhat difficult. Not even trash rat would bother with it. They were banned from tossing it in his dumpster. Scott was left to try digging shallow holes in the frozen ground outside to bury it or burn it in the family room fireplace when the coast was clear of cats.

He came back from one of those expeditions to find Eloise and Bek standing outside Owen’s clock.

“How’s he doing?” El asked as he approached.

Scott shrugged. “He’s still sick. Still coughing.”

“That bites.” Bek kicked her bare foot against the floorboard with a frown. She cast her gaze across the rest of the attic, eyes lingering on their neighbors’ homes. “It’s a shame there are no doctors up here.”

“I agree. None of the home remedies that we used on the farm are working.” He patted his palm against the thimble. Claws clicked against its side on impact. “I just got done emptying this for, what? The fourth time today? You don’t suppose the humans downstairs have some medicine?”

Eloise tilted her head. “That work on rats? I doubt it.” 

“Want some help?” Bek offered. 

El reached into her pocket and pulled out something that looked like a covered bowl. Through the see-through top, Scott could make out a bright red-ish orange liquid sloshing around. It was thicker than water or juice. As she held it out towards him, something spicy made his nose twitch. “Yeah. As I said, no doctors here, but I had a thought,” she said. “How about a home remedy? Back in the city, there were these places that sold food. And in their kitchens, they had all these pretty bottles of tasty sauces. There was one my family would use whenever we got sick. Called it hot sauce. Burned going down, but it helped clear the sinuses.”

Scott tilted his head. “He’s coughing, El. Not sneezing or blowing his nose. I’m not sure that will work.”

“Aren’t those things normally connected?”

“Are they?”

“Probably,” Bek chimed in with a noncommittal shrug. 

Scott’s tail lashed as he considered his options. That stuff smelled pretty strong. She called it a sauce, so it was like food. “He’s supposed to eat it?”

Eloise nodded. “We would put it on our dinner.”

At worst, they could run to get Owen some milk if it was too hot. He didn’t think a bite of something spicy would necessarily make the cough worse.  

“Sure,” he relented. “I guess it’s worth a shot. Come on. Let’s run it by Owen and see what he thinks.” He waved towards the opening at the base of the grandfather clock and started padding towards the entrance. The three of them shuffled inside, only to be greeted by the muffled sound of coughing. Scott sighed. “There he goes again.” 

“He sounds worse,” Eloise said, tipping her head to look up past the levels of gears lining the inside of the clock. 

“It’s dark, too,” Bek noted. “Is he doing that thing where he hides in the dark?”

“He’s still in the bed. Not hiding,” Scott supplied. “But the dark seems to help.”

She clicked her tongue. “Rather odd.”

He wasn’t about to disagree. 

The two girls waited long enough for him to grab a bowl full of chicken soup from his pot. They could put the sauce into that for Owen to try. Then they scrabbled up the gears to the sound of Owen’s hacking and wheezing. It drowned out the sound of their claws scraping against brass and nickel. It took a few leaps, and both El and Scott had to help Bek pull herself up the last ledge. 

Owen was still coughing as they reached to top. Scott’s ears drooped as he heard a pained wheeze between intakes of breath. He could tell the sick rat was getting tired. 

“Owen!” Scott called as he led the two girls toward their friend's room. “You alright? Eloise and Bek came by.”

“Hey th-” Owen couldn’t even finish up the greeting as they stepped into the room. He was curled up in bed, gripping the covers as he leaned over and shook with each raspy breath. Scott picked up the pace until he was at the bedside, holding the thimble out for his friend. Owen took it with a shaking paw. He gripped it in his lap, but this bought appeared to only be a cough. 

When it finally began to slow, Owen took a deep, deliberate breath, and breathed out a “Hi.”

“You look worse than something one of the cats coughed up,” Bek said bluntly. El smacked her shoulder and Scott pinned back his ears, but Owen smiled at the jab, so the farm rat didn’t audibly gasp in horror like he wanted to.

“I’d rather take getting chewed out by the cats at this point,” Owen said, his voice all but shot. 

“No you wouldn’t,” Scott corrected. Owen didn’t argue. 

“Well,” El started, holding out the covered bowl of hot sauce for him to see. “I brought something with me, that might be able to help.” Again, she explained what was in the bowl. How it was spicy and full of flavor. How at her old home they would use it to help clear their stuffy noses and make it a little easier to breathe.

Then Scott showed him the bowl of broth he brought up. “I brought some soup we could mix it into if you think it’s worth a shot. It should tone down some of the flavor and make it easier to eat.”

Owen wrinkled his nose. “Not the biggest fan of spicy food, but if there’s a chance it’ll work then it’s worth a shot.”

“You sure,” Eloise and Scott asked at the same time.

He nodded and reached out towards the bowl in Scott’s paw. “Got a spoon?”

Of course Scott brought a spoon. 

Eloise popped the cover off her bowl and tilted it. Scott brought the broth underneath the rim to catch a few drops before swirling the angry orange sauce in. Since El was the one who knew about the home remedy, he let her judge how much to put in. She let a few more drops dribble into the broth before pulling back her bowl and covering it back up.

“That should probably be enough,” she said with a flick of her tail tip. “Don’t want to overdo it.”

“How spicy is it,” Owen asked nervously.

“It is hot sauce, so pretty spicy.”

Owen slunk a little deeper under the covers. “What if it’s too hot?”

“Well, you want it to be hot if it’s going to work.”

“Uh… Actually… I don’t know about this anymore, guys.”

Bek snorted. “Don’t be such a baby.”

“I am not! Fine.” In the blink of an eye, Owen snatched the soup bowl and spoon out from Scott’s paws. “This better work,” he grumbled, before ladling a spoonful of the liquid into his mouth.

Scott held his breath for a moment as he watched Owen swallow. His friend blinked rapidly at the taste, clearly uncomfortable. But he went for another spoonful and downed that as well. He handed it back to Scott with more than half the broth left. 

“Feeling any better?” Bek asked brightly.

He held up one claw as if asking her to wait. His face contorted against the heat. His breathing became heavy and drawn out, but that was good, wasn’t it? Those were the deepest breaths Scott had heard Owen manage in a while. 

“Did it help?” he pressed when Owen didn’t answer.

In less than a second, Owen’s demeanor changed. He went from tense patience, face screwed up with discomfort at the taste, to twitching and thrashing silently. So silently, in fact, that they even couldn’t hear him breathe. 

Scott’s blood ran cold.

Owen wasn’t coughing anymore. Wasn’t gagging. He was wheezing. Gasping. Ribcage rattling. Convulsing. his back arched. He writhed beneath the blanket so wildly that it knocked the covers from the bed entirely.  Both paws went to the base of his neck and gripped at the soft tissue there, claws raking along the exposed surface. Angry red marks flared up against his skin, visible beneath his fur. 

“Oh my god he’s choking,” Bek shrieked.

Her words hit Scott hard, knocking his brain back into action. “H-how?!?! It was just chicken broth!” He didn’t understand. There weren’t any noodles or chunks of chicken or vegetables to worry about swallowing. 

He dropped the bowl and spoon in his paws, not caring when they clattered to the floor and sent broth splattered everywhere. It didn’t matter. What mattered was getting his best friend breathing again. Scott reached under Owen’s armpit and hauled the other rat closer to the side of the bed where the rest of them could reach him more easily. He bucked in Scott’s grip. He almost completely lost his hold on the other rat’s arm as Owen kept reaching for his neck. Not sure what else to do, Scott started pounding on Owen’s back with the base of his palm, praying it would knock his airwaves free. “What could he possibly be choking on?!”

“No no no! You’re doing it wrong.” Bek shoved him to the side and took over, wrapping her arms around Owen’s chest from behind. The back of his head nearly smashed into her forehead as he struggled to breathe, but she gripped tight. “You gotta do it like in the movies.” With that, she started pounding her fist up and in just below his sternum.

Scott was grasping at straws. Reacting instinctively without knowing what would help or why. Let alone how this could have gone so wrong. He rushed around the bed to the other side so he could face Owen. He passed El, who still stood shaking against the wall. He’d ask her to help, but what could she do, really? 

Scott crawled up onto the bed with Owen. He intended to hold Owen’s paws to keep them from knocking into Bek as she continued to attempt to force out whatever was caught in his throat. Before he reached out, though, Owen shifted his paws from scratching at his throat to clawing at the sides of his mouth. 

There, just visible past the foremost incisors, something was glowing at the back of Owen’s mouth.

Something teal. Something orange.

Thoughts of the fleshy thimblefuls Scott had been doing his best to throw away swam to the forefront of his mind.  The glow shook and strobed with every desperate attempt for air. The lumpy shapes the glow emanated from shook and wobbled as Owen opened his mouth wider and wider. Scott’s muscles locked up. He couldn’t have willed himself forward if he wanted to. Couldn’t think straight enough for it to occur to him to try. He watched as Owen tried reaching into his own mouth with desperate claws and scraped at what was inside. 

Bek gave another heave, knocking Owen’s paw away from his mouth with enough force for his flailing claws to rip a tear in his lip. Something hooked on his claw came loose, and with a wet plop, it fell onto the bedspread in front of Scott. 

It looked like part of a mushroom cap. 

A very familiar teal mushroom with glowing orange splotches. 

