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#I like how I kept the tail accents a solid color
fibcnaccii · 1 year
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comin' in hot -- !! :
Being turned into a mutant was…something. She can’t deny the perks that it brought, but there were so many downsides. Including the need to change her whole lifestyle around the night time, for the sake of either being mistaken as some weird cosplayer or just hiding in the shadows.
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Well, at least she still found the chance to sneak into 24h stores to buy food and drive her bike through the now not-so-busy streets of NY. And she would be lying if she didn’t enjoy the chance of just speeding on the main street when there was not much to worry about, to feel the wind in her hair and let her tail free and bright under the moonlight. And that’s what she did, packed up with groceries and letting herself feel free with Quinn (her bike). She even allowed herself to close her eyes even for a split second. Irresponsible, but how she could resist? It’s not like there would be a risk at this time of the night. Well, she was quickly proven wrong. The alarming noise of screams quickly approaching her made her eyes snap open in panic, pulling the breaks harshly, the noise echoing through the quiet street before she gets hit by a- FLYING MAN?? How-?! Well, f**k! New York…What a town!! Gwen didn’t have much time as both approached each other at full speed. His body hit hers and her bike kept moving, the crashing sound in the distance made her heart sink. Hopefully, she’d not get too injured so that she could beat the idiot to a pulp. WHO THE F**K  FLIES A DRONE, IN THE WRONG LANE, IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT?!
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Yet all that came out of her was a quick gasp and squeal as her body met the pavement along with a heavy stranger on top of her. Everything hurt, but she was at least alive…and apparently, nothing was broken. Another positive point for being a mutant, she supposed. The skink groaned, hand reaching for her head as she tries to get up. Her eyes open to see…Another mutant. “What the hell, mate?!” It’s all her brain could muster to speak at the moment, a thick accent coming through instantly.  ───
@fibcnaccii
" Mayday, Mayday, MAYDAY! GOING DOWN -- AAAAAH, INCOMIIIING !!! " He bellows, managing to pull up with only a few shallow seconds separating his current state of matter from a smear on the pavement. But the relief is short lived as the narrow save redirects him into -- well, it's honestly a sea of blue and black to him at his current speed. All he knows is it's solid, and therefore it hurts when he collides with it. At least his rockets give out in response to the collision - thank Gallileo he'd installed that impact-response protocol.
His form tangles up with the other one - it is another person now, he can tell from the feel of blunt knees and sharp elbows in his ribs and back as they tumble akimbo across the street - and they land up against the brick wall at the mouth of an alleyway in a mangled heap. All he can manage at first is a weary groan as he gathers his bearings and shifts his bruised and battered limbs in an effort to simultaneously untangle himself from the unfortunate person he'd dive-bombed, and ascertain the current state of his injuries; as far as he could tell, nothing broken. But the same remained to be seen as far as his tech went. He wouldn't be able to tell how badly it was damaged until he'd hauled it back to the lab for a diagnostic. He was definitely going to have a splitting headache later - or sooner, rather than later, in lieu of the fact that there was someone with a thick accent screaming about five inches from his ear.
Oh - that was right. He'd hit someone. Struggling into a seated position with his back up against the damp brick of the alley wall, Donatello winced as he moved to peel the bi-colored goggles from his eyes and rake them back up onto his head. Normally he wasn't very apt to admit he'd done anything wrong, but in the case of a completely innocent bystander -- " -- sorry! . . . and ow. - My bad. The rocket protocol should not have engaged like that. I must've miscoded when I programmed the -- " But whatever he'd been about to say died on his tongue when he finally looked up into the visage of his unfortunate impromptu dance partner in the crash-test dummy tango.
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" - hey, wait! " He exclaimed, taking in the other's appearance with obvious fascination. " - you're a mutant! A -- some sort of reptile? Family Scincidae, judging by the scales -- a blue-tailed? Cryptoblepharus egeriae. " He guessed aloud, speaking more to himself than to the other at this point - and evidently forgetting entirely about the fact that he'd just taken them out with an anthropomorphic turtle-missile.
@askbluetaildevil
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luna-spacedoodles · 3 years
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[ID: A digital painting of Ranboo cut off at the bust, he is in front of a waterfall. He is staring off camera with a delighted expression and a closed mouth, his two tails intertwine and stand up with him. The tails are long and feather-like, with solid color accents in red and green. /End ID]
here, have a ranboo painting i’ve been meaning 2 finish that’s ironically in front of a waterfall bc I couldn’t think of a background lol
(REBLOGS > LIKES!! Likes don’t do shit for my art!!)
@jackstanifold​
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criminalmindzjunkie · 3 years
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I Carry Your Heart With Me (Part One)
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Summary: Spencer and the reader are reunited for the first time in fifteen years. 
A/N: Very excited to get the ball rolling on this one. I hope you all enjoy it! Message me if you would like to be added to the taglist.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Content Warnings: swearing
Word Count: 4.5k
“I cannot believe you talked me into this,” Damien mutters from the passenger seat, his icy blue eyes wide with fright. He pulls his gaze away just long enough to point at a lone cow grazing to the left of the road. “Look! That cow is just like… standing there. No fence around him or anything. What’s stopping him from stampeding into us the second we get out of this car?”
Damien sounds so genuinely horrified that you almost feel bad for laughing. Almost.
“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem, Dee. Besides, that cow didn’t even look up when we drove past. We’re not even on its radar.”
“Oh, yeah? Ever heard of a little thing called mad cow disease?” Damien persists, in typical dramatic flair. You roll your eyes at him and he curses underneath his breath. “You know, when I agreed to go with you to this wedding, I pictured something more akin to a five-star resort with a minibar and a heated pool. Not rogue livestock and shitty cellphone reception.”
“You didn’t agree to anything – you practically begged me to take you with me.”
Damien waves his hand, dismissive, his eyes still roaming over the pasture. “Because I wanted an excuse to take a week off work. This is not the controlled environment I expected.”  
“If you don’t quit complaining, I won’t hesitate to push you out of the car and leave you here with the cow,” you retort. In your periphery you’re able to make out Damien raising his middle finger to you. Rude.
You chuckle and fix your attention back on the dirt road. You’re driving almost painfully slowly, because the very idea of having to pay extra for damages to this already astronomically expensive rental car makes you feel nauseated. Despite your efforts, the car is covered entirely in dust. Its once pristine, white paint job has transformed into a muddy color.
There goes my deposit.
You shake your head at the thought. You had more pressing matters to concern yourself with; i.e., the fact that you were approximately five minutes away from coming face to face with the one person you swore you’d never speak to again. Two months seemed like ample time to prepare yourself in theory, but now that it is no longer some far-off thing, you know that your attempts at preparing yourself were in vain. With each day you crossed off the calendar leading to your departure date, your anxiety grew and grew until you worried your poor heart would give out under the stress. Getting onto the plane bound for Montana felt like the proverbial nail in the coffin, and a hefty dose of Dramamine was the only thing that kept you from spiraling as the plane ascended into the air. You slept through the entirety of the trip and, much to Damien’s chagrin, there is a sizeable puddle of drool on his left shoulder to prove it.
The lengthy nap helped. The tight band constricting your chest had loosened, and you pulled out onto the highway feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. You had Damien by your side and five vacation days to enjoy. Your best friend was getting married to the love of her life, and you were hellbent on standing by her side through it all. Spencer Reid can kiss your ass, as far as you are concerned. No way is he going to ruin this for you.
You are still very much clinging your take-no-shit mentality when you breach a hill and the ranch comes into view, effectively expelling every single positive thought from your head. Aforementioned anxiety reappears in full-force and you stomp down on the breaks.
“Fuck, I don’t think I can do this,” you squeak out, casting a look at Damien, whose eyes are trained on the sprawling expanse of the house ahead of you. “We can still turn around – no, we should turn around. There is no version of this that won’t end in me getting embarrassingly drunk and crying in front of everyone. I’m turning around.”
Damien’s hand on yours, strong and steady, is the only thing that keeps you from whipping the car around and retreating with your tail between your legs. His fingers pry your white knuckled grip off of the wheel slowly, his thumb rubbing reassuring circles across your skin. Its sweet and so overwhelmingly gentle that you’re a bit stunned. You glance at him in a silent question, as if to ask who are you, and what have you done with my friend?
He gets the message loud and clear, because of course he does. Damien fixes you with a smile, grip tightening on your hand.
“I’ve seen you hold your own against some of the biggest names in journalism on an almost daily basis – looking damn sexy while you do it, might I add,” Damien chuckles, and you can’t help but give a weak laugh of your own. Damien’s smile grows at this, and he continues, “If you can handle your business against those conniving pricks, I’ve no doubt that you can tough it out for this. You’re not the type of woman that lets some guy dictate what she does or doesn’t do. And you sure as hell aren’t the type of woman that would let some guy rob her of the opportunity to stand by her best friend on the most important day of her life. As the person who probably knows you better than anyone else on the planet, my opinion of you is pretty rock-solid, if I do say so myself. So, unless I’ve completely overestimated the extent of your badassery, I suggest you rethink that plan. What do you say?”
You avert your eyes and swallow against the lump in your throat.
“Spencer’s not just some guy. For a long time, I was convinced that he was the guy,” you whisper. The car is silent, save for the quiet crooning voice of George Michael flowing through the speakers. Damien squeezes your hand, prompting you to continue. You blink up at him with wet lashes, lips pulled into a sad smile. “Have you ever been in love?”
Damien shakes his head and rubs his thumb along the top of your hand. “I can’t say that I have, babe. Haven’t been that lucky.”
You let out a shaky breath and bring your other hand up to wipe at your eyes.
“Maybe you’re better off. I’ve only been in love once,” you gesture to your pitiful appearance and choke out a wet laugh. “Look where that got me. He fucking crushed me, and fifteen years later I’m still broken up about it. It’s pathetic.”
Damien frowns and shifts in his seat so that he’s fully facing you.
“I don’t want to hear you say that self-deprecating shit again. You were hurt by someone you gave your heart to, and I can only imagine how devastating that must feel. Being upset about seeing him again does not make you pathetic. The fact that you’re here, about to spend a week with the guy just so you can be there for Cassidy, is pretty damn admirable as far as I’m concerned.” Damien ends his monologue by pulling you into a tight hug, and you couldn’t be more thankful that he’d come with you. Not only was he a secret sweetheart, he also gave the very best hugs.
By the time he releases you, the tension in your chest has eased significantly. You nod once, and Damien’s rewards you with a smile.
“I am pretty cool, aren’t I?”
Damien snorts rather unattractively and rolls his eyes.
“I take back everything. You suck, and I don’t know why I bother with you, you narcissist.”
Now that the mood has lifted significantly, you reluctantly press your foot against the gas pedal.
“Too late. No takesies backsies,” you singsong. “You think I’m sexy and badass, and I’m never going to let you forget it.”
Damien mutters something undoubtably snarky underneath his breath, but it’s drowned out by the sound of gravel crunching underneath the tires. That, and the sound of your blood roaring in your ears as you inch further down the driveway.
The house, a beautiful log cabin with stone accents along the underside, is massive. Standing at two stories tall with a large wraparound porch and more than a dozen large windows, it’s a far cry from the modest little cabin in the mountains that Cassidy had made it out to be. Even Damien is slack jawed at the sight of it, sitting pretty against a back drop of rolling mountains, and you can’t help but feel a little smug.
“Still want to complain about that five-star resort?”
Damien shakes his head dazedly, “I retract my earlier complaint.”
All too soon, you roll to a stop and put the car in park. Several other cars are parked haphazardly in the grass around you, and that annoying voice inside your head wonders which one belongs to Spencer. It’s not that you care – you totally don’t – it’s just that you are kind of hoping that he hasn’t arrived yet. A few hours to acclimate to the environment before having to deal with him would be nice.
“You’ve got this, babe,” Damien murmurs. “And I’ll be with you the whole time, just in case you need a reminder.”
You flash Damien a nervous smile.
“You’re a really good friend, Dee. I’m really glad that you’re here,” you say, before narrowing your eyes at him. “If you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it.”
Damien snorts and pushes open the door.
“Get your sassy ass out of the car. I’m ready to mingle.”
As soon as you set foot on the porch, the front door flies open and a flash of curly red hair precedes a collision that nearly sends you flying back into the railing. Ecstatic squeals rip through the otherwise serene evening air and two boney arms envelop you into a tight hug.
“I cannot believe you’re actually here,” Cassidy laughs as she squeezes you tight. Her enthusiasm has you joining in, the two of you laughing happily and pulling back to examine one another. Cassidy places a sloppy kiss to both of your cheeks before throwing an arm over your shoulder. “I fully expected you to just blow off the whole thing, if I’m being honest.”
You cast at Damien, who’s watching on with an amused grin on his face.
“Believe me, she tried.”
Cassidy turns her attention to Damien and extends her free hand.
“I take it you’re the infamous Damien that I’ve been trading emails with?”
Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion, “Wait, what? The two of you have been emailing?”
Damien accepts Cassidy’s hand and gives it a firm shake, all while smiling smugly.
“Yep. Me and Ms. Cassidy go way back.”
“I mean, that’s cool, I guess, but why?”
Cassidy and Damien share a look, both of them shrugging.
“Mainly to talk about you,” Cassidy admits, not even bothering to look apologetic. When you frown up at her she waves her hand dismissively at you. “All good things, I promise. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” Cassidy punctuates her words with a patronizing pat on your shoulder.
“I knew letting you two meet was a bad idea,” you grumble.
Cassidy simply drops her arms from its place on your shoulder in favor of tugging on your hand.
“Come on, sour puss. I want you to meet my husband. He’s a real sweetie – you’re gonna love him.”
A flash of white-hot panic shoots down your spine and you dig your heels into the floor.
“Wait,” you squeak out, eyes wide. “Is… Is he here yet?”
Cassidy’s eyes shine mischievously, briefly flitting up to Damien before returning to you.
“He is. And you’ll be happy to know that pictures do not do the Good Doctor any justice.”
Salt, meet wound.
“Don’t know why you’re telling me that,” you mutter.
“Denial is not just a river in Egypt, my friend,” Cassidy singsongs as she begins tugging you forward. For someone so tiny, she makes easy work of forcing you through the threshold.
The foyer is just as impressive as you expect it to be – beautiful cedar walls and a grand staircase that leads to the second floor. If you weren’t horribly on edge at the current moment, you would definitely comment on the fact that the foyer alone is probably larger than your entire apartment, but you’re too busy scanning the immediate area for tall skinny white guys with stupidly curly brown hair to comment on the grandiosity.
Cassidy leads the two of you to double doors to the right, and just as she’s about to push them open, the shrill ring of your cellphone offers you an out.
You slip your hand from Cassidy’s grip and give her a faux apologetic look.
“I should probably take this – it might be work.”
Damien narrows his eyes at you. “I thought you left your work phone at home.”
You ignore him and begin taking a few steps backwards, “Is there somewhere private I can go?”
An indiscernible look flashes across Cassidy’s face and then her lips pull up into a sugary sweet smile. “Follow the hallway to the very end. Leads to the back porch,” she says. “No need to rush. Take all the time you need!”
Okay, weird, you think to yourself, but the idea of putting off the inevitable for a few extra moments is too tempting to pass up, so you continue your retreat. You make it to the back door in record time and let out a relieved breath as you bring the phone to your ear.
“Hi, mom.”
“Hi, baby. I was just calling to make sure the two of you got there safely.”
You push open the back door and the breathtaking view of the ranch prompts you to take pause; sprawling fields and rolling hills as far as the eye can see, grazing livestock congregating near a lazy stream at the far end of the property, and several horses running across the expanse of the left field. It was wonderfully serene and vastly different from the bustling rat-race that was New York.
You smile to yourself when a loud moo rips through the otherwise quiet ranch. I could get used to this.
“Yeah, we made it,” you murmur into the receiver. “You would love this place, Mom. It’s probably the prettiest place I’ve ever been. I’ll send you a picture when I hang up.”
“How’s Cassidy? Still a little spit-fire, I assume?”
You lean against the railing and let out a snort, “Oh, absolutely. Don’t think that’ll ever change.”
“I’d hope not,” your mother hums. “How does Damien like the ranch?”
“He’s not exactly a fan of the livestock,” you chuckle. “Damien’s never even seen a real cow before. City boy through and through, that one.”
You and your mother share a laugh that dissolves into a comfortable silence. Comfortable, until the telltale clearing of your mother’s throat warns you of the impending inquisition.
“So,” your mother begins. “Are you going to tell me how it went, or are you going to leave an old woman wondering? “
You sigh and run a hand through your hair. “Fortunately, I have yet to run into him. I may or may not be hiding out on the back porch as we speak in an attempt to avoid just that.”
“Y/N,” your mother chastises. “Prolonging the inevitable isn’t going to make this any easier.”
“I know, I know. I’ll go in there soon. It’s just a lot, you know? I needed to take a breather, first.” Just until my hands stop shaking. Or until Cassidy comes hunting for me. Whichever comes first.
“I know, baby,” your mother coos. “I’m proud of you for trying. Just don’t drag things out, okay? You’ll only make yourself sick with nerves.” Unfortunately, that ship has sailed. The rolling in your stomach can attest to that.
           You laugh a humorless laugh, “I don’t know, Mom. You always like to remind me how stubborn I am. I’m sure if I put my mind to it, I can just avoid him for the entire week.”
           A tiny movement at the very corner of your vision and a loud creak makes you whip your head around, and what you see has your heart falling to your ass.
Spencer Reid, looking absolutely stunning in a pair of khaki dress pants and a white cable-knit sweater, sits in a porch swing with wide eyes and a book clutched tightly in his hands. Soft, caramel-colored curls frame his face and a five o’clock shadow runs the length of his jaw, adding a bit of grown-up flare to his otherwise boyish features.
He looks every bit as beautiful as he did on the day he broke your heart.
--
Spencer knows that he should have spoken up as soon as you walked onto the porch. It was immediately obvious that you hadn’t seen him, and he swears he’s one second away from clearing his throat and launching into the introduction he’d been planning for the last sixty days. But the words die on his tongue as he drinks in the sight of you.
You’re so close to him for the first time in years and it’s more than a little bit dizzying. And yeah, he’s used his very limited knowledge of how the internet works to Google you on more than one occasion, but the version of you leaning against the porch railing is a far cry from the pixelized one. A light breeze rolling through the air lifts your hair away from your face, and Spencer’s breath catches in his throat as he surveys every perfect inch, from the curl of your lashes to the smattering of freckles on your nose. He indulges himself, eyes settling on your cherry red lips, fascinated by the way they move as you talk on the phone. Spencer is intimately familiar with those lips – can recall the way they felt pressed against his own. The years spent apart have done nothing to dull the memories. He’s not entirely sure if that’s a good or a bad thing.
It amazes him how you’ve somehow managed to change a lot, but also not at all. You stand before him as an oxymoron personified, and it’s a lot for Spencer’s poor heart to take in. Your hair is a bit lighter than he remembers, as well as a little longer, but it still looks just as soft and he can recall with startling clarity how it felt when he used to run his fingers through it. You have a few more laugh lines than you did, as well as a scar on your left elbow that hadn’t been there before, but everything else about you is so painfully familiar that Spencer could almost pretend that no time had passed – that he still knows your body as well as he once did.
Spencer knows this isn’t true. Every seven years, the body resets; old cells destroyed and replaced with new ones. You’ve both spent enough time apart that your bodies have reset twice over. You’re as much of a stranger to him as he is to you.
Spencer positively abhors the thought.
The sound of your laughter pulls him from the depths of his mind, and while the laugh isn’t warm or inviting in the slightest, he relishes it. What was once one of his favorite sounds has existed in his head as only a memory for far too long. Hearing it in person is jarring in the best of ways.  
The euphoria he feels dies a horrible death when you speak again.
“I don’t know, Mom. You always like to remind me how stubborn I am. I’m sure if I put my mind to it, I can just avoid him for the entire week.”
Fucking ouch.
Spencer cringes hard, too hard, because the porch swing screeches out an angry creak and you whip around and holy shit, have your eyes always been that entrancing?
He watches as your entire body goes rigid, tensed as if you’re about to bolt. You blink hard, eyebrows drawn together to form an adorably bewildered expression as you assess him. Spencer hopes he doesn’t look too disheveled. He hadn’t even thought to freshen up after his trip, an oversight that he’s regretting terribly as your eyes flit over him.
Spencer isn’t sure why, but he stands up. Maybe it has something to do with feeling vulnerable. Maybe he just wants to close the distance. The two steps he takes towards you support the latter. He’s thankful that you don’t move away, but the blank expression on your face worries him.
The two of you stand five feet apart, but you feel worlds away. Spencer refrains from speaking for as long as he can stand, which is only about thirty seconds.
“Hi.”
Your lips part, and Spencer holds his breath.
“Hi.”
More silence. Spencer gulps.
“It’s good to see you,” he says, cautious. The last thing he wants to do is fuck up within the first five minutes. Unfortunately, his brain and his mouth seem to have some sort of disconnect, and Spencer continues against his better judgment. “It’s been a while.”
It’s been a while? That’s seriously the best I can come up with?
Spencer contemplates drowning himself in the nearby stream.
“It certainly has.”
“Five-thousand, five-hundred and seventeen days.” And roughly thirty-six and a half hours, but who’s counting?
Muted noises flow out of your phone speaker and you pull your eyes away from Spencer. He’s both relieved and devastated.
“Yeah, Mom, I’m fine. I just ran into someone. I’ll call you back later, okay?”
Spencer agonizes over the fact that he’s been reduced to someone while you and your mother exchange goodbyes. You’re smiling when you look up at him again, but Spencer’s seen what a genuine smile of yours looks like, and this isn’t it.
“I didn’t see you sitting there. My apologies.” Your formality makes the situation all the more excruciating.
Spencer lets out a nervous laugh, “I suppose avoiding me is out of the question now, huh?”
It’s hard to tell who’s more horrified by the words that tumble from his mouth, you or Spencer. A fierce flush spreads across your cheeks. It’s the first crack in your otherwise calm and collected exterior thus far and Spencer relishes in it. Maybe you’re not as unaffected by him as you seem.
“I… I’m sorry you had to hear that,” you stammer, blinking up at him with guilty eyes. “That wasn’t very kind of me.”
“Don’t worry about it. I can’t say that I’m undeserving of your anger,” Spencer whispers so quietly that he worries you don’t hear him over the gentle flow of the stream. The hardness that returns to your eyes lets him know that you heard every word.
You clear your throat, signaling your unwillingness to discuss that particularly painful topic. “You’re still partial to Cummings, I see.” You gesture to the book clutched tightly against his chest.
Now, it’s Spencer’s turn to blush. The book in his hands, tattered and worn from years of use, is incriminating. The two of you both know what lies just beneath the binding. The fact that Spencer has it with him now makes him think that he might as well be wearing a t-shirt that reads, I’M STILL NOT OVER YOU.
Spencer raises a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. Old habits die hard, I guess.” His eyes scour your face for a sign of anything that might clue him in to you feeling the same way. A flicker of something dances across your face, but it’s gone so quickly that he can’t be sure if he imagined it. He forces a nervous smile. “If I remember correctly, he was your favorite.” It’s a shitty attempt at a joke.
You exhale a shaky breath and to his absolute horror, your lower lip begins to wobble. He wishes he could reach up and pluck his words from where they hang heavy in the air.
“Not anymore,” you murmur, and fuck if that doesn’t absolutely wreck him.
Spencer shouldn’t ask, but he can’t help himself. “Oh. Why not?”
He holds his breath, anxiously anticipating your next words. You seem to be battling with yourself, mouth opening and closing several times. Spencer is content to wait as long as it takes for you to answer, but the universe is much more impatient than he.
The door leading onto the porch swings open and out walks an honest to God Abercrombie and Fitch model. Or at least, a man who meets the qualifications and then some. Long, flowing blonde hair and a crisp white dress shirt makes Spencer’s unruly brown mop and dumpy sweater look pitiful in comparison. Spencer frowns.
“Sweetheart, you’ve been out here for like ten minutes,” the man chastises as he closes the distance between you and him. Spencer watches him wrap his arm around your shoulders and pull you to him like someone might watch a car wreck happen; with equal parts horror and morbid curiosity. “You can’t hide out forever.”
All traces of rigidity leave your body and you melt into the man’s side. It happens in such a way that screams familiarity, as if the pet name hadn’t already driven that point home. The awful, gut-wrenching realization slams home and Spencer has to fight to keep his knees from buckling.
“Uh, sorry,” you mumble, before nodding your head in Spencer’s direction. “Damien, this is Spencer Reid.”
The man’s – Damien’s - eyes go almost comically wide as they settle on Spencer’s dejected frame, before schooling into a cool indifference. He offers him a polite smile that’s a little tight around the edges, but doesn’t outstretch his hand.
“Ah, Spencer. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Spencer swallows hard to keep himself from barking out a crazed laugh. He’s heard of me! That’s certainly something, considering the fact that no one thought it necessary to tell Spencer that you have a –
Spencer’s eyes dart down to your left hand. Thankfully, mercifully, your ring finger is bare.
“Uh, y-yeah. It’s nice to meet you.” The words burn as they roll off his tongue.
Damien nods at him before turning back to you. There’s an unmistakable fondness in the way he looks at you as he speaks. “Cassidy wants everyone back inside. They’re about to serve dinner.”
You smile up at him, not even casting a parting glance at Spencer before Damien leads you back inside. Spencer stands there long after the door closes behind the two of you.
The book feels heavy in his hands.
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a-libra-writes · 4 years
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Queens - Daenerys x Dragon Owner!Reader
this was a request! finally got it finished whoop whoop. I took a lot of liberties, sorry about that~ 😅
Summary: Daenerys meets a strange woman who has far more in common with her than most.
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Daenerys thought she would feel something. She thought she’d hear something, at least. Instead, there was a yawning opening of a cave, completely silent and dark. Just stepping in a few paces, she could feel the temperature drop in spite of the broad daylight outside. 
The sound of Jorah’s armor was close to her. She could hear the knight’s worry without even looking at him. “Khaleesi, we can’t be sure it isn’t a trap.”
It would be the boldest trap she’d ever heard of. While word was beginning to spread about the Mother of Dragons and her three children, each story more exaggerated than the next, it was odd that this particular rumor was kept so quiet until now. She could scarcely believe it, but here she was, wishing it was true.
People said all sorts of absolutes - There are no more dragons, there is no magic, there is no khalasar led by a khaleesi - yet, hadn’t she seen the contrary? The more Daenerys heard absolutes, the less she believed them.
So here she stood, at the entrance of the supposed location of another dragon, and the person who hatched it. A bold rumor, but weren’t the things they said about her even bolder?
It wouldn’t take long to investigate, and Daenerys tried to hide the anticipation pulling at her. She insisted on going herself, throwing some excuse out, in lieu of sending her bloodriders or Jorah. She left the safety of Qarth for just a day to see this for herself. 
Daenerys walked into the coldness, her strongest child on her shoulder. Drogon’s lack of fear gave her courage. If anything, he smelled the damp cave air in curiosity. Would he smell the dragon first? 
The cave floor was mostly solid beneath her feet, with a few patches of spongy spots here and there. Her eyes began to adjust to the darkness, and several feet behind her, Ser Jorah was holding a torch. Dark as it was, the light reflected slightly off small piles of bones. Daenerys stopped at one of them and looked at it carefully. Drogon hopped off her shoulder to do his own investigation. The bones were charred black, and brittle. The small dragon happily took one in his mouth and gnawed at it, snapping it into fragments.
“Goat and sheep, it seems,” Jorah said, nudging one of the bigger bones with his foot. “The way it’s broken up, it wasn’t consumed by humans.”
“Nor scorched by them.” The bones still carried the faint and familiar smell of fire. It encouraged her rather than frightened her. “Let’s press on.”
They came to a narrow passageway that opened to a large cavern. Here there were small, makeshift torches and a little burning brazier on the floor. Daenerys squinted her eyes to make out the shapes in the shadows. There were bundles of blankets neatly laid about, some bowls and urns, even a small chest that gleamed with some kind of metal. 
She was studying so carefully that Drogo’s sudden movement startled her. The dragonling returned to her shoulder, pressing his talons into her shoulder almost too tightly. His small growl, mighty as he thought it was, only echoed slightly off the wall.
She saw what he was upset with. A form emerged from the shadows, a tall set of wings rising up from shoulder blades. Daenerys steeled herself until the form entered the light, looking more like a woman and less like a monster.
