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streaminn · 11 months

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"Soooo..." Enid starts awkwardly, scratching her hands. "How are... things?"

"My heart is still beating." They walk to a door, Enid pushing it open for the smaller woman. "So terrible."

"Okay." They stop talking.

Enid walks behind her, staring at the top of her head. She's small. Enid remembers holding her after the Hyde. She hadn't finished growing yet and she was still a good bit taller than Wednesday.

(She remembers pressing her bloody, mangled nose into the seer's neck and inhaling and just trying to drown in the warm scent of fresh ink and black coffee.)

(She remembers tasting it on the back of her tongue for two weeks.)

They finally get to the book signing stand that Wednesday (Ms. Addams, she calls her in public. And private. She only calls her Wednesday in her head.) Has set up. Enid can the the line stretch out of the door.

The amount of people who loved her book and grin having it signed makes Enid nauseous. She wonders if the money would get taken away if she left.

(She wonders if Wednesday would notice.)

She stays in her place, right behind her charge. Watching for any suspicious behavior or weapons that are poorly concealed. It wouldn't be the first time someone snuck a blade past security while she worked.

It takes 3 and half hours before the people are gone. Enid's feet are sore and the room was hot so now she's hot, her clothes sticking to her skin just enough to make her irritated. She grinds her teeth together. She knew she shouldn't have worn her coat, but she just had to be cozy. She really should've just taken it off and held it, but she had to look scary.

How could she look intimidating if she's there holding an a jacket like a coat hanger?

Wednesday stands up and flexes her hands, pressing on the backs and rubbing small circles in them. On her wrists.

"Come with me." She turns and just starts walking to the exist door, not at all waiting for Enid to process needing to move for the first time in 3 and a half hours.

"Oka— okay, gimme a sec, damn." She jogs over to get behind her charge, walking behind her so she can not get fired.

Wednesday goes to the glass doors, pushing them open. They almost swing back and smack Enid. Rude.

"I will not give you a moment." Wednesday snarks, stepping on to the street. It's finally dark out so Enid can enjoy the freezing air. It's way better than the too-hot room she was in before.

"Where is the car?" Enid questions, looking for the hearse that the author was known for riding in.

"You'll see it."

"That doesn't help me."

"Who said I was trying to help you, Sinclair?"

Enid bites down on the comment she wants to say, crushing it in her teeth and swallowing it.

(She ignores the way not hearing 'Enid' makes her heart ache.)

The street is long; the building the book signing was in is at the end of the street.

They've been walking for 15 minutes and Enid still hasn't seen the hearse. They taken 7 turns and backtracking at one point and Enid has yet to see the damn vehicle.

"Ms. Addams, are you certain the car is on this street? Or here at all?" She can't help the sarcasm from soaking her voice.

"The hearse was stolen." Wednesday says calmly, hands clasped together over her lower abdomen like a corpse.

"What?!" Enid yelps into the air. "What do you mean it was stolen?!"

"Have you forgotten English, Sinclair? And here I was, thinking time aged you well." Enid's mouth goes dry, teeth pressing together so hard it feels like they're going to break in her mouth.

"What— how do you know it was stolen?" Enid feels her muscles tighten in stress. She feels the fabric of her shirt stretch with it.

"The hearse was on Rockefeller Street, a 2 minute walk from the entrance doors of the building. It's not there; it was stolen."

"σκατά." Enid growls lowly. Wednesday shivers from the cold. "It can't be that hard to find a goddamn hearse, right? How the hell do you even steal a hearse? Isn't it different from a normal car? Should we call the cops?" The short woman shakes her head.

"No. There's a microchip in it. If nothing else, we can remotely explode it." Enid chokes on her spit.

"Explode it?! What if they abandoned it in a... children's hospital?! You could kill someone!" Maybe this isn't the best conversation to have in the dead of night, in the middle of the street.

"The microchip has a Global Positioning System in it. We would know if they left it somewhere. And how would they get it into a children's hospital?" Enid groans in exasperation, dragging her claws down her face.

"That's hardly my point." Wednesday keeps walking, bringing Enid god-knows where.

"Make better points, then." Enid lifts her hands and mimes strangling the shorter woman, biting her teeth together in anger.

"Do you know where the hotel is at least?" Enid asks. Wednesday takes a left.

"Yes. I'm not an idiot." Enid laughs shortly.

"Says the one who lost a goddamn hearse."

There's a big water fountain with a bird statue on it. She thinks it's a phoenix.

They turn one more corner and Enid gapes at the giant, shining hotel. Big lights, and gorgeous flowers in the front.

Wednesday walks through the large front door, Enid pushing them open.

There's a massive front desk, what has to at least 7 workers taking names and buzzing people in and handing out cards.

Wednesday goes to the one on the far left, handing the man standing there a black card. He runs it, waits, then hands both the black card, and 2 golden-rimmed white cards to her. Wednesday turns and hands Enid one of them

"263. 7th floor." He says. Wednesday walks off, Enid offering a half-bow and muttered 'thank you' before catching up to her.

"Why is this hotel so big?" Enid asks, walking next to Wednesday. The hall is expensive-looking, golden paint in fancy patterns and statues of animals and people.

"Because it houses a large amount of famous names. It's all marketing to the narcissists of the industry."

"Uh-huh. And, pray tell, are you included in this list of 'narcissists'?" Enid asks.

"No."

"Why?"

She's ignored.

Wednesday walks up to an elevator, pressing the up arrow.

Enid lifts her fist, talking in to it like a microphone.

"So, Ms. Addams, what are your plans for the future of your book-writing career?" She aims her 'microphone' to Wednesday, smirking at the glare she gets.

"I plan on writing an obituary on my bodyguard. Spoiler: she ends up dead in a mysterious hotel fire." The elevator dings and the door opens, the two stepping inside.

Enid takes her fist back to herself as the doors close, smiling.

"Well, Ms. Addams, if anyone should know how werewolves work, it should be you. You always pride yourself on your accuracy in biology. You should know that werewolves are pretty resistant to fires. How would a fire kill a werewolf?" She turns her hand back to the author as the elevator starts going up.

"She's on the 7th floor. I'd write her falling out of the hotel. Onto a spiked stone pillar that just so happened to have been perfectly aim to skewer her as she fell." Enid takes her hand back as the doors open, spreading her arms out as they exit together.

"Well, you heard it here first, folks! Wednesday Addams hates werewolves!"

"First off: no." She says curtly, counting the doors numbers to find theirs. "And second off:—" she swipes her card in the door and pushes it open. "—if your hands are out, how can the microphone pick up your voice?"

Enid stammers, trying to find a way to snap back.

"I— well, you see—" her voice dies in her throat as she and Wednesday walk into the room. It's nice.

Black and gold walls, well-kept flowers and potted plants, a minibar in the corner with costly-looking bourbon, an oddly large bed, a nice carpet.

She understands why Wednesday splurged on this place.

"I think the price was worth it!" She says, stepping in to the center of the room. It's larger than her living room.

She does a few spins and twirls, enjoying the freedom of movement.

"How much was it?" She does a hop.

"60,000 dollars." Enid falls on to her knees.

"What? You said... 60,000 dollars?" Wednesday nods like nothing happened.

"Yes." Enid mirrors her nod mindlessly, staring blankly at the floor.

She stands up and walks to the bathroom, flipping the switch. There's a little standing-shower with a frosted glass door, already full of expensive goods on the inside.

She genuinely considers stealing them.

The sink is huge. it's broad and as long as her bed at home. She could sleep on it.

She turns and flicks the light back off, exiting the room.

"Ms. Addams, did you— no." She glares.

Wednesday turns around, facing her.

"What?"

"No, fuck. Why is there only one bed?"

"What?" Wednesday says in panic, snapping her head over to the oddly small bed. "Damn. I thought I fixed that."

"Fixed what?" Enid asks. She can feel fear building in her body; tightening around her joints and choking her. "You knew it was like this?"

"Yes—" Enid feels like she's going to cry "—however, that was before I knew I would be accompanied by anyone else. Mother didn't tell me you'd be coming with. Or anyone at all." Maybe she should sleep on the skin and its counter.

Enid bobs her head, mindless and afraid.

"Yeah, yeah. Coolio, that's." She feels light-headed. "Great!" She throws her arms out. "It's cool." She takes her coat and tosses it onto the floor, getting on her knees and moving it out.

"I'm gonna sleep on the floor." Wednesday hums.

"Here."

Enid looks up just in time for a pillow smack her in the face.

"Wha?" She takes the pillow in her hands, looks at it, then looks up to another pillow whacking her again.

"Why?!" She yelps.

"Because I like being uncomfortable while I sleep." She throws another pillow and a massive blanket. "And I'll hang myself from the celling if I listen to you whine about back pain."

"That got dark..." she mumbles.

'When doesn't it with Willa?" She thinks.

She swallows.

"Thanks."

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

Wednesday is doing another booking-signing, this time in a room with air-conditioning. Enid still wears her coat.

It takes 4 hours this time, but it's easier without the sensation of her shirt melting into her skin.

The doors are different in this building. They're frosted like the ones in the hotel. She likes the texture on her hands.

Outside is nicer near this building, too. There's a little more wildlife and a little less busy business men and women angrily snapping at their phones.

The air is colder still. There's little bits of snow occasionally, one landing in her eye at one point.

"Did they find the hearse?" She makes idle conversation.

"Yes. The thief was killed by a hit and run, and they found the keys in them."

"Damn." She says. "Wait, in them?"

"It was a bad hit."

Wednesday shivers again. Enid can see her barely tense a smidge, squeezing her hands slightly harder.

"Do you... want my coat?" Wednesday stops dead in her tracks, staring straight ahead.

"What?"

"My— my coat? Y'know, I don't really need it and you keep shiverin' and the last thing you need is to get sick." She's already taking her coat off, placing it over Wednesday's small shoulders.

"I—" Enid drops the jacket on her. Wednesday takes a pause. She wraps a hand into the neck of the jacket to stop it from falling. She stand static for just a moment longer before continuing to walk.

"Okay."

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

(Wednesday looks so cute in Enid's Hello Kitty jacket, it eases the pain of missed calls and nights wondering what went wrong. Just an ounce.)

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

The floor is cold, Enid learns. Very cold. Even with her thick blanket.

Wednesday still has her coat, snuggling into it in the bed.

Enid almost wants to reach up and grab it. And Wednesday.

She turns over and faces the wall. The floor-to-celling window has a gap between the floor and curtain. She can see city lights faintly glow.

She closes her eyes and tries not to think about procrastinating phone calls and nights dreaming of fresh ink and black coffee.

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

This time, Wednesday has an interview. Conducted in a nice little office. No cameras, which meant Enid stayed besides her the entire time. Enid busies herself with reading the tags on her coat.

60% Fleece, 40% cotton.

Bianca gave it to her for her birthday in second year.

Wednesday didn't celebrate with her.

She lets go of the tags.

There's a book stand. A range of authors and names and ideas. She's been wanting to get in to writing, as a hobby. A way to spend the time that isn't out of her house or just mopping while listening to K-pop and watching Kitchen Nightmares.

She grabs the only book of Wednesday's, flipping through to a random page.

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

The Hyde is right behind her and she can't wolf out to save herself or Wednesday or anyone.

There's the sound of it growling and yowling like an animal. It sounds so close.

She runs so hard her feet and knees and bones hurt, like someone's beaten her black and blue with a sledgehammer.

An arm as big herself swings through a tree, a hand grabbing it and throwing it at her; she barely ducks under it. In evading it, though, she falls onto her stomach.

She slams her hands onto the ground to push herself up, but the Hyde jumps on top of her, swiping a far too big hand across her back.