Something clicked in the back of Scott’s numb mind that this was probably what had been in those thimbles, although less smashed up and not swimming in bile. This cap was far more sturdy. He could still make out the delicate edges of gills lining the underside. The damaged end was blackened and wilted. The entire piece still glowed, despite being severed from the rest of the larger body. 

He had warned Owen about those awful mushrooms. 

Why couldn’t his friend have just trusted him and gone through with burning it?

“It’s not working,” Bek cried. She let go of Owen, cradling her wrists. Bruises were already becoming visible there beneath pale fur.

Scott blinked. 

Owen was reaching with one paw for his mouth again. The glowing shapes there were clearer than they were a second ago. More sharply defined. Larger. Scott could hardly believe what he was seeing as caps pressed against the backs of Owen’s teeth, threatened to grow out right past his lips. Owen was grabbing at them. Clawing at them. Pulling fistfuls of crushed mushroom stems and caps. Scott reached forward with a half-baked thought to help rip more away, but Owen smacked his paw away before he could get close. Owen’s other paw was reaching up towards some unseen point on the ceiling with eyes that were glassy and blank. Color flickered in the pupils. 

Orange, teal, orange, teal, orange, teal…

Scott whirled to look at Eloise. “GO GET HELP!!!”

She hadn’t so much as moved from her spot by the wall. At Scott’s words, her shocked face blanched. She was shaking in fear and reached for Bek like the smaller rat was a lifeline. “WHO DO I GET!?!”

“I DON’T KNOW!”

POP!

Owen fell limp.

Scott turned back to stare down at his best friend, too frozen in shock to move, dread pulsing through his veins where his heart stopped beating. “Owen…” he whimpered. The name sounded fuzzy to his ears through the radio static of his own thoughts. 

Owen’s chest was moving. Barely, but it was. Scott could see it rising and falling with short, shallow breaths. 

“Owen, please…” 

Please what? Answer? Survive? Be okay? 

The two girls gripped at each other. They stood in front of the entrance, their shadows falling over Owen in the bed. Through their quivering dark shapes, Owen’s eyes blazed.

Orange, teal, orange, teal, orange, teal…

“No more of that.”

Scott pealed his ears up away from where he had pinned them flat against the back of his head. “Owen?” His voice cracked. Owen’s voice sounded… hollow.

The fallen rat’s chest twitched. His arms drew in closer to his sides. His legs spread out over the sheets. Scott scrambled away to make room for his friend as a foot passed by where he had been kneeling on the bed. Every movement was agonizingly slow. Pained. 

“W-what d-do you mean?” El stuttered. “Y-you gave us a r-real fright, there.”

“I mean no more of that.” Owen’s voice sounded empty. Distant. Scott couldn’t make out his friend’s mouth moving in the dim lighting. Not at this angle. Considering what he had just seen, it was shockingly clear considering all the mushrooms he had to be talking around. “Whatever that was, it burned. No more burning us.”

One of Bek’s ears swiveled. “Uh… ‘us’? What do you mean ‘us’?”

With a long, labored heave that looked unnaturally limp, Owen’s head lolled back as he pushed himself up shoulders first. He sat up. 

Orange, teal, orange, teal, orange, teal… 

“Us.”

It wasn’t just Owen’s eyes that glowed anymore. They were vacant. Glassy, empty eyes with irises that flashed back and forth. But below his eyes, crawling out from the cracks in his mouth, flowing down with the line of blood escaping the cut on his lip, curling around his front teeth, were mushrooms. Many, many, many mushrooms. 

“We won’t let you burn us again,” came Owen’s voice, but it wasn’t Owen. It couldn’t be. His mouth didn’t move. His shallow breathing, now growing even shallower, hadn’t hitched or changed. Rather, with each rise and fall of the syllables, the glowing orange splotches strobed brighter. 

“No more heat. No more burning.” 

Orange, teal, orange, teal, orange, teal. Bright, dim, bright, dim, bright, dim. 

“Just the damp. Just the dark. Like me. Like you…”

He turned to Scott, but he didn’t actually look at Scott. Those eyes stared straight ahead. The pupils were so dilated, he couldn’t be focusing on anything in front of him. His head tilted, ears falling limply with the motion. 

“Hey Scott.” The mushrooms blinked with the hollow words. “You were helping me. Now I think you should help us…”

Owen lurched forward, reaching out for the nearest one of them. His claws brushed Scott’s arms and Scott leaped back. 

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

He shrieked. Behind him, Bek and Eloise screamed as well. They scrambled back as Owen pushed forward out of the bed. Every movement was sluggish and stilted. His muscles quivered with distress and his legs shook as he stood up, but he WAS up. And he was coming right for them. 

They bolted. All three dropped onto all fours and scrabbled through Owen’s house as fast as their paws could carry them. 

This was a nightmare. It had to be. Scott knew the mushrooms were dangerous, but whatever this was had to be something else. However, when Scott slipped on the carpet in the hall and slammed shoulder-first into the wall, the pain sent dark spots dancing across his eyes.

Dreams weren’t supposed to be this painful.

The three of them were halfway down the gears when Owen’s distant voice met their ears. It still had that hollow ring to it. “Come on Scott. Come on guys. You wanted to help me, right? Then come back. The dark is better.”

Scott clenched his claws and dared to look up. He couldn’t see Owen past the ledge. 

“Scott… Eloise… Bek… I thought you wanted to help?”

A shiver passed down Scott’s spine. Owen didn’t sound any closer. He wasn’t chasing them. He let go of the gears, allowing himself to drop the rest of the way to land heavily alongside the girls. The three of them looked up 

“Are you still there, guys?”

El placed a finger over her lips and glared at Scott and Bek. She flicked her eyes off to the side and waved in the direction of Owen’s mudroom. It didn’t take much to figure out what she meant. Scott and Bek shared a glance, then nodded and followed her around the corner. 

As soon as they were all packed into the cramped room like sardines in a can, Scott pulled the door closed behind him. She dropped the finger from in front of her mouth. 

“What do we do!? What do WE DO!?!?” she whispered frantically.

“I DON’T KNOW!”

They all scrambled, moving back and forth as much as they could in the small space as they talked over each other in a panic.

“Is he coming!?”

“I don’t think so.”

“It didn’t sound like it.”

“I don’t think we can be sure.”

“The door’s closed even if he was.”

“That just means we’d be trapped.”

“I don’t think he’s coming, though.”

“What even happened?”

“It’s those mushrooms,” Scott babbled, words flowing out of his mouth as quickly as they passed through his head. “Those were the mushrooms from the garden that we burned. I’d recognize them anywhere. They were in him! My god, his mouth was full of them. He was coughing them up all this time and I didn’t even realize-”

Eloise cut through his panicked rambling to grab him by the shoulders and give him a shake. “You’re the expert here on those things. Did you know they could do that?”

“Of course not!”

“Okay,” Bek started. “So a bunch of angry mushrooms were making Owen sick and now he’s…” She opened and closed her mouth a few times, but could not find the words. She helplessly gestured to the mudroom’s ceiling, approximately in the same direction as Owen’s room. “That. Now he’s like that. Didn’t the mushrooms from the garden get burned?”

“Yeah,” El hissed. “That took care of them last time. Should we try that again?”

“And do what?” Scott wanted to shout, but he strained to keep his volume down low. “Set Owen on fire?!?”

El blinked, her face going blank. “Right. Might need to think of something better.”

“What about what he said,” Bek said, her whisper now bordering on becoming a shout. “He said that something burned.”

“Yeah, the hot sauce,” El said dismissively. “I’m sure it was spicy and hot and everything I said it would be but that doesn’t actually help us now because it doesn’t actually burn things like a fire, now does it?!” 

“But he- it- they- whatever that was- I don’t know?! It didn’t seem to like it.”

“So you’re saying it caused this?”

“Those mushrooms were already in his system,” Scott admitted. “He was throwing them up for a while now. Whatever this is was already in him.”

“So the hot sauce made it worse? It pissed some bloody mushrooms off and made Owen…” Eloise didn’t even know how to finish her sentence. She threw her paw up in the air and turned. She pressed one of her knuckles against her forehead. 

Scott ran through everything he knew about the fungus in his head. From his early days on the farm, where he had seen the brightly colored caps from afar, to the blight they caused, and the wildlife that choked on their spores until they couldn’t breathe. The awful way it spread in the dark, closed-off spaces. Places like the basement.  

Places like Owen’s lungs. 

He shook his head. Now was not the time to dwell on that. 

At the farm, the only thing the farmers could do was burn it. Gather it up in a neat pile and set the whole thing ablaze. Even if there were a few mycelium roots below the surface, if they set the fire close enough to the patch, the heat still managed to leach through the topsoil and kill it off. 

Hot sauce didn’t put off real heat. Not like that. But the mushrooms reacted to it. He didn’t know if his parents had ever tried any irritants against something like that. Acid wasn’t necessarily available to a family of rodents working the field. 

He thought of the partially blackened piece of mushroom Owen had clawed out of his mouth. 

“Okay… I think… I think your hot sauce might have helped, actually.”

El pulled her knuckle from her forehead and looked at him from the corner of her eye. “You’re joking.”

“That’s what I was saying,” Bek exclaimed. All pretenses of keeping her voice down were tossed out the window. “It was mad about how hot it was. What if hot flavors work just like hot fires.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Probably. But I saw a piece break off that looked burned, and I know for a fact Owen hasn’t been around a fire for some time. I don’t know if it works like some sort of acid, but it did something.”