The wings sat at her shoulders, then the dragon’s head rose. Its golden scales glinted in the limited light, yet Daenerys could still see the red of its eyes. Her breath caught as she stared at it, a beautiful creature nearly the size of a dog, perched on the woman’s shoulders. Daenerys forgot about Drogon’s smaller talons pressing into her own skin.
The woman regarded her just the same. “How did you find me, khaleesi?”
The woman spoke with an accent Daenerys couldn’t place. She used the tongue of Valyria, although it was awkward in her pretty mouth. “You know who I am?”
“Most do. You do not hide.” 
“As you are?” Daenerys couldn’t believe the rumor was true. She had so many questions, but it was all coming in a jumble. “Why are you here in a place like this? Why aren’t you … For so long, the world thought dragons were gone.”
The woman said nothing at first. While she looked down, her dragon had yet to stop staring directly at Daenerys. “Magic could never be truly gone. People just don’t look hard enough.”
Drogon chirped at the gold dragon, whose response was a deeper and louder chirp. Daenerys watched it in awe, wondering if this is what others felt when they saw her’s. She marvelled at the little things, of course, but in front of her was what they would be, and they were still growing.
“You should go,” The woman said. Her voice had become hard. “You should leave here, khaleesi, and leave Qarth.”
How had she known? Daenerys thought, but a different question got to her lips. “Will you not come with me?”
“Why would I do such a thing?”
“The world believes dragons are dead. When mine are grown, I plan to take back what is mine - the throne my family was killed for. If you came with me -”
“No.” The woman said swiftly. “I know all about your ambitions, khaleesi. I won’t be a part of them.”
“They aren’t mere ambitions.” Daenerys felt her anger rising, and she understood what this woman was saying. “And what do you plan to do with that dragon? Hide away in this cave? What happens when he becomes older?”
The woman cast her eyes down again. She said, “That is not something to concern yourself with.”
Daenerys caught how she touched her dragon’s golden muzzle, and as the shadows danced, she noticed deep marks in the woman’s shoulders, the old stains on her dress. The khaleesi now realized it was dried blood, and the marks patterned into her shoulder and arms were scars.
Daenerys wouldn’t be dismissed so easily, but the woman was turning away from her. Even her golden dragon seemed to share her disinterest, and both the khaleesi and her dragon were left watching them disappear into the darkness. Daenerys realized there was more to the cave than she initially thought.
She stepped forward, but Jorah said, “We shouldn’t.”
The woman disappeared into the blackness of the cave, and only the meager little room and its low burning torches were left. Drogon restlessly flew from Daenerys’ shoulder and away from her, toward the mouth of the cave, where the open sky was awaiting him. 
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“Khaleesi, we’ve spotted it.”
The chair scratching across the floor echoed through the grand chamber, but Daenerys paid it no heed. She was close on Grey Worm’s tail as he added, “Quickly.”
He didn’t need to tell her twice. Daenerys nearly ran ahead of him as she came to the wide balcony of the grand pyramid. Against the brilliant blue sky, she saw it. Its scales glittered far more beautifully than any jewels that had been laid at her feet. Under the sun, it was radiant, just like her own. She couldn’t mistake that gold color.
It was as large as a small house now. If she were someone with poorer eyesight, or someone more ignorant, she could mistake the dragon for Viserion. However, her youngest mostly had scales of cream, and was not nearly so big. Not even Drogon was this size. 
“How long has it been here?” She asked impatiently.
“Only minutes. It came from the clouds.” Grey Worm said. “The people think it is your’s, khaleesi.”
That was for the better. It had been so many moons since she’d met that woman in the cave. Her eyes still haunted Daenerys, but more than that, her calm posture as her dragon dug its claws into her skin. Daenerys visited that cave several times before she left Qarth. Hadn’t the woman warned her about it? But where was she? Why did she hide herself, and her dragon, and for how long? 
She hated these unanswered questions. For a moment, Daenerys thought they’d never be answered -- what if that woman had died, and now her dragon roamed free?
No. The way she could control it, as young as it was … She must be here in Meereen.
“Have the streets searched.” Daenerys said. “I’ll have a description given to the Unsullied, even a picture painted, if that’s what they need. She must be here.”
The gold dragon had become a fleck in the sky, gone quickly as it came. Daenerys wondered if her own children had seen it, but they didn’t fly overhead. This was the time they spent hunting, anyway. They’d become more independent, and wouldn’t be back for hours. 
It was startling to see the woman in the brightness of her throne room, and not the darkness of the cave. Daenerys had replayed those quick moments over and over so much, she thought she’d memorized the woman’s face, but now she realized how much she missed to the shadows. 
The woman was far younger and prettier than she’d initially thought, and the light in her eyes made her look far less apprehensive. Her hair was done simply but neatly, and while she had a proper dress that was clean and well-fitted, it was just as simple. Her only fine accessory was a stylized broach that held the front of her dress together. Daenerys couldn’t make out the shape from where she sat.
“Khaleesi.” The woman gave a polite bow, not looking confident in the gesture. 
“There is no need to bow to me.” Daenerys decided as she said it. “Nor should we act so formal here. Will you speak to me in private?”
The woman hesitated a moment before nodding in agreement. She followed Daenerys to a more cozy and private meeting chambers, where all were called out, even Missandei. A young serving girl gave them a large pitcher of water and poured two cups before exiting.
Daenerys was buzzing with too much curiosity. She got straight to the point. “I’d like to have your name.”
“Y/N,” The woman said. 
She said it far more easily than Daenerys expected, given how … restrained she was in their first meeting. She hadn’t expected that name, either, but it fit. 
“Y/N.” Daenerys tested it out for herself. She looked at the broach and finally made out its shape: A circle of teeth carved like a dragon’s encircling some deep green rock. Perhaps it was an unpolished emerald. 
Y/N looked almost lost without the darkness to hide inside, but she still looked Daenerys in the eyes. “I told you to leave Qarth, and then you came to Meereen … With some roads in between.”
“You’ve been keeping track of me?”
“I don’t need to. All of Essos speaks of you now.” Y/N glanced aside, toward the window.
Daenerys followed her gaze, and she saw the faint glittering of the dragon’s wings in the sun. It must have been coming back. 
“Yet they don’t speak of you. There’s a fourth dragon in the world, and this is only the third time I’ve seen it.” Daenerys turned back to Y/N. “You can’t tell me you’ve spent all this time hiding in that cave. Where have you been? Where has your dragon been?”
“The same places as me,” Y/N said, a little twinkle of humor in her eyes. “Well, just higher up, I suppose.”
A silence passed between them, one that wasn’t entirely comfortable, but it wasn’t strained, either. Daenerys looked at the woman, she was closer than she’d even been before. She looked tired. With this closeness, Dany could see the partially faded scars running up her shoulders and around her arms. 
Y/N noticed her staring. “I can’t control it anymore.”
“... What do you mean? Has it tried to hurt you?”
“No, because I pick my battles. It’s grown too large and strong to keep close.” Y/N sighed and pushed her cup away from her. She’d hardly had any water. “This is why I came to see you, khaleesi. I was hoping to slip away from it, but it followed me all the same. I hope that hasn’t brought trouble.”
“It hasn’t. Why would it?”
Y/N’s eyes were lovely with the sun falling on them like this, especially as she tilted her head and let some of her hair brush across her scarred shoulders. Her eyes were much older than the rest of her. She’d been carrying this burden for years, and Daenerys had a feeling she’d only seen a small part of it. 
“One dragon is difficult enough, but you have three of them. It won’t be long before you lose your hold on them, khaleesi.”
“They’re my children,” Daenerys said firmly. “I’ve taught them and trained them since their birth. I know how to control them.”
“You know how to control children. Dangerous children, who will only become more powerful. One human can’t hope to --”
“I’m not one human,” Daenerys’ note isn’t harsh, but it is harder than what she used before. She squares her shoulders and sits upright, a proper Queen all respects. “I’m Daenerys Targaryen, and my ancestors rode dragons to conquer Westeros. I intend to do the same.”
Y/N was not subdued by this. Daenerys should’ve found the obstinate look in her eyes a challenge, a slight, but it was good to see something other than fatigue on the girl’s face and body. She merely nodded. “As you say, khaleesi.”
Five days later, a sobbing farmer dropped a burnt bundle at Daenerys’ feet. Swathes of cattle and sheep had been burnt and eaten whole before, but this was the first time she saw a little charred body. Her dragons didn’t even eat it all.
Y/N said nothing as the father’s body shook with anguish. She sighed deeply when he left, and that was all Daenerys needed to understand.
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At Daenerys’ request, Y/N stayed in a guest room. She almost seemed as though she’d refuse the request, and was more or less pushed in and ordered to rest. Her first day, she bathed herself quickly and slept for nearly twelve hours. Then she ate bits of the dinner that was brought to her, and went right to sleeping again.
Once she emerged from the chamber with a new dress, a proper meal and more sleep than she’d had in months, Y/N was radiant. The sun of Meereen seemed to favor her, as everything from her hair to skin shone when she walked the gardens of the Great Pyramid. She was most at peace here, a rare moment when her expression wasn’t cloudy and troubled. Y/N was loveliest like that.
Daenerys felt silly for watching her enjoy the gardens instead of talking to her. Y/N bowed her head as Dany came into her view. “Good morning, khaleesi.”
Daenerys had a sudden wish to hear her name from those lips, not her titles. She pushed the distracting thoughts aside. “I wanted to talk to you. Could I sit here?”
“Of course.” Y/N gave Daenerys room on the stone bench she was resting on. Her new dress was technically a single bolt of soft cloth wrapped around her body and secured in place with a pretty metal belt and fixings on her shoulders. They were a gilded gold, like her dragon’s scales. When Daenerys gifted it to the woman, she feigned that it was something she did for all guests. Privately, Daenerys hoped she liked it. Y/N wore it often, so she must have. That was a pleasant thought.
Y/N tilted her head in curiosity. That’s when Daenerys realized she hadn’t said anything further. “I’ve been thinking about the boy, the one … that was brought to me, and what you said to me. You didn’t want me to chain the dragons.”
“I still don’t,” Y/N’s smile fell just slightly. That disappointed Dany more than she thought it would. “Did something happen? Are you considering it again?”
“No,” Daenerys said quickly. “I was just thinking. You seemed to have experience with this. … I don’t know much about you. I wanted to learn more.”
Y/N’s smile may have left, but the blush on her cheeks was even better. Daenerys hadn’t expected it, nor did she expect the girl’s eyes to flutter down in modesty. 
Daenerys took Y/N’s hand in her own, and the warmth of it was kinder than the sunlight hitting her cheek. The gesture had surprised Y/N - she looked up with those pretty eyes, but she didn’t pull away. If anything, her cheeks looked even more pink. 
“I want to learn more about you,” Daernerys said, careful with her words in case any more would spill out. “You know about me, after all.”
The smile was back in full force, and it’s sweetness was almost too much. “I said I heard the rumors, khaleesi. If you wish to know me, then I’d like to know you better, too.” 
“It’s a deal.”
She squeezed the slightly calloused hand in her own, comforted by the way Y/N squeezed back. 
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She woke up feeling cold. Daenerys didn’t open her eyes, but she sleepily reached forward to confirm her suspicions. As luxurious as a feathered bed with silken covers was to Y/N, it was still other. Sometimes she struggled to settle in comfortably, especially when she was already kept up with her restlessness.
Daenerys sat up and rubbed her shoulders. A lazy night breeze drifted into the room, and she blinked through her sleepiness as she saw the outline of Y/N sitting at the open window. She’d thrown a robe on and curled herself up on the ledge, looking down at the still streets of Meereen.
“I’d think you’d be looking at the stars,” Daenerys said once she was at Y/N’s side. It was nearly a full moon, and a silvery light was washing over the two of them, like it was made just for them. Daenerys hadn’t had such silly thoughts for some time, but Y/N tended to bring them out in her. 
Y/N opened her arms and Daenerys comfortably rested against her, still tired. She patted the khaleesi’s long, curling hair, almost the same color of the moon itself. “I am very familiar with the stars. It’s the city that’s new to me.” 
Daenerys closed her eyes and took in Y/N’s scent, fresh from the bath they took hours ago, but the soap was giving away to her own natural scent and warmth. Her skin was smooth now, from months of enjoying the soaps and oils, and her face stopped looking so drawn and weary. She smiled more than ever, laughed even, but there were still nights like these. Y/N had spotted her dragon with Drogon that morning, and since then, she’d be withdrawn.
“They only grow stronger,” Y/N said. Her hand was running down Daenerys’ back now, and Dany shivered pleasantly. “I’m glad they’re fond of each other.”
Daenerys hummed her agreement. It just seemed right, their dragons joining together as a family. It made Daenerys feel like her bond with Y/N was stronger than most, something more binding than a marriage. A bonding of dragons, emphasizing the bond of their hearts.
In the few daydreams she allowed, she thought of this being stronger than any marriage, something more than a queen to stay at her side. They’d be the new Visenya and Rhaenys for Westeros, but without a king. They didn’t need one. 
Daenerys didn’t tell these fancies to Y/N. Not yet, anyway.
It was hard to stay tired with such things running through her head. Daenerys sat up and gave a proper kiss to her lover, whose lips she was already missing. The smile was back, so Daenerys kissed her neck. 
Y/N was ticklish, but she didn’t attempt to move Dany away. She just reclined further into the the cushioned window sill, and Dany gladly rested against her. She brushed her hands across Y/N’s shoulder and arm, across scars that were visible even in the moonlight. 
There were other marks besides those, ones that Y/N hid for years. Dany suspected she was the only person who had seen them. Burns and bites, covered by silken and linen dresses, proof that Y/N’s dragon had become too much for the cave they stayed in for too long.
I don’t begrudge my dragon for it, Y/N had said. I was the one trying to keep a bird in a mountain.
Those were the same words she used when the child’s body was dropped at Daenerys’ feet, more or less. She gently touched Dany’s arm. Khaleesi, please don’t. Don’t keep them somewhere without their sky, without the fresh air. 
All three of her dragons had come to be fond of Y/N, as well as they could be, because she understood. She may have only raised one, but she seemed to just know the other three. Rhaegal was especially fond of her, Viserion preferred her dragon, and Drogon was surprisingly steady around both. 
Daenerys sighed in contentment and nuzzled against Y/N’s neck, planting a few kisses there before she settled in. 
Y/N’s voice was full of sweet amusement. “Love, I cannot carry you back if you fall asleep.”
“You shouldn’t have moved.”
Her response was a chuckle and a kiss to her brow. Sleep was beginning to take Daenerys, aided by the complete comfort and affection she was bundled in. She was well and truly asleep when Y/N began stroking her hair again.
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The wind whipped harshly above them as a set of powerful wings flew above their heads. Y/N’s hair was tied back, but several strands still escaped from her braid as Rhaegal took flight. She watched him rejoin his brother in the cloudless sky. 
Daenerys was at her side, waiting for her. She didn’t have to ask anything. It had been a long time coming, but Y/N was ready. She’d made her peace with it, and she’d walk forward with no fear or regrets. 
She straightened the leather gauntlet at her hand, meant for keeping her hand protected from the harsh scales of her dragon. It had been a trial for the both of them, but they were stronger for it. Y/N looked toward the sky, spotting the dear creature. She knew it was looking down at her, always aware of where its rider was.
“They can smell the sea air, too,” Y/N said. “It’s gotten them worked up. They’re ready.” 
“So are we.” Daenerys said. It wasn’t overconfidence or blind bravery in her words, only the truth. They’d been ready for the better of a year, and now it was finally time to realize what she’d been waiting a lifetime for. 
“What did you say their names were? The conqueror queens you descend from,” Y/N said, remembering as she spoke. “Visenya and Rhaenys. That was it.”
“We’re greater than conquerors, closer than sisters.” Daenerys took both of Y/N’s hands in her own, facing her with eyes full of power and adoration. An intensity that was unique to a Mother of Dragons, one that Y/N was very familiar with. “We are queens.”
Y/N had heard the word before, but now it held such great power. A new world, a new kingdom across the sea, just waiting for them. They would be kind and just, yielding to no man, constrained by no chains. 
Queens and liberators, not conquers and butchers. Y/N could see it in those violet eyes, the ones that always held the world, yet still had room for love and compassion. The ones that belonged to her, just as she belonged to them.
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fallintitan · 4 years
Text
introducing....................moot!! who is now cooper and bt’s dog. love her or else.
[ao3 link]
Supposedly, it’s recon. ‘Supposedly.’ He knows the truth: BT thinks he needs something to do to entertain himself. Part of him knows it’s true. He gets antsy when there’s nothing to accomplish. He also knows BT hasn’t truly sent him off to fend for himself. The Titan is likely keeping his focus on Cooper as he treads through the abandoned facility. The last known place of their target, but as it appears, the target and the IMC are long gone. All he’s doing is wandering aimlessly through empty rooms filled with discarded gear and weaponry, nothing notable. 
“Pilot,” BT interjects his thinking. “Straight and to your right. There’s a heat signature registering inside.”
“Is it human?”
“It does not appear to be.” A pause. “I advise caution. It could be a stray Prowler searching for food. Be on guard.”
He unholsters his rifle, knowing damn well how imposing those beasts could be if they figured you were easy prey. He finds the designated room, the door shut and locked firmly. 
“The door’s locked?” He peers at the crumbling lockpiece from the outside. “Prowlers are way too smart to be kept in a room by just a lock. If there’s a window, they’re for sure going out it.”
“There does appear to be a window inside the room,” BT comments.
“This isn’t a Prowler, then.”
“Still, be careful.”
“Of course, bud.” He unsheathes his dataknife from his torso and gets to work prying the faulty lock apart. Within minutes, the thing falls off and clatters to the ground. He kicks it aside, pulling his rifle back into position as he kicks the door in.
He’s expecting...something else. Something snarling and furious, already on the attack even before he enters. 
What he finds is quite the opposite.
The dog huddles in the corner, curled in on herself. Her ears are as low and as far back as they can go; her tail tucked firmly between her legs in submission. A thick, worn out collar wraps around her neck, connected to a length of durable chain that clinks across the floor as she shivers. Her piercing blue eyes don’t leave him as he steps in slowly.
“Oh, you poor thing,” he coos, kneeling down. The rifle is holstered once more on his back and one gloved hand reaches out towards her.
“Pilot?” BT speaks. “What did you find?”
She recoils away from him as he reaches out to her. Her eyes squeeze shut as her whole body trembles. Immediately, he retracts his hand in a flash, allowing her to relax, albeit slightly.
“It’s just a dog,” he utters. “They must’ve been in a hurry to get outta here.”
“Does it appear to be hostile?”
“Quite the opposite.” He sits on his haunches with his hands dangling from his knees. “She looks scared. Worse for wear, too.”
“I know what you’re thinking,” BT starts hesitantly. “But we cannot--”
“C’mon, BT, you’re usually all for my ‘bad ideas’.” Cooper whines.
“While your ‘bad ideas’ are typically dangerous--including this one--,” BT starts, “I simply cannot allow this one to go through.”
“Why not?” he pouts.
“Look at where she came from,” BT reasons.  “She was raised by the IMC, likely to attack soldiers like you.”
“She’s obviously failed her job, then, if she’s cowering in the corner to get away from me.”
“Pilot,” the Titan sighs. “I am sorry. We simply cannot take the risk.”
“What happens if we leave her, then?” Cooper retorts. “She’s already hurt. If a Prowler or something finds her, she’s done for. Can we at least take her back to find her a new home?”
BT’s optic narrows in thought.
“Look, she obviously ain’t gonna go after us. She’s smart, yeah? She knows we wanna help.” Cooper looks sideways at her. “At least, one of us does,” he grumbles. “Even if she feels like doing something, she’s in no state to.”
The Titan is silent, thinking over Cooper’s words. Finally, he speaks. “Alright. Answer me this: how are we going to transport her?”
“By God, I’ll carry her myself if it’s necessary,” he swears solemnly. “I am not leaving her behind if I can do anything about it.”
BT relents with a sigh. “I see your mind is set.”
Cooper smirks to himself. “You’re damn right.”
“Alright,” BT relents. “I will await your arrival outside. If she is indeed injured as harshly as you say, do be careful handling her. She may lash out.”
“I sincerely doubt she will,” Cooper promises as he sticks his hand out once more. She still flinches away, but moves out of her hiding spot to tentatively sniff his fingers after a moment. Slowly, he turns his hand over, palm down, reaching gently for her head. Her eyes shut once more, ears back, seeming to brace for some sort of harsh strike. 
Cooper hums sympathetically. “She wasn’t treated right,” he states. His hand connects with her head softly, where he rubs soothing circles into her fur with his thumb.
“The IMC is not exactly known for their humanity and kindness,” BT quips.
“You’re not wrong,” he says. Timidly, her eyes open back up to look over at his face. She does not move, does not wiggle out of his reach, but seems to be gauging whether he truly meant no harm or not.
“You’re okay, sweetie,” he murmurs. He shifts to sit down on his rear, scooting closer to her. “You’re in good hands now. We’ll fix you up, get you situated. How’s that sound?”
He swears he sees her tail twitch between her legs, some sort of aborted wagging attempt.
“I gotta pick you up, though. You don’t seem to be in any shape for walking on your own.” He appraises her state thoroughly, now that he’s close enough. One hind leg seems to be broken, if the way it’s sitting improperly is any guess. She is covered in raw patches, especially around her throat. “They treated you like shit,” he sighs. “That ain’t gonna fly with me. I’ll kick their asses, just for you.”
Hesitantly, her tail starts to feebly wag once more, her ears slightly perking up at his voice.
He moves to stand, the dog watching him as he does so. He gets to working on the thick collar around her neck, careful of the raw skin underneath. Soon, it’s unclipped, falling to the ground with an exaggerated noise as the chain rattles with it. Next, he stoops over to slip his arms under her, attentive so as to not jostle her unnecessarily. One arm goes beneath her hindquarters, one under her front legs. He lifts her up with surprising ease for a dog of her size. Another thing to add to the tally--they didn’t feed her properly. Figures.
She wriggles for a moment in his arms before settling. He holds her like he would a child, propped against his torso with steadying hands keeping her safe.
“We’ll getcha outta here, how ‘bout that?” He continues to speak to her as he begins retracing his steps out of the facility. “Back at base I’ll pester the Whitecoats until they fix you up. Shouldn’t be that hard for them, eh? Commander Briggs will surely fall for you. She’s a dog person. If you and I both give her puppy eyes she won’t say no to anything I ask.”
Outside, BT is waiting for them, still on guard. He looks down at his Pilot as Jack exits the building with his armful.
“No take-backs,” Jack immediately informs. “You agreed to this. She’s our problem now.”
“I did not intend to go back on my word,” BT assures. He kneels down to be closer to Cooper’s level, peering at the beast in his arms. “Interesting coloring,” he comments.
Cooper looks down, taking in the details on the dog now that they’re outside and in the bright sunlight. Her fur is a steel-blue with white accents spread haphazardly around her body. Her nose is chapped from being dry, one ear is crusted with blood, and she is positively caked in dirt.
“Even if you wanted to go back, your point is moot.”
“‘Moot’?”
“Means you have nothin’ to go on,” he explains. “My mind’s been made and I’m not changing it any time soon.” He pauses. “Come to think of it, ‘Moot’ is a pretty good name.” He looks down into the blue eyes once more as he continues to speak. “You like that for a name? Moot? Are you a Moot?”
Her eyes narrow happily as her tail manages to wiggle as much as it can from where it’s pinned against his forearm.
“You are already babying her,” BT scoffs lightly.
“She deserves it,” he shrugs back. BT lowers his palm for Jack to climb up into, the cockpit hatch hissing open wordlessly. “Gonna go for a ride, Moot. Don’t you worry, you’re safe ‘n’ sound.” The hand moves towards the Pilot’s seat, allowing him to gingerly step off and settle into the seat with Moot laying in his lap. 
“Seeing as the base is abandoned and we have no further tasks to perform, I suggest finding a safe spot and waiting for evac,” BT hums. “A good time for some relaxing, if needed.”
“Sure thing,” Cooper agrees. “Lead the way.”
Later into the night, once they’ve settled in a grassy patch up high, Jack carries Moot out of the cockpit and settles her on the ground tenderly. Rain patters down gently, distant rumbles of thunder echoing across the area. Moot shivers each time it sounds, and his heart twists. He shuffles out of his jacket, instead wrapping it around Moot’s core and tying the arms loosely around her neck to keep it in place. The dog’s fur is sodden and matted, raindrops trickling off her timidly laid-back ears. He hopes that offering his jacket at least keeps her warm.
BT automatically shifts to offer shelter for the two of them, blocking the rain with the bulk of his body. His cyan optic casts a dim glow down onto them, creating stark shadows. 
“I must admit something,” he rumbles out after a moment. 
“Shoot. What’s up, bud?”
“I am ‘falling’ for her as well.”
A grin splits Cooper’s face at the admission. “I knew you wouldn’t keep up the stoic facade with her,” he laughs. “You’re too much of a softie for that.”
“On the contrary. My chassis is built with solid metal, Pilot.” Jack can hear the snark in his Titan’s response. 
“You know damn well what I meant,” he waves a hand dismissively. 
BT’s voice rumbles in lieu of a laugh, instead remaining at the level of an amused hum.
“That mean you’re gonna help me beg Briggs to let her stay?” he asks hopefully. “I’m sure the other guys will pitch in, but she certainly can’t say no to the both of us.”
A huff comes from the Titan, bemused. “Yes. I will help you, the mighty Jack Cooper, savior of planets and countless lives, beg your commander to let you keep the canine.”
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majingojira · 3 years
Text
Brief Review of Every Dinosaur/Prehistoric Documentary/Educational Short I’ve ever seen (1923-1996).
And thanks to a certain project, I’ve seen a LOT! 
Evolution (1923) - This is the oldest of the bunch, a silent film.  Mostly it uses modern animals to represent ancient forms, with a few statues and brief animated bits to fill things out. The only real highlight?  Seeing where some of the “film real” segment from Gigantis the Fire Monster comes from! 
Monsters from the Past (1923) - A short documentary with original stop motion (this was pre-The Lost World, so that’s to be expected).  Triceratops, Tyrannosaurus, and Brontosaurus are the key creatures. Included as an extra on the second DVD release of The Lost World. 
Prehistoric Animals (1938) - Reuses footage from The Lost World (1925) for its prehistoric segments. This will not be the last time it happens. 
Prehistoric Times: The World Before Man (1952) - This thing is so quintessentially 1950s, it’s highly riff-able.  It uses a mix of paintings, sculptures and some live animals to represent prehistoric life.  
A World Is Born (1955) - Ya know what Fantasia needed?  Overbearing Narration! That’s it.  That’s what this documentary is.  I saw this thing rebroadcast in the 90s on the Disney Channel, believe it or not. 
The Animal World (1956) - Ray Harryhausen.  Willis O’Brian. Their stop motion segment is the ONLY notable part of this documentary.  This is also the only part that has seen some release in modern times, as a bonus feature on the DVD of The Black Scorpion.  
Prehistoric Animals of the Tar Pits (1956) - Black and white, but also quintessentially 50s and riff-able.  Aside from the bones, it shows some wooden models to represent the animals. 
Journey into Time (1960) - Fantasia this is not, but it TRIES to be.  Lord it tries.  Or, rather, there’s a Fantasia-adjacent thing elsewhere which does the same thing.  Has some unique choices for animals to represent, including showing Permian forms like Scutusaurus and Inostrancevia. 
Dem Dry Bones: Archaeology, Paleontology, Identification, and Preservation (1966) - This was a lucky find, it was on Youtube for half a second.  And not worth digging out, really.  Stuffy, dry, and mildly condescending.  It was still interesting looking at the dinosaur hall of the Smithsonian back in the 1950s. 
Dinosaurs - The Terrible Lizard (1970) - The stop motion here is pretty neat, if slow and plodding, it’s refreshing after all this crap. The puppets for many of these would later be re-used for The Land of the Lost.  Including Grumpy, Alice, and Spot. 
NOVA: The Hot-Blooded Dinosaurs (1977) - Robert Bakker’s first appearance in a documentary.  HE HAS SUCH LONG HAIR!  Not bad, a little dry, with National Geographic titles.  It reminds me of 1990s documentaries, just so show how long it’s taken for various ideas to filter down.  Currently, it’s available on Archive.org. 