It rips her skin and slashes some muscle in her back, paralyzing her. Or maybe it's the fear doing that.

She feels blood in her mouth and spits it up, coughing.

The Hyde swings its claws again and she can feel it tear through her, leaving marks in the ground below her.

"Wil—" she almost hacks up a lung. "Willa— pleas—" the Hyde grabs her head, tightens—

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

She wakes up to her hand breaking her water bottle in half. She liked that water bottle, so there's a drop of disappointment in her ocean of fear.

That's really all she feels, isn't it? Fear. Not anger at not being helpful enough to save anyone. Not hatred at herself or the Hyde. She's just so afraid.

She's afraid, and disappointed and sad and— oh.

She was wrong, actually. There is more than just her drop and the ocean. There's the salt of the fear-water: she's sad. That's her waters, then.

She's an afraid, sad ocean with a drop of disappointment for her cracked, broken water bottle.

Her head snaps to the side, looking at the edge of the tall bed. There's no one in it.

She sits up and looks around in a panic, head turning this way and that. She thought maybe Wednesday was just closer to the opposite edge of the bed and she couldn't see her because of the angle, but no. The seer just isn't there.

Enid stands up and twirls, because fuck. She's lost her friend charge. She's going to get fired.

'Maybe Wednesday died. Maybe I failed to keep her safe.'

She swallows her fear and grabs her hunting knife, clipping it to her belt. She grabs her phone and turns to the balcony to see if there's any passing ambulances or cop cars that could lead her anywhere.

She doesn't even get to the door before her brain processes the short, dark figure on the balcony, arms crossed and assumedly balefully glaring at the streets below like she was personally offended by everyone down there.

Enid opens the door, sliding it open. The frosted glass feels nice on her fingers.

It's extra cold outside, in her thin sleep pants and loose tank top.

"What the fuck are you doing?" She hisses. She's tired. "Why aren't you in bed?"

"I wasn't aware I owned you a 24/7 update on my whereabouts, Sinclair." Wednesday shoots back.

"When you my fucking charge? And it's the in the middle of the night? In a high crime-rate city? Yeah, you kinda fucking do."

"I owe you nothing." Enid walks to the edge. She leans forward, supporting herself on her elbows.

"You make it very hard to not throw you off this."

"Death would be nice." Enid tenses her jaw and stares down. They're 7 stories up with more above them. Enid likes that. They snuggly in the middle. Like the chocolate in a s'more.

Wednesday still has her jacket it. The air is pretty cold. That must be why

(That has to be why.)

"How have things been? Since we last spoke, I mean." Wednesday raises an eyebrow at her.

"We spoke earlier. The only thing that's happened since then is you asking me that."

"That's not what I meant, smartass. But you knew that." She says sarcastically.

"Oh?" Wednesday turns back to the city below. "I guess you haven't lost your bite completely. It's just been so heavily dulled it couldn't cut paper."

"Woooooooow. I think that might count as the first time you've insulted me using a pun." Enid grins.

"I—" Wednesday faces her, shoulders drawn up. "I didn't make a pun, Sinclair."

"Oh, but I think so." Enid lifts off her arms, settling her hands on the fancy stone. "A pun about the werewolf losing her bite? That's a pun."

"I thought puns had to be on purpose to be puns?"

"Haven't you ever heard the phrase 'pun not intentional'? I've said it to you before."

"No, you haven't."

"Yeah! Back in Neve—" she goes silent. Wednesday's twitching lips drop. She stopped almost-smiling because of Enid's need to hold on to the past.

"Why..." She rubs her hands together. She chooses to stare at her hands. "Why didn't you... y'know, not come back? To Nevermore, I mean."

('To me.')

"I." Wednesday squeezes her biceps, jaw setting so hard it looks like it hurts. Enid has to stop herself from brushing fingers against her skin.

"I can't tell you. I'm... sorry, Enid." She's whispering, now. Enid likes the way she says her name. "I wish I could."

Enid takes a deep, slow breath. It barely helps her. Her arms and legs feel numb and cold.

"C'mon," she thoughtlessly reaches up and brushes the other woman's shoulder. Her hand feels warm and fuzzy.

"We need to go to sleep. Your thing with that magazine is at, like, 9. It's—" she takes her phone out and checks the time. "—1:43. If we don't sleep now, we might not sleep at all."

"I can sleep on command." Is all Wednesday says before turning around and opening the door, leaving it open for Enid, who closes it behind them.

Wednesday is wrapping herself up in Enid's jacket as she faces the small woman.

Wednesday must not notice her. She leans against the wall, just... staring. Admiring. She knows she shouldn't. She should aim her head at her feet and swiftly settle into her makeshift bed.

But she's only a needy, lonely woman. Who's been wanting something for years. She thinks she deserves to indulge herself in a few moments of sight-seeing.

She walks slowly to her section of the floor. The floor feels less cold now.

She sleeps easier. Just an ounce.

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

The magazine interview goes poorly. Extremely poorly.

The interviewer condescends the entire time, which Wednesday surprisingly deals with, ignoring the redheaded woman's faux-superiority. She doesn't challenge it or say anything of it.

If this happened back then, Wednesday would be in cuffs with the interviewer dead.

The interview goes from bad to fucking terrible when the interview manages to set Wednesday off.

"Yes, and well, I mean, we both know that those characters are pity-showings, yes?"

"Excuse me?"

"The werewolves, I mean." The woman does a little flick of her hand absent-mindedly. "The only light they should have on them is the one of an auctioneer's stage, amirite?" She laughed heartily, then. The sound dying in her throat as Wednesday jumps over the large mahogany desk, strangling the woman.

"How dare you?!" Wednesday yells into the quickly-bluing woman's face. "HOW DAR—"

"Ms. Addams, please!" Enid hooks her arms under Wednesday's, yanking her off the redhead before she actually murders someone.

"ENID, LET ME—" there's a clatter and the door opens and people rush in. There's shouts and orders being yelled out. Enid drags Wednesday out of the room, then eventually out of the building.

"Good jobs, Ms. Addams!" Enid only lets Wednesday go when they've left the building. it's almost midday, so there's a lot of people out then their night-trips. Enid lowers her voice, "you might've just killed your career!" Wednesday scoffs. They start walking back to the hotel.

"I've been caught in worse scandals than attacking a bigoted interviewer, Sinclair." Enid feels pressure behind her eyes.

"But you didn't need to get in trouble for me." She taps her heart quickly with her hand, desperate for Wednesday to understand her unneeded actions. "I'm just me!"

"Have you ever considered that being yourself is why I did that?" Wednesday snaps.

Enid stops walking. Wednesday doesn't.

"Being... myself?" She whispers to herself. She considers running after her charge, but she can't see her anymore.

For the first time since she passed her test, she's not next to her.

(It's all too familiar to after first year.)

She turns around and walks to a little burger place she saw before. Wednesday didn't notice it and Enid didn't want to make her feel forced and required to go there. That would've made her feel bad.

The place is cozy. She orders the biggest burger they have and sits in the corner.

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

She wonders what would happen if she didn't return? Would Wednesday look for her? Would she call?

Would Wednesday miss her if Enid was the one to leave?

She walks back to the hotel through the slowest possible route, taking her time in petting dogs and talking to animals she finds in trees.

One of the robins she spoke to really got her.

She's been out for hours; the sun is setting.

She purposely ignores her ringing phone. Wednesday's called ID showed, so she set it to vibrate.

She'll lie and say it was like that the whole time if she's questioned.

She swipes her card in its reader to push open the door to their room. Wednesday isn't in there, so Enid takes the liberty of making her charge's bed and readying for bed. Her toothbrush sets next to Wednesday's. She needs to change it soon.

When she hears the door open, she ignores it. She tries to.

She can her Wednesday's heart beat faster, if she focuses hard enough. Is her heart okay? It doesn't sound like it. It's way too erratic. Quick.

Enid can't help but wonder what has her heart beating like that.

Is she stressed by what's happened? Maybe.

Is she concerned about the interviewer? Absolutely not.

Is she worried for Enid?

The werewolf turns over and closes her eyes and strangles those thoughts like Wednesday did.

Sleep doesn't come easy at all that night.

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

The next day is worse than the day before it. Because at least then she had something to do: she needed to return to the hotel room before Wednesday, she needed to ignore her calls and her thoughts.

But now?

She has to sit behind the seer and pretend that she's okay. Like the idea of closeness isn't so, so tempting. Enid is a stupid fly looking at a honey-coated flypaper.

She tightens her hands. She back stage of a live show, watching around Wednesday careful to make sure no one tries anything.

The host decides to not bring up what happened yesterday, smartly. Enid thinks it might not even be out to the public. The interviewer will no doubt try to press charges on Wednesday.

Clearly, she doesn't know the Addams' family lawyer. Enid heard they got a person who admitted to murder in a court of law acquitted fully.

The person was mostly likely Wednesday herself.

It's fun being on a big set. It's not the first time she's been on one, but there's always a sense of wonder.

Leaving the building is a challenge. For Enid, anyways. She gets hit in the face with the revolving door. Wednesday points at her and calls her an idiot.

It's nice. There's banter again and it's not so painful to breathe. She still calls her Ms. Addams, and she still gets called Sinclair but it's better than nothing.

There's a little lake she found during her alone time, and she think Wednesday should get to see the massive duck there.

"Look!" She says. "There! It's that giant duck. That bitch is—" her ears pick up the sound of rustling bushes, and she turns around, thinking it's a racoon. Maybe a stray cat. She likes to imagine it's a black cat.

She laughs, "do ya think it's a cat?" She walks slowly, crouching lowly to be sneakier.

"You look stupid." Wednesday says from behind her.

"Ha! You'll be... singin' a different tune? Is that the idiom? Whatever, that's what you'll be doin' when I found this cat?" She pushes a bush aside, clicking her tongue.

"You look stupid." Wednesday repeats.

Enid opens her mouth to reply herself, but it's cut off when the maker of the sound lunges as her.

It's person, with a sliver knife.

"Shit," they growl. They're small. "I thought you were the rich one."

They aim the blade right at her throat, but she slams her boot into their stomach, sending them into the thicket. They managed to stab her, but because of her kick, they slammed the knife into her stomach.

"Ack!—" She stands up. The knife's blade has studs on it, locking it in her. She rushes to the bushes and stomps on their stomach before they can get up.

She drops to her knees and slams her fist into their face. It goes on for a while. She stopped counting after the seventeenth hit. They're out cold.

"Call the cops." She says to Wednesday. There's blood on her knuckles. She broke out a few teeth.

Good.

"And an ambulance." She grabs the knife's handle, making sure it says in her.

"There's no outcast-helping hospitals within an hour long drive." Wednesday says, lifting her phone to alert the police.

"I'll help you at the hotel." Enid laughs, pained and whimpery. She picks up her attacker's body, climbing up the small hill that lead to the lake.

"Sure, 'cause they'll just let a bloody, dirty woman into their fancy-pants hotel. I'm sure they'll give me milk and cookies, too!" She rumbles. Wednesday ignores her.

She probably should be less snappy and more worried, but adrenalin in a hell of a drug. She's finished dumping the knocked-out person on the side of the road by the time Wednesday has followed her.

"The authorities have been alerted. We're going to the hotel." Her tone leaves not a hair for argument.

But Enid's not one to be bossed around.

"They will not let me in. Best case, we get told to leave. Worst case, we lose the room and you get picked by the media for being with a dangerous, wild outcast. Imagine the headlines!" She hisses. She really should accept help, but it's been days of ignoring her feelings and thoughts and she's so tired.