“Yeah,” El huffed. “It made him like THAT . Worse!”

Bek rolled her eyes. “That just means we didn’t use enough.”

Scott pointed to the smaller rat. “What she said.”

Bek didn’t seem to be prepared for him to agree with her so easily. Her eyes flew wide and her tail went ramrod straight. “What?!”

“I think you’re, right, Bek. I think we need to try using more.”

“But you- I thought- I can’t believe-” Eloise sputtered. Her paws waved uselessly in the air, grasping at straws. Finally, she gave up on trying to find an argument and slumped forward. “Fine.” She pulled the small covered bowl out. “I suppose it doesn’t hurt to try.”

“Great! Now we just need to figure out how to do that,” Scott said as he leaned his back against the door.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

“Is it nice and dark in there?”

All three rats stiffened at the sound of Owen’s voice filtering through the cracks in the door. Scott’s heart outright skipped a beat as he pushed off the door, trying to put as much distance between him and the door as he could. Considering the small mudroom, it wasn’t much. He hurtled into Bek and Eloise, who were pressing themselves through the hanging coats and boots against the furthest corner of the room. Something fell at his side. He tore his eyes away from the door long enough to see Eloise’s covered bowl of hot sauce bounce once off the floor and go rolling.

Squeak… click!

The doorknob turned and swung open. Blinking orange lights strobed across the room as Owen stepped inside. 

“Well, would you look at that?”

Orange, teal, orange, teal, orange, teal. Bright, dim, bright, dim, bright, dim. 

“It is dark in here. I knew you guys wanted to help.”

“O-Owen…” Scott said shakily. He pressed himself further into Bek and Eloise’s sides. “I-I thought you were upstairs in y-your room?”

“But you guys came down here,” he said through a mouth that did not form the words. His blank eyes passed over the room. “You can’t help when you’re down here and I’m up there.”

“Help with what,” El demanded.

“Us. And you.”

He took a stilted step forward, and every fiber of Scott’s being screamed at him to run.

“Go! Go! Go!” He squeaked, shoving Bek and El aside. Owen stood between them and the door, but he couldn’t stop all of them if they tried to go around them. 

Of course, that didn’t mean they would all be able to get out scot-free. 

Because Owen’s claws wrapped around the strap of Scott’s dungarees before he could make it past. 

His best friend’s paw gripped like a vice. His grip was so white-knuckled tight that it shook as he yanked. Scott was too busy trying to run forward to get a good grip on the floor with the soles of his feet. They slipped out from under him and the farm rat found himself suspended for a moment, staring at the retreating backs of the girls before his back hit the ground. 

Owen’s flashing eyes appeared over him. 

Orange, teal, orange, teal, orange.

“Hey, Scott,” the mushrooms glowed down at him. 

Scott tried to pull away, but Owen still had a grip on the strap. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the bowl Eloise had dropped. It was still covered and clean on the wooden floor, right there next to a set of boots. Scott reached for it. His claws brushed the rim, only for the strap of his dungarees yanked back once more. He couldn’t budge an inch as Owen forced the strap down against the wood planks, pinning him to the floor. The bowl rolled uselessly out of his line of sight.

“What are you doing,” Scott squeaked, voice small. His ears tried to swivel back to lay against his head, but they could only press uselessly against the floor. 

“Helping us,” the mushrooms in Owen’s mouth blinked. “Don’t worry, Scott. It’s not so bad. A little time, a bit of coughing… you’ll barely notice.”

Dread clawed at the pit of Scott’s stomach. Owen was still looking at him blankly, but the mushroom caps in his mouth flared. The gills widened, revealing dotted dark pores between their inner layers. Scott could make out the dark spore particles between them. The dread dug those claws in and yanked.

“Owen! Owen please- I don’t- I- I- Please don’t-”

“Take this!”

Owen tore his glowing eyes off Scott. The moment his head tilted back, the open end of a bowl hit him square in the center of his face. Rivulets of red-orange liquid sprayed out along the side of his head. It caught in his hair and dripped down his jaw, and when the bowl fell away, his entire face was covered in Eloise’s hot sauce. 

Bek stood in the door frame, wide-eyed, arm outstretched in front of her, utterly shocked that she had hit her mark.

The squeak of pain Owen let out made Scott flinch. He wanted to curl into a ball and cover his ears against the sheer agony that would have shredded Owen’s voice box if he was actually using it. Scott instead dug his heels into the floor and slid back as far as he could. Claws wrapped around his shoulders. To his relief, Bek had rushed to his side. She and El each took an arm and helped him up while Owen backed away. The slow, pained movements were now even shakier as he reached to wipe at the sauce covering his face.

Wherever the sauce touched the mushrooms, the stems and caps twitched and shriveled.  Steam hissed, bubbles popping along their wet surface as the lukewarm liquid wreaked havoc on them. Burnt, dried-out stems fell from between his lips and crumbled against the floor. 

A rather large mushroom broke free, falling to the floor. Owen let out a gasp. The sudden breath was heavier than what he had managed since the mushrooms appeared, and it triggered a cough. The same kind of heavy, burdened, full-body cough Owen had been struggling with for so long now. Scott could see flecks of hot sauce get sucked in from the edges of Owen’s lips, and full splatters of reddish-orange peppered the walls as the air was forced back out. He was gripping his throat again, but it wasn’t the desperate, clawing grasp from before. 

With each cough, more and more blackened bits came tumbling from his mouth. With each cough, his chest expanded more and more. He managed to pull in more air. Let out more ragged breaths. 

Bek and El’s grips on Scott’s shoulders tightened when Owen collapsed down onto his knees, shoulders stooped, and his stomach heaved. Scott didn’t react. Only watch. He had been around Owen’s vomiting spells longer than the two girls. He watched the puddle of bile and fleshy lumps that spread across the floor with cold recognition. 

The chunks of what he now recognized to be mushroom pieces bubbled and boiled in the puddle, withering away amidst the swirls of undigested orange hot sauce. 

Owen heaved again. And heaved. He kept going until there was nothing left, and even then he dry-heaved once or twice before he fell back into a weak cough. It was an exhausted cough. One that barely even managed to shake the rat’s shoulders. One that made his elbows waver as he tried to hold himself up off the messy floor. A few more flecks of orange and teal fell from his lips. 

The coughing stopped. 

It felt like an eternity passed in the time Scott, El, and Bek sat there, watching Owen pant. They were holding their breath. Didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t react in any way, as if the moment was so jagged and sharp that any change might cause it to break. Or to break one of them. 

But if nobody broke the moment, than there was no way to know if it could be fixed.

“O-Owen?” Scott flinched as the sound of his own voice startled him. It cut through the quiet like a knife. He would have reached out to his friend. Risked that bit of movement, but Bek caught his wrist before he could go far.

Both she and El held him back. Their eyes were brimming with fear and concern, both emotions warring over what was best. Should they help Owen? Stay away from him? 

“Are you back to feeling like yourself?” Bek asked carefully.

Owen looked up. 

Orange, teal, orange, teal, orange, teal…

“I…” He took a deep breath. A small, tired smile pulled on the corners of his mouth as the flicker in his eyes finally guttered out. “I feel better…”

Thump!

Owen’s shaking arms finally gave out. He slumped down to the floor. Eyes fell closed. His body went still outside of the rise and fall of his chest.

And for the first time in a long time, Owen’s breathing sounded normal to Scott’s ears.

#mcythorrorgiftexchange #horror #body horror #mcyt fanfiction #rats smp #scott smajor #owengejuicetv #bekyamon #soupforeloise #alternate universe canon divergence #hurt/comfort #and then some more hurt #sickfic #vomiting #nonconsensual body modification #mind manipulation #unconventional use of hot sauce #embedded art #it's at the end

[autisticaboutstufflol]

Dropping this at your feet like a cat with a dead mouse :3

This is another fic set in my daemon au, this time focusing on Law and his daemon as they come to terms with themselves after Minion Island.

If you like it, please leave a comment or kudos! I am also like, desperately looking for a beta reader who would be willing to put up with my autism bullshit, so if you like what you've read so far and would like a glimpse into my mind and google docs, please hit me up!

#one piece #fic #fic writer #trafalgar law #daemon au #one piece daemon au #daemon au fic #trafalgar d water law #corazon #donquixote rocinante #donquixote rosinante #screams reallly loud i'll do a masterpost on characters + their daemons at some point if people want please i'm begging

[so-no-feint]

The Hellion's Heart - Karlach

Word count: 6.3k

Content: fluff, angst, MAJOR PLOT SPOILERS FOR THE GAME, major character death

This work is also posted on AO3! You can find it here.

Summary: Karlach's escape from the Hells leads her back to Baldur's Gate and a painful past.

“Stop her! Stop that blasted girl!”

Karlach bolted down the streets of the Lower City as the baker’s shouts bounced off the stone behind her. She ducked under approaching hands, pushing herself forward with each powerful leap she took as she turned into an alleyway and kept running. 

Running and running and running. If there was anything the fiery tiefling knew how to do, it was how to run.

Since she was a kid, Karlach had been running. Not that she didn’t have a home, per se. But anything was better than wasting away her life inside the pitiful hovel her family could afford. 