Dinosaurs: A First Film (1978) - The art style for this half-animated 70s abomination makes identifying various prehistoric animals almost impossible.  Almost painful to sit through. Stops with the Dinosaurs. 
Dinosaurs: The Age of the Terrible Lizards (1978) - Similar to the above, but available from Rifftrax, so much more watchable.  Also, it’s actually animated!
Dinosaur (1980) - Wil Vinton Claymation with Dinosaurs.  A few edits of this exist, the latter works a bit better, but the original is interesting to track down. Most of the edits are audio only, so you aren’t missing anything.  The dinosaur sin this are top notch for color and design.  They even have Corythosaurus and Tyrannosaurus not dragging their tails! 
Cosmos (1980) - the animated segment covering Evolution is still wonderful if only for the narration from Carl Sagan. 
The Age of Mammals (1981) - A follow up of sorts to Dinosaurs: The Age of Reptiles.  Decent stop motion if a little slow.  Decent variety for the time. 
64,000,000 Years Ago (1981) - A solid stop motion short film.  Still worth checking out for stop motion fans.  Available on Youtube legally! 
Dinosaurs: Fun, Facts, and Fantasy (1981) - Nostalgic for some, but aimed at a rather young audience.  Some interesting stop motion bits in here too... if awkward in that way British stop motion can be outside Aardman Studios. 
Reading Rainbow “Digging up Dinosaurs” (1983) - Definitely nostalgic for me.  Besides, it’s Reading Rainbow!  And opens with a clip from One Million Years B.C.!  What’s not to love?
Prehistoric Beast (1984) - One of the best stop motion shorts on this list.  Included because it INSPIRED a documentary from it.  Phil Tippett firing on all cylinders.  Well worth watching.  And he uploaded it on Youtube himself! 
Dinosaurs, Dinosaurs, Dinosaurs (1985), More Dinosaurs (1985), Son of Dinosaur (1988),  Prehistoric World (1993) - Gary Owens and Eric Boardman have a series of documentaries on dinosaurs and prehistoric life.  The presenters are what really make these work. Colorful, fun, and yes, silly, these still hold a nostalgic gleam for people like me.  The last one has Dougal Dixon talk about his After Man speculations.  Fun times. 
Dinosaur! (1985) - Hosted by Christopher Reeve, this is one of the best documentaries of its time.  Reeves loved dinosaurs and was happy to work on this project with Phil Tippet behind the animation.  Covers a lot in its hour long format, and well worth watching.  Do you know how good this special was?  When Reeve died in 2004, the Discovery Channel (or similar station) re-aired this thing as a tribute.  It holds up that well! 
Tell Me Why: Pre-Historic Animals, Reptiles and Amphibians (1986) - This is something I had when I was a little kid.  Dry, straight forward, a “Video Babysitter” at it’s best. It consists of a narrator while looking at pictures of the Invicta Dinosaur Toys that were also on the poster. 
Dinosaurs! A Fun-Filled Trip Back in Time (1987) - Wil Vinton’s Dinosaurs! tied with a short setup/framing device with the kid from the Wonder Years involving a low-animation music video (this was the MTV age) and a guide through art from various dinosaur books from the 1950s through the 1980s.  Rather meh, but Wil Vinton is why we are here.  This was the only way to get Wil Vinton’s short back in the day, and is the version of the short shown in Museums like The Academy of Natural Sciences.  
Digging Dinosaurs (PBS-WHYY) (1988) - Something I managed to record of TV back in the day, though not much of it, about the uncovering and preparation of Avaceratops. Bone Dry. 
Maia: A Dinosaur Grows Up (1988) - A VHS version of the picture book, with narration and the whole spiel.  Actually not to bad for what it is, but it is what it is.  The art for that book is rather wonderful. 
Lost Worlds, Vanished Lives (1988) - David.  Attenburrough. Need I say more?  Not one of his best, but still wonderful. Hard to track down.  
Dinosaurs (1989) - From the Smithsonian Institute, one of the video followups sold in various museums (I have one from the Royal Tyrell, but haven’t been able to track it down).  Not great, but I’ve seen worse. 
Infinite Voyage: The Great Dinosaur Hunt (1989) - A rather dry documentary, but one I find extremely relaxing and calming.  Very nostalgic for me.  But still dry. 
Vestie Video Sitter: Dinosaurs (1989) - This is for babies. It hurt to watch. 
In November, 1990, Jurassic Park (novel) was released, and thus began the great shift. 
In Search of the Dragon: The Great Dinosaur Hunt of the Century (1991) - a.k.a. The Dinosaur Project, The Great Dinosaur Hunt, The Hunt for China’s Dinosaurs.  Edited into a 1 hour NOVA special from a nearly two hour documentary, all about the joint Canadian/Chinese Gobi Desert Expedition in the 1980s that gave us Mamenchisaurus among many other species.  With another stop in the Arctic for good measure.  Some good stop motion and pencil animation for Troodon round this one out. 
A&E’s Dinosuar! (1991) - There’s so many things named “Dinosaur” that I have to specify.  Hosted by Walter Cronkite, this is rather dry, but still entertaining documentary series has some nightmare-fuel puppet-work.  The ‘sad’ music gets caught in my head sometimes when I think about it.  It is 4 episodes long.  “The Tale of a Tooth”, “The Tale of a Bone”, “The Tale of an Egg”, and “The Tale of a Feather”
T. Rex: Exposed (1991) - a Nova Documentary on T. Rex.  Not too bad overall, focusing on the Wrankle Rex unearthing. Parts of it are available on Youtube, but not all of it.  
The Case of the Flying Dinosaur (1991) - the third in the “NOVA” 91 trilogy, this covers the bird-dinosaur connection as it was still contentious at the time. 
PBS’ The Dinosaurs! (1992) - A gold standard for documentaries on dinosaurs. The hand drawn animation with colored pencil style still hold up today. The narrator has a bit of an accent and pronounces “Dinosaur” oddly, but that is the only complaint I can really give. It has 4 episodes: “The Monsters Emerge”, “Flesh on the Bones”, “The Nature of the Beast”, “Death of the Dinosaurs.”
Muttaburrasaurus: Life in Gondwana (1993) - A half-hour short about dinosuars and mesozoic life in Australia. Solid stop motion animation. Australian Accents makes it fun to listen too.
NOVA: The Real Jurassic Park (1993) - Jeff Goldblum narrates this bit of scientists going on about “But what if we really did it?” Quite fun, lotta fun details the movies and even the books didn’t get into. My favorite bit had Robert Bakker talking to a game keeper at the Rockefeller Refuge in a Louisiana Cypress Swamp about what could happen if they kept a few dinosaur there (Edmontosaurus, Triceratops, and T. Rex).  Namely, he talks about housing ‘about a thousand” Edmontosaurs on the 86K acre facility, with 2 or 3 mated pairs of Rexes.  It’s fun getting numbers like that. 
Bill Nye the Science Guy “Dinosaurs” (1993) - BILL! BILL! BILL! BILL! BILL!  Not a bad kids entry for documentaries. Available from Netflix. 
Paleoworld (1994-1997) - Running originally for 4 years, and being revamps once along the way, this rather dry, “Zoom in on paleoart” style of documentary was a good holdover for bigger things, and covered some pretty niche topics.  Much of the later version has been uploaded to youtube. 
Dinosaur Digs: A Fossil Finders Tour (1994), Dinosaurs: Next Exit (1994) - These films hurt me.  They hurt me so much.  I’ve seen some painful things, but these are hour long tour advertisements for road trips with annoyingly earworms.  Available on youtube, but I ain’t linking anything! 
Eyewitness: Dinosaur (1994) - Not a bad documentary, but I still hold a grudge on it for replacing Wil Vinton’s work at my local museum! Still, it is narrated by Martin Sheen. The clip selection is wide and varied, but we’re still getting The Lost World (1925) footage. 
Planet of Life (1995) - This documentary series is rather dry, but boasts some interesting coverage of topics.  Though some of it’s conclusions regarding dinosaurs are... not great.  Still, the episode “Ancient Oceans” is a favorite of mine. 
Once Upon Australia (1995) - The bests stop motion documentary on Australia’s prehistory. Has some humor to is, and Australian fauna that it does cover is solid.  Though finding out how one of the animals is spelled, ( Ngapakaldia) drove me nuts for literally decades. 
Dinosaurs: Myths and Reality (1995) - Like a little more polished episode of Paleoworld, with a lighter-voiced narration, this covers common myths about dinosaurs. Overall, a Meh.  But it has a LOT of movie clips. Which makes sense given it was funded by the Disney Channel! 
The Ultimate Guide: T. Rex (1995) - The Ultimate Guide series of docs were overall rather solid, as was the Tyrannosaurus one.  Stop Motion animation along with puppets and some minor CG help round out the normal talking heads and skeleton mounts.  Along with a solid narrator, it has a real mood to it.  
The Magic School Bus “The Busasaurus” (1995) - The original Magic School Bus was a solid series, and their episode on Dinosaurs bucks trends even the reboot didn’t cover.  The core thrust here wasn’t just dinosaur information, but the idea that Dinosaurs were not Monsters, but animals.  And they conveyed it in a unique way.  
I may do more of these mini-reviews, but there are a LOT of documentaries post The Lost World: Jurassic Park that don’t have as much easy access.  Like, I’ve seen them, but digging out links/citing places to watch them is a lot harder. 
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catlordewrites · 3 years
Text
Between Rivers Chapter Three
A Mandalorian can't show their face to anyone - with the exception of immediate family. Although they haven't known each other long, there's definitely something growing between them. But is it enough? When an ex-spy must look beneath the helmet to save Din Djarin's life, there's only one option that allows him to continue following his Creed. Marriage.
This story can also be found on Fanfiction.net and Ao3.
Chapter One - Previous Chapter - This Chapter - Next Chapter
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Chapter Three
Morning came gently on Movet. The sun’s rays found the mountaintops long before it reached the valleys, setting the snow on the peaks ablaze with white fire, which in turn reflected into the lower regions and cast them in an ethereal glow. 
Din, of course, was awake long before then. He’d slept well on the bed of soft furs, having removed most of his armor save for the helmet. By the time he’d decided to sleep, he had relaxed enough to believe that the quarry had no ill intentions towards him, but that hadn’t stopped him from wedging the desk chair under the door and drifting off with his blaster in hand. 
He took the predawn birdsong as his signal to start the day. Each piece of armor went back into place like scales. Despite the battered and worn nature of each piece, despite the dents and scratches - some present when he’d received it, others added since - he buckled each in place with reverence. His armor was an extension of himself. It kept him alive. It was his Creed. The Way.
When everything was in place, he was again tempted back into the front rooms by the smell of cooking. He made his way back to the kitchen, only to freeze in the doorway at the sight of a stranger fussing over a pan of bacon and eggs. 
His hand had actually flown to his blaster before he recognized the elegant heart shaped face and squat build. Despite not having looked up at his entrance, a small amused smile twitched on the quarry’s lips. 
“Glad to know my disguise is effective,” she said brightly. 
Her hair was a little shorter now, hanging loose around her shoulders instead of draping down her back in a braid. The auburn hair he’d come to associate with her had been smothered by a rich shade of raven black. It was still damp from being rinsed. Beneath the smell of bacon was the bitter tang of dye. 
Din nodded curtly. “It is.”
He was unexpectedly disappointed. Not that his opinion mattered in the slightest, but he’d thought the original fiery auburn had suited her quite well. 
She hummed her appreciation and slid half of the bacon and eggs into a plate, which she passed to him, saying, “Well, we can’t all maintain anonymity behind a helmet, Mandalorian.”
“I suppose not.” 
Her eyes were different too. Dark brown.
He tilted his head curiously. 
Her brow furrowed for a moment as she studied him, then relaxed with an easy smirk. “Oh, the eyes! Colored contacts.”
“Huh.” He had to hand it to her, if he had just seen her in passing, he never would have known. “It’s… very good.”
She nodded at the half-forgotten plate he held. “Eat. I will tend the olfdo, and then we may leave.”
~0~0~0~ . ~0~0~0~
Half an hour later, they set out to find the Razor Crest. Din described the small clearing he’d landed in and where it was in reference to the river. The quarry said that she already knew.
He didn’t ask how.
As agreed, he didn’t comment on the blaster she tucked in her waistband or the knife hidden within her boot, though he did pay careful attention to them - just in case she changed her mind about their deal.
It was a long walk, but a nice one. Yesterday he had been in hunting mode and couldn’t afford to admire the sunlight filtering through the monolithic evergreen trees - even as he slunk through them. Now, he was able to appreciate the way the spongy carpet of lichen and fallen pine needles absorbed the sound of his footfalls as well as the faint hum of birdsong and summer insects that disguised his modulated breaths. Small mammals scurried through the underbrush, occasionally startling and diving back into burrows. 
Some of the wolves - or olfdo, as the quarry called them - trailed after them for a while, weaving in and out of underbrush and snapping playfully at the insects they stirred up as they went. But eventually they melted one by one into the foliage.
He and the quarry chatted as they walked. Din found himself starting to enjoy her company. Although she neatly skirted any indirect inquiries about why she had a bounty on her or why she chose such an isolated place to retire, she was more than happy to discuss the olfdo, the landscape, and the Movetian lifestyle. 
As expected, she was a jack of all trades. She talked woodworking, hunting, fishing, tanning, and local flora and fauna. Apparently she had a very large  underground greenhouse where she grew vegetables and wildflower seedlings all year long. 
He asked her what else she had hidden underground.
She chuckled knowingly, a sly glint in her dark eyes. “The essentials.”
Din had no idea what that meant, but was privately relieved that she’d been ready to strike a deal instead of making him work for her payload. 
When they reached the energy perimeter, he was surprised to see it live and buzzing with electricity, as he hadn’t put it back up after deactivating it when he crossed. The quarry deactivated it with practiced ease and let him through. 
He looked up from watching her recouple the lines to see Nana, the olfdo from the day before, standing on the other side and looking a little dejected. She twitched her ears at the Mandalorian and wagged her tail slowly.
“They gonna be okay while you’re gone?” 
The quarry didn’t bother looking up from her work. “Yes. They have food.”
He hated to point out the obvious, but did so anyway. “And if you don’t come back?”
She sniffed. “They can also hunt.”
He nodded slowly, folding his arms across his chest. “There enough game within the perimeter?”
She nodded distractedly. “Mhm. Most of the time. The fielkir… the… the elk-deer… They jump straight over the barrier and come in and out all the time.”
Din grunted in acknowledgement.
“And, worse case, the olfdo can leave and hunt beyond,” she went on. “They do not like to, but the electricity doesn’t slow the adults down much…”
Din filed that away for later.
“...but it keeps the young ones in. And most predators out.”
His head tipped to the side. “The Olarba?”
The barrier hummed back to life. The quarry turned to face him, expression dark. “Most of the time.”
From there, it didn’t take long to reach the Crest. By then, it was well into the afternoon and the small clearing he’d stowed the ship in was slanted with golden light. 
The quarry hummed her approval as she padded across the mossy ground, appraising the blaster cannons with an experienced eye. “Pre-Empire. Solid design. You’ve done well to keep her from the Imperial impounds.”
Din tapped at his vambrace, unlocking the hatch and lowering the ramp before leading the way onboard. The darkness within was welcoming after the long trek across unfamiliar woodland. A few of the lights flickered on, but didn’t offer much besides illuminating the dull metal walls and a few of the dusty crates shoved into the corners. It was empty and decrepit, but it was home. Or at least the closest thing he had to one.
The quarry’s soft footsteps on the ramp reminded him that there was more to do before he could relax. Din turned to face her. She stood between him and the hatch, framed by sunlight. He couldn’t make out her eyes in the darkness, but her stance was non threatening and relaxed. 
“What’s the plan from here?” He asked, a little uncertain.
The quarry peered around his shoulder, her eyes flickering around the bay before settling on the carbonite freezer and the other bounties stowed behind it. She nodded satisfactorily to herself.
“Your normal method is the freezer, I take it. We can conclude our business now, then.”
Din frowned. “You sure?”
She felt inside one of her coat’s interior pockets and came away with a hefty pouch of credits. She bounced it once in her hand before holding it out to him. 
When she spoke again, it was without her usual brusque Movetian accent, but with a different lilt that sounded as if it had been derived from Huttese and then lightly textured with slave cant. She delivered it flawlessly.
“Yeah. It’s the easiest way. For both of us, I think.” 
He was still processing the sudden change in tone as she trotted over to the carbonite freezer and settled back into the harness. He finally followed, the credit pouch held forgotten in his hand. 
She looked up at him expectantly.
Din hesitated, but wasn’t entirely sure why. Yeah, it was easier. Especially for him. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t look forward to being alone on his ship, deep in hyperspace where he could take off his helmet without constantly having to be on guard. But he’d found her to be easy company, something that didn’t happen often in his field of work, and he was at loathe to lose it so quickly. 
A glimmer of surprise crossed her face. She studied him, her brown furrowed with concern. “Is there a problem?”
He flushed hot with embarrassment, but didn’t outwardly express it. 
“No,” he grunted. “As long as you’re sure.”
“I’ve been in carbonite before,” she added. “I know what to expect. When you’re ready.”
He nodded once, then pressed the button on the side of the harness. When the fog cleared, he was left staring at her pretty face, stiff and lifeless under a coat of cold metal. Her eyes had squeezed closed at the last moment, her brow furrowed, frozen in an expression of mild discomfort. 
Despite knowing that this was what she wanted, Din couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. Would it have been wrong to insist that she stay out of the carbonite until they reached Nevarro? He didn’t have much to offer, but a part of him would’ve liked the opportunity to return her hospitality. 
He scoffed at himself. Yeah, field rations and an uncomfortable bunk. Nice, Djarin.
The trip to Nevarro felt longer than usual. Din spent the trip doing his best to push the quarry out of his mind. He still had questions, of course. She was strange, yes, but fascinating. The name on the fob was Ena Sma, but from what he’d seen, he doubted that it was her real one. Just how many aliases did she have? And why?
He lost the chance to ask when he turned the fob over to Karga. He didn’t watch her be unloaded from the cargo hold of his ship. 
He never tried to figure out what happened to her after, if she cleaned up the issue with the spice dealers or got killed in the process. He tried to convince himself that he didn’t care, but caught himself toying with the idea of visiting Movet again. 
More than once.
Each time, he roughly dismissed the thought. What did it matter to him? She’d kept her end of the deal and he was 10,000 credits better for it. Part of his end had been to stay away from her little homestead. Not to mention that he had a sneaking suspicion that he wouldn’t be welcomed back with open arms, 
Needless to say, he didn’t think he’d ever see her again. 
~0~0~0~ .
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tcfkag · 5 years
Note
Explain the scratchy scary door
Terrible-terrible-blog: Just today I have received ALL of these requests for an update. Checking in on my personal safety. And generally looking for the TRUTH, damn it, about my attic. 
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Apparently, @stephrc79 told people I was the one to go with for updates about the murder attic/werewolf sanctuary/potential place where prior owners kept “unwanted” family members. 
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The thirst for the truth is REAL and STRONG with many of you. Honestly, I am almost loathe to post this follow-up because I don’t want to squelch your fantastical imaginations. And I know that for many of you, any answer will be suspect as the REAL TRUTH may be so shameful or so sensitive that I would never just share it here. I mean, I could be trying to throw you off the track simply by acknowledging that I MIGHT be trying to throw you off the track. 
You. Just. Never. Know.
But, I shall briefly address each most popular question and theory (with some new photographic evidence) in turn: 
(1) What’s on the other side of the door? Are you okay? Did you survive? 
Yes, my husband, my two dogs, and I continue to safely occupy our house. @stephrc79 continues to be alive and well in NYC (unless someone is playing a MUCH longer bout of con-man chess ... I’m only proficient in con-man checkers) though she also says she’s coming back to Boston in August so at that time I will be able to report back first-hand on her continued aliveness. 
NOTE: I am putting the rest of the answer to this under a “Read More” so that, if you wish the murder attic to remain a mystery on which to project your darkest fear or wildest imagination, you may continue to do so. Of course, that might also mean that whatever I’m going to post is so sensational that I just can’t share it with everyone....you’ll never know if you don’t click.
May I start with presenting you, again, with a picture of the “closet” in our guest bedroom that started this entire affair. There was a period where I was considering adding either a purple or turquoise accent wall in that room. Anyone think that’s a good idea or have a vote on which color would be better?
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I think they’re both a bit dark honestly, but not quite as dark as they look here. BUT ANYWAY....this is, as I’ve mentioned before, an old-school solid wood door that matches all the other doors in our upstairs to the other bedrooms and closets. The doorknob is an old-style brass one with a built-in lock that no one has the key for anymore. However, the padlock (which you will notice is openable from the INSIDE is much more modern. My belief is that it was added when the prior owners had their home inspected so they could adopt - the lock would have allowed them to keep small children OUT of the attic but would have prevented anyone from accidentally being locked INTO the attic.
Here is what you see when you look up the attic stairs with the light ON:
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It is, I’m sorry to inform you, basically an attic. We store our crap up there. Here’s what it looks like at the top of the stairs:
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Yup, it’s basically your run of the mill attic full of crap. We keep some bookshelves up there because OBVIOUSLY, we have more books than sense. Plus I have, at various points over the years, convinced myself that I’m going to start boxing up my clothes and only taking out what I need seasonally. All that really means is that I haven’t seen the clothes in those boxes for years.
To address theories that this was used to house an “unsavory” relative by some past owners - the truth is that that is relatively unlikely. The roof in the attic is low enough that even at its peak, it is barely over 5 feet high. Almost everyone has to crouch up there. And there isn’t really ANY insulation so it is generally either brutally hot or cold up there. It also has absolutely NO finishings that suggest anyone ever lived there. 
Now, of course, it’s possible that people really were just THAT cruel in the olden days but the truth is that this type of house of this age has attic entries out of bedrooms like this all the time. As you can see if you read the comments on the original post, one of the most popular comments is “I’m from New England too and I have one of these....doesn’t everyone?” Trust me, this isn’t even CLOSE to the creepiest random attic or closet door that I’ve seen in a friend’s house (and don’t even talk about some of the basements). Also as a final note, while my house is old, it’s not THAT old. It was built in about 1905-1915, I forget the exact year, which was (generally speaking) at the tail end of the time that you would think of as having mentally or physically disabled relatives living in attics or having live-in servants (not to mention that my house is not THAT big and the original/early owners probably weren’t THAT wealthy).
Now as to the scratchy door that caused so much consternation - I know the point that someone made on the CSI: Attic Door post was that the scratches simply were too wide and too deep and too high to have possibly been made by dogs.  But here are pictures of the scratches compared to my hand which is, honestly, about the same size as my larger dog Tucker’s paws.
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The scratches really aren’t all THAT wide. And while they look kind of deep on first inspection, remember that this cork board (which I believe was part of the insulation between the attic and the second floor that was added in later by the people who owned the house before us) is extremely porous and easy to scratch. And if you’ve ever heard or seen a dog who was upset about being locked in somewhere and scratching to get out, you can easily imagine how their frantic scratching could do this much damage quite quickly. 
And as to the height issue, not only is one of my dogs easily five feet tall when standing on his back paws, but I will also refer you back to the second picture. This door leads into STAIRS that go up to the attic. So if the door is closed, you’re actually standing on stairs, so you are naturally much higher up than you would normally be. Reaching that top lock would actually be easier than reaching the doorknob which might easily be below you if you were one or two stairs up.
So in short. I am very much alive and safe. The closet door leads to a staircase that leads into an everyday run of the mill attic. The most interesting thing to ever come out of that attic were the letters that were probably hidden under the floorboards and were found in my bathroom ceiling. It is extremely unlikely that any prisoners or shut-ins were ever kept up there. And there’s nothing particularly murdery about the attic itself...unless you’re scared of all attics (which is fair). 
Also, werewolves aren’t real and even if they were....it would be TERRIBLY RUDE to blow up their spot by posting their full moon hideouts to the internet for the whole world to see. Just saying.
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Over A Cherry Cosmos, Part 1
I wrote this as part of the Edens Zero Fic Exchange for @indraaas​. Hope you like it! (Part 1 of 3)
“Here,” the voice of Lieutenant Justice, Rebecca’s direct supervisor, spoke as a file smacked down on her desk.
“What’s this?” Rebecca asked, reaching for the file.
“Your next bounty. You said you wanted a challenge; Weisz Steiner, high-ranking member of Sibir’s gang, and a thief wanted across nearly half the country. Every bounty hunter that went looking for him couldn’t catch him.”
“Every bounty hunter so far,” she corrected. “I’m on it, sir.”
Lt. Justice only nodded and returned to his office.
Rebecca opened the file to see Weisz Steiner’s mugshot: blond hair coiffed to the side, a half-amused, half-annoyed smirk on his face, and a flirty glare thrown at the camera with steel gray eyes. From the angle of his head, she could just barely see enough to guess that he was leaning against the wall as if he were leaning against a tree in the park.
‘He’s pretty cute.’
Her eyes scrolled down to the section about his family background, muttering quietly to herself as she read.
“Mm.. Only child… Mom is.. Maria Steiner, deceased…”
When Rebecca first caught the father’s name out of the corner of her eye, she nearly gave herself whiplash with how fast she did a double take.
“Doctor… Weiss Steiner… No way...”
‘The old Doctor has a son?’ she thought.
Memories came flooding to the surface of her mind: running into the street after her little blue cat Happy, the swerving car with screeching tires that seemed to come out of nowhere just as she caught up to him. Then, she was weightless, flying through the air for what felt like forever.
She didn’t remember hitting the ground. Only waking up in the hospital the next day.
“Where’s Happy?” a seven-year-old Rebecca demanded of the old doctor in front of her.
“Happy?” Doctor Steiner asked.
“M-my kitty. We were playing and he ran away from me, so I chased him. And-” she paused, tearing up, though she pretended she wasn’t. “I-I don’t remember what happened after that.”
The look that came over Doctor Steiner’s face was one Rebecca had seen from a lot of adults: a tight smile, slight tilt to the head, squinted eyes. It usually meant something she couldn’t name, but definitely didn’t like. And it always left her feeling frustrated and small.
Except this time, Doctor Steiner looked sad, too.
But in a flash, that awful, hated, and now confusing look was gone, replaced with a wide smile.
“Well, I sure don’t know, little one, but I can ask the nice people that brought you in if you want?”
Rebecca blinked in shock as his offer sunk in. Then, grinning from ear to ear and practically vibrating in her hospital bed, she shouted, “Yes, please!”
She quickly covered her mouth when she realized how loud she’d been on accident. She looked at Doctor Steiner, eyes wide and half curled in a ball, waiting for him to scold her for yelling.
Instead, he gave her a kind smile, one she couldn’t remember ever seeing before, especially not from an adult.
“Sure thing, kiddo,” the Doctor said, patting her gently on the head.
Rebecca smiled at the memory.
‘How can I arrest the son of the man who saved my life?’ she thought, her smile faltering. ‘I know it’s my job, but…’
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, stretching her neck in the process.
‘First thing’s first. I need more information.’
Rebecca stood up, grabbing her messenger bag from the back of her chair. She slung it over her shoulder and tossed Weisz Steiner’s file inside as she left the precinct.
~~~~~~~~~~
“What’cha got for me, Quinn?” Rebecca asked her friend and professional hacker.
“Well, he’s old fashioned,” Quinn said without looking up from her deep dive into Weisz Steiner.
Rebecca shook her head in confusion. “What?”
“No social media whatsoever. Even eighty-year-olds have Twitter these days.”
Quinn turned her chair around to face Rebecca, grabbing a coffee mug as she spun. Rebecca could tell that it was the hacker’s “Special Hot Chocolate” by the smell, the secrets of which she kept hidden behind a firewall the NSA itself couldn’t crack.
“Seriously, who doesn’t use social media these days? Even if it’s for no other reason than to keep up with the news?” Quinn shook her head in disbelief as she sipped on her drink.
“Not important. What did you find?”
Quinn raised her eyebrows. “Mm! Right.” She spun back around to face her main monitor. “So, I think I found a place where he likes to hang out. Edens Bar. Only two of the multiple credit cards he’s stolen in the last six months have turned up charges there, as opposed to him crawling over half of the bars in Norma.”
“So what makes you think he’s there? Maybe he just got kicked out or something.”
Quinn shook her head. “Nah. I hacked into their security cameras and found footage of him at the bar.”