"I would rather need to clear my name a thousand times over than watch you sit in pain. Or die." Wednesday starts walking down Phoenix Road, the one with their hotel.

"There's a back entrance. It's for employees." Wednesday leads her behind the hotel, pushing open a service door that says "Employees Only." In big, bright red letters.

"We shouldn't go here. It's not for us." Enid whispers.

She's ignored as the author pushes open another door. Enid walks into the room.

A fucking staircase. The knife is burning, now. Her adrenaline is wearing off fast.

"Any chance you could carry me?" Wednesday stare blankly at her.

"You're a bear of a woman and I'm— what is it you called me before? A "teeny-tiny black kitten who can't hurt no one?" You can walk." Enid huffs.

The first floor is the hardest. She starts smacking herself and yelling to make it through.

"And here lies subtly." Wednesday says as they make it to the fourth floor.

"I got stabbed and you're still mocking me." fifth floor.

"Maybe if you weren't acting like an orangutan, I wouldn't have any thing to mock you with." Sixth floor.

"I'm trying to not break down and sob from pain right now. I could use a lil' support, Ms. Addams." Seventh floor. She pushes the maintenance door open for them both.

Wednesday uses her card to let them in, dropping her bag on the ground thoughtlessly. She kneels and opens it, digging through it like a racoon.

"Bathroom." She points at the bathroom's door. "Sit on the counter. I'll be there in just a moment."

Enid nods and walks to the fancy room, pressing the switch to turn the lights.

The counter is surprisingly comfortable to sit on. Or maybe her body is too focused on the goddamn knife in her body.

Wednesday, true to her word, joins her after just a moment. She has a box with her.

"Take your shirt off." Enid coughs.

"What?!"

"For your wound, Enid." She takes out disinfectant. "I can't help if you don't let me."

"That's rich coming from you, princess." Wednesday stops completely in grabbing out bandages.

"What did you call me?"

"Sorry. It's the pain. I can't think straight." Wednesday takes out cotton balls and sets them down.

Enid hesitates. "Ms. Addams... I can't take my shirt off."

Wednesday's head flicks over to her.

"Why?"

She points at her stomach. "Knife." She says, oh so eloquent.

The seer grabs her coat belt and folds it, holding it in front of Enid's mouth.

"Bite."

Enid swallows and opens her mouth, letting the smaller put it in her mouth. She bites into the thick leather.

Wednesday grabs the handle. "Prepare yourself." Enid bites harder and grips the edge of the sink. She nods.

Wednesday rips the knife out, ribbed edge catching and pulling.

Enid screams into the leather, tears filling her eyes. It's not even the first time this has happened, but she usually deals with it faster. Before the adrenaline can run out.

Wednesday quickly grabs her shirt and lifts it up. The werewolf barely has the sense to lift her arms up.

She looks at Enid's stomach, runs the water and cups some in her hands, cleaning out the dirt from her failing.

She mutters as she takes and pours disinfectant onto a cotton ball. She presses it on the wound, muttering an apology when Enid grunts.

"This would be easier if you shaved." Enid wonders why this is the time to talk about that.

"Sorry I like myself and my body, dork."

"The hair makes it harder to clean." Wednesday takes a roll of bandages and taps Enid's ribs with a quiet 'arms up'.

"Sorry I didn't plan on getting stabbed while showing you a fatass duck! If I'd known that would happen, I woulda had a spa day!" She tries so hard to ignore how close the author's hands are to her. Almost touching her with every round.

Wednesday folds the end once she's used the entire thing, leaving it secure on her skin.

"We need to sleep. You need to sleep. You need to heal." Enid walks over to her place on the floor. She's stopped by a hand on her wrist.

"What?"

"You're not sleeping on the floor." Wednesday steps past her and grabs the pillows, throwing them on the bed.

"What?" Wednesday takes her blanket and tosses it onto the bed.

"Sleeping on the floor while you're injured will only hurt you." She takes a hand and digs through the black comforter, pulling a Hello Kitty jacket out. She hands it to Enid.

"Put this on." Enid thumbs at the soft, worn fabric. She lifts her arms with a wince, sliding her arms into the sleeves. She doesn't zip it.

She slips into the cover on one end of the bed. She expects Wednesday to do the same. What she doesn't anticipate is for Wednesday to crawl under the comforter, and shuffle to Enid.

"What." It's not even a question anymore. Just a statement. "What are you doing?"

"Comfort." Is all she gets in reply. Wednesday snuggles her face into Enid's chest.

"I'm fine." She wants to snuggle back.

"Who said I was comforting you?" Is what Wednesday says.

"What?" Wednesday leans up, grabs the open edges of Enid's jacket and presses a kiss to her lips. She tastes like coffee.

Enid goes limp as her brain is overloaded with... something. She wishes she could name it.

"We will talk later." A kiss to her cheek. "Sleep." Enid nods.

"I love you, Enid."

She swallows down her racing thoughts.

"I love you too... Willa."

It's the best sleep she's had in years.

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

Enid wakes up to a hand smacking her face. She swats at it, grumbling.

"Noooooooooooooooooo." She pulls her blanket over her head, blocking out the small amount of light that pours in. "I'm cozy."

"We have a busy day, Cara Mia." She pushes the blanket down and stares at Wednesday.

"What did you call me?"

"We need to leave in an hour. Be quick." Wednesday just... walks out of the room, all dressed up. Enid stares at the sleeves of her jacket.

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

"Hey, Wednesday?" She asks lowly. They're in the back of a stage. Wednesday is a guest speaker at a book convention. Something about the way horror affects the world, or something nerdy like that. "What, exactly, is our relationship?" The feeling of soft lips on hers is still there.

Wednesday stares her. Her eyes are so soft.

"We'll talk when we get back to the hotel." Wednesday's cue gets called, the crowd roaring at her name.

She pulls the taller woman down and kisses her again.

"But do know that I love you."

She walks past the curtain, waving at everyone. Enid wonders if she could fake a sickness to get them back to the hotel early.

-Writer Anon.

holyshit was this a rollercoaster

AND THIS ALL HAPPENED IN A WEEK???????????

DAMN WEDNESDAY, ATLEAST TAKE ENID OUT FOR DINNER FIRST

and omygod, there was only one bed and then the tending of wounds,,,

wednesday shivering at enid's use of greek, we know what you are wendesday. We know what you are!!

Just the lil snippets of them pissing each other off, my gosh, i love them so much. Im glad they made up by the end, makes me wanna cry ;-;;

then even with all that, wednesday is still willing to go beat up an interviewer. A DECADE AND SHE'S STILL WILLING TO DO THAT

i didn't expect the ending, like wednesday really just cuddles up to enid like that 😭 totally fair, we need that comfort. Im happy that wenclair got together in the end, GOOD FOR THEM!!!!

then wednesday acting like what happened totally didn't happen the next day after sleeping together is so funny

atleast they're gonna talk it out, like actual adults

good for them!! good for them :)

and as always, i love your work writer anon, do you have any personal thoughts on it? like how you thought up the flowers and such for your other works?

#bodyguard enid au #writing #writer anon #wenclair

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standfucker · 3 months

Text

@thermaldischage

I went for bullet points, but this kinda outgrew them, so I'll call it a drabble. It was still written with bullet points in mind so it's in a bit of a simpler style. I hope that's all good with you. Thank you for your patience!

Inuarashi Falling in Love with You

CW: none

Your ship was mangled by a storm. You clung to a piece of the hull, fighting to stay afloat among the waves. While the wood is sturdy enough to support your weight, it’s been two days and dehydration is starting to make you see things. For example, the walking continent that’s been growing larger on the horizon for some time now.

As it gets closer, the continent takes the shape of a creature. It’s so unfathomably massive, you wouldn’t be surprised if it was a god, coming to take you to the afterlife. You feel yourself starting to lose consciousness as it gets close enough to cast shade over your section of the sea. The last thing you remember before blacking out is the sensation of being lifted, as if to the heavens…

You wake up in a clinic with an IV in your arm. There is a goat man peering into your face.

You scream.

He screams.

A squirrel woman yells at you both to get a hold of yourselves.

After a long explanation, you learn that you are on the moving island of Zou, and that the “god” you saw was actually a supermassive elephant, carrying an entire society on its back. Apparently, it lifted you out of the water and placed you on its back, where you were found by someone they’re calling Duke Inuarashi. This is, apparently, a huge deal to the minks.

Speaking of which, it’s your first time seeing minks in person. Thankfully, you’re also a huge animal lover, so it’s not too great a shock. The bigger concern is wondering what became your ship. Neither mink can answer that for you, but say you must speak with the Duke when you’ve recovered. At least you were sailing alone, so no one else was lost.

Recovery takes a day and a half of IV fluids and rest. You’re given a simple breakdown of how mink society is structured in the meantime. The following morning, the goat man, Dr. Miyagi, gives you a clean bill of health.

Outside the clinic is a beautiful, old-fashioned looking city with buildings hewn into the rock. There’s a lion mink waiting for you right outside the door. He rather intensely introduces himself as “Full Power” Shishilian before guiding you through the city.

Every single mink you pass by turns their heads to stare and point. Some even start following you, whispering to each other. “Don’t mind them,” Shishilian says. “Most of them have only seen humans in pictures.”

You’re a little stunned when you first lay eyes upon Duke Inuarashi. He’s so grandiose, so poised, so…gentle. Despite his size, he’s gentle when he approaches, gentle when he shakes your hand, gentle when he tells you there’s no one to take you home–their only seafaring mink are currently out on a supply mission. The mink leader is humble, refined, and thoroughly soft for all his majestic appearance suggests, and just from exchanging a few words you can sense the wisdom he carries.

You respond that without a ship, you don’t have anything to your name anyway. You were on your way to another island looking for work. If there’s work to be had on Zou, you say, you’re great with paperwork and organizing, and could take up a job while you wait for the traveling minks to return.

Inuarashi says he has been considering taking on an assistant to help out with administrative work. He doesn’t tell you that it’s a good way to keep an eye on you until he decides whether you’re trustworthy.

You’re set up in a side room in the Duke’s very home, and the ringing of the Welcoming Bell marks your official introduction into Zou.

Inuarashi is exceedingly polite and well-mannered. His office situation? Not so much. It’s a mess, completely disorganized with stacks of books and papers everywhere. You have a lot of work to do.

After a full day of labor, you finally have everything sorted into piles. Inuarashi protests that you should rest, but you’re used to long hours and stay up late anyway. You soon discover why he was concerned–the moment as the clock strikes 6, he falls asleep right then and there on the floor. He didn’t want to leave you by yourself, it seems.

You cover him with a large blanket, struggling somewhat to drag the massive bedding over his body. Then, looking left and right to make sure no one’s watching, you pet his ears. They’re smooth and soft beneath your skin. The touch makes him kick his leg in his sleep, knocking over a pile of papers. Whoops.

After that, you stop working late, simply going in with Inuarashi in the early evening. Having not yet adjusted to the mink’s schedule, it’s far too early for you, so you clean up around his home as thanks for being allowed to room there.

Inuarashi wakes up to a spotless house and you out cold. One sniff of the floral-scented cleaner tells him you stayed up late, so he decides to let you sleep in.

By the following week, everything in his office is put away and has a place. You talk to Inuarashi when he’s not busy, and find that he makes for excellent conversation. He always has a good perspective on things, or an interesting anecdote to share. The days don’t go by very quickly, but on Zou, that’s a welcome thing, as the work isn’t nearly so dreary as it was in your old life.

Inuarashi wants to trust you, but he lets a little part of him remain shrewd, just in case. He has to look after his people, after all. But you make it hard with your habits.