She’d grown a bit now, enough to throw her weight around in the slums of Baldur’s Gate, and had gained a bit of a reputation. There weren’t many days where her fists weren’t in pain; Karlach had a short temper and even shorter fuse, and often found herself in fistfights. Her growing physical strength had begun to spread across the Lower City. People would gawk at her size as she ambled down the streets lost in her own head, her black and red hair tumbling down around her growing horns. 

Karlach’s lips curled into a grin as she ran into a dead end ahead of her, and guards began to come into view behind her. She glanced around quickly — no footholds to climb up, and the walls were too tall for her to jump over. Her heart started pumping as she felt alive. These tense situations filled her with adrenaline and excitement.

The metal footfalls paused as the city watch closed her in, cornering her against the walls. One of the smaller guardsmen spoke up. 

“Karlach Cliffgate! You are accused of theft on five counts, and are hereby ordered to-”

She cut him off with a single, soaring leap over their heads, nearly dropping a loaf of bread in the process. Karlach landed with a hard thud behind the guards, and sprinted off in the direction they came from.

She laughed as their cat and mouse chase continued for nearly half an hour until finally shaking the guards near the city port. Karlach skipped happily down to a small fishing shack in the corner of the walkways and slowly pushed the door open.

Her eyes lit up as she stepped inside.

“Who’s hungry?”

Several refugee tieflings shot to their feet, crowding around Karlach’s legs waiting for a piece of fresh bread. She chuckled as she handed out the food before sitting to wait out what remained of the guards looking for her.

Karlach had almost dozed off before she was nudged in the side. One of her older friends had settled down next to her, a glint in his eyes. She raised an eyebrow.

“What do you wanna tell me, hm?” She poked back.

“Caught wind of a job. A real one, not…” he waved his arms around at everything around them. “Not like this.”

“Taking care of these kids is my job. Not like the city will.”

“I know, Karlach, but listen to me. It’s right up your alley.”

This caught her attention, and Karlach turned to face him. “I’m listening.”

“Bodyguard work for some Upper City sleaze. Easy for someone like you. Few hours a day standing around and going home rich.”

Karlach brought a nail up to her mouth, anxiously chewing on it as she turned the idea over and over in her mind.

“Fine. I’ll bite.”

Karlach took a deep breath before rapping her bruised knuckles against the estate door. For the first time in her life, she felt out of place. The house she was about to enter loomed over her, its facades decorated with metal and marble. A wrought-iron fence separated it from the streets of the Upper City, and the background noise of daily city life quickly gave way to the silence surrounding the walk to the entrance.

Her heart started beating hard again, but not in excitement; instead, in nervousness.

Karlach was about to knock again before the massive door swung open, revealing the vast entryway before her. She cleared her throat and stepped over the threshold onto ornately tiled flooring as her eyes adjusted to the dimness inside.

Further down the hallway, a man slightly shorter than herself stood with his hands clasped together. He was dressed in magnificent black robes that draped down his shoulders, meeting gloved hands whose joints were accented with hints of silver. The rest of him was equally as expensive: well-styled hair, a brilliantly white smile, and an uncanny air about him.

The man walked slowly to meet Karlach, reaching his hands out towards her in gratitude. She responded in kind, slightly nodding her head at him, unsure what to do. Was there etiquette to follow? 

“Welcome to my estate, Miss…?” The man looked at her, awaiting an introduction.

“The name’s Karlach. Karlach Cliffgate. And you are?”

“Ah, of course. I am Lord Enver Gortash, your employer. I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Karlach,” he responded. The words fell off his tongue like honey and silk, and Karlach felt a small chill run down her spine as he spoke. 

This Gortash had masterful command of whichever room he was in, and whoever he was speaking to. Karlach recognized this immediately.

“Uh, same to you, mate!” She flashed a quick smile as her eyes darted around the inside of the building, mapping entries and exits into the back of her mind. You didn’t survive in the Lower City by being blind.

Gortash had turned and begun to walk back down the hallway, chuckling as he went. “Casual, are we?”

“If you want my respect, you’ll have to earn it,” Karlach replied, slightly narrowing her eyes.

He paused briefly, turning his head just enough to make eye contact with the tiefling.

“You’ll be perfect for this, then,” he said, and motioned for her to follow.

Karlach raised an eyebrow in surprise before catching up to her employer as he traipsed into another room. For the next few hours, Lord Gortash went into detail about Karlach’s requirements and responsibilities as his bodyguard. They discussed schedules and back-up plans. His immense wealth and influence met her strength and tactics, forming a swirling mass of power that neither of them ignored.

The official terms of her employment were finalised and agreed upon — to Gortash, her wages were a pitiful drop in the bucket compared to his normal expenses. But for Karlach, the money the Lord was offering was life changing.

The energetic tiefling excelled at her role. Her first intervention happened at a small speech Gortash was giving, celebrating the opening of a new museum in the city. In the middle of his praise, Karlach’s ever-watchful eyes noticed movement behind his podium, a dark-clothed figure sneaking its way up the stairs.

Karlach’s reaction was almost instinctual. Two swift punches to the head and chest left the offender reeling, before she kicked their knees out from under them. They buckled to the ground in an unconscious heap, leaving the crowd stunned.

Gortash wasn’t surprised. Rather, he looked at Karlach with mutual respect and trust. That day sealed their bond, she had once thought. His life was in her hands. They both knew that. But for the first time, Karlach was seen as an equal, not an advantage or opportunity.

Gortash cared.

No human in the Upper City, however, was immune to the bane of their kind. Greed.

Gortash’s greed was extensive and hidden. His greed was violent and uprooting. Karlach hadn’t seen it until it was too late for her to change him.

Her knock on his office had gone unanswered, a strange occurrence in the years she’d worked for him. It was unlocked.

What was the harm in going in?

Karlach stumbled onto a meeting she wasn’t supposed to witness.

Gortash sat facing his window, the sun shining onto his face. Opposite his desk sat a white-skinned being with ears like an elf and ember-coloured wings that nearly spanned the width of the room. 

All of Karlach’s alarm bells sounded at once, and she reached to her back to pull out her greataxe. Gortash turned his head towards the movement with a sinister smile plastered across his face.

“Ah, excellent timing, my dear Karlach. As of today, you have a new boss.” He clapped his hands together before rising from his chair, spreading out the creases on his new suit as the other person in the office slowly turned to meet Karlach.

A new boss? What had she done wrong? Was he abandoning her? Karlach’s brain focused on the stranger in the room with them. The threat. She bristled at them, a low growl sounding from her throat as she adjusted the grip on her weapon.

“Now now, Karlach. Relax. She is no threat to me, I assure you.”

The third party rose to her full height as she extended a hand out to greet Karlach. The tiefling stood frozen in shock as the woman stood nearly two feet above her, her eyes glowing a brilliant orange with makeup that seemed to melt across her face.

“Hello, Karlach,” the woman whispered into her ear. 

Karlach felt tears well up in her eyes as she looked towards Gortash in confusion. He simply shrugged.

“Business is business, Karlach. You know how it goes. You’ve seen it before. This deal was… particularly alluring.”

But she didn’t see. Karlach didn’t understand what had happened. Had Gortash forsaken her? She took her job seriously; she trusted Gortash with her life, and his with her. 

“I am Zariel, little one. I compensated Enver Gortash handsomely for your services, you see. You’ll be my machine from now on. What do you think, Enver Gortash? Is she up to the challenge?”

Horror fell across Karlach’s face as her reality came crumbling down around her.

He smirked. “She’ll be able to handle it.”

Zariel gave a wicked grin to them both. “Good.”

Karlach sank to her knees as the dam broke. Her tears fell onto the floor in streams as she tried to pick up the shattered pieces of herself and put them back together. If she pinched herself hard enough, she’d wake up from the bad dream, right? Karlach clamped down on the inside of her cheek, drawing blood and swirling the metallic taste around her mouth.

It was no dream.

Zariel placed a burning hot hand on Karlach’s arm, pulling her to her feet. The two vanished from Gortash’s office in a whirl of ash and flame, scorching the wood beneath their feet. 

The Lord clenched his jaw once before looking back out the window to the new future he had secured. The future that cost him Karlach.

“All in the name of progress, I suppose,” he muttered, collapsing down into his chair with a heavy sigh. “It will be worth it.”

Karlach grumbled awake to the sound of thunderous drums. Another day of fighting on Zariel’s frontlines in Avernus. 

How long has it been now? Ten years? Ten years since her entire world was shattered in front of her. Ten years since her parents had heard from her, since she’d seen real sunlight, since she’d felt the touch of another.

As Karlach pulled on her clothes and grabbed her battleaxe,  one of Zariel’s inner circle appeared before her.

The inner circle was infamous in Avernus — some of the most powerful devils in history served directly under the Archduchess herself. Karlach was one such member; not by choice, but by force.

“Zariel wants you to use a soul coin today. Something about a Yeenoghu. Make your preparations,” they whisper, stretching their hand out to Karlach. Several dark metal coins rested in their palm. “You know what happens if you fail.”

Karlach’s thoughts briefly moved from battle to pain. In her decade in Avernus, she had become no stranger to pain. Her muscled body was marred with scars, a testament to the torturous fury of the devils she served.

She finished rewrapping the handle of her weapon, hefting it over her shoulder in one smooth motion.

“Fine.”

Karlach took a soul coin in one hand, tenderly placing it into the engine that had replaced her heart. It roared with appreciation, and she felt herself heat up. She bounced several times off the floor, a flood of energy filling every capillary of her body.