“Of course,” Rebecca sighed. “Look, I know it’s not a big deal to you, but can you at least not openly mention the illegal hacking you’re doing for me directly to me? I need plausible deniability!”
Quinn waved off her concerns. “Don’t worry. Even if they could catch me, I wouldn’t let anything happen to you from my new seat at the NSA. Anyway, he seems on good terms with the staff, so he wasn’t banned.”
Rebecca groaned, but let it slide. Even if she gave Quinn trouble for it, she knew that she’d never be caught.
“Plus, I found footage of him there that doesn’t line up with any cards he’s been linked to, so it’s more likely that he’s just trying to keep people from tracking him there. Which is backed up by the fact that I tracked him with traffic cams before he showed up to Edens Bar and he’s checking for tails two miles out. And he takes the scenic route there.”
“Pretty solid plan,” Rebecca admitted.
“Yeah, until someone smarter came along,” Quinn said smugly.
Rebecca laughed. “Thanks, Quinn. Can you keep an eye on the bar and let me know when Weisz shows up again?”
“Of course.”
“Awesome,” she said. “Oh, and can you do one more thing for me?”
~~~~~~~~~~
Rebecca flexed her fingers in an attempt to shake away the anxiety. ‘This is research,’ she told herself. ‘In order to find a wanted criminal… Who is the son of the doctor who saved my life..’
“Damn it,” she muttered to herself, dropping her head on her steering wheel. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of her car.
‘It’s not too late to turn around and drive away,’ her thoughts taunted her.
Chants of ‘it would be easy,’ ‘no one would ever know,’ and ‘Quinn can probably find out all you need’ stayed glued in Rebecca’s mind as she stalked forward. Instead, she tried to focus on anything else, her eyes fixating on the row of expensive houses in front of her.
They were all wide two-stories, mostly white or off-beige, occasionally lined with light hints of pastels for what Rebecca assumed these rich idiots called “flavor.” It was simultaneously extravagant and so boringly tasteless that she wondered how anyone could think it was nice to look at.
‘Exactly like the rich owners. All style, no substance. It feels like I’m looking at the wall of a padded cell.’
She finally reached the end of Doctor Steiner’s walkway and stopped, looking again at the house in front of her.
Compared to the rest of the nearly-identical houses on the street, his was easily the nicest to look at. The house itself was a very subtle off-yellow color, almost impossible to tell from a distance, accented with a light pastel baby blue color that outlined the windows and covered the pillars in the front. As she got closer, she noticed the front door was also the same shade of blue.
Rebecca tapped her leg as she stood in front of Doctor-turned-Professor Steiner’s door, working up the courage to knock. After nearly a minute of frantic leg-tapping, she finally forced herself to.
‘No backing out now,’ she thought. Her fingers were starting to get tired from tapping so much.
A few seconds later, the lock turned and the door opened.
“Can I help you, Miss?”
“Um, yeah,” she took a slow breath. “Are you Doctor Weiss Steiner?”
“Yes.” His eyes narrowed slightly, but didn’t say anything else.
“I’m Rebecca Blue-Garden. I’m a Bail Enforcer and I’m tracking your son, Weisz.” She had to fight to keep her voice even as she spoke. “I was hoping there might be something you could tell me about him.”
He blinked. “Such as?”
“Anything you think might be useful in bringing him in safely would be a good start.” Rebecca realized she’d been twisting her fingers together and forced herself to stop.
Doctor Steiner smiled kindly, and it matched up almost perfectly with the smile in her memory. “I don’t think I know anything that could help you.”
“A-are you sure? Nothing at all comes to mind?”
‘I read that Weisz ran away when he was fifteen in his file, but I thought that I’d at least get something useful from his dad.’
“I wish I could help you, Miss Blue-Garden, but I’m afraid not. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more use.”
He started to close the door. “G-”
“Wait!”
Doctor Steiner raised an eyebrow.
Rebecca sighed. “Y-you saved my life when I was a kid. And I’ve always wanted to thank you in some way, but I didn’t know how I could. I didn’t want or expect this..” She waved her hand around. “.. situation.”
“I.. operated on you?” he asked after a moment of silence.
“Yeah. I was playing with my little blue cat Happy when a drunk driver hit me. You even offered to ask the paramedics that brought me in if they saw him. Looking back now, it’s obvious that he… but it meant a lot to me back then.”
“You were the little girl with the blue cat? … Now that I think about it, your name does sound familiar..”
She tried to contain her rush of excitement.
“Come in,” he said, smiling with warmth and opening the door wider.
Rebecca blinked as she processed the offer. It’d been more or less what she wanted, but it surprised her that she actually got it. Then, she returned his smile and stepped through the door.
“So, you’re a Bail Enforcer?”
“Yep.”
Rebecca tried to calm her nerves. ‘What was my plan again?’ she thought, flexing her fingers at her sides. ‘Did I even have a plan?’
“And you’re looking for my son?”
“... Yep.”
‘This was a bad idea.’
Doctor Steiner chuckled sadly before speaking again. “Well, I wish I could help you, but I haven’t seen, much less spoken to my son in… almost ten years.”
“I see..”
‘He never once tried to contact his dad? I mean, I know I kinda assumed that was the case, but… hearing it confirmed makes me a little sad for the Doctor.’
“Weisz left when he was still a teenager, but even before then he wasn’t very talkative.”
Rebecca nodded slowly, following silently as he led the way to the living room. Doctor Steiner gestured to the couch as he sat down in a recliner chair a few feet away.
“So, how long have you been a Bail Enforcer?”
“Huh? Oh, about three years, now. Why do you ask?”
Doctor Steiner hesitated. “About how many of the people you’ve arrested ran away from home when they were younger?”
Rebecca paused. Broken homes weren’t exactly an uncommon denominator across all of the bounties she’s hunted down, but she didn’t want to sound like she was accusing the Doctor of being the reason his son ran away.
‘Maybe their relationship sucks and he doesn’t care about his son getting arrested.. That would make me feel less like a complete ass about doing my job…’
“Um.. Well, I don’t know numbers, but there’s been a few. It’s not rare.”
Doctor Steiner only hummed in response, eyes narrowed and slightly hunched over. Looking at him now, Rebecca could barely see the jovial doctor that saved her life; instead, all she saw was a worn down and sad old man.
‘Ugh, crap! I can’t do anything right today, can I?’
“Hm. I wonder why they felt the need to leave.”
The quiet, contemplative look on his face pulled at Rebecca’s heartstrings.
“Weisz was headstrong, stubborn… and full of hot air.”
She chuckled. “Aren’t all teenagers full of hot air?”
“Usually. But… I just wonder what was going through his head. I’ve always wondered why he left in the first place.” Doctor Steiner’s hard gaze at the floor became unfocused, distracted by his thoughts. “Or maybe I kind of already know. We couldn’t seem to see eye-to-eye. And I know that Maria’s family didn’t make it any easier. Maria was my wife, and Weisz’s mother,” he added.
Rebecca swallowed hard, nodding slowly. She didn’t know what she could say in response. Doctor Steiner’s entire being seemed steeped in sadness; the kind of bone-deep sadness that never truly goes away.
“Sorry, I’m not sure why I’m telling you this.”
She shook her head. “It’s okay.”
“You’re wondering what happened.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Well…” she trailed off. ‘Yeah, sort of.’
Doctor Steiner hummed. “Well, Weisz was always a troublemaker. He got into it a lot as a kid, and evidently, that’s never changed.. But Maria was always patient with him. Much more so than the rest of her family.”
Rebecca tried to hide her grimace, but the corner of her mouth still twitched.
“I don’t mean to sound like I’m judging. But they were… notoriously difficult to deal with. Any time Weisz got in a fight or let his grades slip, someone had something to say about it. Of course, never to us. But Weisz took notice.”
Doctor Steiner heaved a tired sigh.
“One day, he overheard a… particularly nasty comment from Maria’s sister. But before anyone could say anything else, he decided he’d finally had enough, I suppose, and he started yelling at them. When he finished, he said that… everyone would be happier if he left. And then he did.”
Rebecca bit the inside of her lip. She could practically hear him blaming himself.
‘People like that are impossible to please. They didn’t want Weisz to be a person, they wanted him to be a puppet.’
“I hoped he was just blowing off steam. He left before anyone could say anything to him. So I waited for him to come back, but… he didn’t,” Doctor Steiner sighed again. “And then, about eight months later… Maria died. I had hoped he’d go to the funeral, although it was probably for the best that he didn’t, in the end.”
She nodded. ‘His mom’s family are a bunch of judgmental dicks. I feel for him on that.’
A vibrating in her back pocket brought Rebecca to reality. Pulling out her phone, she saw Quinn’s name flash on the screen.
“My friend’s calling, I should take this,” she said, smiling politely as she stepped away. “Hello?”
“Hey, your criminal’s on his way to Edens.”
“Okay, thanks. Keep an eye on it.”
“I will. Want me to call Shiki and Homura?” Quinn offered, followed by the distant sound of her sipping on a drink.
“No, it’s fine,” Rebecca said, uttering a quick goodbye before hanging up. She walked back to the couch. “Okay,” she muttered. “Well, I should get going. It was nice talking to you.”
“Wait. Before you go,” Doctor Steiner said, standing quickly. “I was hoping you might be able to do me a small favor.” He walked to a nearby desk and pulled a pen and a pad of sticky notes from it, scribbling something.
“What is it?” she asked.
“If it’s at all possible, I was hoping…” he pulled the top sticky note off. “I might be able to see my son. I don’t know if you can do that, but I just want to talk to him again, and tell him something.”
Rebecca took the sticky note from him to see a phone number on it. She folded it carefully and stuck it in her phone case.
“I’ll do my best,” she said with a smile.
“Thank you, Miss Blue-Garden.” He walked with her back to the front door.
She nodded at him as she stepped outside.
‘Okay, Weisz Steiner. I am gonna get you into a conversation with your dad, even if I have to drag you by your pompous hair to do it.’
~~~~~~~~~~
Rebecca adjusted the rose barrette in her hair and brushed her bangs out of her eyes. Before going to Edens Bar, she changed into a black mini skirt, over the knee boots, and a blue halter top. Now, she made her final subtle adjustments before walking up to the empty seat next to her bounty.
“This seat taken?” she asked, with a sweet smile on her face. Rebecca made sure to throw a subtle, yet impossible-to-miss flirty glance his way.
“No. Go ahead.”
“Thanks,” she said as she slid into the bar chair. “What’s your name?”
“Weisz.”
“I’m Rebecca.”
Weisz flashed her a flirty smirk reminiscent of the one in his mugshot, and she had to correct an earlier thought.
‘Shit. He’s not cute, he’s hot.’
“Just a Cherry Cosmos, please.”
“So, what are you doing in this little bar?” Weisz asked, taking a sip of beer.
“I’m.. expanding my horizons. I’ve been in Norma for a while, but I haven’t really been a whole lot of places.”
Weisz leaned in. “If you want, I can give you a few places to check out.”
Rebecca mimicked him, leaning forward and slowly pulling her handcuffs out of her bag and under the bar. “Are you offering to show me these places yourself?” she flirted as she slid her hand closer to his.
“Well, if you want-”
The click of the cuffs closing around his wrist cut him off. Rebecca closed the other cuff around part of the underside of the bar.
“Well that’s not exactly how I prefer to be asked out on a date, but…”
Rebecca chuckled. “Funny.”
“I assume these aren’t for fun?” Weisz asked.
“Nope.”
“Too bad,” he sighed. “Will you at least let me finish my drink?”
Rebecca eyed the beer bottle in front of him. ‘Less than half full,’ she thought.
She sighed. “I guess.”
He sipped his beer calmly.
“Y’know, for someone who’s as high up in Sibir’s gang as you, I gotta say, you’re taking this whole ‘getting arrested’ thing pretty well.”
Weisz’s easy going smile faltered, fixing Rebecca with a cold stare. “I’m not with Sibir anymore.”
“Fine. You’re still under arrest,” she said flippantly. “I don’t know why so many other bounty hunters couldn’t catch you before, this was pretty easy.”
Weisz finished his beer, setting the empty bottle on the bar as he leaned towards her again. “If I may, Rebecca, I just have one question for you: how are you going to arrest me when you’re the one in handcuffs?”
Rebecca looked down at the space between them just in time to watch Weisz clasp the handcuff, previously on him, around her wrist.
“What-?”
She looked up at him, stunned. He winked at her, then leaned in.
“Drive safe, Rebecca.”
And then he was slipping out the door.
Rebecca sighed, turning back towards the bar to unlock herself when she noticed that Weisz had left enough money for both of their drinks.
‘He’s a thief, but he left money for the tab? A little “Robin Hood,” if you ask me.’
Her phone vibrated in her bag as she finished unlocking the handcuffs. Rebecca had barely put the phone up to her ear when Quinn started talking.
“Y’know, you never realize how much easier social media makes my job until you find that rare specimen without it and I have to actually try a little.”
“Meaning?” Rebecca asked, too annoyed for pleasantries as she stood and walked out of the bar.
“I was looking into Sibir’s gang, trying to see if there was something you might be able to use, and I just found out that-”
“That Weisz and Sibir aren’t ‘buddy-buddy’ anymore? Yeah, he just told me.”
“Okay, but did he say why?” Quinn asked.
Rebecca paused just outside the door. “No. Do you know?”
“Yeah. It’s messed up stuff, Becca. You know his mom died, right?”
“Yeah, but that’s all his file said about her.” She set out towards the small parking lot next to the bar.
“Well, I hacked the text messages of a few of Sibir’s guys and found out that, apparently, after Doc Junior joined up with Sibir, it was Sibir who did the hit and run that killed his mom, but he tagged the place with Rogue Out’s logo. Guess he wanted to cut off Weisz’s escape route. But when Weisz found out...”
“That’s… awful.” Rebecca’s hand hovered over her heart.
“Anyway, what’s happening at Edens?”
The hand over her heart tightened into a fist. “He got away,” Rebecca grumbled as she unlocked her car. “We’re gonna need to come up with a new plan.”
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imnotcameraready · 5 years
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chivalry is dead (20)
A/N: BIG YEEHAW HOURS TODAY Y’ALL ITS BALL TIME!!!!!!! AND WE CAN’T HAVE A BALL WITHOUT A PRINCE *stars bawling*
costumes will come in another post bc i. got really excited and then drew them all like, last month (most of them, some were finished last night y e e et)
WARNINGS: remus mention, heist details, wound descriptions, sword mention, scar descriptions, threats of violence, thoughts of dying — alright, im pretty sure that's it, but this chapter has thicc details so if i missed anything pls pls pls lmk
Words: 4550
AO3 link!
MASTERPOST! <– look here!! for the longterm warnings!! including sympathetic Deceit and cursing/swearing!
enjoy !!! <3 <3 <3 ,3 <3 
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Deceit really was right, Patton thought while he looked around at the town. His arm was linked around Logan’s as they walked down one of the town’s side streets, from Dr. Picani’s office, and he was taking the time to admire how intricate all of the architecture had gotten. It was intricate and worn and every building seemed unique now, something that he hadn’t realized was missing during their first pass through. 
There were arch ways, bridges between doors on the third floors of buildings. There were seemingly hand-woven canvases shielding some of the streets from the sun and, if Patton squinted hard enough, he could see actual detailed stitching and some stains of age. They passed buildings that had scratches and chisel marks, and Patton could clearly see that it was made from stone bricks that had been painted over. Twice, actually. Once with a very old and faded blue, then with a lighter cream that still let the blue show through in spots where the paint was gone. 
He wondered a little what had caused those spots. Was it because you weren’t supposed to layer house paint? The spots were different sizes — how many memories were made here? 
Patton stumbled, tripping over his thoughts and heels, and leaned more into Logan’s side.
Logan tugged at his arm. “Don’t ponder too hard, Patton,” his voice was soft, hushed to not draw attention.
They’d figured that the best thing to do was to not think about the world around them. Thinking too much about the world and specifically the things that they would affect about it made their focus wander onto fixing those things. Logan would get a headache, Patton would space out, and Deceit would….well, okay, Deceit hadn’t disclosed how and if he’d been affected. But Patton noticed he’d been sweating like a sinner in church, and how his fist would clench every so often, so it was clear that something was happening with Deceit. He didn’t want to force him to talk; honesty wasn’t Deceit’s strong suit.
The four Romans had agreed that that was the smartest decision; none of them nor all of them together were able to limit the Imagination enough. The Playwright had argued that, had Dragon and Damsel known that it was hurting the other Sides, then they would probably all have a unified thought enough to close up the unused worlds. But that would require discussing the entire matter with them, which, as the Thief pointed out, is “pretty fucking useless where they are now.” 
So the focus thing was their current strategy. Patton grinned at Logan. “Thanks for the reminder, Octo-cutie-pie,” he smiled wider as Logan blushed. 
“I–I’m–Octopi is the plural for octopus and there is only one of me,” Logan bit his lip, then patted Patton’s hand gently, “Thank you.”
Patton giggled, snuggling against Logan’s side briefly as they kept walking. They hadn’t actually talked about the whole love thing, hadn’t really established boundaries, but that seemed like a problem for tomorrow. 
Right now, they were all going across town, invitations in hand, to the ball. And, at the very specific right now, Patton was admiring the Playwright and the Artist’s handiwork. They’d worked together to make everyone’s outfits and he’d be a liar if he said they weren’t handsome and beautiful.
Patton himself was themed after a cat — a grey cat, but a cat nonetheless! His dress had a long train for a tail, made of shimmering silver tulle, the same as his poofy sleeves. The skirt went from his waist to the ground, with a built in flair in his corset at the waist. Like, all of it was sparkling, all three tiers of his skirt, which went from grey to black with an inner layer gradient of blue to grey. His favorite part were his gloves, though. Silver for the most part, but with soft circles on his palms and the tips of all his fingers. His own lil’ toe beans! 
Logan’s outfit was one of Patton’s favorites. His was themed after an octopus (“Known for their intelligence,” the Playwright had explained, face bright red as he tied Logan’s necktie into an Eldritch knot) with a dark blue blazer and slacks. He wore a vest that shimmered royal blue, with a white button down underneath. There was a piece of coral in his lapel where a flower would usually go, and his coat tails seemed to spiral in shapes that resembled an octopus’ arms. There were even rhinestone bubble decals on his shoulders, or suckers, if you wanted to interpret it that way. The Artist and the Playwright had a small argument about that.
He was dashing, in summation. Patton leaned his head against Logan’s shoulder. “Who knew the town was so big!” he said. 
“That’s actually on purpose,” the Playwright said from behind them, “It’s actually not so big as the castle is small, using the same foreshortening techniques used at the Disney theme parks to make Cinderella’s castle, or Sleeping Beauty’s castle depending on which park you’re at—”
“I think he means how far Picani’s office is from the castle, God Mod,” the Thief responded.
The Thief and Deceit were walking in front, swords drawn on the chance that they ran into any guards, and so that the Thief could critique Deceit’s sword fighting skills. Surprisingly, he’d taken to the weapon, something about it being good to have at his disposal while dealing with the Others. The Thief offered to make him one once this escapade was over. 
Or maybe it was an excuse for the Thief to keep touching Deceit’s hand. Because that was happening every so often. A lot more often than would be considered normal. 
It wasn’t like Deceit was complaining about the touching. It was more the other way around. The yearning for physical contact was frustrating, but neither of them were going to admit that they wanted to hold hands. Even though they’d confessed to at least caring about each other. 
“Oh,” the Playwright hummed.
“Cheer up, butter cup, I love hearin’ bout the forced perspective! The Disney parks are so~o~o fun,” the Bard sang out. “When’s the next time we get to go to California? Are we making a trip down to Anaheim? Can we PLEASE take a trip down to Anaheim!”
One of his arms was looped around the Playwright’s, while the other was looped around the Artist’s. They had settled on outfits that complemented each other’s, pulling from the same red and black color palette.
The Artist was the only of the trio in a suit, though his outfit could be considered the loudest. Buttoned down the middle with a high collar, half of his shirt was a solid black, while the other half was a diamond checkered pattern. All of the accents were gold, and his pants were half solid red and half checkered as well. Tonight, the Artist would be a jester. 
An improvement on his self-esteem, the Bard had thought. The Artist had said so, too, saying he’d be dressing like a joke. It...was nice to hear.
The Playwright had also gone with a more light-hearted outfit, pun completely intended. He was dressed as the queen of hearts, with an A-line skirt that skimmed the ground and was almost entirely a replica of the skirt worn by the Queen of Hearts in Disney’s Alice in Wonderland animated movie. His corset had a low scoop neckline with a long heart that stretched down from the neckline to the bottom of the waist. His sleeves were poofy, black with red stripes between. 
It was a deck of cards theme between the three of them. Honestly, they took a bit of solace in their three Musketeers situation. The Bard was dressed like a harlequin in a ball-dancing dress. His entire dress was checkered, a stiff corset traded for a looser fit bodice that was sinched at the waist by a thick black belt with a heart clip. Bits of tulle were attached to his wrists, ideal for dancing in, which was perfect for the plan. He and the Playwright had matching heart chokers, too. 
As he’d said earlier, “We cute.”
Neither the Artist nor the Playwright had argued, and they had yet to pull away from him holding their arms. Maybe they didn’t hate him. 
They didn’t! They were moving beyond all that! 
Because they had to get the Child back, and Virgil back, and save the Damsel and they had a plan. Actually, they should run through the plan again, because the Bard had already forgotten most of it. 
“Thief?” he called ahead. 
“Mhm?” 
“Can we run through the, uh,” they had a code word for it, shoot, what was it? Oh! Oh, right, “The waltz again?”
“Great Mona Lisa, Bard, how the fuck did you forget how to waltz?” the Artist groaned. “We’re going to a ball.”
“No, no, no, THE waltz,” the Bard nudged the Artist’s side with his elbow. 
The Artist shot him a small confused glare, but realization struck his face quick after. “Oh. Oh, that waltz. Yeah, uh,” he turned to the Playwright, who also seemed confused, then to the front again, “Before we get in, we should go over the waltz again.” 
The Thief and Deceit both stopped as well, fingers brushing once again. The Bard saw the motion and chuckled to himself. Sweet Chopin, they needed to just hold hands already. He could envision the love birds flying around their heads. 
He felt a smidge bad, though. After all, he was the lucky Roman who got to kiss Patton. 
Logan and Patton both turned back to them. Patton let go of Logan, then looked around. They weren’t quite at the castle yet; a side alley, wide enough for all of them to stand in and with ample trees, barrels, and an open door beside it would provide good cover. 
“Let’s go over there,” Patton grabbed Logan’s arm again and led them all into the alley. 
They grouped up into a small but tight circle, the Thief pulling them together. He was in a suit, and an ironic one at that. Originally his costume was intended for Deceit, but he suggested switching them, so that the Dragon would think he were Deceit while being less suspicious. He was themed after a snake, though the theming was less noticeable than the color palette; there were yellow sequins arranged in scale patterns across his black blazer’s forearms, and his vest was black as well, undershirt yellow, and bowtie black. It looked a little like a snazzed-up version of Deceit’s lawyer suit and, though he’d tell no one, the Thief loved the look.
Deceit had said it looked nice on him, too. The bowtie, specifically, but also the entire outfit, and also the Thief simply looked good — yeah, they were both kind of messes. Gone was the ability to seamlessly flirt, apparently.
Still, it was nice to see Deceit in something other than yellow for a change, too. He was dressed as a peacock, with no blazer but a side-cape that shimmered iridescent purple and green. Part of it had blue and green rhinestones inching up the shoulder, and his vest beneath was teal, while his undershirt was mint green. There were bands on his upper arms, keeping his shirt bunched back, that were dark blue. Even his ascot was an iridescent purple and blue. 
They leaned against each other in the huddle. Brown eyes trailed all around the group, meeting similar expressions of steely determination. 
They could do this. 
“Alright,” the Thief started, “For the first hour, we’re gonna scope out the room and surrounding rooms. Meet wherever the snacks are in pairs, alternating pairs, and spread details. Patton and I will go twice.”
“Because you and I are gonna peel off after the first hour to go get Virgil and the Child,” Patton said, meeting the Thief’s eyes.
The Thief nodded. He looked around at everyone — Deceit and the Bard had both been fairly defensive about that choice, but he argued that they needed people who were good at causing distractions on the floor. Patton would be the best at comforting both Virgil and the Child, and the Thief was the only one who had any inkling of what the inside of the castle looked like. 
He continued. “Right. We’re gonna try to get out and—”
“Say, what d’ya think that’d make us?” Patton asked, a tiny grin on his face. 
“Oh, no,” Logan groaned, “Not—”
“Cat burglars!” Patton exclaimed with a giggle. 
The Bard immediately broke out into a fit of giggles, leaning into Deceit a little as he did so. Deceit just rolled his eyes and patted the Bard’s back, letting him cling to his side. 
The Artist stifled some chuckles of his own, and the Playwright grinned. Oh. Oh, no, not the idea grin. 
“I think Dragon will be hard pressed to find flaws in our purr-fect plan,” he said, eyes shining as Patton laughed as well. “We’re just gonna have to distract him with our adorable kitty-Pat.”
Logan groaned again, in good humor this time. “I thought you were supposed to be on my side, Playwright,” he grumbled. 
The Playwright immediately sobered up, mouth pressing into a line. “Ah, Logan, darling, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“Hey, but,” the Bard raised a finger at the Playwright, smile wide and mischievous, “If he catches wind of anything, you, Artist, and I can pull a wild card and deck him.”
That got the Artist and Patton to both laugh aloud, and even Logan smiled a tiny bit at the Playwright, if only to reassure him that his frustration was not directed at him.  
The Thief seemed actually annoyed, though. He snapped his fingers in the center of the circle. “C’mon, focus here. Patton and I are going to get Virgil and the Child, then we’re going to come back up to the ball room at the second hour. At that point, Deceit—”
“I’ll be dancing with Dragon and, once you’re back, I’ll be distracting him enough for you to get out,” Deceit waved his hand, also slightly exasperated. He wanted Virgil back immediately and, as the time to pull off their hest approached, he grew more nervous.
“Right. Then, Playwright will take you backstage once everyone else has filed out,” the Playwright nodded to the Thief regarding his involvement, and the Thief looked around the group once more, “All of that sound good? Everyone else, be on the look out for Damsel. We don’t know where he’s gonna be. If he’s out on the ball floor, Logan, you—”
“I will approach him and explain that we are here to get him out,” Logan grimaced, “If he is not on the ball floor….”
“Then I’ll be on standby to head into the dungeons,” the Artist said, smile deflated, brow furrowed in thought.
“Good,” the Thief patted his shoulder, gripping reassuringly, “And if Remus is there, then Bard is going into the dungeons with Patton and I’m staying in the ball room to kick his ass.”
“This all sounds like a plan, Thief,” the Bard said, smiling at him, “Logan, thoughts?”
Logan huffed, frowning at the ground. He’d rolled the details over in his mind a few times, so he’d already worked out some of the issues, such as the irrationality of the original plan’s “jump out the dungeon’s windows, really, how large are the windows, and how do we know it’s not underground.” For right now, it seemed as though the plan were efficacious, but they couldn’t be certain until it was enacted. 
But at that point, it’d be too late to change the plan to any degree of impeccability. They would have to wing it. And Logan wasn’t a fan of that. 
But what choice did they have?
“It is as detailed and as faultless as we can arrange for it to be currently,” he said.
The Thief’s mouth twitched into a slight grimace, but he nodded all the same. That was as optimistic as he would be. “Once this is all over, we meet at the tree as fast as we all can get there,” the Thief said, casting one more look around, “If we pull this off right, no one’ll be leaving alone. If your partner gets injured, you carry them to the tree.”
“I don’t think….” the Artist said, frowning a tiny bit as his voice trailed off. 
The possibility of injury was very high, actually. Death for the Romans, at least. And they didn’t know if the Dragon had injured Virgil or the Child. To be honest, they didn’t know if the Child was alive. Oh, goodness, what if Dragon had killed him? 
“It’s gonna work,” the Bard said, “It’s gonna.” 
He squeezed the Artist’s arm and gave him a nod. It was going to be okay. Roman was optimistic by nature, and the Artist did crave that sort of positivity. 
“It must,” Deceit affirmed none too positively. 
“It will,” Patton said, smiling at them all again before clapping, “And break!”
Everyone stood up on instinct. Then, they all shared slight laughs, small smiles.