You call minks Mr. or Miss, plus their species name. The first time you referred to him as Mr. Puppy, he was immediately reminded of his friends in Wano. Another mink that overheard you snapped at you to show respect, but Inuarashi stopped them. “I find,” he said, “that the people who refer to us that way are kind ones.”

It was also amusing to hear you refer to Nekomamushi as “Mr. Kitty”, making him bark out a laugh at how much of a mismatch it was to the Cat Viper’s abrasive personality.

Following Inuarashi’s example, the minks pay no mind as to how you referred to them, accepting it as one of your quirks. You get along well with the minks, fitting right in. You love snuggling up to them (so soft!) and they love the physical affection. You run around playing with the mink children, help their parents with chores, and gradually make a place for yourself among their kind.

You take on a lot of tasks alone–you tell Inuarashi it’s because you’ve always lived by yourself. You wanted to be a zoologist, but were from a lower class family that couldn’t afford the schooling, so you simply worked from a young age and never really stopped. To call it a dull existence would be ungrateful, you say, as you had just enough to meet your needs and should be thankful. Inuarashi listens quietly, contemplating.

You need a pack, he thinks, to stop relying on yourself so much. The next time you’re working yourself too hard, he stops you right there, tells you you’re done for the day, and takes you out to the town center. There’s a beautiful garden situated there, and he walks you through rows of shrubs and flowers and saplings, pointing them out and explaining how they grow best when planted next to varied species, each one taking advantage of differing levels of shade. Inuarashi plucks a flower and places it in your hair. “It’s good to appreciate what you’ve been given, I suppose. But…you-gara never got the chance to stop and enjoy the bounties of life.”

“There was no time,” you say.

“There’s time now.” He looks up, over the sprawling, beautiful city. “You don’t have to rush back home. Stay a while. My house will remain open to you for as long as you see fit.”

You smile. “You’re just saying that because your space is clean for the first time.”

He chuckles. “It’s certainly a nice bonus.”

You grow closer. Inuarashi comes to trust you fully, now comfortable with letting you explore the island by yourself…but he finds that he doesn’t want to, that he prefers keeping you by his side. He finds excuses to do so, feeling a little ridiculous for it all the while. He should be beyond such foolishness.

“There’s no urgent need to visit the forest. It’s getting dark, after all. Why don’t we go another morning, together?” He’ll offer, and so on.

You start noticing the change, too. There’s the obvious signs–his tail starts wagging when you return home, for one thing. For another, he starts to refer to you informally, by just your first name. There’s smaller, subtler signs, too: his large hand alighting on your shoulder when you’re beside him, at your waist when you’re out together, or on your arm when you converse. His occasional sniffs in the air will switch to subtle, indirect sniffs of your hair when you walk by. You’ve learned each other’s preferred tea blends, and he always has a cup of your favorite kind waiting for you when you inevitably wake up after him.

You start napping together after lunch, he curled up on his giant couch and you nestled against the curve of his side. His tail thumps lightly when you first settle in. Still, you don’t think much of it until one day Carrot walks in on you two asleep, and later informs you that the Duke does not, in fact, nap with his subjects as a general rule.

“Aw, he must really care for you,” she says, and your face heats up as you stammer.

“Do, do you really think so? you ask.

“I haven’t seen the Duke be in such a good mood in ages. And why wouldn’t he be? You’re sweet.” Carrot leans in and lovingly chomps on your ear, making you yelp.

Inuarashi, never far from where you are nowadays, skids to a stop around the corner, rushing up to you two. “I heard you scream, what happened–ah, Carrot!” he scolds. “We don’t bite lesser mink. Their skin is delicate.”

Carrot apologizes, kissing the shell of your ear instead. You giggle, ticklish, and say you’re fine, but please keep it to kisses from now on.

That evening when you’re both winding down with mugs of tea, Inuarashi clears his throat where he’s sitting across from you on the couch.

“Carrot goes overboard with her garchus sometimes,” he says.

“I noticed,” you touch your ear with a giggle, and he frowns slightly. “It’s fine. It didn’t hurt too much. And she made up for it, so no hard feelings.”

“Does she do that often?” he asks.

“Do what?”

“Kiss you.”

You pause. It’s an unusual question, coming from the old canine. Something about it makes you feel weird. Uncertain and hesitant. You decide to just tell the truth: “Only on the cheek.”

“Hmm,” is all he says. It wasn’t unusual for minks to kiss or lick each other’s face as part of their greeting. Kisses on the lips were treated the way humans treated it–as either a romantic gesture, or between a mother and young child. Inuarashi’s frown dissipates, and he seems to relax, focusing on stirring a cube of sugar into his tea.

“That’s normal, right?” you ask. “I’m not missing anything in terms of mink culture, am I?”

“Not at all, my dear. You’re doing very well,” he praises. “Don’t pay me any mind. I was just being a nosy old dog.”

“Oh…okay.”

“Naturally, who you-gara choose to get close to is all up to you. Especially if you plan on staying long-term.”

Another odd statement, but it makes your heart leap. Was he implying you could become a citizen? “Is that really okay?”

“I don’t see why not,” he says. “You’ve acclimated well to life here, and you-gara seem to be happy. I can’t speak for how you felt before coming to Zou, but if it’s been an improvement, then staying would be the logical choice, no?”

“You’re talking about permanent residence, right?” you ask, and Inuarashi smiles in response. “Where would I live?”

“With me,” he says automatically, as if it wasn’t even a question. He pauses, looking sheepish. “I mean…if you would be alright with that–”

“Yes!” you exclaim. “Yes, I’d love that!”

His tail sweeps the floor behind him as he beams. “Then it’s settled. Or…at least, it would be,” his tail stops, “the truth is, if you-gara wish to become a citizen, you need permission from Nekomamushi as well, loath as I am to admit it.”

You’ve never met the Cat Viper in person before, though you’ve heard Kingsbirds like Wanda and Carrot speak highly of him. All you really know for sure is that he and Inuarashi must never, under any circumstances, see each other.

“I’ll send Wanda to take you to him,” Inuarashi says. “The forest is difficult to navigate after dusk.”

A few nights later, you, Wanda, and Carrot (who tags along) take a Warney into the Whale Forest. You haven’t been around the crocodilian beasts much, but they’re surprisingly docile for how fierce they look. An hour of riding later, a gorilla mink stops you at an entrance to a clearing, defined by cultivated trees and shrubs. After talking to Wanda, he steps back and lets you in, revealing a sprawling little village set deep within the forest.

It’s like a repeat of the day you first arrived, with plenty of mink focused on you. One of them stands tall above the rest, even more massive than Duke Inuarashi, a monstrous cat mink–Master Nekomamushi. He’s friendly enough, though he has a serious air about him, making you nervous when he invites you–and only you–into his home to talk.

“I’ll start this off by saying I have nothing against you-gara staying here,” he says, and you feel relieved for just a moment before he adds, “but there’s something you should know.”

He leans back in his chair, puffing on his pipe before continuing. “Wanda filled me in. You-gara have been living with him this whole time, right? You smell like him. Hmph.” He pauses, and his face is hard to read, but you think he’s conflicted. “There’s no easy way to put this…but Inuarashi has been deceiving you.”

“...What?” you say. You know the two don’t get along, but Nekomamushi doesn’t seem to be messing with you. “I’m sorry. What do you mean, Mr. Kitty?”

“Nya ha ha! You-gara are just like some old friends of mine.” His grin falls, and he sighs out smoke. “All the worse that he’s been doing this to you. Listen up: Inuarashi doesn’t trust you. I know him better than anyone on this island. He let you live with him to keep a watch on you. To be honest, I probably would have done the same…”

You feel your stomach sink.

“He keeps you by his side constantly, right? Why do you think that is?” Nekomamushi says. “Because despite that kindly act of his, he has to keep his people safe from outside threats.”

“I’m,” your voice is quiet as your chest gets tight, “I’m no threat.”

“Not to him, maybe. But you-gara were a stranger. Unpredictable. That Zunesha saved you may mean a lot to the citizens, but it doesn’t give you a free pass to run about…of course, none of this is your fault.”

Inuarashi only kept you close to him to watch you? You could have sworn that he was fond of you…that he looked at you differently. Were you reading too far into things? Because you were lonely? Tears sting at the corners of your eyes and you blink quickly to get rid of them.

“I thought…” you swallowed. “I thought we were…I mean, I thought he trusted me. He acted like he liked being around me.”

“Not surprising. Inuarashi and I have fond memories with our old human pals. And, as they say… Dogs are man’s best friend, after all. I’m sure he likes you-gara. Doesn’t mean he trusts you.” Nekomamushi picks up on your unease, his nose twitching and his look pitying. “I’m sorry, Y/n. But you deserve to know the truth. I won’t let him continue lying to you-gara.”

You droop in your chair, trying to hold yourself together under this awful new information. Nekomamushi reaches out and gently pats your shoulder with one massive hand.

“Inuarashi told you-gara that our minks capable of sailing have left, I assume?” He asks, and you nod. “He didn’t count me among them, as I have duties to see to here. However…if you so wish, I will gladly take you home. I’m a better sailor than all the other minks. I can get you there safely.”

You look up at him, surprised. Nekomamushi gives you a kind smile. “You-gara don’t have to decide right now. But if you want to go home, all you have to do is ask.”

The ride back to the city is miserable and silent. Wanda and Carrot can sense that something’s wrong, but you refuse to answer them, too twisted up inside. What comfort could they offer, anyway? They adores Duke Inuarashi, and would likely side with his reasons for deceiving you. Your heart feels like it’s breaking. You love it here, and you love him, but you don’t want to live on Zou if he doesn’t return your feelings.

You barely talk to Inuarashi the next day, responding in short sentences and avoiding him where you can. Like Wanda, he knows something’s wrong, but you won’t elaborate. Inuarashi fears the worst–that Nekomamushi rejected your request for citizenship. While the Duke falls asleep promptly as usual, his sleep is troubled and restless. It’s almost like he can sense you leaving that night, visiting Nekomamushi once more in order to tell him that you’ve accepted his offer.

Nekomamushi has a boat prepared. In the meantime, you pack your things, and the following night, after Inuarashi is asleep, you go out to meet the Cat Viper for the last time at the edge of Zou. It’s childish, but you can’t help but wish that Inuarashi would stop you somehow. If only he would come after you. But you know that the two mink kings can never lay eyes upon each other.

Nekomamushi helps you get into the boat, and you get your things settled and prepare to descend. The minks working the pulleys barely touch the ropes when you all hear it: a howl pierces through the forest.

A moment later, Inuarashi bursts out of the treeline on a galloping Warney. He leaps off his mount and sprints toward the edge. At this distance, you can see that he’s blindfolded. Two mink leap into his way to keep him from getting too close to the edge, nearly getting bowled over but managing to stop him. Your heart pounds as Inuarashi cries out your name.

“Please, listen!” he howls. “Carrot overheard you speak to Nekomamushi. She told me everything. Heed my words, Y/n! I never meant to deceive you! I only wanted what was best for my people. I just forgot that ‘my people’ included you! I only kept you on such a tight leash because I was selfish. I was a bad dog. I wanted all your attention and affections for myself. Please, forgive this foolish old man, whose only crime was not telling you he loved you sooner.”

Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as he speaks. You blink, and they streak down your cheeks. Before you can think twice, you try to leap off the boat and nearly fall. Nekomamushi catches you with his quick reflexes, and sighs, carrying you back over onto Zou and setting you down. “Dumb mutt…” he mutters, but you hardly register it.

You run to Inuarashi, who’s fallen into his knees. As you get closer, he sniffs the air, and his tail starts to wag. You take his large muzzle and pull it close to your chest in an embrace.