Every day was the same for Karlach. Wake up, fight, kill, eat, sleep. Every waking moment was torment for her. But she was strong; she had to be. 

Today’s battle was no different: she was surrounded by the noises of death and war, screams and slashes as thousands upon thousands of beings died around her. Karlach swung her weapon with ease, slicing through her enemy like butter. 

The sound of the fabric of their plane being torn asunder caught Karlach’s attention. She whipped her head towards the source of the noise and saw an impossible sight — a Mindflayer ship tumbled its way across the skies of Avernus. 

At first, she was confused. Mindflayers? Here?

And then she felt hope. This was an escape. Her escape. 

It was time to be free.

Karlach ran, faster than she’d ever run before, to meet the ship at a cliff’s edge. She leapt, farther than she’d ever jumped in her life, in hopes of reaching the freedom that she deserved. 

Her fingers slammed onto the edge of the deck of the ship and she clung tight. Karlach pulled herself upright, paying no attention to her surroundings. Her mind was focused on one thing: escape.

Karlach’s escape came at the steepest price.

Her life.

She had woken up in a Mindflayer pod resting against a wall of stone, her memories of the escape out of Hell hazy. She remembered whipping around a corner, slamming straight into the back of a Mindflayer. She remembered a tadpole, and then loudness all around her. Had they crashed?

Karlach wandered for a while before collapsing inside an inn overlooking a river. It seemed empty enough. She wasn’t safe for long.

Several knocks pounded on the doors before her. She was about to answer it before her senses caught up to her. They screamed in desperation and warning. Whatever was on the other side of those doors wasn’t here to help her.

Karlach growled as her anger boiled up inside her, and she threw a powerful kick through the rotting wood in front of her. Several men in plate armour were thrown backwards by her strength.

One of them flashed a quick smile at the red tiefling, and she realised that these ‘men’ had been sent from Avernus. They were here for her.

Karlach screamed — her freedom wasn’t won quite yet. She jumped into a wild rage, surrounded by the false men there to bring her back. She did what she knew best. Karlach fought.

She fought and fought. Several of the men lay bloody and broken around her, her own side bleeding profusely from a slash one of them managed to land. For the moment, Karlach wasn’t in immediate danger; most of the men had fallen back to the same inn she had taken residence in, leaving her to lick her wounds down by the river. She was trying to get her engine under control. Since leaving Avernus, her infernal engine had been running extremely hot. She could cool it down a bit if she laid in the river, or focused on her breathing, but it always returned to the piercing heat she was intimately familiar with.

Karlach froze as she heard a twig snap around the bend. Her head swung in the sound’s direction as three adventurers slowly walked towards her, lost in conversation with each other. One of them noticed Karlach, and she bared her teeth in caution as the group walked towards her.

A pale elf spoke first. “We don’t mean you harm! Just, you know, following the trail of blood is all…” He paused as Karlach’s face appeared in his memory.

“You. You were on that damned ship, weren’t you?”

She raised her eyebrows in realisation. “Yeah, I was. Do we have little visitors in our brains now?”

A shorter, dark-haired half-elf spoke this time. “Pfft. You could say that.”

“Listen, if we can get to Waterdeep, I know plenty of people who—Oh.” The third’s sentence trailed off as he saw Karlach’s side leaking blood. He had simple purple robes and long brown hair that fell across his shoulders.

Karlach lowered her weapon. These people were not enemies.

“Don’t have a lot of time right now. Long story short, I hopped on in Avernus, Zariel’s out for blood, there’s paladins in the inn up there.” Karlach spit the explanation out quickly, lightly waving her blood-soaked hand before groaning again in pain. “Fuck me.”

The man rushed to her side, uncorking a glass flask from his bag. 

“Drink this. Won’t taste good, but you’ll feel great. I promise.”

She downed the potion without a moment’s hesitation, almost gagging at the bitterness as it hit her tongue. Her side grew hot, then stopped. Karlach looked down and saw a distinct lack of injury on her side.

“Hah, a healing potion? Fuck yeah!” She pumped the air in excitement.

“Nice to meet you…?” The man asked.

“I’m Karlach. Who are you three?”

The elf piped up first. “Astarion, at your service,” he said with a cheeky bow. He was holding a dagger in his hands, light enough that it seemed like you could steal it without him looking. Karlach’s battle experience told her the real truth — he was skilled and strong. 

“Ahem. I am Shadowheart. That’s all you need to know,” the half elf replied. Karlach subtly raised an eyebrow at her attitude. Who pissed in her breakfast, anyway?

“And I,” the man said, “am Gale of Waterdeep. Humble wizard and former lover of Mystra, Goddess of the Weave.”

“Bit pretentious, don’t you think?” Karlach bit back. That got a couple chuckles from the others.

“Oh, trust me, we’ve told him,” Astarion scoffed. “He is insufferable.”

Such events were the spark that lit Karlach’s desires once more. To have companions, companionship, and a purpose — that gave her all she needed to want to live. She felt unstoppable. The four of them were a force to be reckoned with as they made their way across Faerun, saving people and regions with their unyielding strength. 

Her feelings of invincibility vanished when she saw Gortash again.

The stones, the Elder Brain, all of the horribleness surrounding them after the crash had been orchestrated by the Chosen of the Dead Three. Among them was her former mentor and friend, Lord Gortash. Rather, Duke Gortash.

His new title made Karlach’s blood boil. He handed her entire existence over to Zariel as a plaything in exchange for more power. She almost wanted to cry.

Gortash gave her a sad smile as he turned to stand with Orin and Ketheric, summoning the Elder Brain. Everything was a blur — the three Netherstones executed total control over the Absolute. Orin and Gortash vanished before her eyes, leaving General Thorm before them.

Astarion shouted as bolts of fire flew past them. “Karlach! Move up there, we’ll get you close to Ketheric!”

She shook her head and shoved the memories of Gortash back into the depths of her mind. In a powerful leap, Karlach placed herself directly in front of Ketheric and let her emotions overcome her once again.

Her overflowing hatred at Gortash’s betrayal infused her body with strength. Spells flew past her as Shadowheart and their Aasimar ally, Dame Aylin, engaged the cannon fodder surrounding Ketheric. 

Astarion was nowhere to be seen, Karlach noticed. She grinned. How typical of the sneaky bastard.

Ketheric shouted as he swung his weapon towards Karlach. She sidestepped, and the sheer force of his attack cracked the stone beneath his blade. She spun in a semicircle, carrying her axe with her as she cleaved several imps behind her.

Karlach grinned a wicked smile as she returned to her element. The fighting and chaos fueled her engine and strength. 

Their battle dragged on. Ketheric’s mortal form had long fallen. In his place stood an Avatar of Myrkul. Everybody was ragged — the Avatar’s attacks had slowed, the onslaught of fury from the four adventurers had taken their toll. Dame Aylin and Shadowheart barely clung to consciousness, and Karlach ran out of healing potions long ago. Astarion was fighting to hold onto his life behind Gale, whose magic resources were almost entirely drained.

Karlach raised her blade in shaky defiance, sending one last swing into the Avatar’s fortified bones. Her sword sunk deep, and fractures spread out from the point of impact as Myrkul’s essence began to evaporate from their foe.

Ketheric’s god rejected him and his failure, spitting out his broken body before Karlach. He reached an armoured hand out towards Karlach’s legs, and stared up at her with broken eyes.

“I am forsaken.” He coughs once, splattering blood across her shins.

Ketheric sits back onto his feet as the last of his life leaves him. “Oh, Isobel…”

His Netherstone falls from his breastplate and bounces off the stone with a resounding clink. 

“Poor fucker,” Karlach muttered. 

The party recovered slowly over several weeks. Before leaving for Baldur’s Gate, Karlach had managed to meet an infernal mechanic by the name of Dammon. He had given her the greatest gift she’d received yet: touch. Her engine could cool down enough that she could freely touch anyone and anything. She longed to do so.

They had, at long last, made their way to the outskirts of the city of Baldur’s Gate. When she saw the towering stone walls, Karlach felt a bitter nostalgia. The clash of memories in her mind melted into a painfully sweet mixture of love and regret.

Their makeshift camp was near the river of a small village within eyeshot of the massive city. Karlach was too anxious to sleep — she’d moved to sit on the edge of the dock, her legs dangling into the cool water below.

“Can’t sleep?”

She turned her head to the person behind her. Shadowheart padded along the wooden planks separating her from the water below, plopping herself down next to Karlach.

Karlach took a deep breath as her nostrils flared. “Do you think he feels anything? About what he did to me?”

Shadowheart paused. “I think that no matter what he feels, you never deserved it,” she responded.

The tiefling scoffed as her emotions began to rise. “‘Course I didn’t fucking deserve it! I was sold! Nobody deserves that.”

Shadowheart sighed and moved herself close to Karlach. The heat from her engine radiated off her skin, but thanks to Dammon’s upgrades, Shadowheart could bear it.

“Karlach?”

“Yeah?”

“Come here.”

Karlach stammered in confusion as Shadowheart rose to her knees and pulled her into a tight embrace. They both fell silent for a while until Shadowheart broke the silence.

“I think, Karlach, that no matter what he thinks or feels, every single one of your feelings is justified. None of us can speak to what you had to go through. Honestly, you’re the strongest of us all…” she paused, chuckling a bit, “and not just because you’ve got those big muscles.”