The Bard leaned over and hugged Deceit with an arm, reciprocated a little. Patton leaned against the Artist, who didn’t hug back, but also didn’t flinch finally. 
They were getting somewhere. It was going to be okay. 
It was going to be okay. 
….Without Virgil, they all felt as though their optimism was naively placed. But that was why they were going to get him back! 
Once he was back, Deceit thought, he was never letting go again. If he was back. No, no, once he was back. He was coming back soon. 
“Let’s go,” the Thief pulled his mask out from his coat, a black half-face mask covered in yellow sequins arranged like scales.
Everyone shared looks, nodding to each other as they slid on their own masks. Logan, Patton, the Artist, and the Playwright all had special masks that mimicked their glasses prescriptions so they wouldn’t need contacts, too. With faces obscured, they nodded once more, squeezing arms in reassurance and patting backs and giving smiles, and hurried out of the alley. 
The Playwright walked at the front of the group, the only one not paired to any Side. He looked up at the sky. A storm had grown, clouds angry and grey above the castle, which was only a few blocks away now. Perhaps it would thunder during the ball. 
He wondered vaguely what had caused the sudden shift in weather. During their week alone, it was all sunny skies. 
Was it….
No. No, no part of Roman was that desperate, to have gone to Remus. Right? He’d been telling himself that ever since they’d begun this game, but the darker their future seemed, the more he worried about the Duke’s involvement. 
The Thief seemed to think it was very real, enough to have a back-up written into the plan. C’est la vie. Such was life, he thought, the show must go on.
They walked quietly for only a few minutes. The closer they got to the castle, the more Imagination inhabitants they saw walking around them, some in pairs, some in groups, some alone. Everyone was in costume, most intricate. Good. This would be good, for coverage. The Thief had been a little worried that the ball would be sparsely attended, but this was good. 
It was going to be okay. 
They approached the drawbridge. Patton leaned against the Artist, gripping his arm tighter as the wind picked up. The Thief and Deceit were stoic behind them, and Logan and the Bard were simply quiet, though their hands were interlaced tight. It was going to be okay.
A line had formed on the bridge, in front of one man in a suit, perhaps the medieval equivalent of a bouncer. The group shuffled into the line, looking around at the castle, at the moat (“I think it’s filled with alligators,” the Bard murmured to Logan, who shook his head and was about to respond that that didn’t make sense, until an alligator’s maw jumped up and snatched a low-flying bird) and at the sky. 
Angry, angry clouds. 
It took an excruciatingly long eleven minutes for the Playwright to finally reach the front of the line, but when he did, he immediately grinned. He had to hand it to the Dragon. 
“May I see your invitation?” Zac Efron asked, dressed in a black butler’s outfit.
Bless the Imagination’s castings. The Playwright handed over his invitation, and Zac looked over a list in his other hand before handing back the invitation and checking off a name. “You may enter to the ball room,” he motioned to the door. 
The Playwright curtsied and hurried in. Behind him was the Artist and Patton, both of whom gasped a little, becau se holy shit, it’s Zac Efron. 
The Dragon was really out here casting Thomas’ celebrity crushes as butlers. It was the first thing that the Artist had wholly agreed with the Dragon on, actually. Once they were Roman, they were going to have to look into that as a possibility. 
One by one, each entered, walking down a grand hall with a ceiling so high and so vaulted that there seemed to be a sky inside. But, then again, there probably was. This was the Imagination. It looked somewhat like the Great Hall from the Harry Potter movies, this time shining with stars and constellations. 
Logan could identify Aries and Pieces. That was actually accurate for the season and hour, so he gave a mental kudos to Roman for his design, then considered if it were his knowledge that had been used to perfect the stars. Well. That was inconsequential, I guess?
The hall was also lined with suits of armor, and bannisters adorned with Roman’s full crest. Though, Deceit noticed while he walked through, the entire crest was outlined in gold and the castle in the center was colored with grey and brown and black. He thought the Dragon was only supposed to be the outer tower and walls. If the Dragon called all of the shots around here, then why was the center tower also colored?
The walk was long, heels clacking against the stone. They turned with the carpet to the left and entered through a pair of double doors that had to be at least two floors high. 
Inside was life. The room was massive, stretching almost the size of a football field. There was a stage near the entrance door where there were musicians (with undetailed faces, Deceit noticed) were playing loud enough to echo across the room. The dance floor seemed to take up about half the room. 
Farther away from the entrance were some circle tables, arranged around with some citizens already sitting down. Further back were some long tables, food stacked atop them, and even further….
The throne was elevated so the Dragon could see across the hall to the dance floor. The Thief’s fists clenched immediately upon seeing him wearing the Prince’s attire, white uniform a stark contrast to the black he was typically adorned with. It was a jarring difference. 
He was taunting them. By Doc Holliday’s pistol, they were gonna take him down.
Beside his throne was a large Ottoman seat, where there was another figure. The Damsel, most likely, though his face was obscured by a sheer red veil and distance. He was wearing a large dress, which had a triple-tiered skirt that seemed to flare out orange, then red, then black. His corset was decorated with red and orange and yellow rhinestones, and raised behind his head. It almost looked like flames. 
Burned. The Damsel’s scars were also entirely visible, scabs on his arms angry and red, clearly not fully healed. They weren’t openly bleeding, but the Playwright could tell that they would start bleeding at some point in the night. 
His nose scrunched as he examined the pair. They didn’t seem to notice him, the Damsel leaning against the throne’s side and not moving, the Dragon stroking his chin and looking across the hall absently. He had a sword sheathed beside the throne, too, with its handle sticking up in an easily accessible manner. 
He was waiting for them, he realized. Of course he was, this was a trap, you fool. You knew this. You’d planned. It was going to be okay.
The Playwright turned back to the group just as the last pair, Logan and the Bard, entered. 
“Okay. I am going to move toward the snack table,” he nodded toward the thrones, “Octopus, would you like to join me?”
Logan let go of the Bard, who curtsied and stepped back, and then offered a hand to the Playwright. “It would be my pleasure,” he said, “How about we acquire a table, Hearts?”
The Playwright nodded, then shot the Thief a look. “Snake,” he said, a promise, a warning, “Let’s waltz.” 
“Let’s,” the Thief responded, squeezing Deceit’s arm. 
The Bard and Patton had already taken each other onto the dance floor, hoping to not be conspicuously waiting in a group by the door way, and the Artist was meandering around — nope, no, he just asked an Imagination citizen to dance. Blending in well. 
Operation save Virgil and the Child was a go. 
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Virgil could hear the faint music from above. He squinted up, then closed his eyes and exhaled. What’d that matter? 
His side was throbbing. It seemed that just wrapping a bandage around a wound did fuck all to stop it from hurting, or bleeding, especially if it was just wrapped once and around the front. Virgil would have to remember that for the next time he got stabbed by an evil Dragon, he thought snidely. 
He and the Child had relocated themselves to the bed. Pretending to not be panicking was tiring, but luckily for him, the Child had fallen asleep. 
He sniffed quietly, rubbing his eye with the butt of his palm. For the past half an hour, ever sine the Child fell asleep, Virgil had been silently crying. And there was no Damsel to conjure him a glass of water or tell him it’d be okay. Because he knew it wasn’t going to be okay. 
Even if he didn’t die in the Imagination, he’d be exiting it alone. And that was fine! 
The Child snuggled closer to his chest, tiny arms wrapped around him. Virgil sniffed again and hugged him tight. 
If he did nothing else, he’d at least protect this Roman. 
He wished he’d at least told Roman how he felt. 
Maybe he’d never get the chance. 
Gosh, this was really fatalistic, even for him. It wasn’t like he was gonna die in the Imagination. 
Virgil shielded his eyes with an arm and, as illogical as it was, wished that he could use that one arm motion to block out the sounds of the ball going on above. Shit, he was gonna die in the Imagination. 
….Usually that’d freak him out a bit more. Maybe he’d bled out to the point where he was too tired to be worried. And, maybe it was childish, but he really did want to dance with Roman. 
taglists!
chivalry taglist: @starlightvirgil @forrestwyrm @daflangstlairde @marshmallow-the-panda @askthesnake @k9cat @patromlogil @theobsessor1 @ninja-wizard101 @fandomsofrandom
general taglist: @jemthebookworm @okay-finne
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redfoxwritesstuff · 5 years
Text
Lilith (Tom Hiddleston x OFC 18+)
Well. This is a thing. It is a hair over 7k words of a thing. A very not safe for work thing. Happy Valentine’s Day. For those who don’t have dates, had shitty dates, need to warm up for their date or finish off the night right- I give you shameless smut. You can thank @dangertoozmanykids101 for this existing because you never know what is going to set me off on a tangent. This time it was her and pictures of little red headed demons. 
Warnings/rating: 18+ Smut, Dub con, slight public masturbation, Oral sex (both male and female), vaginal fingering, choking, rough sex, sex demon,
Summary: Thanks to a director with a misguided love for authenticity Tom experiences some unique side effects and a special visitor waiting for him at home. 
Lilith
        Tom sat tied to the chair as a man in all black spoke Latin, arms raised. His chair was placed in the center of a circle made of intricate markings and designs burned into the wood floor. When the man spoke the final words he thrust his arms up toward the ceiling.
The smell of sulfur filled the air and smoke floated up from the scorched markings in the floor around him. Something coiled around his leg, slowly working it’s way up his calf. Looking down, he found nothing there yet the feeling of something slithering up his leg went higher and higher, over the bend of his knee and around his thigh. The feeling pulled and caressed his skin yet he couldn’t identify the source of the feeling. 
The sound of lightbulbs popping filled the air as lights around him flashed and some went dark. Tom let out a violent scream with his head thrown back as light surrounded him. Smoke filled his lungs and it took everything he had not to cough as he sucked in a breath to scream again, the sound morphing into a powerful roar as red and orange lights danced through the burnt floor. 
“Cut!” The director yelled and Tom relaxed. “Very good, that’s it for the day.” 
Tom just smiled rather than speaking his mind. He was thankful it was over, it had been a long day and he was sore. Everything hurt and the ropes digging into his arms worked well with the uncomfortable chair to make everything hurt worse. A crew member released the clip that held the ropes together. 
It had taken nearly all day to get this one scene right. The priest kept mucking up the words and they had to go around and around. Off to the side he could hear the crew congratulating the priest on finally getting the chant right. It took bloody forever but professionalism meant they had to cheer the twat on. 
Freed from restraint, he leaned forward and stretched his back before giving a quick twist to the right and then the left. The sound of his spine cracking and popping filled his ears. He was getting too old for sitting tied to metal chairs for hours on hours. 
With his back feeling closer to normal his attention went back to that odd tightness around his leg. It was still firmly there. Pulling at his trouser leg did nothing to dispel the feeling. 
Perhaps his leg was just asleep and numb. It wouldn’t have been the first time today that damned chair put his legs asleep. Hopefully if they had to do any retakes he could convince them to allow him some sort of cushion. Damn was he getting old. 
Standing didn’t do anything to help the feeling. Rubbing at his thigh he tried to get the feeling to go away. Each pass of his hand over the muscle moved higher and higher until he was passing against his semi hard cock. It felt like there was an itch he just couldn’t get to and it went higher and higher.  
“That was fantastic Tom!” The director’s voice startled him just as his hand passed down his cock and thigh again. Color raced to his cheeks as he turned to better face the man, praying he’d not been seen. It was lunacy to be touching himself in such a way on set, no matter how innocent it was. Rumors could kill a career. 
“Thank you.” Tom thanked god that the director hadn’t seemed to see what he had been doing. 
“That final scream- you sold it.” 
“It felt right, like a man possessed.” 
Tom smiled though truthfully he hadn’t known where that last scream had come from. It seemed to rip free from his throat without any of his control or say in it. It was truly the oddest thing, or would have been if not for that feeling of something still wrapped around his leg. Maybe walking would help. 
“Well done on that last take.” Tom praised while resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the robed priest. 
“Ya Think?” The man’s thick Southern American accent was out in full. “Those words gave me trouble somethin’ fierce. It was like it was written in a different language or somethin’.” 
“I was really feeling it during that last take.” Tom clapped the man on the shoulder and excused himself. 
Making his way outside he glanced back to the building while mumbling under his breath, “Fucking twat, it was a different language.” 
With a sigh, Tom set out. He was in a piss poor mood and everything seemed to aggravate him. The tube was packed, unnaturally so for this time of evening and he had to make an effort to be unnoticed. He loved his fans, truly he did but right now with whatever the bloody hell was wrong with his leg he didn’t feel like dealing with them. Thankfully with bodies pressed against each other it made it hard to tell people apart.
Head down and hood up, he hoped for the best. Thankfully he didn’t wear his standard button up coat for a change. With something more casual and his wild curls covered, hopefully he’d pass. 
Still he couldn’t relax. Every time someone pressed against his leg he wanted to groan. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t rub at the odd sensation that seemed to even now slowly creep up his thigh. It was an uncomfortable ride and finally he shoved his hands into the large pocket of the pullover and rubbed at the place high on his thigh where that feeling seemed to settle in as an itch. He wasn’t intending to rub his semi hard cock but it just happened to be in the way. 
Finally, his stop. With a steady stream of ‘excuse me’s and ‘pardon me’s he made his way off the train. A soft yell from a feminine voice caused him to turn just in time to have a very tall, very leggy and very blonde woman all but fall in his arms. He could assume that her heel got caught on the grate, causing her to trip but he doubted that greatly. The sickly sweet smell of her perfume filed his sinuses yet the smell of the sulfur couldn’t be battled away. 
“Are you alright?” He managed to ask as he tried to set her on her feet an arm’s length way. The smell of her perfume made him want to cough more than the smoke had while filming. She seemed to have other ideas as she tried to lean forward and wrap her arms around him. 
“My hero, thank you.” Batting her eyelashes at him. Tom resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 
“You’re welcome. Try to be more careful.” Dropping his arms from around her upper arms he stepped back fully ignoring the fact that she was still leaning on him. It pleased the small part of him that was bitter with the day when she stumbled forward a few steps. 
“Perhaps I can repay you for saving me?” She offered, hugging her arms around herself and pushing her clearly very large and very fake breasts up and nearly out of the too small blouse that she was pretending to wear. 
“I’m not interested. Goodbye.” Tom turned and walked away, thankful for his long stride that allowed him to out pace the woman in her needle thin heels. 
Good fucking grief. He knew he was harsh. He knew he was colder than he normally would have been but it took everything he had not to ask her what would happen if he poked one of those water balloons with a pin. Would they shoot like the water guns he had played with as a boy?
A drink. He’d be walking right by a pub on his way home. Bobby could wait just a little longer. Maybe with a drink or two the annoying tension in his leg would go away. Or at least be less noticeable. And once he got home he could take a proper look at what was going on with that damn leg. 
Inside the pub it was thankfully not busy. It was late but a weekday so he had hope for some more peace. Sitting at the bar he ordered himself a double whiskey and downed it straight away. 
“Bad day?” The bartender asked and for a moment Tom wondered if she’d always left her top three buttons undone. Sweat shined off the round tops of her breasts. 
“Long one.” Tom answered. “Another, please?”
The bartender took his hint and moved onto chatting with warmer guests, leaving Tom to watch her work in peace. She was a homely woman with plain brown hair pulled back. Tanned sink seemed to glow under the lights. 
Perhaps she could help him with this semi-erection. Just as soon as the thought crosses his mind, Tom dismisses it. Just like the blonde, she wasn’t what he wanted, what he needed to soothe the ache that seemed to radiate from his leg. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what it would taste like to lick the sweat off the swells of her breasts. 
With one more rub to the not so semi-erection under the guise of rubbing his thigh, Tom settled his tab after downing the rest of his drink. He didn’t know what it was that he needed but he wasn’t going to find it here. 
Lilith was honestly very comfortable where she lay. The devils grass was long and soft against her pale skin. The red of it shone all down the hill she rested on. It looked very much like blood soaked the grounds. A fitting sight considering she was in Hell. 
The air smelled of sulfur but she had long ago grown used to it. It clung in the air making the sky constantly blaze with orange, yellows and reds. This place wasn’t so bad after one had a few centuries to adjust. Now, it’s been so long since she’d been summoned to the world above that she almost forgot what fresh air smelled like. 
Her long sleek tail twitched in the grass as she thought about how long it had been since she’d fed. It had been a very long time, so very long. A solid meal would be amazing. She could just imagine the feel of flesh under her fingers, moving under her, around her, inside her. 
When the calling came she almost didn’t realize what it was. It had been that long. So long. It tingled in the tips of her ears and felt like electricity running up her tail. The energy of it seemed to set her to life again. Her tail swayed and curled as she wondered what her meal would be like. Finally, it has happened again. 
Lilith walked around the home as she waited. Her meal would be there soon. Unimpeded by walls, moonlight filled the space, filtered through the airy drapes hanging in the windows.. Humans had returned to keeping their living spaces open between hearth and living space. She much preferred this  to the stuffy homes full of boxy walls and doors. 
Air moved freely throughout the space. She moved freely through it as well, running her fingers over smooth surfaces. No personal pictures were on the wall or shelves. It was odd and made Lilith believe whomever she was summoned for was single and probably male. 
By the looks of things he didn’t spend much time in his home. Yet it was clear he liked books. His dog was well cared for and seemed sweet enough, though the brown mass of fur was cowering in his bed from the moment she arrived. It was nice- the last dog owner she… visited had attacked her and she had to put the loyal beast in its place. Not this one, he already knew his place. 
As she moved about his space, trying to find out more about him she let her mind wander. Was he going to have a strong body? Oh how she favored those who cared for themselves. So often as of late men let themselves go. Still, lean and fit or not she would have a meal. Dearly she hoped he was fit and strong. She hoped for thick thighs she could grab and a meaty cock. It would be nice to enjoy the meal.
As she daydreamed and went through his things her tail swayed through the air. Sometimes it would wrap and coil around her leg tightly, sometimes the wide pointed tip would reach up to caress her core through her pants. 
Finding his dirty clothes, she pulled a jumper to her face and took in the scent of him. Strong and masculine. By the sizing she could see her wishes had been rewarded, he was at least tall and lean. Hopefully strong. Stray hairs told her his hair was shaggy and longer with a curl to it. His bathroom spoke to a beard, likely well kept and neat. 
She needed him, her meal. She needed the release that came with feeding. All the while she moved of his space she could feel him in the distance. He needed her too, she could feel it.  
Tom was looking forward to nothing more than letting Bobby out back for a moment, having a cup of tea and settling down into his bed for the night. His back ached. His shoulders ached. Even his legs ached as he climbed the steps to the door and inserted the key into the lock. 
The bloody tightness in his leg seemed to only get worse as he got closer to home. His cock was uncomfortable in his pants and if nothing else when he was inside he could enjoy a hard wank and see what the hell was up with his leg. Priorities- wank first so the bloody erection would hopefully give him so peace. 
“Bobby?” When he didn’t hear anything from the dog, he flipped on the lights and closed the door behind him. It was unusual for Bobby not to greet him at the door no matter how late he brought his sorry ass home. The smell of sulfur seemed to cling to his clothes and was more apparent in the still air of his flat. “Boy?” 
“He is a good boy, isn’t he? Knows his place well.” A woman’s voice seemed to come from everywhere in the room, causing Tom turn while trying to spot the source. 
“Who are you? How did you get in here?” Tom tried to spot the woman hiding in his home as a feeling of dread rooted itself deep in his stomach. He decided to back out the front door, not turning his back on the room. “I’m calling the police!”
“I doubt you will.” Tom spun quickly as her voice came from behind him. “Is your leg alright?”
“How did you get in here? You know what, just leave- okay?” Tom stood a little straighter, making an effort to try and not let on that his leg was bothering him. 
She was a small woman, shorter than he was and with a slim build. Her frame was long, just a bit too long to be normal. It left an unsettled feeling in his mind. Long fire red hair draped down her back and he could see that it reached almost to where her pants rested against her hips. 
Pale skin peeked out at him from where the hem of her shirt just was a bit too short. No, it wasn’t a shirt she wore- it was red and structured, a corset matched with dark pants that hugged the curve of her hips. Her feet were bare, she’d made herself right at home it seemed.  
“See something you like?” That voice was like honey, sweet with the potential to be addictive. 
His eyes snapped up to meet hers and my what a breathtaking pair of eyes were they. An unnatural violet and yet he somehow knew that they were as natural as everything else about her. Thunder crashed outside as rain began to pour down. 
The lights flickered once, then again before they were plunged into darkness. Yet the violet eyes seemed to hold a light from within, he could clearly see their color in the dark. Power seemed to swell in the air and Tom tried to tell himself that it was just because of the storm. 
Behind her it seemed as if a dark cord was swaying in the air. A belt hanging loose perhaps? He couldn’t find it in him to care as that pesky tightness seemed to coil a little higher. Again he rubbed at it and nearly moaned when his palm ran over the length of his cock, quickly growing harder in his pants. 
“Why are you here?” It took him a few tries to get the words out. It was like a fog was settling in his mind. Something was wrong, very wrong. She didn’t belong here. He didn’t invite her here. She should leave. He should tell her again to leave. She needed to leave. He needed her.
Stepping forward and reaching out with one delicate hand, she traced a finger down his chest, starting at the base of his neck. The zipper of his jacket seemed to glide down without any urging as her finger made it’s path down. His coat must be getting worn with age, he tried to reason. 
“I was sent for you.” She stepped forward and he stepped back. It was so hard to convince his feet to move. 
“Sent for me?” Swallowing a lump in his throat he wondered why it was so hot in his flat. “By who?” 
“I do not know who summons me. Only that I have been summoned and where to find the-” Softly she pushed his coat from his shoulders. Tom allowed it to fall to the ground without so much as a thought. “offering.” 
“O-Offering?” Tom stutters as he nearly trips over his coat as he takes a few swift steps back. “What does that mean?” 
She keeps the same distance between them as she follows him. Behind her that dark cord like belt sways and somewhere in his mind he knows it shouldn’t be able to move like that. Moonlight reflects off of small horns perched atop her fire red hair and he tries to tell himself that it’s just a headband.  
“Who are you?” Tom again demanded, fighting the fog that seemed to cling to his mind. The cord swung behind her, seeming to reach out toward him oddly.  
“I am Lilith.” God how he loved the way her voice sounded.
“Why are you here?” His back came to rest against what he knew was a door. His bedroom door. She needed to leave. He needed to make her leave. Whatever was going on wasn’t right. Something very wrong was going on. 
“I was sent for you. I am to make a meal out of you.” Her palm rested against his abdomen and she was pleased to find him firm and strong under the soft blue jumper he wore. 
“What does that mean?” His breath was catching in his chest and when she smiled up at him, sliding her hand up his chest to rest over his wildly beating heart he tried to remember why he needed her to leave. The coil around his leg disappeared but was quickly replaced with the feeling of a cord again beginning to wrap around his leg. Looking down, he found her belt to be wrapped around his thigh, how odd. 
“Worry not.” She whispered in that honey voice as her hand hooked around his neck and she pulled herself up to his lips, drawing all his attention as that cord fell from around his leg. Behind her he could see what he thought was a belt sway out behind her, wagging almost lazily through the air. 
It was a tail, he realized as his eyes slid shut against his will. 
Her lips were soft and warm against his and it had been far too long since he’d been kissed by a woman not being paid to do so on set. It took everything he had not to wrap Lilith in his arms even as he signed into the kiss. She nipped and licked at his lips be he held strong, denying her more until she finally pulled away. 
“You’re a stubborn one, eh? All the more fun for me. You’ll succumb in time.” Reaching around him, she gave the doorknob a quick twist. His weight against the door caused it to rush open behind him. Stumbling into the room, he nearly fell hard on his ass. 
She didn���t allow more than a foot of distance between them as she followed. With his feet under him he tried to back away, tried to make some distance but she pressed forward unrelentingly. Those haunting violet eyes never leaving him. He wasn’t sure he wanted her to ever look away from him. 
When his knees made contact with the bed it took everything he had to remain standing. So badly did his knees want to buckle and send him down onto the soft mattress. Somehow he knew that was a terrible idea however. 
“Such a strong man you are.” She all but purred at him as she ran her hand down his chest, hooking her fingers into his pants and pulling him to her. She leaned into him and planted small kisses along his neck. At his sides, Tom’s fingers twitched. So badly did he want to run his fingers through her hair and test if it was as soft and silky as it looked.  
“You need to stop.” The words didn’t even sound sure in his own ears when he spoke them. 
Her fingers hooked into his belt and made quick work of undoing it. “Do you really want me to stop?” 
His voice wouldn’t come and she smiled up at him. It took no effort for her fingers to pop open the button of his jeans. As she sank to her knees in front of him, he tried to remember how to breath, how to speak so that he could protest. Her fingers pulled the zipper down and his erection fought to spring free. 
“Nothing under?” She mused as she pulled his pants down his legs to pool around his ankles. 
“This isn’t right.” He finally said, looking down at the head of red hair and long thin fingers as they wrapped themselves around his cock. 
It boggled his mind that he was so aroused. He shouldn’t be. He didn’t want this. He didn’t know her. He didn’t know where she came from. He didn’t know how she got into his home. Hell, he didn’t even know if his dog was alright or even still inside. 
“Does it not feel right?” She mussed, looking up at him with those eyes. “Does this not feel right?” 
A pink tongue darted out from between her red lips and softly dragged over his tip, collecting a drop of precum with a moan of appreciation that stole the breath from his lungs. 
“Do you not enjoy this?” She inquired again as she ducked below his cock, tracing the length of it with the tip of her tongue. Warm breath caressed his balls as a groan slipped passed his lips. 
“You need-” His words died as she took him in her pretty little mouth. He swallowed hard and ran a hand through his own hair in an effort to avoid tangling it in hers as more and more of his cock disappeared inside her mouth only to slowly emerge again as she pulled back. 
“You are delicious.” She cooed before returning her lips to his shaft, swallowing more of him. Never had he had a woman take all he had to offer and he’d never blamed them, he had been blessed with his equipment. Yet when his tip pressed against the back of her throat he felt her swallow and keep pushing forward in a way he’d never experienced in person before. All the while she gazed up at him with those violet eyes that he now was sure were glowing just a little.
“You. Need. To. Leave.” The words came between pants as he struggled to keep his hands out of her hair and air in his lungs. She held his thighs in his hands. One hand slowly reached up to take a palm full of his ass and he groaned when she moaned around him. She was clearly very pleased with his strong thighs and firm ass. 
Again she looked up at him with those eyes. Behind her the tail waved in the air hypnotically like a metronome, coaxing his panicking heart to slow its beating down.  Looking down at the top of her head he couldn’t deny that those were small black horns on her head. There was no band around her head. It wasn’t a headband. 
“What are you?!” He demanded, pushing her away from him as best he could. She hardly budged as he jerked back. His cock fell from her mouth with a pop. He fell on the bed and tried to scramble away as best he could with his pants tangled around his ankles stuck on his boots. 
“I am what I am.” Was her only answer as she chased him slowly.
With strength that clearly wasn’t human, she pulled him back to her by his leg. Tom kicked at her with his other leg but she simply swatted the leg away before straddling his waist. With a grip that was too strong, she grabbed his jaw and held him in place as she kissed him. 
Reaching behind her, she took his cock in her hand and stroked it. He could fight it if he wished, but she’d not leave without her meal. Never had she failed and she’d not fail now. He was after all a most delectable treat. She’d not enjoyed her last few meals but this would be different. He would be different. The energy they could generate together would sustain her for a long while. 
It took a few strokes before he groaned against her mouth and his hips twitched and rocked under her. Soon he allowed her to slip her tongue into his mouth and taste him. For a few moments, she thought his tongue wouldn’t join hers and that would have been fine however he sprang into action with a moan. 
As his lips moved against hers, his tongue swirled around hers before thrusting into her mouth. She smirked to herself. His control was breaking down. His hand found the waves of hair at the nap of her neck and grasped a handful right at the roots, holding her to him as he took control of the kiss fully. 
Running her hands down his chest she tugged at the fabric of his shirt, lifting it higher and higher before her nimble fingers slipped inside to trace the hard planes of muscle as he moved. It was such an intoxicating feeling, even for her to feel a strong man under her hands. 
Leaning up and forward, he pushed her back without breaking the kiss. Lilith allowed him to sit up. When she took her lips from his he whined until he felt her kissing up his chest. Without a second thought he pulled his shirt up and off before digging his hands into her hair again, trying to pull her lips to his. 