“I was never sure,” you say, voice warbling through tears.

He lets you hug his head against your body, then picks you up and holds you close. “I owe you a lifetime of apologies, dear Y/n.”

“Don’t ever make me doubt it again,” you sniffle. He can’t see you smile, so you kiss his snout. His tail wagging goes into overdrive.

Inuarashi needs a few extra hours of sleep to make up for pushing past his natural clock. This time, you both sleep together in his bed, and for the first time, he’s the one who sleeps in. You make sure to have a cup of his favorite tea ready for him for when he wakes up, then slip back under the covers to enjoy the sleepy, early hours with your new beloved.

#x reader #inuarashi x reader #one piece imagines #zen writes

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spicechica · 3 days

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Ernst Robinson x fem reader AU

*this idea has been in my head for a while, ever since I re-watched barbie as the island princess. But, imagine Ernst having a relationship with an island girl and slowly falling for her*

You peaked through the damp forest trees, watching below as you spotted two cuertin creatures that walked and talked, like you. You slowly move up the tree branches, causing the leaves to russell. “Did you hear that?” You stop in place thinking they spotted you, until you hear the loud echoes of crunching twigs and low grunts coming from the bushes below. The two step closer towards the rustling sounds, until it stops…..”Run!” The loud grunt of a large boar emerges from the bushes, charging after the two.

You quickly follow behind, still staying out of sight, watching as they both struggle to climb up a nearby tree, the boar almost nipping at their feet. You pierce your lips together and blow in the boar's direction, causing it to startle and run away into the large bushes, allowing the creatures to catch their breaths.

“Who’s there?”, one of them shouts. “Please, we're looking for our brother. We got shipwrecked and now we're stuck here…please help us!” You sigh and slowly emerge from the tree, lightly landing your bare feet on the cold wet ground. Not like you haven't gotten used to it by now, your feet were already covered in dirt, bruises, cuts, grime, and any other part of the forest you've explored that day.

You keep your hand on your pocket sized knife you made from rock and yarn, not sure if you should trust these…People? “A girl.” A young boy, looked to be about 15, short messy hair, and now covered in dirt, slowly steps towards you, while you hesitantly take a step back. “It’s alright. We’re not going to hurt you. I’m Fritz…and this is my brother, Ernst.” You glance over at the other boy. He looked older, about 17 or so, taller, had slightly longer hair than the other, and had these piercing blue eyes.

“Can you speak…English?” Fritz asked. You slowly nod, continuing to scan the boys up and down like a feral cat.“Could you help us? We're looking for…” As he tries to touch you, you quickly point your knife towards him, the tip barely piercing neck. “Wow…wow, wait…we're not looking for any trouble.”, Ernst said with a shaky voice. “We were in a shipwreck and…”, “Shipwreck?” you replied. “Yes, at the front of the island.” you remove your knife away from Fritz neck and look to the floor.

It’s been years since you’ve seen another person, and from what he said reminded you how you got here in the first place. You sigh, “You said you needed help, right?”, they both nod. You didn’t know if you should trust these boys, but you had a gut feeling that something good might come out of this.

Both the boys stare at you as they proceed to lead the way, gazing at your unique attire. You wore an old white cloth that you wrapped around yourself and tucked into your sides. When you first washed up on the island you wore an old childs Victorian dress with ruffles all over, but over time the dress became damaged and mangled, and soon you started to grow out of it, to where you could barely fit it over your shoulders if you wanted to. Surprisingly, your hair was pretty neat and tidy, placed in a neat french braid ponytail tied back with vine . Of course, you had no shoes. as you grew out of those as well, so through the years you had just gotten used to being barefoot, and whatever you stepped on you’d just had to be lucky it wasn’t poisonous. “You think she’s from a previous shipwreck?” Ernst whispered. You couldn't properly remember the night of the wreck, but sometimes you could imagine bits and pieces here and there, but most of the time it was a haze.

“Father! Mother!” Fritz shouted. “Fritz”, his mother called. “Where were you? You were supposed to stay on this side of the island!” His father shouts in a stern voice, his face almost turning red. “Yes, but father we found…a girl.” They all look up at you, shocked to see a girl your age in this state, and surprisingly alive. “Oh my goodness.” Their mother takes her damp shawl and wraps it around you, trying to cover your body from the boys. You jolt away at first, confused why, you never really cared to notice the changes in your body, or even know what it was like to experience woman hood. So it was clear she was covering you so you would have some decency. “Where did you find her?”, “In the forest, she helped us get away from a boar,” “A boar!” their younger sister shouts. “Oh you poor thing. What’s your name sweetheart?”

“My name is…is…Y/n.”

PART 2!??

#Ernst Robinson #Ernst Robinson x reader #stranded 2002 #Stranded #neil newbon #story #fanfiction #Island AU #DID ANYONE ELSE DESPERATELY WANT TO BE ISLAND BARBIE AS A KID BECAUSE WHY DOES THAT ISLAND LOOK BEAUTIFUL AF!#AND HER OUTFIT #GOD!#ERNST IS SO GOD DAME CUTE ♡

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aerkame · 10 months

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Keep Me Anchored Part 1

An Ankor x selkie reader because I feel like this is a fun way to explain why he collects selkie coats and how he goes about it. There will be a little bit of x Barnaby as well, but mostly Ankor.

TW: Implied deaths, implied past kidnappings, violence, slight blood.

__________________________________________________________

Ankor never took himself as the kind to act this way, but could it be helped? Anyone would have done the same thing if it were them, right? Maybe he was just making excuses to satisfy his own bloodlust.

A loud thud echoed in the abandoned factory, blood and stuffing mixed as a large figure stepped over the pile of mangled bodies, bodies of what were once ordinary puppets.

Crates were knocked over and shipping boxes torn open by massive claws. He still couldn't find it.

Taking in a deep breath, the shark-dog sniffed, and sniffed, until he finally caught onto the scent he thought he'd lost. There, tucked away under various items was what Ankor came for. He reached in carefully handling the soft item, a selkie's coat...a fresh one. The poor thing.

He nuzzled his snout into it, giving a deep inhale. Male, around his early 20s, probably from the Pacific area judging by the smell. "A shame really...looks like they've been targeting victims more younger now. They must really be running out of supply at this rate." Ankor bit onto his nail in thought.

If he's lucky, the selkie can be easily tracked down since not many of them exist anymore, very unique scents, if not...hopefully one of his fin friends can help with that, they were always better at tracking than him. Besides, he had a concert in about a week or two.

A groan caught his attention.

His tongue lolled outside of the mouth, showing off the many sharp teeth underneath. Looks like he had some cleaning up to do.

__________________________________________________________

Letting your overly excited friend drag you to a concert to listen to a singer you didn't even know seemed like a good idea at first. But now? You have many regrets.

Gripping onto your jacket tightly, you looked to the left, then right, searching for any spot that had at least a tad bit more room.

The entire place was packed full of screaming fangirls and whooping fanboys, all mixes of different puppets, creatures, and beings. The crowd was lively and everything was just too much all at once. Short remora dogs were seen around the stage in front of the crowded guardrails passing out souvenirs. They were kinda cute, you watched as one walked over to your area offering up a shark tooth necklace and a shell necklace, both of which you declined. Your friend eagerly took both. "My sister is going to be so jealous when I get back." she giggled to herself.

"You do you I guess..." you gave a small smile, happy to just be there and make your friend happy. You were pretty curious to see what all the fuss was about, having seen all kinds of products and artwork made by this Ankor Awespire guy.

The lights suddenly dimmed to hot pinks and cyan blues, the crowd got louder.

The crackle of a mic turning on gathered everyone's attention as a smooth and deep voice echoed out "So I heard you came for me... well I'll be sure not to disappoint!" A bright burst of light appeared on the stage and a tall Shark-dog dressed to the 70s stepped out into the sparkling lights and light fog. Talk about making an entrance. You guessed this was another future funk/disco artist based on the attire. Not a bad choice really.

Your thoughts were interrupted as the rowdy crowd grew louder than ever, you were considering on just leaving at this point. Strangers kept touching your coat or brushing past the soft fur, it was uncomfortable to say the least. Maybe you should have left it at home and just hid it somewhere...

Suddenly your friend started screaming, startling you.

"He's coming over here!" She started waving her hands wildly to grab his attention amongst the ever growing crowd. You looked up to the stage to see the man sniffing the air seemingly, before his head turned towards your general direction.

"He's looking at me!" "Over here!" "Ankooor!"

Fans screamed behind you and in front of you making you wince and curl in at the sudden loudness. Your friend stopped yelling upon noticing your shrinking form. "Hey, you alright?"

You nodded "It's so loud..."Hugging you closely, she made sure to tuck most of the fur inside your hoodie and patted your back. "It's alright."

You peeked up looking at your friend's face before your attention was drawn to the stage again.

He was staring straight at you.

Your eyes locked with each other's until the star suddenly made a move to bend down and give something to a nearby remora dog, saying something that could not be heard over the loudness of the crowd. He pointed at you in the sea of people and said something else, everyone was growing quiet wondering what was going on.

The remora dog pushed their way through the crowd until they were at your side, handing you a card. "Please visit Mr.Awespire after the show. It's urgent." The small remora dog swiftly retreated back behind the guardrails. Everyone around you was staring now.

"Ladies and gents, I believe we have our winner for the back stage tour!" Back on the stage was Ankor, who was now pointing at you, a big smile on his face. "As for the next show, please make sure to enter again for another chance at an all exclusive tour." The crowd was back to cheering and yelling,

He twirled his finger, pivoting around to face the back of the stage. "Now for the show you've all come for!"

#How the hell can I spell Souvenirs just fine but when I try spelling remora I mess it up?#welcome home #welcome home finfolk au #welcome home oc #welcome home x reader #oc x reader #selkie reader #finfolk #selkie #barnaby b beagle #welcome home barnaby b beagle #barnaby x reader

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pixelblaze · 1 year

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Here's an interesting idea! How about Vash with a vigilante!reader who takes on his no killing rule after becoming close to him, but still likes to use other methods to make sure their worst targets won't hurt anyone again. Would this affect his perception of them and his ability to grow closer to them? Would he view it as needless violence?

Oooh this is a GREAT idea. Here’s some of my thoughts on the matter! Thank you so much for sending me this ask!!

Cw!: violence

-Vash with a vigilante!reader who takes on his no killing rule-

-You began sparing people once you got close to the red-clad gunslinger, and don’t think he doesn’t notice you’re new Pacifistic ways.

-Well. He really appreciates that you’re taking the path of a pacifist because of him. Mostly a pacifist.

-he would consider mangling hands beyond recognition and breaking legs so they won’t heal properly unnecessary violence.

-But you’re not killing anyone, so it’s a great start!

-Vash is stubborn and insistent. He would probably do his best to convince you to be a complete Pacifist vs what you’re currently doing.

-To be honest he likes you. A lot. And he wants to grow closer with you but he’ll have a hard time with that when he Knows you can be so much better a person.

-You might argue about this. I mean, you have a good point that you can stop the bad people from doing something bad again, but Vash is So Insistent that mercy is the way to go.

-He’s so sweet and genuine about this…it’s hard to stay mad at him. You know his heart is in the right place.

-Maybe eventually he can get you to try some complete mercy. It feels pretty nice, to be honest. Even if your target has a good chance of causing trouble again.

-He’s so proud of you!

-He appreciates your efforts and your willingness to try, even if it’s just for his sake. He’ll inevitably grow closer to you because of your attempts at full pacifism. He’s just so…thankful. And he lets you know a lot.

-Sometimes he’ll jokingly call you his Apprentice in Pacifism.