“No matter what you decide to do, or what happens to us in the city, I want you to know that we love you, Karlach. You’re our beautiful firecracker. Nobody would have made it this far without you. And even if we can’t understand, we can be there for you when you need it.”

Shadowheart’s words melted over Karlach and surrounded her with a new warmth she hadn’t experienced in a decade. The feeling of acceptance and love flowed over the tiefling as she began to heal. Her spirit had found the strength to finally pick up all the shattered glass pieces of herself that Gortash had fractured years ago.

Ten years of isolation, finally broken. Oh, how she sobbed when she could hug and kiss and love. Karlach clung to Shadowheart fiercely and cried into her bosom, relieving herself of painful memories with each powerful heave of her chest.

Shadowheart squeezed back, running a hand up to the back of Karlach’s neck, and pulled her in even tighter.

“I’ll be here for as long as you need, Karlach.”

The soul before her could only nod between tears.

Karlach’s blade slammed into the tiled stone, sundering the flooring from its foundation as she screamed in rage. This band of vagabonds had finally brought their fury to Archduke Gortash, Bane’s Chosen. He laughed as their spells and swords whistled through the air with blinding speed.

She pulled her weapon from the stone, swinging it around again towards Gortash’s left arm with skill honed by ten years of experience. Her axe swung true, cleaving through the skin and sinew and bone of his hand as it fell to the ground with a wet thud.

Gortash opened his mouth to roar in pain and stumbled backwards, but Astarion had positioned himself well. He tripped Gortash with a well-placed leg, bringing his crimson blade down in a lightning-fast arc to pierce the Archduke’s chest.

Metal struck stone as Astarion’s dagger sunk through ribs and tissue, blunting its point on the floor on the other side of Gortash’s body.

As the rest of the party struggled to their feet, bloodied and broken, Karlach’s chest heaved with deep breaths of air as her weapon fell shakily to her side. The last ten years of her life had led to this moment, and the only thing she felt was emptiness.

The driving motivation for her escape, her revenge, lay dead at her feet. And yet, it changed nothing.

Her gaze dropped to his corpse.

“To think I ever worked for you. Proudly, too.” She muttered to herself.

She knew he was manipulative. Her one mistake, she thought, was believing that his manipulation would spare her.

It hadn’t.

“I felt like there’d be some reward for me. Some orchestral swell, or… something,” she continued. Her angry rage had relaxed now to a pitiful boil of acceptance. Her heart wasn’t getting fixed — not while she was in this plane. She couldn’t go back to Avernus. She swore that to herself ten years ago; a promise to the young, brawling tiefling Gortash stole from her.

Was that all that was left for her? To wait for her engine to burn her to cinders in an agonising column of fire?

“But there’s nothing, is there?” Karlach’s voice broke. “I killed the bastard who ruined my life, and the reward I get is to crawl into a corner and die.”

Her boiling emotions exploded.

“Am I fucking missing something?! He’s dead, and he’s no fucking sorrier than he was before! What was the point? I’m still dying, for fucks sake! I’m dying. I’m going to die!” Karlach was shouting now, her infernal engine kicking into high gear as her emotions flowed out of her like lava.

“That’s my reward for everything I suffered! Ten years of torment! The fighting, the clawing, the loneliness, oh the fucking loneliness! All of it, so I could rot. Because the person I trusted the most gave me away to the devil!”

The tears fell from her eyes, pattering onto the floor beneath her.

Karlach sobbed and sobbed. Everything she’d done during her journey that started ten years ago had ended with the nothingness of Gortash’s lifeless body. Her journey that began with fire ended here with pain.

Her flames had died down now as Karlach accepted the final card her life would deal her.

“What else am I to do now?”

Shadowheart stumbled forward, placing a blood-covered hand onto Karlach’s collarbone.

“Whatever it is, Karlach, we’re meant to do it together.”

The tiefling’s eyes grew distant as she focused on a point far, far away from all of them. 

“I think I need to go be alone at camp for a while. Scream at the sky. Come and find me when you guys are done here. Thanks for everything. For existing. Love you.”

Karlach turned and began her solitary walk back to their campsite. Nobody stopped her.

Gale limped over to Shadowheart’s side as he watched their companion walk away. “Infernal engine aside, I think Karlach has the biggest heart I’ve ever seen. She didn’t deserve any of this, did she?”

Astarion sighed. “...No. She never did.”

Shadowheart shed a single tear for Karlach as her silhouette faded into the distance.

The party finally made it back to camp. The sun had already fallen below the horizon, and the dim glow of the moon was starting to illuminate their campsite. A crumbling outpost, long abandoned by Baldur’s Gate’s guards, was their makeshift home.

At the top of the fort’s parapets, Shadowheart could see the silhouette of Karlach in the moonlight. Her shoulders were trembling. Shadowheart started to walk in her direction, but Gale stopped her.

“Not tonight.”

“But—” Shadowheart began to say in protest.

“Not tonight. Tonight, Karlach needs herself. Nobody else. We can at least grant her that.”

She sighed. He was right, after all, but feeling helpless didn’t sit right with her.

Karlach stayed up there staring at the moon for a long, long time. Her mind was clashing with itself. Her drive for revenge had been satisfied, and yet the only thing she felt about it was… emptiness. An infinitely deep hole remained where that revenge laid. 

A decade of torture in the fires of Avernus, feeling Zariel’s claws rake across her chest and back, mercilessly killing; it’d all lead to nothing.

Hadn’t it?

Karlach’s mind moved to her most recent memories — the escape, the people, the journey, the love. Her companions cared for her, wholly and truly. They had no reason to do so besides the compassion they held for Karlach.

Tears slowly rolled down her cheeks, but these were not tears of sadness. They were tears of gratitude. The fiery tiefling had no way to repay her friends for what they had done for her. They had pulled her away from the dark precipice her own mind held. 

Karlach chuckled between sniffles. “So that’s how it is, huh?”

Her words weren’t directed at anybody but the empty space around her. She’d always been a talker. Sometimes, Karlach had found, voicing her thoughts to nobody gave her the direction she needed.

Perhaps the point she thought she was looking for never had any standing at all. Revenge on Gortash was something she had long desired, but had that been her goal?

No. Karlach ultimately wanted her self back. Her joy and laughs and spirit. Her own will.

She gave a great sigh, pursing her lips as the tightness in her chest and stomach slowly relaxed. Karlach was surrounded by the things; no, the people that gave her goal meaning. She recognized that now.

Even if her life was destined to be cut short by her own choices, she’d stand by them. She’d stand there with the wonderful people she had met by her side. Going back to Avernus wasn’t an option for Karlach.

There had been a point, after all. To live. She had finally started to heal — her nearly broken spirit had gained enough strength to begin to repair the pieces inside her, covering the hole left in her heart one fragment at a time. Some of it was unstable, and sometimes pieces broke off again. But she persisted.

Karlach had made it here, and she could make it further. Right now, at this very moment, she was fine. It’d have been so easy for her to flop over and give up, but the rest of her didn’t want that. Not really.

She was finally ready to look at the hand fate dealt her all those years ago.

Karlach crept down from the parapets as quietly as she could. The others had fallen asleep long ago, but there was one last question she had to ask somebody. She stalked over to Shadowheart’s tent, the white-haired half-elf fast asleep on her bedroll under the stars.

Karlach tapped her shoulder lightly.

Shadowheart grumbled, her eyes slowly opening to a slightly-smiling tiefling inches away from her face.

“Gods above, Karlach! You scared me!”

Karlach giggled, but the smile quickly gave way to a serious demeanour. 

“I’m sorry for waking you up, Shadowheart, but I need to ask you a question.”

The cleric yawned, rubbing one eye with her hand. She blinked a few times before facing Karlach once more. “Ask away.”

Karlach swallowed hard. “Will you stay with me?”

“I—what?”

“Will you stay with me? When it’s time. For me to go. I think I could do anything with you there. Even die.”

Shadowheart’s eyes widened in understanding at what was being asked of her. She opened her mouth, tempted to say something about how they could fix her engine, or take her back to the Hells just long enough to find a solution. But she realised that Karlach had made her decision.

“Yes. I’ll be with you at the end,” Shadowheart replied solemnly. She pulled Karlach’s forehead to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to her favourite tiefling.

“Thank you,” Karlach whispered.

“Always, my love.”

Everything had led to this moment: the fight against the Absolute. More accurately, the Nether Brain, twisted and deformed by the Chosen’s influential power.

The group had been fighting for nearly an hour, surrounded by numerous companions they’d recruited during their travels across Faerun. Karlach had shoved the rest of the party through a portal opened by their companions, placing them inside the Nether Brain, face to face with the Absolute itself — a massive Mindflayer, its latent psionic power radiating off its body. 

The controlling brain hovered in the air, surrounded by fragmented platforms and sparking orbs of raw power. Gale and Shadowheart launched an onslaught of magic attacks, giving Karlach and Astarion time to close the distance between them and the brain.

The four battled for what felt like hours, dodging as many attacks from the Mindflayer as they could. Sometime ago, Gale had taken a hit square in the chest and collapsed. Shadowheart was quickly running out of stamina, and Astarion had lost one of his blades.

Everybody was spent, their enemy included; its attacks had grown sluggish, lacking the impacts they carried at the beginning. 

Karlach knew that this was it. Her engine had become far hotter than anything she’d ever experienced in the Hells. This was her last battle, her last act. She screamed with desperation and cleaved her axe directly into the brain, which released a deafening shriek as its life faded.