“This is wrong.” He panted as he kicked his boots off his feet. Quickly his jeans and socks followed. Somewhere in the back of his mind warnings screamed. He didn’t know her. She wasn’t human. Yet her touch was intoxicating. Her kiss was addicting. “I can’t do this.” 
“You can.” She whispered in his ear as she nibbled at his neck. “And you will.” 
With a groan Tom pulled at the laces of the corset as she nibbled at the soft skin just behind his earlobe. Finally the knot slipped free and the structured garment hugged her a little less. As he ripped it from her body, he was mesmerized as her breasts fell free. They were heavy and full and he couldn’t wait to get his hands on them. 
Palming them he enjoyed their weight. They were so soft and fit perfectly in his palm. Leaning forward he took a pink nipple in his mouth and was rewarded with a delightful gasp from the demon. Her skin was almost sweet, as if she had walked through a cloud of icing sugar.  
His cock was so hard and aching for attention. Burying it in her warmth was his all consuming desire. Groaning, he spoke without removing his mouth from her breast, “I need you.” 
“I know you do.” She moaned as she rutted her clothed cunt against his cock lightly, teasingly.
In a swift move he rolled her onto her back, coming to settle with his hips between her legs. He kissed her long and hard as he pinched and rolled a nipple between his fingers. Her nails traced up his back and he knew there would be scratches come morning. With a moan she bucked her hips against him, seeking him again and offering a taste of sweet friction. 
Reaching down between them, Tom pushed her pants down her hips. Kissing his way down her neck and chest, he backed away enough to free her legs from her pants and toss them aside. A black thong made of nothing but what looked to be fine lace did nothing to hide her dripping cunt from his eyes. The way the lace cling to her, he had no doubt that she was indeed soaked.
Reaching out, he hooked his fingers under the lace at her hips and in a moment she was as naked as he. To the side her tail twitched against the bed before slithering up his leg but he paid it no mind until it wrapped around his painfully hard cock and tugged a few times. God was this wrong. Everything about this was wrong but he wanted more. He needed more. He needed so much more. He needed her. 
His eyes were locked on her pussy, pretty and pink. It was perfectly hairless and as he ran his hands up her legs he felt not even a trace of stubble. Either she’d just been waxed or demons simply didn’t have body hair. He’d never been picky before, expecting that a woman groom herself neat just as he did but never had he demanded a bare cunt. Yet this hairless treat looked good enough to eat. 
As his fingers moved up her thighs she spread her legs more for him. He could see the shine of her wetness. Moonlight danced over her pale skin and never had he seen someone look so angelic in his bed. 
“This is wrong.” The words were a whisper even as he reached out to her. His fingers were so close to her wetness. So very close. He wondered what she tasted like. 
“Taste me.” She begged and he leaned forward and licked a wide strip up the length of her parted slit. They both moaned as be began lapping at her as if a man starved. She was sweet in a way he had never tasted before.  Soon he was pushing one finger inside of her weeping hole only to feel it squeezed by strong muscles. 
“So good.” he moaned as he sucked at her clit. “So tight”
“Does it taste wrong?” She bucked against him. This man was talented with his fingers and tongue both and she could feel the buildup of her release. It had been so long since she’d had a meal who could give her release in addition to sustenance. 
“Only good. Only right.” The words didn’t make sense to him in his ears but he didn’t give it a thought. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the taste of her, the feel of her around his fingers as he slipped a second finger inside her and started to curl them while he pumped inside her. Tongue swirled over her clit at times, sucking at others.
With a heavy moan, she came around him. He was fascinated at the way her body contracted around his fingers. Before his eyes her breasts heaved with each gasping breath. He could both feel and see the strong muscles within her cunt contract tightly around his fingers before relaxing only to contract again as she came hard.
There wasn’t much Tom was sure of anymore. He knew he wanted to be buried deep inside her next time she came. Slowly he kissed his way up her body, nibbling and licking at the sharp bones of her hips and the dip of her belly. The sweet of her skin was addicting. 
When she wrapped her fingers around his shaft again he felt like his mind completely gave out. Hips bucked into her hand even as he struggled to climb up the rest of her body. Lips found hers as he pushed her back down. 
“Give it to me.” She moaned against his lips and he wondered for a moment what it truly was that she was wanting from him. “Give me all you have.” 
Tom wasn’t one to deny. Taking her hand from him, he laced his fingers with hers and pinned it to the bed next to her head. Red hair was fanned out around her. God did she look breathtaking. 
He positioned himself at her entrance and looked to her for approval. Violet eyes silently begged for him to take her. A whine poured over her lips. That was all he needed. 
Slowly he pushed into her. God was she tight, so very tight around him. Never had he been in a woman as tight as her. It, like everything else about her, was intoxicating. Nails dug into his back, urging him to sink deeper into her until their hips meant. 
He kissed her again before he began to thrust. From that moment, he was a man possessed, just as Lilith wanted him. Wildly he bucked into her, pushing the air from her lungs with each brutal thrust. 
It didn’t take long for the friction to no longer be satisfying enough for him. He needed more. Pulling out, he wrapped his arm around her waist and hauled her up before plunging into her again. She was supported by his arms alone as he bucked up into her. 
The way his public bone worked against her clit as he rocked into her had her cumming quickly. Nails dug into his back as her back arched. His lips found her neck and he set to work nibbling a trail of purple love bites. Blood trickled down his back from the deepest of the scratches but he paid it no mind. 
The feeling of her contracting around him drove him forward. More, he needed more. She was an addiction, he would never be able to get enough of her. If he died this night, cock deep within her, he would die a happy man. 
When the vice like contractions around him finally calmed, he tossed her onto the bed. The look of surprise on her face pleased him in a primal way. He flipped her to her belly and admired her ass. The black tail extended out from just above her ass crack. Wrapping his hand around the base of it, he pulled sharply.
Dear god she moaned the most delectable sounds when he pulled her tail. Again he pulled, harder this time. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he should run but how could he pass up being inside her again? He needed to be inside her burning heat again. He needed to be consumed by her. He needed to give her more. 
“On your knees.” He ordered and when she didn’t obey fast enough he pulled her up by her tail and the heavy moan that spilled from her lips made his cock twitch nearly painfully. He couldn’t say if he had ever been as hard as he was now. All he knew was he needed her. 
He braced her in place with a firm hand on her hip and slammed back into her. The force knocked her onto her elbows. The pace he set was brutal and the force of each thrust rocked the bed. The sound of the frame hitting the wall filled the room. 
Never before had his neighbors been treated to hearing him have such a wild lay, he normally was mindful of the noise. If the bed didn’t give away the events taking place in the room, the smooth moans from Lilith as she submitted to him would have. 
“Fuck.” He moaned, taking a fistful of her hair in his hand and hauling her up onto only her knees. “Need to feel you come.” 
His other hand moved from her hip to run up her stomach, pinch at her nipples before wrapping around her neck and lightly squeezing. In the back of his mind, he was horrified to be acting in such a manner, to be so recklessly dominating without having had so much as a conversation about boundaries. Never mind that he’d never gripped a lover by the throat before. 
Yet he knew he had no control of his actions. She’d done something to him. She had to have done something to him. That was the only thing that made sense. Yet he couldn’t be troubled to give a damn about it as he pounded into the burning cunt that gripped his cock like none ever had before. 
With one hand he set to work rubbing her clit as he held her steady by her neck with the other. “Come for me. Come on my cock.” 
Who was she to deny him? At the desperate plea in his voice she began to spasm around his cock. His pace only quickened and became sloppy as she contracted tightly around him. When his arms could no longer support her, he dropped her to the bed and braced himself with a firm hand on her shoulder blade. He fucked wildly into her, pushing her harshly against the mattress with no regard for her comfort or if she could even get a breath. 
“Fuck.” He chanted as he neared his release. 
“Give it to me.” She begged weakly.
When he came it was with a deep moan and garbled sounds that could have almost been words. He collapsed hard on her back. It took everything he had left to shift off her so as to not continue crushing her.  
Never had he felt so drained after sex. With a firm grip he pulled her to his chest as he rolled onto his back. Damp hair stuck to his face and neck. Glancing down to her he could see the wild red waves stuck to her back in places. Violet eyes were heavy as they peeked up at him. 
Lilith remained in his arms, looking up at him with half lidded eyes until sleep claimed him. It didn’t take long at all. He was spent and drained. He had offered her everything he had to give and she took it all greedily.
When he was sound asleep she slipped from his arms. Turning, she gave him one last long look as his seed seeped out of her and made a wet trail down her thigh. He was a fine man indeed. His skin was now littered with scratches from her nails and little love bites. His hair was a proper mess but after a long rest he would be fine. 
Gathering her clothes, she dressed silently. After leaving a glass of water on his night table she wrote a quick note on a scrap of paper she found in the kitchen. 
She slipped into the night air, locking the door behind her. She smiled as she slipped the keys into the letter box and with one last parting glance, she walked off into the dark streets of London. 
She hoped whoever had summoned her and sent her to this man would do so again. He did make a fine meal and she’d be very pleased to feed from him again. 
With a groan Tom awoke in the morning to Bobby’s whining. Glancing at the table he saw that it was nearly ten. He’d not slept that late in a long time. When he moved to sit up, everything hurt and made him question exactly what had happened the night prior. 
Everything was fuzzy and his head hurt worse than any recent hangover. A glass of water was set on the nightstand and he was thankful for his forethought as he downed the cool liquid. It soothed his parched throat. With his eyes screwed shut he walked the well known path to the bathroom. 
The sight of himself in the mirror bolted him awake. Neck and chest were littered with love bites. Turning to look at his back he found scratches that clearly were caused by someone reaching around behind him and digging her nails in. 
“What the hell?” 
Tom quickly made his way back to his bed and took in the sight of the wall behind the headboard. It was cracked and clear that the bed had slammed into it repeatedly. 
Grabbing a pair of sweatpants out of his dresser, Tom quickly pulled them on and went to investigate the rest of his home for damage or clues. On the kitchen counter he found a note written in a hand he had never seen before and read it aloud to the empty flat.
“Thanks for the meal. ~ Lilith”
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wandering-jax · 5 years
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Voodoo - Part One
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“Your usual?” A gruff voice in a creole accent asked. I cut my gaze toward the voice. A look I had given him for the past two years, every third week of the month, around this time in the evening. The old man poured me a whiskey neat and had number two ready. He knew my name even though I’d never given it. I had made my way through the city block by block but always ended up in the French Quarter. Lafitte’s to be exact. Just two blocks from the home I purchased not long after landing here.
It was January of 2017 when I touched down in New Orleans. The information on the flight log from three days prior showed the time the jet landed at the municipal airport just outside the city. It sat on the tarmac for exactly 48 hours before it took off for home, in Vegas, minus one passenger. The only passenger.
Money had been exchanged to keep it from my ears but that only lasted as long as the plane was in the air. The moment the doors opened and only the pilot and steward disembarked, I knew. How did I know? I was there, watching from inside the hanger, unprepared for the surprise news the pilot gave.
“Mr. Kingston, Madden isn’t on the manifest. He didn’t come back and didn’t give a reason. I was told when we landed that you were unaware.” The pilot said before shooting a menacing look at the steward who was already inside the glass doors and nearly running for the exit. “Do you want me to stop him?”
“No. When is the last time you physically saw Madden?” I asked.
“Not since we arrived in Louisiana two days ago. The crew changed as you know and the new guy who just tore ass out of here told me upon landing that you didn’t know the plane was empty.” The pilot held my gaze which spoke volumes to how honest he was. Besides, I paid him well to keep me informed at all times. No matter what.
“I see.” My eyes moved beyond the weary lines around the pilots eyes to the jet sitting on the runway still. “Give me a moment before you put her away, understood?”
I had searched that plane from top to bottom. It was if Madden had never been on it. Which led me to New Orleans to find out for myself. What I found was a littering of clues that led to various possibilities. None of which I liked.
The bar was relatively empty this evening but in the dead of summer, it wasn’t a rare event. The heat coupled with the humidity made the air feel as if you slid it on like a coat. I hated it. My skin itching for the dry climate of my desert. I tapped on the bar to signal it would be the same and a glass with three fingers of Bourbon was slid over to me.
“My grandson might be able to help you.”
I looked up to see the silver haired man staring at me, “I don’t remember asking.”
“Maybe not but you need the help, Mr. Kingston.”
I swallowed down a drink and the glass hit the bar with more force than necessary. He knew my name even though I’ve never offered it to him. In fact, the only ones to address me by any name were those who are in my employ while in town. That was the entire reason behind buying the home under the name of a smaller company I own. The realtor, my barber, and the assistant I hired to keep up the home were the only company I kept. I stayed silent.
“He drove the man you’re looking for from the airport to a home just outside of the city. But you don’t care,” he said flatly. The old man went back to rearranging the same bottles he had fiddled with not five minutes ago as if he hadn’t thrown out the bait for me to snap onto.
“Fine.” I shrugged him off. I had been in this bar too many times to count and he had never once addressed me outside of his ‘what’ll it be’ and now he has a grandson who happened to know where I can find Madden or at least a solid lead while I’ve been chasing my own tail this entire time. The rage settled in my gut nicely while I continued to nurse the drink in front of me.
“Don’t let him dangle that carrot for too long, he enjoys the chase,” a voice behind me uttered. I didn’t make a move to look, there was no need, whoever is looking for me had found me. “Seriously, Pops doesn’t mean any harm. I came to him when I saw you in here last month. Name’s Nik.” The man stuck out a hand and I turned my head to the side to see who was encroaching on my personal space. Tall, dark hair and eyes, yet unconventional in his handsomeness. I ignored the hand but nodded to the chair beside me.
“Let me guess, the grandson who happens to Uber for a living?” I cut my eyes over to the man who was now seated beside me. He didn’t look uncomfortable there either. The bartender sat a cold beer in front of him and left us alone.
“That’s me but not an Uber. A friend of a friend.” Nik swallowed a drink from his beer.
“I see. And who is the friend?” I asked.
Nik shook his head. “Not an important part of the story, Mr. Kingston. But I do know where he went and how long he stayed until going ghost.”
The way he said my formal title made my skin crawl. “My name is Jax, Nik. Please refrain from calling me anything else.” I finished my drink off and signaled to the bartender I was done for the night.
“When you remember the friend that you so kindly helped out, let me know.” I set a matte black card with my name and cell number in red on the bar in front of Nik. “But not until then. Have a good evening.”
“1012 Royal St. You acquired the home from a well known family and hired Louis Parker as caretaker when you go home to Vegas.” Nik spoke with certainty. “Madden came home nearly three years ago and you’ve been looking for him ever since. I can help but only when you want it. Jax.” He said my name as if he’d said it before. As if we were friends.
“I assure you,” I began but when I turned around Nik was gone. His grandfather looked unaffected by the rush disappearance and was dealing with another wave of tourists visiting the historical bar. That was my cue. I was by far a local but I also wasn’t wearing a ‘The Bride’ sash or a horde of brightly colored beads either. I felt a familiarity in New Orleans that only grew with each weekend that I spent here. The rich history, the slow pace compared to the neon glow of Vegas, the warmth of her people. And the architecture. From the high, wrap around balconies to the moss covered stucco, the columns and nods to the victorian era, it wasn’t hard to fall in love with it.
The unknown was part of the charm of New Orleans or so I thought. It was easier to get lost in ghost stories and vampire lore than the dramatics beginning to unfold. Uncertainty and I were not good bedfellows.
Once at the house I left the ground floor parlor to the quiet of the second floor where Louis concentrated on the MacBook perched in his lap, stocking feet up on the century old coffee table, stark white headphones keeping my presence concealed for the time being. He was in his twenties, I think, I couldn’t recall the exact number but when I hired him …. I didn’t care. It was his shoulder length dirty blonde hair and sapphire eyes that held my attention at first and then his attention to detail, which came later. I could be quite shallow. Right now Louis was laser focused on whatever was on the screen, his eyes flickering back and forth as fast as his nimble fingers.
I left him there for now and went up one more flight to the second largest of the rooms. It wasn’t the Master but it was the one with the best view. Having lived above The Strip for long softened me to street noise and lights. It made anything less almost impossible to sleep next to. So as the street music crept through the open balcony doors I let my thoughts drift to Nik. A stranger who happened to find me at exactly the right time, in the right place and say the right things. I was unnerved. I should have brought a pet with me. Kloe. One of the house submissives. Anyone.
There was a breaking point for everyone, including me and I had reached it.
“Louis!” I shouted. “Upstairs. Now!”
#TheRedDoorsWrite
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Shattered, Chapter 6
Notes: As always, huge thanks to my awesome editors Drucilla and Blueshifted.
This was my first time writing O'Hara, and am I not obligated to give him the most exaggerated accent possible?
Also, while it's frustrating that over the years Daisy's personality has been rewritten so many different times, it's also fantastic because I can make her a complete nutter without anyone batting an eyelash.
Summary: Minnie and Ratface arrive at the Golden Kingdom, where everything glitters for a price.
At times, Minnie would regret not grabbing at least a pair of shoes from Mother's house – or whatever her real name was – but the thought of going back to that prison kept her eyes forward. The chill in her chest stayed, and as Minnie and Ratface journeyed on, she could feel it grow stronger. Minnie didn't sleep often, wanting to cover as much ground as she could, but when she did, Ratface snuggled in close – not because he wanted to, he claimed. “If some big predator comes along, they'll surely eat you first. I'm just setting up an alarm system. Don't expect me to stay around at the first sign of trouble.”
But his barbs and criticisms came less and less as they left that mystical garden. Sometimes he'd ask about her home, and sometimes they traveled in silence. Minnie would often glance in his direction, wanting to ask one of many questions on her mind about what he knew, but when she met his eyes she lost the will. Perhaps he was waiting for her to ask... but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Whatever he knew about “Mother” and the Snow Queen couldn't be pleasant, and she felt she hadn't earned the right to open up old wounds. Maybe she never would.
It was early afternoon in their travels along endless green grass when they spotted something new off in the distance between two great hills. From far away, there was a glittering color that was very beautiful, and Minnie picked up the pace to see it closer. Between the hills were gigantic golden walls, and half a dozen plain-clothed soldiers standing guard. Unlike the frozen soldiers of the Snow Queen, these men and women were full of life, jabbering to one another, playfully shoving, one of them opting to take a nap standing up. The majority of them stood in front of a gigantic golden door, which contained a smaller door, which contained an even smaller door, on and on until there was a door about Minnie's height. Minnie couldn't tell if this was a way to confuse outsiders or a very odd choice in aesthetic.
“And here comes a problem,” Ratface said. “If we want to get to the Snow Queen, we must keep moving forward... but traversing those hills would take many days. The fastest way would be through the Golden Kingdom straight ahead. I've never been there myself, but I hear the princess is more off-kilter than a three-legged flamingo.”
Minnie couldn't make heads or tails of that insult so she ignored it. “I've never been to another place with lots of people in it before.” It was both exciting and nerve-wracking. “I hope it'll be all right.”
“Word of advice, pretty girl.” Ratface leaned in, still perched on her shoulder. “If they see you talking to me, they'll think you're crazy. Birds aren't supposed to talk the way I do, so you'll hear no more from me as long as we're in there.”
She fancied a chance. “You could tell me why you talk, and I could tell them.” He merely looked away, apparently deciding now would be the start of his silence. “I'm beginning to think you're more stubborn than Mickey.” Which was really saying something! She walked on to the large doors, and it wasn't long before the guards could see her. She stopped in place. “Excuse me-”
“Who goes there!” One of the taller guardsmen shouted, leaping forward, his bayonet at the ready. He then paused, adjusted his hat, adjusted his collar, and then resumed pointing his weapon at her. “Does that look better?”
“I didn't think it looked too bad before,” Minnie said, blinking at the weapon, curious as to why she posed any threat.
“Oh, why thank you-”
“Oh, for gosh sakes, Horace!” One of the guards-women snapped, shoving Horace with one arm, her hair bouncing off her back as she moved. “You don't thank the enemy! That's how they'll get you!”
“Don't you tell me what to do, Clarabelle!” Horace stood up straight, his finger jabbing her chest. “If I'm gunna die today, then I'm gunna die as a gentleman, I tell you what!”
Minnie didn't have to see Ratface to know how hard he was rolling his eyes. “I'm sorry, I think there's been some sort of... misunderstanding? I'm not here to hurt anyone.”
“Oooh, I just bet!” Clarabelle whipped around so fast that her long hair smacked Horace in the face. “Let me tell you something, missy! I've been guardin' the Golden Kingdom from the Snow Queen's soldiers for years, and I ain't about to be fooled by no trick! Sure, you may not look like them, sound like them, or act like them, but that doesn't mean you ain't one of them!”
Horace paused, then scratched his head. “Uh, actually, Clarabelle... kinda sounds like that means she really ain't one of them! All the years we been here, the Snow Queen's soldiers never changed their tactics.”
It suddenly struck Minnie what they were really saying, and her eyes widened in shock. “You... all of you actually fight the Snow Queen? You've been doing that all this time?”
“A'course we do!” Clarabelle said proudly, slapping a hand to her heart. “Been a proud family tradition for years! What right she got, thinkin' she can forbid love? None, I tell you, none! So we stand guard here and fight off her soldiers who try to take away our loved ones!”
“Ain't actually stopped 'em from doin' so,” Horace admitted with a shaky wave of his hand. “But with every defeat we learn a new lesson, I say. We'll never give up on people we love.” Then, with an amused grin, he gently nudged Clarabelle's arm with his own. “Ain't that right, Clarabelle?”
Clarabelle blushed with a shy smile of her own, though her teasing nudge-back was hard enough to send Horace stumbling backwards. “Aw, Horace! This ain't somethin' you say in front of the...” However, she stopped herself from calling Minnie the enemy again, as even she could tell the enemy wouldn't look so... stunned.
For a brief moment, Minnie couldn't see or hear anyone. She stared into space with this new thought – people had been fighting the Snow Queen? It had never just been defiant Mickey? How many other lands took up arms to defend love? Was it just Minnie's homeland that merely...gave up? Did they ever even try otherwise? The idea of having options was so revolutionary that Minnie didn't know what to do with it.
Horace glanced at Clarabelle, who glanced back at him.
“I'm thinkin' maybe we should ask the Chief what to do.”
“I'm thinkin' you might be right about that.”
Cow and horse stepped back to the doors, and knocked on several of them in a musical pattern. In response, the smallest door opened, and a portly dog of a man began to push his way out. His clothes were equally plain as his men, as if he was no better or worse than them, save for a few shiny badges atop his shoulder. “Atten... HUT!” he called out, and every solider stopped what they were doing to turn and salute. “'Tis another glorious day in our kingdom, and I see all is well! So, pray tell, what needs me help?”
Horace saluted himself and wound up smacking his own face in the process. “Sir, Chief, sir! Sir, we spotted this possible intruder on our border, sir!”
“Sir, yes, sir!” Clarabelle copied on the Chief's right side. “Sir, we sought your advice on how to handle this, sir!”
Ratface flicked Minnie's ear with his feather to bring her back to reality, and she shook her head hard, trying to remember everything. “Oh! I think they mean me, sir. Yes, sir?” She hesitated and then tried to copy their salute. “Sir, I would like to pass through your kingdom, if it's all right, sir.”
The Chief looked Minnie up and down without saying a word, his floppy cheeks swaying with him, the white in his hair showing shades of gray in the sunlight. When he was finished with his inspection, he placed one hand on Clarabelle's shoulder, and the other on Horace's. “You mean to tell me you thought this little girl was a danger to our entire kingdom?”
“Sir, yes, sir!” the duo chanted in unison.
The Chief sighed heavily, and then shoved the two together so that their foreheads smashed together. “Faith and begorrah, you daft fools! Lass doesn't even have on a pair of shoes! And you call yourselves guardians of our kingdom!”
“Sir, owwww, sir.”
“Sir, sorry, sir.”
The Chief muttered a few choice phrases to himself before approaching Minnie, a hand to his heart as he bowed. “Most sincere apologies, bonnie lass. I'm afraid my men are a bit on edge, can't even trust their own eyes. I'm Chief O'Hara, and if it's safe passage you want through our home, then you may have it.”
Relief ran through Minnie like a soft summer light, and she delicately began to step forward, her hands staying together. “Thank you ever so much, sir. My name is Minnie, and this is my friend Ratface.” Ratface huffed.
“Ah, a girl and her pet, what a good sight,” O'Hara mused, before taking a small biscuit out from one of his pockets. “Polly want a cracker, eh?”
It had been so long since Minnie had anything even remotely close to a laugh that when she abruptly snorted, she held her nose, confused as to what she just felt. The ghosts of giggles kept shaking inside her mouth, and it was the only thing keeping Ratface from biting off O'Hara's finger. “Well, all right, more for me, then.” The Chief popped the biscuit into his mouth and headed back to the doors. “Come along then, I'll be your guide.”
Minnie forced down the odd sensation, but just as she and O'Hara were about to pass through, Horace nervously rose his hand. “Sir, also, sir? Sir, if, well... if Donald shows up again... do we really have to put him through another test, sir?
“Sir, really, sir?” Clarabelle added with a look of sheer disdain. “Sir, we all know what's gunna happen, sir.”
“Now, now,” O'Hara wagged a reproachful finger at his subordinates, “We are a fair and honest group. So long as we need men, he may apply as many times as he wishes...” And then, he lowered his hand, mumbling to himself, “And as many times as our eardrums can stand it.” Pretending as if he said nothing, he straightened his back, and pushed open the door.
The Golden Kingdom certainly lived up to its name – absolutely everything was that color! The streets, the houses, even some of the food and smaller animals were colored in the same bright yellow. Thankfully it appeared the townsfolk had their options of colors when it came to dress, which preventing the entire scenery from being completely blinding. It was as yellow as Minnie's town as white – but that wasn't the difference that stayed with her. No, it was the people's faces – they weren't haggard and run-down, lost in exhaustion and weariness. They weren't all brimming with joy, but they were varied! Different! Emoting!
“Is the whole world like this?” Minnie asked softly, not really expecting an answer.
O'Hara raised an eyebrow at such an odd remark. “Oh, I'd say no place is ever exactly like any other. Be a rather dull world if that was the case, I think.” His eyes couldn't help but fall to her feet. “Lass... you may need to be on your way, but are you sure I can't get you a pair of shoes first? My wife, bless her heart, has way more than any woman needs.”
The offer was tempting, but the last person who attempted to clothe her had nearly turned her into a doll, so she was a tad resistant. “That's very kind of you, sir, but I really can't stay. I must get through here as quickly as possible.”
O'Hara frowned, displeased that he couldn't help, but he pushed it no further. “Very well, very well. If that be the case, then let us make haste. I can have you to the edge of the kingdom quite quickly... so long as we don't run into her.”
“Her?” Minnie asked, and she exchanged a questioning look at Ratface.
“~OOOOOOH~CHEEEEEIIIIIF~OOOOOOOHAAAAARAAAAAAAA~!”
O'Hara slapped a hand to his face and dragged it down slowly. “Speak of the devil.” In fact, it seemed everyone within a five mile radius was doing the exact same thing.
A carriage was riding up the yellow cobblestones, and naturally it too was almost garishly gold, with silver trimmings and lacy curtains on the side. The rider and his horse looked equally annoyed at the woman who continued to sing the Chief's name, along with interludes of “TRA LA LA LAAAA LA LA LAAAAA~!” Instead of riding in the carriage like a normal person, the singing lady was hanging off the doorway, arm and leg outstretched, ignoring or oblivious to the safety hazard she posed to herself. Her tight blue dress flapped wildly as the carriage rode on, navy ribbons tying up her fancy gloves and her fancy hair – golden ringlets that bounced off her cheeks. If she tilted any further, her bejeweled tiara would fall right off. She only stopped singing to give orders. “There he is, stop here, stop here!”
The rider and horse obeyed, and the rider popped out an earplug that wasn't up to the job. The lady hopped off the carriage door and walked on her tippy toes, where Minnie could see she was wearing dancing shoes with the same ribbons. “I have been looking all over for you, dear Chief! Where have you been?”
“At my post, my lady,” O'Hara replied after a respectful bow, fighting off the urge to pinch his temples. “As is my job.”
“No matter!” the woman decided with a flippant wave of her hand. “You're here now, so you can help me now! Spread the word – tonight, we shall be having another party at the castle, and everyone is to attend!”