-It’s a difficult road at first. It would be so much easier to just do what you do and spare them but leave them with a few terrible injuries, but then you think about how Vash would feel and something changes your mind.

-At the end of the day, meeting Vash has really turned you in to a better person, I’d say. Whether or not you want to admit that. Your new pacifist lifestyle is difficult but rewarding work.

-And you made a lifelong companion in Vash because of it.

thank you so much for reading~

#Trigun #trigun x reader #vash #vash the stampede #trigun vash the stampede x reader #vash the stampede x reader #vash x reader #trigun vash x reader #My writing

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biggestxsimps · 11 months

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Lost Lover

Any of ‘The Quarry’ Boys x Male Reader

A/N: This can be read with any of The Quarry boys, this is meant to be in Y/N’s POV but I guess the character of your choice also works. I’m not sure if this counts as angst, but I tried my best.

There are a lot of mentions of blood, death, gore and hallucinations. Please be wary and don’t read this fic if the content is too harsh!

You couldn’t believe he was gone. It felt like just yesterday the cops were pulling you away from your lover’s deformed corpse. His blood staining your hands and clothes as all you could smell was what remained of him.

You still smelt it now, having spent so many hours in those crimson-filled clothes gave you enough time to commit it to memory. You often smelt it on nights like this.

Cold. Dark. Silent.

You feel the sticky blood crawl its way over your arms, it irks you how real it felt. Just like that night. Your eyes begin to fog, vision becoming indefinable as it grows dark, the blurred corpse of your former lover appearing. Your clothes feel tight, compressing your chest. It gets harder to breathe as the rotting smell fills your lungs. You gasp, voice hoarse as you try to regain composure.

The body beside you starts to become more visible, every gorey detail visible on his tormented face. Your heart aches as he lies there, lifeless. Your eyes swell with tears, the drops falling in abundance as you stare at him, unable to look away.

You watch as his eyes shoot open, your heart leaping out of your throat as he starts to stand, unbalanced and deformed. You can’t help but feel a little joyous, seeing him alive, as mangled as he may be.

Until the screaming starts.

A blood-curdling screech rips from his throat. Blood follows as it drips down his neck, the screams turning into loud gurgling as he starts to drown in his own blood. His scarred arm lifts, his torn-apart finger pointing right at you. The gurgling stops, a few strained coherent words falling from his tongue.

“This is all your fault-”

The sound of a door breaks you out of your trance.

“Y/N..” It’s a hushed voice, a familiar one. “Is it happening again?” You dig your head into your hands, wiping the tears flowing down your cheeks as you mutter. “Yeah.. yeah…” The bed dips as you feel the girl take a seat beside you, her hand rubbing against your arm as she whispers comforting words.

A/N: We’ve got a couple of our longest fics coming out soon (Hopefully this week) Including a Part 2 to the Hogwarts Legacy Yule Ball fic! All feedback is appreciated, I rarely write angst and I’m not all to good at it.

Masterlist

- Written by Owner 1

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yandere-daydreams · 2 years

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you know how nearly every animal is cute as a baby? well, i can imagine an unsuspecting person, probably far too young to understand how this supposedly cute defenseless animal will grow into a terrifying and dangerous monster in the span of a few more years. perhaps they save it from another person who’s hunting its species to control their population — with little regard to how one action, is going to fuck them completely over just as soon as the “cute” monster no longer grows as cute

tw - mentions of death/mutilation, implied stalking, obsessive behavior, and animal death.

well, they aren't really a pet, more like... a companion who just so happens to have some extra-sharp teeth, and claws, and eyes, when they hear a loud noise or you manage to catch them off-guard and their pupils narrow into those tiny black slits. when you were younger, you used to feed them, sneak cuts of meat and bowls of fresh water out to their den, but you're older, now, and so are they, and they've already done more than enough to repay you for what little kindness you could afford to show them. you find bloody rabbits on your doorstep every morning, a bundle of mangled wild flowers every afternoon, and at night, if you're lucky, they'll stop by for dinner before they start their nightly hunt, stay long enough to spare a few words about their day and their plans and, if the weather's poor and they can't set off as soon as they like you, sit by the hearth and help you drain a bottle of something strong and sharp before carrying you to bed when you inevitably pass out, your head in their lap and their pointed nails raking through your hair. it's easy to relax, around them. you know they'd never hurt you, if they even could.

that's why you worry so much when the bodies start turning up, nearly shred to ribbons, left on the outskirts of your little village. it's rare, infrequent, the corpses only turning up every few months or so, and you can't really bring yourself to believe it's anything more than a particularly brutal string of wolf attacks, but you know how harmless they are, how isolated their den is, and you can't help but ask if they've been acting with care, but urge them to spend the night in your cottage rather than those cold, dark woods. they were just so frail as a child, unable to hunt on their own or sink their teeth into anything more aggressive than a stray salamander, and even if they've grown taller, even if you will admit that they might be a little stronger than you, you don't want to leave them out there all alone - especially as the attacks start occurring more frequently, as the bodies begin to turn up dismembered and disemboweled rather than simply bruised and beaten, as you start to see faces you recognize among the dead. they're reluctant, quick to express their doubts and warn you that they don't tend to be as docile after sunset. still, you insist. they're your friend, after all, and you've been taking care of them for as long as you can remember.

besides, they couldn't even hurt a fly, right?

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere prompts #yandere theory #general

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satancopilotsmytardis · 28 days

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omg!! plz tell us about ur fnaf au!!

I have been let off my leash again!!! Okay so I want to preface this with what the state of FNAF lore was like when I started working on this:

Started working on this between the release of FNAF4 and Sister Location, ended shortly after the reveal of Michael's "I'm coming to find you"/Robot spaghetti endings.

Back when the Puppet was still using He/him pronouns and we had limited knowledge about Charlie/Henry, etc. past the stuff from FNAF: World and I think the Silver Eyes novel.

This was still firmly at the tail end of people switching from calling Purple Guy Vincent in their AUs to using William Afton because of the books.

Very little of this will match anything even remotely canon including names.

So the AU was what I called the 'Afton Siblings AU':

Basic premise: None of the Afton children died. They still went through deeply traumatic shit and grew up under their father's thumb until he got arrested for the Missing Children's Incident, released, and then fucked off into the ether.

Michael: 26, he works as the nighttime security officer at their Fazbear's location. When he was 13 he stuck his brother's head into Freddy's mouth on his birthday as a prank after treating his brother like shit in the wake of their mom leaving them, and Caleb nearly died. Their father ended up sticking his own arm into the mouth of the animatronic and breaking his hand very badly, but kept Freddy from crunching all the way through Caleb's skull and killing him. Once William healed up, he brought Michael back to the restaurant and killed all of Michael's friends to make a point. Michael has been in charge of taking care of his siblings ever since.

Bailey (Baby): 23, the tallest of the kids, which is something she delights in literally holding over her brothers. She works as their Fazbear's location's mechanic. She keeps the animatronics running and it the only one who is aware that the suits aren't just haunted, but that the bodies are inside of the suits as well.

Caleb (Crying Child): 18, he works as a server at the Fazbear's location he once almost died at when he was a little kid. He forgave Michael years ago for the incident and he has the best relationship with the animatronics because the echo of his childhood trauma is still lingering in the pizzeria as Golden Freddy. (Think Stone Tape theory)

The Afton kids are all pseudo-adopted by Henry when shit goes down, and he makes sure that they have jobs and bought them their childhood home when everything goes tits up and their father is in the wind. They all call him 'Uncle Henry' and he doesn't hold what William has done against them, but none of them have ever directly talked about that with Henry. They all live together and are just trying to keep things at the pizzeria calm and under control as their father keeps, somehow, going around and continuing to rack up his body count.

However, I got distracted before I ever fully fleshed out this AU by some side characters and their extremely unhinged sex life. So hey, y'all remember Jeremy?

Jeremy Fitzgerald: 25 forever, died in 1987 when the Mangle bit through his skull, taking one of his eyes and causing catastrophic brain damage. As with all things in a Fazbear's location, he could not simply stay dead, and Fazbear Entertainment dug up his corpse (or perhaps never let his body be buried in the first place, he's not sure) and sat him back in the security office to continue doing his job after death, and uh, to his great displeasure, yes that absolutely worked. He is stuck in a haunting loop like the animatronics and continues to do his job for many years.

Nightmarionne/the Puppet/Net/Marion: Looks like the normal puppet during the day/to other people, but to Jeremy, he looks like Nightmarrionne because Jeremy can now see how he's been twisted and warped by his need for vengeance. However, he normally puts that aside to care for the 'children'. Somehow, pre-FNAF6 I had decided that he would grow and be more fully sapient than the rest of the animal-suit-bound animatronics and I was accidentally right about that.

Jeremy and Net start off very contentiously, because Net thinks that Jeremy stole the 'gift' of life after death somehow, which would tie him back to 'The Man' who the animatronics know as their murderer.

Jeremy, of course, has no fucking idea what he's talking about. He still gets tortured about it though.

Years pass and eventually Jeremy's brain kind of rewires to the pain of being tortured, especially because no matter what Net does to him (or the other animatronics cause he does end up in a suit more than once), it's all temporary. Net eventually explains to him about the children, the gift, the murders, and they (as essentially the only adults in the building) try to look after it and the other suits.

Jeremy pops a boner while Net's playing with his offal one night and the rest is pretty gory history with them genuinely falling in love and having a very healthy and trusting relationship-- where half of their sex is body horror but, shhh 🤫

All is fine and dandy until their location gets marked for re-opening and Henry sends Michael to go to that location and check it out, where he meets Jeremy, finds out their location is also haunted, and Jeremy learns that because he's haunting his own corpse, he's not actually bound to the same rules as the animatronics. He can leave the building, stay up after 6am, and etc. he just hadn't because he was so conditioned by the others he never tried.

Jeremy befriends the Afton kids not knowing about their father, and that creates further conflict down the line when William comes back into town for some reason.

(he also has a very weird threesome with Michael and Net at one point, but you know, that's not important)

(Baily also makes Net a strap but that's also not important)

I spent... more time writing Jeremy/Net porn than I want to admit to, frankly, and this fic eventually started to be adapted into my Everrealm Amusement Park story that I also never finished.

#tanco speaks #ask #asks

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bloompompom · 1 year

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Why We Ended Things - Chapter 1

Also available on ao3 and wattpad

You didn’t know it then but ending your relationship was the easy part. It was pretending that your feelings had ended along with it that was much harder.

You were the newest act at Wicked Sisters: a fresh-faced girl on her way to becoming the city’s star burlesque dancer. It sounded like a dream, but really, you just liked that it paid the bills.

It didn’t take long for you to settle into your role, make friends, and even fall in love — a lot. But two years later, you found yourself stumbling through life, left with no other choice but to look back and try to pinpoint where it first went wrong.

♡ Pairing: eren jaeger x female reader, levi ackerman x female reader ♡ Word count: ~5.3k ♡ Content warnings throughout this fic: Explicit sexual content, explicit language, drug/alcohol use, unhealthy coping mechanisms, boss/employee relationship, panic attacks, codependency.

Chapter 1: Whiskey Sours

The feeling was always the same. Tightness. Smothering tightness. Tits shoved up so high that you would think they met your chin. High enough that you could maybe even rest a shot glass on them if you tried. Your ribs were mangled and cinched in just the right way so that your waist appeared more pleasing to the eye. You couldn’t run your nails through your hair even if you wanted to, and the thick smell of cheap hairspray was stuck in your nose and tainted every breath.

You got used to it.