The moments following the Nether Brain’s death were a blur. They had started to fall out of the sky, being rescued at the last moments by someone Karlach couldn’t recognize. She was lightheaded and could feel her energy draining by the second.

The party had been set back on the ground near the port of the city. Karlach pulled herself to her knees, the sun behind her as she inhaled and exhaled with great effort.

As Shadowheart stood to her feet, she locked eyes with Karlach. They both knew.

It was time.

Shadowheart’s tears were dried by the growing fire emanating from the tiefling’s infernal engine.

Karlach looked at Shadowheart with love in her eyes.

“You were my friend. My companion. I adore you.”

Shadowheart could only nod.

Karlach grimaced in pain as the heat grew more intense. “Goodbye, sun. Goodbye, sea. Goodbye.”

She turned to Shadowheart with a knowing smile. 

“You did — argh,” Karlach stammered, pushing through the pain from her heart, “you did so much for me. Thank you.”

Shadowheart couldn’t reach out anymore. Karlach had become too hot, the stone beneath her beginning to darken from the infernal fire surrounding her body.

“I think I’m ready. I… stand back, I’m going to—”

The tiefling’s words were cut short as the engine in Karlach’s chest reached a critical point. The fire coming from Karlach exploded with exponential power, the blaze expanding outwards nearly ten feet, assaulting Shadowheart with a heat more intense than any she’d felt before. She flinched away in pain, covering her face with her hands in defense.

When the heat faded, and Shadowheart’s hands dropped to her side, all that remained before her was a circle of brimstone, the stone surrounding Karlach marked black by the scorching heat erupting from her in her last moments.

There was nothing to dry the tears anymore. 

Shadowheart wept like she never had before. Behind her, Gale had regained consciousness and managed to pull himself into a sitting position.

The half-elf sobbed and screamed at the Gods for the unfairness. After everything they’d done, everything they’d tried, they couldn’t save Karlach. It wasn’t fair.

Her vision was blurry as the tears kept falling. She felt a pressure wrap around her; it was Gale.

He said nothing for a while, but Shadowheart could feel her shoulder growing damp from the wizard’s own tears. 

Gale squeezed tight. His voice was barely audible, the air from his lungs weak from his injuries.

“You were there for her, weren’t you?”

Shadowheart stiffened in his embrace before her body relaxed and remembered the promise she’d made to Karlach. She nodded.

“Told her I’d be.”

“Then… then, Karlach was happy. In those moments. She was happy.”

Shadowheart frowned, her wet eyes distorting the scorched circle that surrounded the location where Karlach had vanished.

“I know.”

The two stood shakily to their feet, with Gale holding onto Shadowheart’s arm for support. Astarion had long since fled from the sunlight and was nowhere to be seen. They turned to walk, no destination in mind. Shadowheart wanted to get away from it all.

She turned, staring into the distance, imagining her favourite, fiery friend standing where her eyes looked, waving at them with a wild and happy energy. Karlach was strong for all of them. The hellion’s heart of gold, stolen from her ten years prior, was never truly gone. It shone in brilliant shades of love and compassion, even in her final moments.

Shadowheart wouldn’t forget that. Never.

“I’ll remember you, Karlach. Here,” she said, pressing a finger to her temple, “and here,” as she placed her palm over her heart.

“Forever and always.”

#bg3 #baldur’s gate iii #baldur’s gate 3 #karlach #bg3 karlach #the tiefling deserved better #shadowheart #astarion #gale of waterdeep #bg3 spoilers

[give-me-eat-orange]

i emerge from my pit of inactivity to drop a mashup at your feet like a cat bringing in a dead bird or mouse

#oc #music #mashup #blink 182 #100 gecs

[blimbo-buddy]

Tallstar is Jake's boyfriend but also not. They both felt mutual attraction but they never took the next step so it's not official. They yearned but alas!

Tale I imagine has the similar markings to Tallstar but they're orange and white instead of being a tuxedo.

Tale is an adventurous little guy like his siblings and more interested in the clans than Rusty is if there were possible lol.

Rusty, Matilda, Filou, Tommy, and Luna are great older siblings to Tale and often play near the forest and in the fields.

Tale's favorite snack is Crickets!

The kingdoms have recipes they made.

One of the first things they did learn was that you can boil their kibble into water and soften it into a mush. They created stews and experimented with adding different things.

They recreated some human foods like desserts and bread.

They're evolving at a pace. A slow pace but considered the state they were at during Mapleshade's Vengeance timeline, they're a lot better than before lmao

What are some recipe ideas you have that cats would enjoy and make?

Ah, I see I see. I'd imagine the clans would not like it if one of their leaders was openly with a Kittypet. Man, imagining a scenario where TallStar ends up changing and he's like "Sorry babe but I don't yearn anymore lol I'm a true clan cat" and Jake's standing there cartoonishly clutching flowers trying not to cry.

Also I think that's neat with how Tale looks! I dunno why but I always thought orange and white looked the best with cats, especially if they're a very specific sort of orange. Reminds me of this stray cat who came by often and he was a really cool shade of orange with some white undersides, nick named him Creamsicle. I like Tale's older siblings being great like that and letting his adventuring nature run wild (with proper supervision of course), seems like Tale likes crickets because he found a cricket one time and didn't hesitate to crunch down on it.

Also gotta appreciate some good recipes that would be appealing to cats. Chop up some vegetables and boil in some bones and that's a perfect stew to sip on for when the days and nights start getting colder. The vitamins also help with cats who are sick, number 1 thing that you'd be recommended if you came down with a flu. I'd definitely imagine it took alot of trial and error to figure out what the cats can and can't eat when recreating human cuisines and desserts. They'd probably be shocked that humans don't drop dead from things that can easily kill an animal (Like mint).

I've mentioned them before but I got a few:

The crickets that are becoming a popular snack in Warriorclan/Present day Chelford

Dry cat food mixed with an egg or two, garnished with Rosemary. Simmered over medium heat

A buttery breakfast bun that is mildly sweet. Glazed with a thin layer of honey

Lots and lots of differing kinds of jerky. A nice, tough snack to chew on, helps keep your brain active too so that's a plus

Only ever accessible during winter season (Though there is also the option of stealing from freezers, but that's difficult 90% of the time), meat and fish ice pops for everybody!

For a delicious, crunchy or chewy starting dish: Dried, fried, or boiled bird's feet or rat/mouse tail. Twolegplace cats, like clan cats and outsider cats, value every single part of the prey item

Cooked bones that are cracked open so that the marrow inside can easily be slurped out

It's important to remember that the things that cats may enjoy, we as humans will see as gross. Cats in this case won't make the exact same food as we do, they'll most often than not have their own feline-twist to the dish that also falls in line with what they can and can't ingest. Though, that part's up to you if you want to have the Kittypet Kingdom cats evolve to grow stronger systems and become slightly more immune/unaffected to specific things that may make them fall ill

#blimbo rambles #ask #wc

[diluclover300]

Just One Week (2)

Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

Also posted on my ao3 account: diluclover300

CHAPTER INDEX:

I H8 U

My Kinda Fun

Balance

{S] Awake

Eggs and Rice

Wait, but I'm broke

Couple's Discount

CHAPTER 2: My Kinda Fun

Damn it. When you said you wanted to fight him, you didn't think he'd actually say yes. You didn't think he'd take you seriously! 

Now you're shaking like a cat who's just been thrown into a very unnecessary, cold bathtub, shoving your reading glasses into your now discarded backpack on the floor. Except that bathtub was a random rooftop he's managed to transport you to. So you shiver as the breeze hits your bare legs, crossing your arms so tight that your blood circulation has gone out the window. 

"So? What now?" You say through clattering teeth, squeezing yourself together as your hair blows in the direction of your face. Every now and then you see Gojo in front of you, like a game of hide and seek but with your own hair. 

Your audacity has only gotten worse with time, Satoru thinks. You're the one who asked to fight in the first place, why were you trembling like a little mouse? It's laughable. 

He shrugs. "Dunno. Hurry up and land a punch before I do it first."

He moves, rotating his arm in a steady circle, as if he's winding up the air against his muscles. In reality, he's combining his fingers together into a fist, one that aims at you. 

"W-wait!" You clear you throat, sounding like a shrill little girl with a small, little voice. 

"What?"

He pulls off his sunglasses, white hair blowing along the wind as his eyes glint against the night sky. A threat is what that stern look is, the drop of those glasses following. 

It's not an romantic reaction when your heart skips a beat. That twinge in your heart is one of utter fear. 

God. You're dead if he uses those eyes of his. 

A losing battle is what it is. You sure as hell don't want to fight if there's nothing in it to win other than your already-bruised ego. Which you don't need to resurrect by any means, but what you do need is for Gojo Satoru to be gone, for peace to re-enter your miserable life. 

"If I win, then, will you–"

"Fine."

"I didn't even–"

"You're losing anyways."

"Why you–"

"If I win, you'll grant me three wishes. Sounds like a deal, doesn't it?"

"I never said yes." You brace for impact, bent at the knees as you ground your rather wobbly feet against the cold rooftop. Geez, you can see the entirety of Japan from this building. 

"It's called a mutual agreement." 

"Whatever." 

The breeze almost sways you, almost. You try to squeeze your focus into your arms. Knowing that you've been on your feet all day was your biggest disadvantage against Gojo Satoru, who had the strength of the Gods. Figuratively, of course. 