Minnie nearly jumped at the sound of wide-spread groans all around, including from O'Hara. “Another one?! We just had one last night! We've been having them for weeks and weeks on end!”
“But we simply must have a party, Chief!” The woman was aghast at the idea of anything opposite, taking a step back. “Why, it's a special occasion!”
“What now?” The Chief asked, hands on his hips, leaning in. “We've had birthday parties for nearly everyone in the kingdom, a party for the opening of the dress store, a party for the good weather, we even had a party for Miss Clara repairing her wicker basket! What in the name of the angels could we possibly have left to celebrate?!”
The woman drew herself in, eyes darting all about, and she tugged anxiously at her gloves. “I, uh... well... there's... there must be, something special, happening somewhere...?”
“We can't afford to keep having these parties, my lady!” O'Hara insisted, though he at least tried to tone down his anger. “Please, think rationally! The money is going down the drain, and we can't afford to have our guards off duty when the Snow Queen could strike down at any time! You must think of your people... there is just nothing left to celebrate.”
The fancy-dressed woman continued to fidget, still trying to find an answer against all that logic. She bounced on her toes, beginning and ending sentences with “eh” “ah” “hm”, until she finally noticed Minnie – who felt like a mere audience member at the world's strangest play. “Oh? Who is this lovely girl?”
Minnie looked behind her until she realized that somehow she was the lovely girl. Chief O'Hara cleared his throat. “My lady... this one calls herself Minnie, along with her companion, Ratface. This here be our Golden Princess, Princess Daisy.”
While the last “royal” figure Minnie had met didn't seem one for etiquette, Minnie wanted to be fair to the person whose land she was traveling through, and so curtsied. “It is a pleasure to meet you, your royal highness.”
Daisy stared at Minnie, and she pulled out a thin blue fan from her sleeve, using it to point at Minnie's feet before fanning herself. “O'Hara. The girl doesn't have any shoes.”
Not wanting him to get in trouble, Minnie was quick to speak. “Oh, he offered, but I declined, your highness. You see, I really need to get through the kingdom as quickly as possible.”
Daisy propped the fan under her beak, an idea beginning to brew. “I haven't seen you around here before, and I pride myself on knowing everyone. You must be a newcomer... and we haven't had a traveler here in ages.” Her mouth split into a grin.
O'Hara jerked, hands outstretched. “My lady, don't you dare-”
“We MUST celebrate!” Daisy cheered, spinning in place. “Oh, yes, yes, yes! We will celebrate this dear girl's first day in the Golden Kingdom! It's a momentous occasion!”
Minnie looked around as if to make sure she was actually hearing this. While Ratface's taunts often seemed needlessly cruel, perhaps he had been a little too on the mark in this case. Ratface was in equal disbelief. “That's – that's really not necessary, there's nothing about me that's worth a party-”
“Nonsense, nonsense!” Daisy was suddenly invading Minnie's personal space, grabbing her hands and swaying them about. Ratface jumped off Minnie's shoulder and flew to the carriage to watch this strangeness unfold. “You are absolutely worth celebrating! We will have a grand and glorious time! This will be the day of Minnie!” She then pulled Minnie into a warm embrace, and waved off O'Hara. “Now, go, go, spread the word, all are invited!”
O'Hara inhaled as deeply as his lungs would allow before letting out the longest sight imaginable. “Yes, my lady...” Grumbles and moans echoed back and forth across the townsfolk.
“First things first,” Daisy then decided, giving Minnie a spin. “We must get you some shoes! I won't have you walk another step, you poor darling!” She then pointed her fan at the rider, who was tossing away his ear plugs. “Return to the castle and let everyone know about the party! Promptly at eight, of course, and everyone dressed to the nines! This is her first party here, and we must make it extra memorable!”
It was becoming clear to Minnie that she was having no say in this, so she may as well go along for the ride. However, Daisy did manage to bring up one thing of important note. “I've never been to a party before, anywhere.” She'd read about those wondrous things in books, but the books also said they were meant to make everyone happy – only Daisy seemed to like them.
“Never?” Daisy gasped, drawing Minnie even closer to her. “Never, ever, ever? Oh, then we must make this party ten times as special for you! But, again, first, shoes! To the cobbler!”
“How do I get there if I can't walk-” Today Minnie made another new noise in her mouth that she didn't recognize, a wiggled “Oooh?!” as Daisy triumphantly lifted Minnie into her arms and carried her as if she weighed no more than a sack of flour. Her eyes boggled, trying to find muscle in Daisy's dainty arms.
“No need to fret, darling dearest Minnie,” Daisy said as she began to walk, ever still tippy-toed. “All in the Golden Kingdom are required to train every day, lest the Snow Queen's soldiers come about to strike up a fight. Let us fetch you the cutest shoes you've ever seen, socks to match, and goodness gracious, I want to see you in something with silk!”
Minnie tilted her head back to see Ratface, who casually flew alongside them. Though they exchanged no verbal words, the look between their eyes was mutually understood.
It's killing you not to make fun of her, isn't it?
Shut up. Here I thought only your boy would carry you as a bride.
With Minnie unable to fight or make Daisy listen, she was whisked away to the cobbler, who was exasperated y the news of another party. Minnie was seated on a plush – yellow, of course – chair as the kindly old man measured her feet, then laid a brand new pair of fresh white socks on her lap.
Daisy flapped the fan on her face, analyzing Minnie all over again. “Colors, colors, colors... it must be so difficult for you to dress, you look like you'd match anything! Tell me, what would you like your shoes to be? Yellow is traditional, but, daresay, you could pull off purple.”
Minnie blinked at her, and then blinked at her several more times. She'd never been given an option about clothes before, so used to her family's hand-me-downs that she assumed she'd wear them even when old and gray. She first tried to dodge the question. “I don't have any way to repay you for this. I'm afraid all I have with me is some grass and vegetables.” And a valuable piece of jewelry, but Minnie wasn't going to part with that for anything.
“Repay me? Perish the thought. You're my honored guest.” Daisy lightly poked Minnie's nose with her fan. “The only thing I want from you is to have a good time at the party. Dance, and sing, and eat, and be merry! Make new friends! Find a special boy and take him into your arms!” She drew back her hand, eyes beginning to go distant. “Let him draw you away from the music so he can whisper sweet nothings into your ear... then go out into the balcony to see the stars and make a wish together...” Minnie began to doubt Daisy was really speaking to her anymore. “One more dance all by yourselves...”
“A-hem.” The cobbler cleared his throat. “The shoes, my lady?”
Daisy's eyes cleared up, rushing back to the present in full swing. “Eh? Ah? OH! Shoes. Shoes, yes!” She swiftly turned around and began to march up and down the aisles. “I should get a new pair myself while I'm here!”
As Daisy frittered away her choices, the cobbler shook his head, rubbing his aching back. “Sorry for all the trouble she's putting you in, miss,” he said, keeping his voice low. “She's not a bad girl... She just doesn't have her priorities in order anymore.”
Minnie lowered her head so she could return the whisper. “You mean she didn't use to be like this?”
“Mostly kept to the castle, she did, rarely came out to see us. Not that she was cold or mean... the King and Queen kept her inside at all times, 'fraid that the Snow Queen would someday snatch her away.” A pitiful sigh. “Irony, I tell you what. Two years ago, they were the ones taken away. Took a great toll on us all. But the princess did her best in their place, so she started leaving the castle to understand how things were run. Did a mighty fine job, if'fn you asked me.”
“So what changed?”
The old man shrugged. “Don't rightly know. I want to say it was about a month ago she began these parties... the first time was all right. It was to thank this brave young man for stopping a rotten family of muggers out to get her. Helped kick them right out of the kingdom. We all enjoyed that little shindig... it was a nice reminder of the happy things the Snow Queen can't take away from us. Then... she threw another one the next day. Then the next day. Over and over again, and she won't stop! We'll be bankrupt and sitting targets if this keeps up!”
Minnie chewed on her lower lip as she listened to the tale, eyes continuously going back to Daisy who sang a joyous melody as she chose a pair of silver heels for herself. No, she wasn't a bad person, Minnie decided, even if her experience with bad people was limited. Unlike Mother's backhanded praises, Daisy seemed to genuinely mean everything she said, even if she didn't think about it clearly. Minnie looked down at her lap, then put her head up. “She made me the guest of honor... maybe she'll listen to me. I could try to talk to her.” It might not be a success, but the idea of leaving these people without trying to help made her ill.
The cobbler's expression softened, and then he chuckled. “My thanks, good lady. Who knows? Maybe you'll have the angel's miracles on your side.”
There was that word again – angel. She'd been hearing a few times since she arrived in the Golden Kingdom, but was unfamiliar with the term. Maybe Ratface would know, if she could get a moment alone with him. Right now he was waiting outside, sitting on the roof, looking out for who knew what. Daisy bounced back to the two, twirling around in her new duds. “Oooh, these are the best ones yet! I'll pay you double – triple for these! No arguments, it shall be done.” The cobbler huffed, slightly bemused, as Daisy went on. “And what of you, Minnie? You never did answer me.”
If Minnie was going to get Daisy to listen, it seemed she would have no choice but to see this party through until the end. She fidgeted, hands on her lap. An actual choice about what to wear? Her heart was beating hard, nerves tingling. She didn't know excitement when it coursed through her blood. “Could... I mean... if it's no trouble... is red all right?”
Daisy gasped, hands clasped together. “Red... RED! Oh, of course, red! You were meant for red, you were born for red! No, what am I saying? Red was born for you! Red didn't exist until you came along! We must get you the reddest red to ever red!” She then turned on her heel and lightly began pushing the cobbler along. “Come, come! We will get the reddest, prettiest shoes for her adorable little feet! We haven't a moment to spare!”
Minnie was mostly grateful just to have shoes on again, no matter what the color, yet she couldn't deny a tinge of happiness that she was allowed to choose how it looked. Yet she only had them on for a handful of seconds before Daisy snatched her arm and dragged her away, because now she needed stockings! Now she needed gloves! Now she needed ribbons for her hair, not to mention six – no, seven – no, twelve dresses! She should have options and back-up options after all!
They only stopped shopping when Daisy was feeling peckish, and headed down to the bustling marketplace for a bite to eat. Minnie held onto Daisy's hand, afraid they'd be separated, and Daisy was more than happy to tug her along. All the lavish clothes had been sent to the castle for a “final prep-up” as Daisy called it, although Minnie kept the shoes on. Daisy hummed as she looked through the wares, unable to decide what to nibble on, and Minnie saw an opportunity since Daisy was, for once, not throwing money everywhere.
“May I ask you something, your highness?”
“Only if you call me by name,” Daisy said without turning back, balancing a fresh apple on her fan.
“All right... Daisy... Why do you keep throwing parties?”
The princess laughed, dropping a coin into the farmer's hand as she walked with her fruit. “Why? Because everyone loves parties! And happy people make for a happy kingdom.” Which meant she must have been ignoring the grimaces of the people around her who were grumbling about wanting to go to bed at a decent hour and finishing their late-night jobs. “Once you attend your first one, you'll know. Everyone's going to adore you, I can feel it.”
On sheer instinct, Minnie's lifelong ability to be blunt came out. “I don't think so. You're only being nice to me because I'm a reason to have a party, aren't you?”
At this point Daisy had bitten into the apple, but the words stabbed her so deeply that it fell off the fan and rolled along the ground until a peppy stray pup ran away with it. Even then, Daisy's jaw hung, bits of apple on her beak. When she found words, her typically sing-song voice was wrought with despair. “That's... that's not, true, I... I do like you, I...”
“But you don't know me,” Minnie said, although she began to feel guilty as she saw the agony in Daisy's eyes. It wasn't just about this truth – there was another truth behind them, and although Minnie couldn't fathom what it was, she could tell she was getting close. “How can you like me when you don't know anything about me? If I wasn't here, would you still have a party tonight?”
Some of the closer merchants, overhearing this incredibly awkward talk, began to shuffle away. Daisy's hands came together, wringing the fan, threatening to break it. She began to sniffle quietly, fighting back an urge to cry. “I... P-Please, I need to have this party...” Desperate, she grabbed Minnie's hands, pulling her close. “Please! Please... I'll give you anything you want, just... please let me have this party, I need...”
Of course, Minnie was going to ask again, why? But that's when she heard several loud sounds in succession.
First, a CRASH!
Then, a BANG!
Lastly, a YELL!
“WHY YOU DOGGONE STUBBORN LITTLE – I'LL RIP OFF YOUR FEATHERS AND STUFF 'EM INTO A PILLOW!”
That's when Ratface made an appearance, landing on Minnie's shoulder, gorging himself on a fat fish tail. A hand-drawn wagon raced down the pathway, one of the wheels broken, and a siding cracked in two, letting the rest of the fish fall onto the ground. The owner of the wagon, a young man with a bright yellow vest that made his dirty white feathers stick out all the more, was ranting at the top of his lungs about a tiny thief, oh how'd he catch him and cook him and use his bones as lawn ornaments. The man then tripped over a loose cobblestone, fell onto his face, the wagon ran him over, the wagon crashed into a wall, and the remains of the fish splattered onto the man.
Not a single member of the townsfolk appeared remotely surprised by these events. Instead, a few waved and passed with a communal, “Good afternoon, Donald.”
Minnie turned her head to glare at Ratface. “That wasn't nice.” Ratface made no comment.
Daisy, meanwhile, had perked up instantly, any tears in her eyes vanishing. “Donald! Oh, silly me, Sir Donald~! What a most pleasant afternoon it is, to see you out and about, hard at work!”
Donald managed to sit up, now covered in scales and slime. “Thanks, your highness... I think...” He pushed a fish off his beak, and then his anger was reignited when he saw Ratface upon Minnie's shoulder. “You! You lousy... nobody steals my cargo! I ought to pop you a new one!” He stood up in an attempt to do so, but began slipping on fish.
“Ah ah ah, careful there, dear Sir Donald,” Daisy cooed, catching Donald's hands and helping him to his feet. “I'll pay for the damages, don't you fret.”
“I really am sorry about what he's done.” Minnie frowned at Ratface, who didn't seem at all apologetic as he continued to eat. “My friend Ratface, he's really...” Ah, but she wasn't supposed to reveal he wasn't an average bird, wasn't she? “He's really...” She looked at Ratface, and one of those strange few feelings coursed inside her. “... He's really not a very bright bird.”
Ratface spat out the fish in shock, staring at Minnie, who calmly returned the look. “No, I'd say he's not a very smart bird at all. I mean, if he could talk, I'm sure he'd have some way of explaining himself. But he's not smart enough for that. It's a good thing he's pretty, though, isn't he?” She lightly stroked his beak with her finger.
Ratface's mouth hung open, torn between humiliation and – as reluctant as he would be to admit it – some respect.
Donald crossed his arms, but as he tapped his fingers, he began to cool down. “Well... he is a really dumb-looking bird. I guess if he's too stupid to know any better...” Minnie quickly went to clamp Ratface's beak with her hand, helping him resist the urge to claw Donald's face off. With that settled, he faced the princess. “And it's nice of you to offer, your highness-”
“Daaaisyyyy~” she corrected in song.
“... I can't let you keep paying for all my mistakes,” Donald finished. “My temper's my own problem. Maybe if I kept my cool...” He then airily gestured to the fish disaster around them.
“Oh, no.” Daisy clicked her tongue, drawing back a bit. “Don't tell me the guardsmen didn't let you pass the test again?”
Donald cleared his throat, tugging at his collar. “Um... on the plus side, this time I didn't insult anyone's mother.”
“It's not fair!” Daisy protested. “You would make an excellent guardsman! I'll tell Chief O'Hara to hire you right-”
“No, no, no!” Donald held out his hands, flailing slightly. “Daisy, don't! I want to get there on my own merits! You have your place,” he gestured far off, to the castle if Minnie had to guess, “And I have mine.” He opened his hands downward. “And that's where we have to stay. I don't want anyone thinking I got the job because I'm friends with royalty. You got that?”
“Right... right... of course...” Daisy's enthusiasm was falling, until she spotted Minnie out of the corner of her eye. “Where are my manners? Donald, this is Minnie, my new best friend!” she announced as she yanked Minnie in front of Donald.
“She is?” Donald asked.
“I am?” Minnie also asked.
“Minnie, Donald, Donald, Minnie.” Daisy wildly waved back and forth between them. “She's a new arrival to the Golden Kingdom, and she's never been to a party before! So, being the wonderful person that I am, I'm throwing a party in her honor!”
Donald's shoulders sank. “Another party? I barely recovered from last night's! My feet still ache from all those dances! And the guardsmen need to stay at the doors to protect us, not chomp down on a buffet! Do we really need another one?”
“Yes,” Daisy replied automatically. “Yes we do. Why, it would be rude not to! For Minnie's sake! Look at that cute face and tell her you don't want a party! You can't, can you? She's too adorable.”
Donald sucked the inside of his cheek, he and Minnie exchanging sympathetic gestures. “... Never? Not even for your birthday?” he finally asked.
Minnie tilted her head. “What's a birthday?”
Daisy's plan was temporarily forgotten due to sheer shock. “Oh my gosh. I am buying you twenty more dresses.” Then she remembered, shook her head, and focused her attention back on Donald. “You will come... won't you?”
Donald slumped forward – another fish fell out of his vest. “Okay... fine. Just for her. One more party, and that's it.”
“Oooh, goody goody!” Daisy clapped wildly, even doing another spin. “Of course you will, I never doubted you would, Sir Donald!”
“Yeah-huh.” Donald finally went back to his job, picking up the fish one by one. “Guess I better finish this quickly if I want to make it...”
“Let me help, help me help!”
As Daisy flounced from fish to fish, Ratface nudged Minnie's cheek. Since he was still on his self-imposed limit, he used both wings to point at Donald, then Daisy, then pressed his wings together. Minnie didn't get it. He did it again. She still stared without a clue. Ratface threw his wings up in frustration before kicking the satchel on Minnie's back, the jewelry inside jostling.
Minnie's eyes widened. “... Oooh. So you're saying...?” He nodded. “She feels...?” Nod. “So the reason is...?” Nod.
“I'm... going to have a difficult time leaving this place, aren't I?”
Big, big, big nod.
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okiekp13 · 5 years
Text
Fox and the Pom
Panic that was all the ran through your veins as you ran as fast as you could; berating yourself for being so stupid and forgetting what time of the month it was. Why!? Your feet pounded on the sidewalk as you ran for it; shouts could be heard far behind you making your heart pound as it tried to power your speed. Seeing the apartment building up ahead you used what you had left in your reserves and ran as fast as you could toward the doors. Ears straining and tail curled tightly against your back.
“Hey, there she goes! Catch her!” A man yelled in the distance.
Please be home Please be home Please be home!
Bursting through the front doors you saw the lobby was deserted; making your way to the elevator you groan in frustration at the out of order sign on it. Growling to yourself you peek over your shoulder; the silhouettes of the men chasing you making their way toward the building. Bolting toward the staircase; you block the door with a broom to buy you some time as you run up the flights of stairs. One floor, two floors, the third floor you burst through the door and navigate the hallways. You had only been there a few times but surely you could remember right? Putting your nose to the air you follow your nose on an old scent until you are led to door 313. Crossing your fingers you knock rapidly on the door.
Growls and yelling could be heard down the hall...they were close! Fidgeting from foot to foot you knocked more rapidly this time. You could vaguely hear footsteps nearing, from inside or from the hall you couldn’t tell over your racing pulse. This was all your fault! You should have been more responsible and taken the measures you usually did to protect yourself. Stupid Taehyung for talking you into detoxing with him...stupid FOX! It’s all his fault; you were going to murder him if you survived this. Lunch date your ass! You should have just stayed home.
“Honey? What are you doing here?” The voice of your only salvation asked nasally.
“Oh thank god Jimin; please can I come in it’s an emergency!” You ramble out quickly.
“Uh sure.”
He stepped back from the door to let you in; once inside you close and lock the door behind yourself leaning against it trying to catch your breath. Thank goodness he was home...it was a gamble but you figured since he was home with a cold you would be safe here without any trouble. A blocked nose can’t pick up your scent at the moment thankfully.
“So uh...are you going to tell me why you’re here? I’m kind of sick right now and I mean I don’t know if I’m contagious or not.” Jimin mumbled.
Looking him over you felt bad immediately; he was swallowed up in a hoodie and sweatpants, his cheeks flush from a leftover fever, his hair was messy but looked like he tried to fix it with his fingers, his ears were slightly droopy and his nose was red from irritation.
“I’m sorry Jimin; really I know you don’t feel good. You see the problem is I kind of listened to stupid Tae and let him talk me into detoxing and I forgot what time of month It was and well...I’m falling into heat and some guys from the station caught my scent and started chasing me. You were the only one I knew I could hide with without causing you to go into a rut. I really am sorry I just can’t risk it.” You explain in a rush.
“Honey! Why didn’t you call I could have sent Jungkook to help you. Where are those guys did they chase you here? Shit, come here let me scent you to block your scent out.” Jimin rushed.
You gladly went to him and let him hug you and nuzzle your neck to cancel out your scent; his woodsy citrus scent bringing your awareness back to your own issue at hand. You weren’t fully into heat yet but the beginning fevers were starting. Distract yourself you have too; don’t get carried away.
“I couldn’t have Jungkook help me he’s a wolf! If he got caught up in my scent it’d be over for me, I couldn’t risk it. Namjoon was a possible idea but he’s a bear and he’s all the way on the other side of the city, besides even if my plan backfired on me I trust you over anyone else.” You explained panic making you still tremble.
“What about Taehyung though I thought you two were close?”
“WHAT!? Are you kidding me? We might be friends but he is more of a trouble maker than anything. It's because I listened to him in the first place I am in this condition. Wait shouldn't you be resting? Why don’t you get set up on the couch and I’ll make you something to eat.”
Escaping to the kitchen you heaved a sigh; you could always skin Taehyung after you knew you were safe. Peeking around the wall you saw Jimin had already wrapped himself up in a blanket on his couch flipping through channels. In all honesty, you always found Jimin to be kind of cute out of your group of friends, he was always kind and attentive when you were around which you appreciated being a Pomeranian. You were first drawn to him because of his large ears and his cute fluffy tail; everything you would expect from a fennec, the added bonus being that his size wasn’t much larger than you so he wasn’t as intimidating as your other friends.
You had heard from Hoseok that Jimin had come down with a sinus infection from their snowboarding trip last week. Deciding on a stew you started pulling things out and firing up the stove to get started. Your cream colored ears picking up sounds from out in the hall...it sounded like the guys that were chasing you had lost your scent at Jimin’s doorway but couldn’t distinguish if you entered or left. Their growling and complaints reaching your ears; when their footsteps receded you sighed again in relief. Hopefully, your heat wouldn’t kick into full force until after you got home later, but who knew for certain.
Jimin was so sucked into his show he hadn’t heard you approach with his food; setting it down on the coffee table you placed a cup of tea as well. Hopefully, it would knock his infection out of the park in no time. Giving you an appreciative hum as he dug in; his cute ears lowering in happiness as he ate in gusto.
“Holy shit Honey this is great! Taehyung is always talking about you cooking for him and Jungkook, typical for him to be greedy. Hogging you all to himself.”
“Whoa is that some jealousy I hear? Kind of have to avoid getting colds if you wanna be around for free cooking” You tease.
“Hey!”
Leaning away from his swipe at you; you could only laugh as he gave up quickly and continued to eat. Seeing the flush of his cheeks start to dissipate; you had a feeling his sinus infection would be knocked out in no time. Cleaning up his dishes when he finished you started to clean up the kitchen as well. Putting away the stuff you used and cleaning up your mess you started to feel hot...oh no! Wait it couldn’t be could it? Shit!
“Hey Honey what is taking you so long? Are you okay?” Jimin asks walking into the kitchen.
Okay? No, you weren’t okay; the heat fever had kicked in full force...but why usually you had more time, you were barely holding on to the counter to keep yourself up. As Jimin approached you saw his nose flare...crap this was it you were done for. Fuck Tae for tricking you into thinking detoxing from your suppressants would be healthier for you, stupid fox and his stupid hippie ways. However in all honesty...you were glad you were with Jimin over your other friends, he was always so sweet and kind when you were around surely he couldn’t be that rough on you right?
His woodsy citrus musk grew heavier around you; a compliment to your minty chocolate scent. Bringing your eyes up to his face you were shocked to see the hunger in his eyes; the strain in his frame, he was fighting his instincts you could see it. His growl was deep and feral as he stared you down...oh no what have you gotten yourself into? Stepping closer and closer to you; it was easy to see that Jimin was giving into his fennec instincts, the thrill of taking down prey.
“Oh Honey...you’re in trouble now. Coming over here and torturing me with that delectable scent of yours while in heat. Do you know how hard it is to try and ignore my instinct to claim you as mine all the time? Even when I was first introduced to you by Tae I knew you were something special, all firey and sassy but nothing but soft inside. You can deny it all you want...I know what you really need though. Right little bitch? The strong hand of a true alpha to bring you to your knees begging for rapture?” Jimin drawled with a deep set satoori.
NO! Don’t give in...so what if he is right it's not your fault it's instinct to want to be dominated by a strong male. Layer on that accent of his and you are putty in his hands. Not like you can help it...your body was a traitor as it throbbed begging to be filled. No, you have to hold out...just take some deep breaths and try to focus on something else. If you could just break this first fever you could rush home and hole up in your room safe away from any males.
“The silent treatment huh? Don’t worry I’ll have you howling in no time.” Jimin growled.
He rushed you pulling you up from the floor and up against the fridge; his solid build felt strong under his baggy clothes, his hot breath by your ear as he breathed you deeply growling in satisfaction at your scent mixed with his from earlier. His hips ground against yours by instinct; showcasing his hardness thickening against your stomach. Caging you against the fridge with his arms towering over you; although he wasn’t too much taller than you he was still taller than you. Locking you in a stare for dominance he kept you staring at him as he let one of his hands wander down your chest, down your stomach between your bodies until he met the apex of your legs pressing down with pure accuracy right on your clit making you whimper.
“There is that pretty voice of yours. Feels pretty wet down here; feel it? I bet you could take me right now if I wanted with no prep. No worries I’ll make sure it will fit I’m sure you could take it, right Honey?”
You were out of control; he was making you dance like a puppet for him. Your hips grinding against him for whatever friction you could get to ease the growing ache between your legs. Reaching lower he teased your entrance through your jeans; making you twitch both away and back to his touch a luscious moan leaving your lips.
“There’s my bitch coming out to play, come on baby let's change scenery.” Jimin growled.
He backed away with a devilish smile on his thick lips; confused you cocked your head in question before yelping when he threw you over his shoulder and headed down the hall to his bedroom leaving you shocked and buzzing with the thrill. This was going to happen it was really going to happen and there was nothing you could do to fight it. But did you really want to? It wasn’t like the crush you had been harboring on the fennec would let you pass up being with him. Tugging on the back of his hoodie to keep yourself from slipping from his grasp you were surprised when he landed a well-placed slap on your ass making you yelp again. Just as you were about to chew him a new one you were tossed over on to his bed where you bounced before being met with his mischievous smirk.
“Jimin slow down here you’re not in the right mind right now we need to think about this it could change everything you know?” You rambled in nerves.
“Is that what really scares you or is it that you’re afraid you might like it too much? Only one way to find out.” He growled.
Your pulse was rushing again; he was serious and his instincts were taking the reins even farther away from the sweet Jimin you knew. What if you messed up here though; your friendship would totally be compromised wouldn’t it? Fear was taking its root; your ears flattened as you whimpered up at Jimin. His demeanor shifted...crawling on to the bed he nuzzled your neck making you lay back under him. Instinct had you baring your throat to him, he could easily harm you if he wanted too.
“Shhh, you’re okay. I would never hurt you; you should know that I never could. Let your body guide you and I’ll do the rest. I want to do this... the question is do you?” He whispered by your ear.
Did you want this? He was giving you an out. Um duh...Jimin was probably the most gorgeous man you had ever met, but you were too chicken shit to think anything would have happened between you two. Well, that was in the beginning; but over time you started to warm up to him and get to know him better, like how he always included you with anything he was doing and getting you to trust him. That's right...you trusted him and you knew he was a good guy and that he would never leave you alone.
“Yea...I want this.” You admit.