You learned to take half-breaths. Anything more would spring a button loose or kill off another of your zippers. Maybe you even started to like the sickeningly sweet fumes of your hairspray. You had used the same brand for years—it was a few bucks and always stocked at the corner store. It was only fair that you would grow fond of it after all this time.

There was a name for that, right? How people tended to gravitate and maybe even begin to love something just because it’s familiar?

Sure, there were better products out there; there was no arguing that. You had plenty of opportunities to switch brands and venture into the unknown, but you could never beat the price. If you bought something more luxurious, maybe something that was eight dollars instead of three, then you wouldn’t have the extra change to buy a tallboy of beer.

This particular can of hairspray was nearly empty and sputtering at this point. It left your hair waxier than you would have liked, but there wasn’t much you could do about it now. It was well past time to buy another. You hadn’t done so since you moved. There was a chance you were sentimental about it—this little tin worth no more than pocket change being your last reminder of that shabby convenience store back home. You were now forced to decide, once again, if another brand was worth the investment. Do you go with old reliable, or do you try to spread those hairspray-coated wings of yours and fly?

Knowing you, it would be old reliable.

Ha. You downed the last of your drink at the thought. Who else but you could twist something as trivial as hairspray into a metaphor about life? To be fair, alcohol had the tendency to make you all broody and whatnot. It always pulled things out of you that weren’t there to begin with. At least, they weren’t as easily retrievable with a sober mind.

You must have been a bit cavalier with your swig. The ice met your warm lips, melting instantly and dribbling down the corner of your mouth. You caught how your lipstick had smudged when you met your reflection in the mirror, and you poked around with your ring finger to clean it up.

Another side effect of alcohol was that it soothed that tightness. Or it numbed you, you weren’t sure. Either way, it was your single most important requirement to start your night. A newer requirement of yours, to be fair. Before you moved, you would go for that familiar tallboy, but you hadn’t found a bodega that carried the same charm as the one back home. So, you relinquished the ritual of chugging a shitty beer before a performance. New beginnings, right?

The club’s bartender did the job well enough. Lucky for you, he was always heavy-handed on his pours. Tonight, it was a whiskey sour. Emphasis on the whiskey.

You had spent your life in a sleepy town, the kind they make horror movies about. The people who lived there would say otherwise, but there was something about it that always struck you as offputting. It was perpetually cloudy, and you swore you could count the number of times you had seen the sun on one hand. Pothole-ridden streets. Just one railroad that split the town in two: the haves and have-nots. That was how you saw it, at least, and you were a have-not.

Or maybe you just hated how the town was infested by so many old people. Smelt like death in an already rotting town.

You could admit you had become bitter toward the place, but was there anyone out there that truly loved their hometown? The only thing you admired about it was that it forced you to kickstart your burlesque career.

And that was why you moved. You finally left the town that did nothing but give you the heebie-jeebies. The city you now called home was much bigger. There was certainly more than one railway, countless corner stores, and even more clubs for you to find work. So many that you found it overwhelming. And like a small-town, know-nothing girl, you applied to the first joint you found. It must have been in the cards for you, too, because you were hired on the spot.

It was nice enough for now. Wicked Sisters, on the corner of Broad Street and West Second Avenue, was filled with back alley burlesque girls and shameless drag queens. A wonderful mixture, if you did say so yourself. You were allowed to say that because you fell into the back alley burlesque girls category.

Wicked Sisters was owned by two men: Erwin and Levi. They kept to themselves a bit. From what you gathered through dressing room talk, they had been married for a while, but there was more to the story. That wasn’t just a hunch, either. It didn’t take a genius to figure out there was more hiding behind the curtains. Just one look at them and you could tell.

Erwin was as blonde as a kid in the summer but carried himself with a staunch stature. If you saw him in a line-up, you would never have guessed he would be the owner of such a raunchy establishment. He looked like any old suburban, white-collared man. But he was nice. Nice enough to give you a passing nod when he frequented backstage. He checked in with his girls often to ensure everything was ship shape and in order. And when it wasn’t, well, it was nothing that a Xanax couldn’t fix.

Then there was Levi. He was just as stern-looking as Erwin but more petite. Much darker, too. He had sharp yet gloomy features that pierced even the dim lights of the club. You hated that a man standing no taller than five-foot-nothing could intimidate you in such an effortless way. You would never say that to his face, though. One crack in your facade was all that was needed for him to find the weak, pulpy parts of you.

So you bit your tongue around him. You bit and bit and bit. You would have actually bled out by now if this weren’t just a metaphor. Your performances had been getting cut every night. It had only been a week, surely the tides would change, but that didn’t matter when you had rent to pay and the first of the month was looking you straight in the eye. The deposit for your duplex had murdered your savings. A nice, fat direct deposit would cure all of your woes, but so would a crumpled and forgotten five-dollar bill from someone’s back pocket.

Your vision had gone fuzzy by now. You hadn’t realized how long you had been staring at the mirror until you realized you no longer saw yourself, just flesh and red lips. Red lipstick felt like a cliché, but you chose it anyway since it fit well with your costume. You had a sailor look going on, captain’s cap and all. Maybe that was why sayings such as change of the tides and ship shape were fresh on your tongue.

You were only broken from your daze when you caught a hand swooping down and chopping your vanity like a knife. If you didn’t know any better, you thought the wood might give under the impact, but old furniture tended to be sturdier than what they made today. Regardless, it sent your makeup flying and you heard it skitter across the floor.

You gripped the vanity tightly. It was a smarter decision than drawing a fist. “What was that for?”

“You’ve been axed!”

You frowned, or maybe it was a scowl. “Huh?”

“You’re not going on tonight,” Jean said. He casually leaned his shoulder against the wall, arms folded in a way that told you he was getting some sort of enjoyment from delivering the news.

You didn’t care for Jean. You had only been working here a week but you didn’t need more time than that to figure it out. His flippant attitude, stupid face, and how he would obnoxiously comb his fingers through his mullet made you grind your teeth. You especially didn’t care for his beady eyes and how they scanned over you, checking to see if he had successfully gotten a rise out of you. He did, and he smiled, large and with his teeth.

“Why?” You choked down your resentment to deny him the satisfaction of seeing you bothered. It wasn’t working, so you opted to pick your makeup off the floor to hide your face.

He vaguely shrugged. “No one wants to see the new girl, I guess. They’d rather have their sweaty dollars go to Portia.”

Portia Page. Haus of Page. The title made them sound more formal than they actually were. Really, it was just two of them: Portia, then there was Turna. Get it?

The last club you worked for was strictly burlesque so you didn’t know much about drag, outside of the obvious. The only thing you did know was that Portia was the bitch who kept stealing your shows.

“This is the third time,” you groaned. One week. It had been one week and your performances had already been cut three times. You weren’t even worth a lousy mid-week gig, apparently.

“Don’t know what to tell you. The people pay to see men in dresses.” Jean paused, smirking while he gave you a once-over inspection. “Unless there’s something you want to tell me.”

You got the joke, but you couldn’t help but think he was eye-fucking you.

You could only roll your eyes. “You could at least be a bit more tactful about it.”

“No point in sugarcoating it. Go home. Enjoy your night off.” He pushed himself from the wall and started to walk off. He must have heard your grumblings because tossed a look over his shoulder. “Or don’t. I don’t really care.”

When he turned away for the last time, you flipped him off. Childish? Yes. Cathartic? Also yes. You were more than accustomed to assholes—there were more than enough of them in the business—but you would have appreciated a warmer welcome than the one Jean gave you.

Though you had only known him for a handful of days, you were still trying to get a proper read on Jean. He was the host, or that was what he liked to call himself. If you were to ask anyone else, they would say he was just another performer. The only difference was that no one, not even Levi, could keep him away from the microphone. Must have made him feel like a real big shot, like he could march around and axe your vanity as if he owned the place.

Now that he was gone, you could pout in peace. You kept your head slumped with your hands firmly planted into the vanity, staring down at your press-on nails. They were already coming loose, so maybe it was for the best that you were heading home. An omen, maybe. Even if it was a sign, it didn’t make the fact that you were missing another paycheck any easier to swallow. It was starting to feel like branching out and buying a fancier hairspray would remain a far-fetched dream.

You gathered your belongings into your bag, losing your pinky nail along the way. You didn’t bother to shed your ridiculous get-up, only covering yourself in your winter coat on your way out. You took the backway, pacing down the hallway, with tits still painfully high on your chest, as if you didn’t resemble some sort of sad clown.

The heavy door slammed behind you as you bounded down the steps. There were a handful of chairs decorating the alley. They were mismatched and nearly broken since everyone had brought their own to form the rag-tag bunch. Some were folding chairs one would take camping, while others were janky and meant for a one-off cookout. This was your breakroom. Most of the staff would come here claiming they needed a breather, but it was more of a code name for an extended smoke break.

You flopped into one of the chairs and felt how the plastic shuttered underneath your weight. You found yourself here, sitting pretty in this kitschy and pink lawn chair like it was your job. They should have been paying you to sit here by now.

With one nail already off, you began to pick at another. When the muffled chants from the crowd started to pick up (‘crowd’ was a bit of an overstatement), you were sure Portia had just taken the stage. You didn’t realize it when you tore the nail off; you only felt a sting radiate through the tip of your finger after the fact. You tossed it aside. They were cheap anyway.

With your hand that now adorned just three nails, you dug around in your bag until you found a pack of cigarettes. They weren’t yours. Another dancer, Bella de Ville, had asked you to hold onto them for the time being. She claimed she was trying to quit. You barely knew a thing about her, not even her last name, and you were the one standing between her and her addiction. It felt like a heavy weight to bear until you heard everyone laugh at the notion of her quitting cold turkey. Apparently, she had only asked you because anyone else would have simply given them back to her if she asked.

Surely, she wouldn’t care if one went missing.

You held the cigarette between your fingers, flicking the lighter until it sparked. You inhaled until you were holding back the cough that scratched at the back of your throat. You weren’t really a smoker, but the drama of having a smoke in a back alley sounded fitting. Even better would be if you had a hot bath and a nice bottle of red wine waiting for you at home, but you would have to make do with your shower that ran cold and a half-drunken bottle of sake that you were gifted.

The metal door slammed again, scaring you into releasing that nagging cough.

“A little early for a breather, don’t you think? You just got here.”

You looked up from your hacking to see Eren, the bartender. A rather nosy one, at that, and the guy who always gave you more whiskey than sour mix. An extra cherry, too. He was a frequent user of the ‘needing a breather’ excuse and was almost out here as much as you were. Almost.

You tapped your cigarette against the arm of your chair to ash it. “Are you watching me?”

He flashed you a smile before joining you at the bottom of the steps. Eren hadn’t known you very long, but he still seemed to know the remark was your attempt at a joke. He threw in a chuckle and grabbed the folding chair beside you. He sat backward, like he thought he was cool or something.

No, there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that Eren thought he was cool. Even down to the way he styled his hair—always tied back in a bun. It was the type of hairstyle that said, ‘I’ve been working all day, but I definitely fixed it up at least twice.’ You know, the meticulously messy vibe.

You wanted to say it was lame, but it did something for you.

Eren gestured at the pack of cigarettes, flexing his fingers so you would hand them over. “Mikasa trying to quit again?”

Mikasa was Bella’s real name. It was hard to keep up. Everyone went back and forth, never settling on which name to use. You still didn’t feel comfortable using anyone’s real name just yet; you only knew them by their performances.

You lightly tossed the box to him. “How did you know?”

Eren was quick to retrieve a cigarette and place it between his lips. “You don’t really strike me as an American Spirit kind of girl. Or any cigarette, for that matter.”