He doesn't do anything, he just folds his legs until he's sitting on the floor, feet crossed together. 

"What're you–"

"Come and get me." 

Fine. You will. You're no pussy. 

A long sigh draws out of you before you charge at him, coursing cursed energy through your left arm. 

"Predictable." Gojo clicks his tongue, unimpressed as you swing with all your might. "You need more practice."

Of course, it doesn't land. He has that stupid limitless thing, a barrier which you can't predict. He's gotten stronger, just as Gojo Satoru does. 

"I fucking hate you." You heave, so badly out of shape. Fuck, you need to hit the gym someday. "It's not fair, you have that stupid... that stupid limitless thing!"

Satoru looks up at you. It's admirable to see how weak someone so strong has gotten over the years. How the cold air puffs in and out through your lips. 

It's what a office job does to a person, huh? He thinks. 

"You whine too much for a jujutsu sorcerer." He groans as he gets up from the ground. "Is this how you intend to win? Against me?"

Ha. Even he knows he's not some ordinary Joe. It makes your blood curdle as you wipe off your sweaty palms against your knees. 

"Cocky bastard."

You begin to back up as he walks towards you, each stride slower than the last. 

"Am I? You know, I could beat you without that limitless thing." His eyebrows furrow, frustrated at your puny little attempts of putting up a fight. 

"As if." You stumble over your steps and you swear that he's trying to kill you. That looks in his eyes is nothing but sinister. 

"Don't believe me?" He laughs, sending a slight chill down your spine. "Try it."

Humiliating, you believe this to be. He's baby-proofing this fight for you, making things easy for you. Though you've sworn off your pride, it swells up in your heart.

You won't have any of this. 

"Fine then. I'm not using my technique either." You step back until you're finally cornered, back straightening up against the cold, gray walls. 

"Okay." He looms over you, hands stuffed in his pocket. "I'd win either way."

Your back compresses even further against the small entrance to the rooftop, breath caught up in your chest. 

Okay, you think. There's no technique involved whatsoever. You can either land punches or kicks with cursed energy. Nothing more than that. 

"I'm waiting." He looks down at you, with such intensity that you're turning into goo, a bag of nerves. 

"Okay. I get it. Give me a second to think."

You blink, looking up at him. 

You're going to lose, you're well aware he has a better sense for... well, everything. He's better than you, which was one reason why you quit, but you didn't want to do a deep dive into that right now. Not when you've got a once in a lifetime reward on the line. 

Whatever. You were going to give it your all. 

SMACK. 

You slap him. Once. The satisfaction, the hopeless toss of his head as you do this feels great. You feel alive as the cells of your palm lightly tingle against each other. Nice. 

SMACK. 

Twice. You don't even let him recover. He's silent, that pale skin of his cheek reddening. 

SMACK! 

Three times a charm. His eyes go wide like a fish as he winces, rubbing his cheek.

"Ow." You frown, looking at your brightening skin. It burns. "That hurt."

It's quiet for a good moment as you contemplate your next move, the metallic taste of adrenaline staining the roof of your mouth and tongue. You haven't felt this in five years. It's so familiar, yet so foreign that it becomes difficult to deal with, to process as millions of thoughts and strategies run in circles around your mind. Gojo's small pants and breaths are the last thing on your mind as your eyes dart around the rooftop. 

Now what? You ask yourself, watching as he slowly re-composes himself, stretching back up. There are so many possibilities, however, they're all quick to flee the confinement of your mind when your eyes meet with his trembling ones. 

"You're done having fun?" He breathes, looking back at you with a wide smile and a bruised cheek. "Already?"

Oh. If you weren't in trouble before, then you were really in trouble now. He's got you right where he wants you, cornered, trapped against a wall, saving up his energy for something more. That smile of his stretches throughout his face, teeth almost grinding together, akin to a predator eyeing it's prey. Eventually, that disturbing stretch reaches his eyes as your legs practically turn into jelly, slightly jittering as he laughs to himself, the sound echoing and dissipating into the cold, frigid air. 

Run. You must run. 

"Uh.. uh.." You sputter, eyes darting from him to the rest of the rooftop. "I..."

You slap him again, wincing as you run for your life. Your hand burns. It burns so bad that you're dreaming of the damn ice pack the school nurse would give you for your weekly tummy aches. You try to push further, the muscles of your legs straining and squeezing every bit of energy left in you.

Unfortunately, a forty hour work week exhausts you, wrings you dry of any sort of life. Your feet begin to drag against the concrete floors of the rooftop, as if the Gods already decided on your eventual demise days ago. Your steps and strides fight with the air instead of working with it, the ice-cold air entering and exiting the burn of your throat at an unusual pace.  

"Hey. Where are you going?" His voice is low, predatory, awfully close. Your lungs clench for any source of oxygen, and your physical incompetence – if it wasn't before – finally catches up to you now. 

Your hair sticks to the sweaty mess that is your forehead, strands slapping against your stinging face, chest crying as it rises and falls. Knees cracking as they bend, every inch of you pulsating along with your feverous heartbeat. 

You have no clue where Gojo is, and a string of spit escapes your lips as you pant like a dog, weakly wiping off the filth. 

"Come on now. We were just getting started on the fun."

"You sick freak, none of this is fucking fun, you–"

You hiss, teeth clenching together.

You feel a tug at your lower half, and then it only grows harsher from there on out. 

"Hey, you–" You huff, voice cracking when you lose your balance. 

He's underneath you, twisting and turning your ankles. It's impossible to stand still, each twist and turn more violent than the last.

You shriek. 

Maybe, maybe that was the most blood curdling scream of your life as his fingers clasp around your bones, twisting and turning them like some sort of bop-it toy. Relentless as he lets out a psychotic laugh. 

"What's wrong, huh? You were so confident earlier, weren't you?" Another yank, one that throws you off your feet and knocks the air out of you. If you ever had any to begin with. 

Then you fall back, keeling over on the rooftop, curling in on yourself as the pain continues. The adrenaline wears off as your shoulders thud against the floor.  

"P-please.." You gasp, feeling a force tighten around your skin. He crouches before you, lightly turning your jaw as he examines the sheer agony he's caused. 

You're weaker than he's remembered. 

"Don't worry, they'll work just fine– your feet and legs, I mean." 

"That's not what I–"

You let out another airy gasp, tears welling in your eye sockets. It hurts. You cry like a baby waiting on it's mother.

"Ah, ah!" You roll around on the ground, bringing your knees up to your chest. "S-satoru, I'm sorry. I lost, I– Fuck!"

He slides his glasses back on with a tut, frowning at the sight. He almost feels sorry for you. Then he remembers that you've brought this upon yourself. Poor you. Boo hoo. Cry him a river. 

"That's right." He hums along to your cries, poking a finger into the heart of your forehead with each word. "You lost, which means..."

You feel the inside of your brain crack, it's so terrifying that you cry out, you wail out the answer. 

"Fuck, fuck, the wishes!" You roll around, rock around the ground as if you're being sung a lullaby. "I'll do anything, so just– shit, just..."

He wastes no time, straightening his back as he gets up. You look more pathetic from a broader point of view, he decides. 

"Alright." He sighs, as if winning was some sort of chore for him. 

He'll try his best to be gentle with you from now on. 

You're so weak. 

"Number one, you'll show me around here. I gave up my vacation days to be here for one week, work free. Don't waste my precious time, got it?"

"Wait, but I don't have the money for that. No! I can't, I–"

He presses the toe of his shoe against your forehead and you sputter into another gasp, breath hitching as your eyes roll back.

"I'll wire you the reimbursement."

You brain, if you even had one to begin with because what idiot would willingly lose to Gojo Satoru, has completely shattered into a million pieces.

"O-okay.." Your voice breaks as you hold your knees tighter. "Satoru!"

Hm. You only want to say his name when you're crumbling beneath his feet. How funny.

"Two, you'll provide me with housing."

"No. I refuse–"

You gasp like a fish out of water. 

"O-okay! Fuck, shit, fine! Fine! I will! Live with me, please!" You can't believe the sheer amount of nonsense that just pours out of you. 

"Good."

He doesn't mention the third wish. However, you don't have the brain capacity for it to hold any significance as you rock and roll against the ground, choking on your own spit as you holler like the cat from Tom and Jerry. 

"Satoru," You whine, a pitiful one that rings and disperses into the air. "S-satoru."

"What?" 

"It hurts."

You turn over, and he's almost jilted. The sight of your tears is something he doesn't expect as they stain your cheeks, hot and thick as they land. 

For a moment, the word "sorry" ghosts over his lips. He refrains, the words "I hate you," tickling the rims of his eardrums. 

Instead, he goes down to you, raising up a finger as you scramble across the ground in fear. You scoot back with your legs, kicking against the ground like a helpless puppy. 

"N-no, Satoru, I said, I said... I.. sorry–"

He flicks his nails against the heart of your forehead. 

"Calm down. You'll be fine."

The last thing you see as your eyes slowly blink is the image of Gojo Satoru towering over you, removing his jacket. You think about tripping him, but your body fails you. As it always has.

"I hate you." You croak as possibly your last words escape your lips. 

Then you knock out, cold as you lie against the ground. 

...

#fanfic #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #ao3 tags #archive of our own #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu sorcerer #enemies to lovers #friends to lovers #eventual smut #eventual romance #romance