You felt your eyebrows knit together as you tried to dissect the meaning of his observation. You didn’t notice he was waiting for you to fork over the lighter until he had already grown tired of acting patient. He reached for the edge of your chair and with nothing more than a tug, you and your chair skittered across the pavement until your knee bumped into his. He then snatched the lighter from your lap.

You were stubborn, almost to a fault, and his boldness only played into your nature. You took another drag and tried not to cough just to prove him wrong.

“Don’t you have a job or something?” you pressed.

“Don’t you?” Two could play at that game. He started to light the cigarette, cupping his hand around the flame to spare it from the cold breeze.

“I’m supposed to. They sent me home.”

As you finished your sentence, you heard Bonnie Tyler’s beltings of Total Eclipse of the Heart from inside. Portia must have been really feeling herself tonight, huh? You snorted, but your hands still dropped between your legs defeatedly, your cigarette continuing to burn and crumble to the ground with you only pretending to smoke it.

“Again? Bummer,” Eren said.

You ignored how his green eyes darted from your face, past your coat, and to your cleavage. Quick enough that if you commented on it, he would say he was looking at the bow just below. Honestly, he probably only found the situation to be a bummer because it meant you didn’t get the chance to give him a show.

You took it as a compliment.

“What’s your excuse?” you asked.

“Connie’s got the bar covered.”

Your first laugh of the day escaped you, one of both shock and amusement. “You left the bar to Connie? He’s just a barback.”

Where should one begin with Connie? He was fine. Harmless enough. You liked that he broke up the monotony of the job, and you were never one to think that burlesque could be monotonous. But with Jean and Levi, it felt like everyone had a stick up their ass at all times.

But not Connie. He was a fumbling, bumbling idiot—and in the best way. You had only had a conversation or two with him, but his voice carried well enough that you could hear him from any corner of the club and know he was clever enough to never miss a joke. He was always one for childish antics, and it made you wonder how he could manage to tend a bar on his own.

“Hey, give the guy some credit. He needs to learn eventually,” Eren said.

“Is trial by fire really the best way to go about it?”

“I’ll let you know when I see how many glasses are broken.”

You laughed again. It surprised you because it was the type of laugh that shook your shoulders and somehow made you feel not as bad.

“Levi’s going to kill you,” you said, this time with an unfitting smile.

“Like I haven’t heard that before.” Eren proudly held his arms out on either side of him. “But I’m still here, aren’t I?”

You shook your head with a chuckle. The chuckle grew when you watched him lean back in his seat (you know, like he thought he was cool) only to realize he was still sitting in reverse. He floundered, catching himself just in time before his chair could tip back.

“Real smooth.”

“Fuck off,” he laughed.

He was still just as close to you, your knees just barely touching because neither of you had moved away for some reason. So close that you couldn’t react in time before he stole your captain’s cap. He plopped it onto his head, risking screwing up his meticulously messy hair, and looked pleased with himself.

Your eyes trailed over him, from the cap that caught the light just right to the winter blush that kissed the tip of his nose.

“I think the rhinestones suit you,” you said and, for once, you couldn't fight off your smile.

He hummed as he took a long drag from his cigarette. “So I’ve been told.”

* * *

You didn’t realize it back then, but it was these little breathers that carved the foundation of your relationship with Eren. It set the stage for what was to come, and boy, would it be a show.

Eren was easy enough to talk to—enough that you could chalk him up as the second employee of Wicked Sisters that didn’t have a stick up their ass. But you knew that already. Still, saying that was less painful than acknowledging the truth: that maybe you had a crush on him. Just a little one.

You found yourself seeking out the alley and its ugly lawn chairs more often, even if it meant forgoing a bathroom break. And once you finally felt daring enough, you skipped the alleyway altogether and met him at the bar.

It only took a couple of weeks before he would already have a whiskey sour (with two cherries) ready for you by the end of the night.

“Maybe you should change your name. That could help.”

Eren offered the suggestion to you one night while he wiped down the bar. The very last of the patrons had left, meaning it must have been just after two o’clock in the morning. You didn’t think much of the time. You liked to stay past close, whether it be for Eren or just because it beat the alternative: going home at nine because you still couldn’t snag a performance.

Three weeks. It had been three fucking weeks, and the only time you had been on stage was because Levi wanted it mopped. At this point, you were just downright offended. And here Eren was, suggesting that it was your stage name that was the problem?

You could tell you were getting moody again. You were four—maybe five—drinks deep for the night so it was easy to get caught up in your feelings.

You sat at the bar, your cheek smushed up against your hand with your elbow resting on the counter. Your other hand was busy twirling around the cocktail straw in your drink. You pretended he didn’t make the comment and continued on with a conversation of your own.

“I don’t think I want whiskey sours anymore,” you said. You immediately counteracted it by taking a sip. “They’re too sweet. Maybe a whiskey ginger would be better.”

“Lift,” Eren said. You mindlessly obeyed and raised your elbow just high enough for him to slide the wet rag underneath. He seemed to be ignoring you just the same. It was a taste of your own medicine, something he liked to do whenever you were dodgy on a subject.

“Nothing to say?” you playfully asked. You leaned forward onto the bar, closer to him, resting your chin in your hand. “Here I was thinking you’d make a joke about how I’m sweet enough already.”

He huffed through his nose. “Definitely not because I don’t think you’re all that sweet to begin with.” You jutted your bottom lip out in protest but it didn’t seem to phase him. “Listen, anything’s gotta be better than spending your nights here doing nothing but drinking whiskey sours—”

“Gingers,” you corrected.

“Whatever. You’re gonna give yourself a serious case of acid reflux,” he said. He set the rag aside, then folded his arms on the counter, leaning forward so he could look you in the eye. And when he did, he finally showed you a smile. “Also, you don’t tip.”

Before you could defend yourself and the resiliency of your esophagus, you were interrupted by a voice singing out from behind you.

“Did somebody say ‘Ginger?’”

Right then, Ginger waltzed her way over to you. She was entirely too perky for the hour, grinning excitedly with charcoal under eyes, smeared from a long night of acting like a painted clown.

She nearly crashed into the bar before jumping onto the stool just beside you. She spun around in her seat while she asked, “Whatcha guys talkin’ about?”

Some context might be useful here. The bubbly (no pun intended) woman sitting next to you was Ginger Ale. Her actual name was Sasha. When she first told you her stage name, you almost didn’t believe her. Only once you realized she was multi-talented, combining stand-up comedy and burlesque, did the name make sense.

For further context: Ginger was your true introduction to comedy burlesque. You thought you had seen it before back at home, but no one seemed to do it quite like her. Everyone you knew before was too afraid to look dumb, but she didn't seem to care about that. At the very least, you weren’t expecting to meet her when she was dressed as a pin-up version of Linda Belcher from Bob’s Burgers, let alone right after her performance that involved actual burgers. By the end of the show, you were only left surprised that she didn’t think to wear pickle slices as nipple pasties.

God, Levi hated it. Eren ended up hating it, too, because Levi forced him to stay late and clean up—further explaining why you had already mopped the stage. You couldn’t get the smell of mustard out of your nose for a full day.

But people paid to see her, and that was more than you could say about yourself. Three fucking weeks and still no performance. Ridiculous.

“We’re coming up with her new stage name,” Eren said, gesturing the glass he was drying in your direction.

“We? I don’t remember agreeing to this. My name’s just fine,” you defended.

“It couldn’t hurt,” Sasha said. Her tone was too blunt for your liking, and you couldn’t help but grimace. She innocently held her palms up in surrender. “Just an idea.”

Eren continued to towel dry some glasses, looking more and more pensive as he went. Eventually, he asked, “What’s that game people use to come up with porn star names?”

Sasha snapped her fingers once she remembered. “It’s the name of your first pet and the street you grew up on.”

They both turned to you, filled with a sense of excitement as though they had stumbled upon a winning lottery ticket. Surely, this must be the answer to what you were looking for. They were only met with your sour expression.

“I don’t need a porn star name,” you said. Womp, womp.

Eren stuck his hand in the sink and flicked some water at you. “C’mon, just answer the question!”

You winced at the splash against your face. This was your cue to return the favor and throw your straw at him, but after four—no, definitely five—drinks, you reluctantly gave in.

“Fine, fine. But I’m telling you, it won’t work.” You thought back just to confirm your answer before quietly admitting, “Gary Briarwood.”

Sasha tilted her head to the side with confusion, her ponytail cutely flopping to one side. “Why did you have a dog named Gary?”

Eren sucked his lips between his teeth to stifle his laughter. And this was why you didn’t want to play this stupid game. That, and you weren’t a porn star.

“He was a cat, and I don’t know. I liked SpongeBob,” you said. They both looked even more stumped than before. “You know, the snail.”

Eren could no longer contain his laughter. When it spilled from him, he tossed his head back and everything. You would have found it endearing if it wasn’t at your expense. Even Sasha was giggling a bit now.

You crossed your arms over your chest. “I told you it wouldn’t work.”

“Okay, okay,” Sasha said once her cackling had quieted. “What was your second pet’s name?”

“Max.”

“How original,” Eren quipped. You made a face at him.

“Wait, that could work,” Sasha thought aloud. She held her hands up like she was reading from a stage sign. “Maxine. Live at Wicked Sisters.”

“Maxine?” you repeated.

“Totally!” She sounded even more enthusiastic than before.

“What about a last name?”

“Don’t need it,” Sasha assured. “That’s way cooler, anyway.”

You let out a final sigh, letting them know they had won this silly battle. You held onto your only shred of dignity by not admitting that you did like the ring of it.

“Okay, but only if you think it would help. But you have to tell Levi. He’s going to blow a gasket when he has to reprint flyers,” you said.

“Then it’s settled. My work here is done,” Eren said, wiping his hands together as if he had accomplished some magnificent feat. “Except I’m gonna call you Gary from now on.”

You grabbed that dirty rag from off the counter and threw it at his proud head. “You better not!”

* * *

And that was how Maxine came to be. Live and in the flesh. But let’s flash to the present. Close to two years since you were first hired at Wicked Sisters. Just under two years since you had your first performance. It took a full month until that happened, by the way. And yes, you were still bitter about it.

Some things were the same. Too much alcohol still made you sulky and contemplative. Your go-to was, as always, a whiskey ginger. Only because Sasha had told once you ginger was good for you, even in ale form, and you wanted to believe her though she was merely being cheeky about it.

But things were different, too. That was for sure.

Where to begin? For starters, you actually had a consistent performance schedule. You were working four nights a week, even five if you needed the extra cash and asked nicely enough.

Take that, Portia.

That was the second big change: Levi was much more lenient with you now. He let you pick up extra shows here and there, and you were always the stand-in whenever someone sprained an ankle or was too drunk to perform.

Once Levi realized you were drawing in an audience—most likely because you were the only performer there with formal dance training—he let the reins loose. Well, as much as a stick-up-his-ass man possibly could. He even talked to you sometimes and remembered to leave the growl out of his voice. You once made a witty remark about how he should have trusted you with the show from the beginning, but he didn’t find it to be as amusing as you did.

Now, you were able to get away with just about anything so long as it continued to line Erwin’s and Levi’s pockets. But you couldn’t complain because it only lined your pockets, too.

For the first time, you had the freedom to have fun with your job. Who would have thought? You discovered that the more outlandish a performance, the more people wanted to see it. And the more that people wanted to see it, the higher you could raise your rate—something you couldn’t get away with in that measly hometown of yours.

You were finally getting your hands on those sweaty dollar bills, stuffing your thongs so full of them that you thought the elastic would snap.

So, yeah. All things considered, life was good. Great, actually. Maybe for the first time ever.

Besides the fact that you had finally dumped Eren.

Next Chapter

#eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader

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