The fox gave you a wicked smirk as he grabbed the hem of his hoodie and pulled it off; knocking the wind out of you as you saw his torso bless you with smooth skin rich with solid muscle. Tossing his hoodie an evil glint took place in his eye as he grabbed your shirt and pulled it up over your head leaving you bare in just your bra. The dark sapphire blue catching his eye. Pulling our legs up and apart he fit himself between them before attacking your neck in nips and kisses before stealing your lips eating all your moans. Nipping his way down your chest he pulled your bra down to attack your nipples to make you moan even louder for him. Making quick work of your jeans he pulled them off before unhooking your bra and tossing it all away. Chuckling to himself he moved down your body until he was faced with your heat smirking up at you with evil intent. Surely he wouldn’t right? The visual sinful in that of its own; his dark eyes staring up at you with a mischievous smirk on his face waiting to feast on you.
Oh he would and he did; pulling you closer by your thighs he doesn’t even give you a warning before mouthing against your heat over your underwear focusing solely on your clit making your body jerk with zaps of pleasure. You were soaking through your underwear they were ruined for sure which only seemed to please him more; pulling them aside he attacked you again teasing your clit by sucking on it before adding a sneak attack of two fingers into your heat and curling them to make you shudder in shock.
“JIMIN!”
“That's right baby; let everyone hear you scream for me. Beg me for release before crumbling under me.” He growled.
He worked you to the point of insanity; you were so close so so so close but you needed more to fall over the edge. You were really close to tears at this point; please just a bit more and you would be right there.
“Jimin...please...more.”
“What baby getting close already? Need a push? Wanna cum?” He teased.
Nodding your head vigorously he chuckled against your heat to only tease you farther; you wanted a push then he would give you one, one you wouldn’t expect at all. Pulling his fingers through your wetness he re-entered his fingers before pressing his thumb against your ass making you tense up. No way what was that feeling? It was new but...thrilling? What is he planning?
“What what are you doing?”
“Ah ah I said let your body do the work and I would do the rest. No talking unless it's my name babe.”
Was he serious? Leaning up on your elbows so you could see him better you were on the verge of pulling away from him; yet his grip on you tightened before he latched on to your clit harder and worked his fingers inside you harder as his thumb slowly entered your ass throwing you head first over the edge making your scream as you literally squirt on him as you cum. Your head was thrown back as you screamed for him before slumping down on the bed in defeat.
“Holy shit Honey! That was amazing…can you do it again? Come on baby we’re not done yet.”
Jimin yanked off your underwear before yanking off his sweat pants; he was fucking commando the brat! Crawling up your body he tapped his angry throbbing dick on your lips raising a brow at you in a challenge.
“Why don’t we put that mouth to good use.”
Shit, why was he this hot? Who would have guessed the sweet Jimin you knew was a sexual dominate behind closed doors...and why did you like it so much? He was surprising quite bigger than you expected; his thickness giving you pause, how would he fit? Not wanting to back down from a challenge fine why not. Sitting up slightly you grasp him in a tight hold with one hand at the base while licking and kissing the head of his dick; licking up the saltiness of his precum like a kitten. Easing your lips around his head you rolled your tongue around him successfully getting a deep groan from him, reduced to standing over you on his hands and knees with his brows knit. Could you make him scream for you? Only one way to find out right?
Taking him deeper and deeper in your mouth until he touched the back of your throat you increase your suction to pull the pressure tighter on him; moans of your name were leaving his lips in breathless pleas. He was thickening in your mouth; you could feel his pulse running through him. Yet he pushed you away just as you were about to attack him harder.
“Oh no you don’t...I’m cumming inside you not your mouth!”
Turning you on your stomach and pulling your ass up he smacked your ass again making you yelp. Running a hand down from your neck to the base of your tail you felt your body dance for him just by his touch, you were aching again just wanting to be filled to be stretched. Jimin pressed hard against the base of your tail making you whimper for him. Pulling your tail out of the way he lined himself up before teasing you with shallow thrusts of just his head.
“Better hold on baby.”
Grabbing your hips he tilted them more down so your ass was higher up and the angle more perpendicular to the bed before thrusting in to the hilt making you scream for all to hear; this was it this was what you needed the fullness the sight burn of the stretch to fit him, the depth that kissed your cervix before rendering you breathless as your heat took hold making you a salivating imbecile begging for more. Your fever made you hungry for more and more, it wasn’t enough again! Do it again!
“Fuck! Look at you taking my dick so well...you fit like a glove. Now it’s your turn to milk me, baby. Show me what you got.”
Jimin wasn’t much better he was breathless from what little you could hear over your pulse in your ears. You grip the blankets in tight fists as you got ready for your defeat...he was going to wreck you and you knew it. You moaned in ecstasy as he withdrew from your depths; his matching groans told you he felt it as well the pure sin that was the feeling of friction between you two. He put his powerful thighs to work and slammed right back into you setting a grueling pace that was smacking your g-spot like a jackhammer, your body responded by spreading your legs further apart and angling your hips to take him in deeper and deeper until he was slamming against your cervix adding the right amount of pain to drag you to the edge in no time. How was he able to do that? It was like he knew your body better than you did...more you needed more.  You're whining making him chuckle breathlessly as he laid his weight on your back; nipping your shoulder before reaching a hand around your body until he was rolling your clit between his fingers.
“Come on Honey...do it! Fucking cum all over me again, milk me like my little bitch...do it!” He ground out.
He bit into your shoulder; pounding into you like a beast making you scream into the blankets as you trembled under him clenching on him making him stutter with how tight you were. Making him cum seconds after you as you milked him for everything he had. Pulling from him the most sinful moans before he collapsed beside you. You were on a high you had never reached before; no way your toys could bring you that kind of euphoria or even your hands for that matter. No this was a different level altogether. Your body was still shuddering from aftershocks.
“A-are you okay?” Jimin asked his sweet voice returning.
That was the Jimin you knew; his eyes full of concern when you gained the strength to open your own. His ears were perked to pick up any sound from you; when you didn’t answer he leaned up on his elbow and brushed your sweaty hair from your face, nuzzling against your cheek. He was sweet. It was freshly intimate but he felt familiar like home and safety.
“I’m okay...just tired.”
“I didn’t hurt you, right? How long until the next wave? Should I get some food?” He worried.
“Do you have split personality disorder or something? Where did the other guy go I might need him around more often.” You teased.
“Oh he’s still here baby...need a reminder of what he can do?” He glared with a smirk.
Oh damn. You could feel the next wave building already; your body slicking up ready for more, one sniff and he was growling at you ready to claim you again and again. Thus you ended up spending an entire week at Jimin’s apartment. Wave after wave being demolished by Jimin; making you scream his name for hours before you passed out from exhaustion.
It was the end of your heat and you were covered in bite marks. With a strange chain of events, you discovered you were more infatuated with Jimin than you realized and he felt the same thus he marked you as his mate during the last wave of the heat. Which was a surprise when Taehyung came over to check on Jimin only to yell when he noticed you sitting at Jimin’s table in one of his T-shirts and sweatpants.
“THE HELL? Honey what is that...OMG, YOU MATED? I KNEW THIS WOULD HAPPEN!” He yelled.
“TAE! WHAT THE HELL YOU YELLING FOR?” Jimin yelled as he entered the room.
“You mated with Honey...I totally called it I told you this would happen.”
“Wait...did you do this! You meddling son of a bitch I told you I would get with her on my own terms not her showing up under the influence of heat you bastard!” Jimin screamed.
“Tae?” You say coldly and clipped.
Tae started to look sheepish at your glare; hands already raised to defend himself. Jimin stepped next to you and wrapped his arms around you resting his chin on your head as you glared at Tae with daggers.
“Are you telling me you talked me into detoxing and inviting me out for lunch was all on purpose so I would be on this side of the city and run to Jimin? That I was just a pawn in your little plan to fuck with my life and choices? Is that what I am to understand?”
“Now hold on Honey it wasn’t like that really; Jimin has liked you for a really long time and he was taking forever so I just kinda helped a little that's all. I mean you were just saying you were tired of dealing with your heats alone not long ago right? So I mean put it together it only made sense to help out.”
“Jimin...make him leave or I am going to prison for murder.” You say cooly.
“You heard the woman Tae...you done fucked up dude...run while you can.”
“Okay Okay, I’m sorry I won’t do anything like that again I swear. I’m going I’m going...don’t growl at me you ankle biter!”
“LEAVE OR DIE!” You practically bark at him.
Taehyung laughs before showing his boxy grin before running out of the apartment; Jimin couldn’t help but chuckle as you seethed. He knew you loved Tae too much as a friend to stay mad at him forever. Stroking your hair and rubbing your back he got you calmed down enough to think right.
“So since we are a thing now and I’m sure he is going to tell everyone. Wanna stay for another week and maybe help me with my rut that's about to kick in any day now? We can hide from the world and live in blankets like gremlins.” He smiled brightly at you.
“How are you so cute and sinful at the same time? That's so not fair...but yes I’ll stay I don’t wanna explain how everything happened a million times anyway. So mister bring out that demon to come tear me up again.”
Jimin’s eyes turned dark as he grinned at you wolfishly and pulled you up against him; grinding his hips against you with a hunger growing within him.
“Gladly pup.” He growled before tossing you over his shoulder and marching to his room for more splendor.
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The White Rabbit
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Because I have been dragged back into WATCHMEN fandom Hell and @social-justice-waterbender wanted it, I dug up the corpse of my vigilante’s profile I wrote up almost 10 years ago for a WATCHMEN AU and edited it so the timeline worked and actually made some lick of sense.
If anyone has further questions about her they can totally ask but here’s the jest of what was in the document I found all prettied up. Enjoy
General
Identity: Alice Darlene Early
Alias: The White Rabbit
Years in Service: 1966 – 1977, 1985
Born: September 12, 1945
Died: November 2, 1985
Relatives: Ernest Early (father, deceased) and Cynthia Grant (mother)
Affiliation: Former Crimebusters member
Base of Operations: New York City
Status
Alignment: Good
Identity: Secret
Citizenship: American
Marital Status: Single
Occupation: Former waitress at Mr. Charles's Diner, Saboteur
Characteristics
Gender: Female
Height: 5'8”
Weight: 150 lb
Eyes: Brown
Hair: Black
Race: Mulatto
Origin
Universe: WATCHMEN AU
Place of Birth: San Fransisco, California
Place of Death: Antarctica
Skills: Acrobatics (Gymnastics), Martial Arts (Defensive, Fall Recovery) Charisma (Morale Boosting), Mechanics (Fix-it, Disassembly), Thievery, Medical Knowledge (Basic First Aid), Acting
Advantages: Loyal, Quick Reflexes, High Stamina, Determined, Privileged Upbringing
Disadvantages: Impulsive, Emotional, Stubborn, Insecure, Attention Hungry, Secretive
Equipment: Pocket Watch, Trackers (2), Flash Grenade (1), Steel “Toed” Boots, Blast Resistant Visor, Audio Scrambler
Motivation: Upholding the Good/Thrill Seeking/Self Validation
Background
Born in San Francisco, California, Alice moved to New York in 1962 at the age of seventeen in the hopes of finding a place where she could get a different perspective on life and make something more of herself. After years of civilian living unable to think of an effective way to achieve her goal of self fulfillment, she made the decision to become a vigilante, using information she would overhear from customers she waited on during her job as a waitress. She teamed up with Rorschach and Night Owl II in 1966 after they begrudgingly allowed her to stay due to her constantly showing up and 'helping' them.
Outside of her vigilante lifestyle she had no contact with any of the other Crimebusters, only finding out their identities later after the Keene Act with the exception of Rorschach till his arrest in 1985. She did not reach out to any of them and as a result is the only vigilante to stay completely anonymous after her forced retirement.
Character
Alice is subdued and even headed compared to her vigilante counterpart. She treats people the way she wishes to be treated, believing that such behavior will prompt others to treat her the same way, even going so far as to give them the benefit of the doubt should they wrong her the first couple of times. Her reasoning being that everything is gradual and to expect things to instantly change is ignorant and foolhardy.
Being so far from home and often feeling alone, Alice will subtly cling to people she has regular contact with. Usually by catering to their needs and going out of her way to do things for them that will cause them to favor her positively. To further the pleasant image of herself, she is very secretive about her past and deeper feelings, fearing a negative response; something that can be attributed to her growing up in a Nuclear Family setting and having to keep up a certain image.
Fueled by adrenaline and anonymity, Alice's White Rabbit persona is extremely hyper active and allows her the freedom to express herself in ways she can't during her day job. Although the constant exuberance can be uplifting it more often than not leads to impulsive behavior, over stepping boundaries and a needless exhaustion of effort. A believer in never dying loyalty, White Rabbit will stick with her colleagues to the point of complete stubbornness even when it's to her detriment.
Out of costume, Alice shows no outstanding physical ability aside from being able to balance multiple objects such as trays of food during her waitress hours and lift her own weight to climb up things.
Politically Alice doesn't tie herself with any specific party, choosing to just go with what she feels is fair and just. However, due to growing up in California there are hints of subconscious leanings towards more liberal beliefs, though her level of patriotism boarders on pure nationalism.
In regards to her sexuality Alice appears to be heterosexual. Her attitude towards romantic conquest comes off as blasé and worrisome, not making any effort to even attract a mate. Reasons for this being the possibility of someone finding out too much about her, resulting in a broken heart and abandonment. This, however, coupled with her clingy tendencies usually ends up resulting in anxiety, mental exhaustion and distress when she does find herself developing feelings for someone. When pressed to describe her perfect man, Alice states that anyone is fine as long as he is a good man and someone she can be proud to stand by.
Costume
To keep her identity a complete secret The White Rabbit's costume has head to toe coverage, including a wig to conceal her natural hair color. Fashioned after the white rabbit from Alice in Wonderland, the costume consists of a visor, mask, tailored jacket, undershirt, gloves, high waist shorts and leggings that also act as her boots. The entire outfit is made by herself. The toes of her boots are fitted with solid steel toes designed to look like rabbit feet, which were meant to give a hand up for climbing and inflicting damage when delivering kicks. To further hide her identity, The White Rabbit fakes an exaggerated Northern Jersey accent on par with Betty Boop, meant to be distinctive and agitating.
Skills and Equipment
Having grown up with a stereotypical home life, Alice possesses skills in various gendered activities such as sewing, cooking, baking, dancing and penmanship with a plethora of knowledge in classic literature. School activities such as gymnastics and other light sports helped prepare her for her life as a vigilante helping hone her reflexes and reaction times as well as her ability to recover from falls. All her martial arts 'training' was taught to her by travel buddies she met on her way to New York, originally just starting out as a fun activity to do during pit stops. Realizing that she couldn't stand up against most men, she focuses on defense, evasion and using her opponents weight against them. These stops as well played a part in teaching her how to fix and disassemble things due to the many car issues that happened along the way. She often uses this knowledge to sabotage get away vehicles.
The visor over her eyes is made of a same material used for police riot shields, the origin of how she acquired such material is not something she's willing to reveal. It is solid enough to protect against a hard hit to the face and tinted enough to hide her eyes while giving her semi clear visibility. While able to buff and fix small chips and cracks in it, it would most likely be impossible to recreate if broken.
Her costume, contains no armor besides her visor and padded knees and elbows to break falls more efficiently.  
After teaming up Night Owl II gifted a number of things to assist her, including a reconstruction of her boot 'toes' to make them lighter and work in more efficient ways. Redesigning them to be separate parts instead of one solid piece allowed them to operate more like an actual foot, now giving them the ability to spread open for better balance.
Lacked a belt or anything for inventory carry, what little White Rabbit holds is either light enough to hook onto the waist band of her shorts or small enough to be kept in the breast pocket of her jacket. The 'tail' on the back of her costume is a small flash grenade to be used only as a last resort or quick escape. An audio scrambler is built into her pocket watch producing 5 minutes of interference to hinder calls for back up or keep surveillance mics from listening in on covert conversations. The trackers are standard and used to track targets.
Relationship with Walter Kovacs and Rorschach
The most influential person in Alice's life in New York, Alice met Walter Kovacs years before she became a vigilante. The diner she worked at was near his job and catered to many of the employees during the lunch rush. Walter would come every now and then to have coffee, food and sometimes read the paper. Their communication was sparse, only expanded through her own efforts to build a friendly connection with him as a regular customer. He was polite to her within his ability, eventually answering her in full sentences. It was only after her request for him to walk her home from the diner one day to avoid a heckling customer she worried would follow her that their relationship evolved in any way. With Walter being thankful that she was direct with her request and demeanor instead of trying to sweet talk him like other women. Pleasant, long conversation being proven possible, the two bonded and grew into being good friends.
Not aware they knew each other out of costume, Rorschach and White Rabbit would often get into small squabbles, spawning mostly from White Rabbit's too familiar attitude towards he and Night Owl II, giving them pet names like 'Rory' and 'Nighty', bumping into and touching them casually, as well as having a sense of humor in serious situations. Although this was explained as a way to lighten the mood and ease tension the behavior caused Rorschach to often become angry, accusing her of making a mockery out of their work. White Rabbit would often try to soothe him, but this only worked some of the time and more often than not end in Night Owl II having to break them up. Many nights ended in both parties being bitter towards each other. As time passed White Rabbit gained more experience in her vigilantism, gaining the two the ability to work together more smoothly even to the point of being able to go on patrol and stakeouts together without incident. It was at these times they'd talk about their motivations, eventually coming to an understanding. Some conversations would ironically consist of them talking about their encounters with each others day time alias's, oblivious to the fact that they were the same people.
As the years passed, it became clear that Walter's mental state was begining to deteriorate. Unaware it was his nights of vigilantism causing it, Alice began offering and request he spend time with her more frequently; hoping the interaction would help with whatever was troubling him. At this point however, watching the slow, descending sanity of someone she cared about happen right her eyes began to work against her own well being. Forced to come to terms with the fact that she indeed had strong, romantic feelings for someone, Alice weighted her options and in December 1974 she finally confessed how she felt to Walter. Trying to cushion the heaviness of her sudden admission, she quickly tagged on the reassurance that it was okay if he didn't feel the same way. She would later describe his face looking placid but his eyes looking terrified. In 1975, after not seeing Walter for almost a week, Alice went to the garment factory he worked at looking for him. When she asked to see him she was informed he had quit suddenly and they hadn't heard anything since. Not knowing his address or any way to contact him, Alice became inconsolable and sank into a sever depression.
At this point White Rabbit also began to notice a change in Rorschach's behavior. Becoming more brutal in his actions he started working alone more often and interacting less and less. After weeks of this environment and still wrecked with worry over Walter's disappearance, White Rabbit asked Rorschach for his help. Begging him through tears she gave him Walter's full name and former work place in the desperate hope of tracking him down. It was at this point that Rorschach figured out who White Rabbit really was, but continued to withhold his own identity. He agreed and told her he would look into it and to meet him in a couple of days. At their meeting place, Rorschach informed White Rabbit that he had found Walter and was 'alive' but refused to give any other details. Ignoring further pleading and tears, he left her in the spot, telling her to be satisfied with what she got and let Walter go.
In 1977 after the Keene Act was put into effect, White Rabbit refused to retire and continued to patrol the city. Working to stop what small crimes she could alone she as well tirelessly searched for Rorschach, who had refused to retire as well. When she found him in a fight with some local thugs she joined in to help him, suffering a blow to the face from a metal bat that shattered a large chunk out of her visor. After disposing of the criminals, White Rabbit confronted Rorschach, berating him for not asking for help. Insisting he couldn't handle the entire city on his own she assured him that she was there to help no matter what. Rorschach began to leave, coldly telling her that he didn't need her weighting him down, to which she grabbed him by the arm and demand he look at her and tell her what was wrong with him. A fight ensued, with White Rabbit demanding Rorschach accept her help, proclaiming that she wasn't going to retire as long as he stayed active as well. Finally grabbed her and staring her in the face, Rorschach ordered her to quit and go home, calling her by her real name in the process. Rattled and enraged by the fact that he never told her he knew who she was, Alice fought back harder against him, turning the entire affair into an all out brawl between them. No match for Rorschach but still refusing to abandon him Alice declaring he would have to kill her before she would leave him to die alone and cold. The fight was ended with Rorschach smashing her head into a wall, breaking her visor fully and concussing her. She plead for him not to do this, thinking of both Rorschach and Walter and who was going to take care of them if she couldn't before loosing consciousness and waking up in her own bed. The remains of her visor sat on her bedside table with a note reading 'Thank you for all you do' and bearing Rorschach's signature.
Dejected and without the use of her visor anymore Alice was finally forced to retire.
Rorschach refers to this event as 'the night the White Rabbit died', most likely as a way to continue to protect her anonymity.
The Events of Watchmen
Finding out that Walter was Rorschach via news report, Alice visits Walter in prison where she uses her audio scrambler to mask their conversation. She confronts him about never telling her who he was when he knew about her, to which Walter replies that it was for their own good. The meeting ends with Walter placidly confessing that he was fond of Alice long before finding out she was White Rabbit.
Although telling Walter and Long that she wouldn't be back, Alice still dons her vigilante costume again on Halloween night to try and get Rorschach out herself. Luckily coming in during the riot and Night Owl and Silk Specter's own rescue mission, White Rabbit gleefully joins them.
After loosing Silk Specter to Manhattan, discovering Veidt's plan, and Rorschach mailing his journal, White Rabbit finally asks Rorschach on the way to Antarctica to tell her what really happened back when he forced her into retirement. He tells her and apologizes in a less awkward fashion than he had with Night Owl. White Rabbit accepts his apology and reassures him “I won't let you die cold and alone. Well...alone at least. We are going to Antarctica.”
Death
White Rabbit witnesses the deaths caused by Veidt in his attempt to create a utopia. Everyone decides to keep it a secret except Rorschach who tries to leave and inform the world of the truth. White Rabbit loyally follows him and tries to assist him with getting the hoverbikes to work when they are stopped by Manhattan. Rorschach tells her to go back with the others to escape the price of trying to ruin Veidt's utopia, to which she refuses, repeating her promise to not leave him to die alone. Taking off her mask, White Rabbit seconds the prompting of Manhattan to kill them. Embracing Rorschach, their silhouette takes the shape of the Hiroshima Lovers before disintegrating.
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bluesimba · 7 years
Text
Judge, Jury, and Jason Todd
Warning: Swearing, snippets of Jason’s time with the Joker, and dark themes implied.
Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader
Notes: This is the first part to what will hopefully become a series. I think that someone should be there for Jason with all he’s been through.
Gotham has this stench that clings to it.
Rats poke out of dingy alleyways and skitter around, disgustingly overgrown tails sweeping behind them. Graffiti is splayed out over Gotham; it suffocates the rundown diners that serve their customers with dirty plates instead of smiles, the motels with stiff beds that are less comfortable than the floors, and the old apartments where someone’s always moving in right after the last person left. Everything is fair game in Gotham, and there’s always some hotshot saying he owns the city because he scored on drug deal.
Except the upper side, that is. You know, the place where the houses hang over the beaches, and if you’re lucky enough there’ll be a photogenic sunset waiting for you. An ocean breeze will flutter by, tickling your nose just enough to make you forget that you’re in Gotham. The upper side doesn’t deal with the graffiti or gangs squabbling for power. Not publicly, that is.
But make no mistake—they have their rats too. Their rats dress up in suits that cost more than a semester at Harvard. They’ll give charismatic speeches about how they’re going to clean up the city streets, about how they’re fully devoted to the city, and how the donations to their charities go to bettering students, Gotham’s future. Promises are made in speeches. Promises are swept under the rug immediately after. One thing’s for certain: the streets of Gotham still look the same as yesterday.
Jason wrinkles his nose as he sits down, secluded by Gotham’s permanent shadows. Faint moonlight peeks above battered rooftops. Flickering signs from nearby businesses keep the alleyway somewhat lighted. Creeping up his spine like a spider, there’s a pang of fear that looms over him. The hairs on his arms are standing, he can feel it. A gulp. His heart’s beating faster, and his mind sprints in all directions. Heavy breathing.
His wrists burn. Jason hisses, like his bones were just smashed over and over again with a crowbar decorated in his blood. Scurrying through the alley, the rats make it worse, staring at him like he’s on display. Like he can’t move. That fuckin’ deranged grin is burned into his retinas.
Gotham has this stench that clings to it. Jason, unlike some people living in blissful ignorance, sees this city for what it really is—a shithole. If Bruce isn’t going to cross the line and wipe those pieces of shit from Gotham, then he will.
Snow in Gotham is pure white at first, the kind that’d pop out of a fairy tale book. One minute it’s picture perfect snow, and then the next minute the snow is muddy, tinted with a repulsive brown. There’s dirty snow in places all over the world, Jason knows this. He’s seen it firsthand after waking up in the scorching Lazarus Pit. Alive, not dead. Not buried six feet beneath the ground in his best suit. He’ll always be able to recognize Gotham’s snow, no matter where (or maybe when) he is; for as much as he hates what’s happened here, this is where he grew up, where he made a name for himself.
Jason remembers red snow and a German accent that’d get thicker with anger.
After being warped by the Lazarus Pit, fueled by raw, unimaginable hatred, Jason realized that the world didn’t give a damn about the boy who left the world too early. The world kept going. So did Bruce. Talia, though, she understood him, understood his drive for vengeance. She made this possible with a fat bank account and setting him up with the best of the best—the teachers that wouldn’t care who you were if you had cash and wouldn’t mind staining your hands.
Half of his teachers wound up dead for good reasons. He killed them because they didn’t deserve to share the same air as everyone else. The pedophile, the woman who was plotting to kill her husband and kid, the German assassin that sold drugged Chinese and Thai kids for an extra paycheck. Those types of people don’t get better if you throw them in Arkham and hope by some miracle that they don’t break out. Coffins hold them better than Arkham could dream of doing.
As he finishes cleaning his prized guns in his apartment, he stares at the red mask next to him on the cheap sofa. This city shaped him, the kid who grew up scamming on the streets to get by, the street rat who’d become Robin, the teenager who glared at the face of cruelty and spit on it. Gotham made him what it needed most: someone who’d cross the line. Someone who wasn’t Batman. It needed a permanent fix to the rampant problems. And that answer came in the form of Jason Todd—Red Hood.
Standing up, the couch springs groan in relief. Jason stretches and tries to free his neck and arms from the tense knots that refuse to let go, digging their claws into his muscles. He grabs his guns, calloused fingers wrapping around familiar handles, and puts them away, stashing them all over the apartment in case of emergency. When he has his guns in hand or nearby, there’s a sense of security that tumbles around in him. Holding enough firepower to make anyone back off, the apartment has enough weapons to fill a military arsenal.
Sluggishly walking to his bedroom, his footsteps are heavy, solid.
It’s 3:40 in the morning by the time Jason collapses on his stiff bed. Click, click, click the ceiling fan rattles. Burned into the back of his brain, he counts that click, clinging to it knowing he won’t be able to sleep. Sleep doesn’t come easy to him anymore. At most he gets a couple hours. Even then he bolts up multiple times with streams of sweat sliding down the sides of his face. There’s something wrong with him and he knows it, but this is his normal now and he’ll deal with it how he wants to.
Tossing and turning for hours, he finally sinks into a restless sleep, with his face twitching and scrunching all the while.
Again.
Again.
Again, he launches upwards. Chains of sweat trickling down his face are back. The heavy breathing is too. One, two, one, two. Jason’s eyes are wide, irises almost shaking. He can’t think. Can’t scrape his way out of the nightmares that haunt him. They cling to him more than Gotham’s stench suffocates it.
His hand immediately flies to the gun stashed beneath his pillow, fingers curling around it in a death grip, enough pressure to cut off someone’s breathing.
“So, let’s try and clear this up, okay, pumpkin? What hurts more? A—”
Bones shatter as he’s clobbered with a crowbar.
“—or B?”
A series of grunts.
“Forehand—”
The crowbar digs into his flesh, tearing at him. He’s gurgling on his own blood.
  “—or backhand?”
His blood tastes like iron.
Jason hears that psychotic cackling in his head. It rings out nonstop, and one of his hands is pulling at his black hair. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. He can’t be hurt like that anymore. He refuses it—refuses to be vulnerable.
Rusting ships sit in the shipyard, caressed by the sea’s fingers, and the ships loom over everything in sight. Dull colored crates with black numbers sprayed on them don’t compare to the massive ships that feel like they were at the forefront of an armada.
Hawkish and focused, Jason’s eyes are fixed on a nearby section of the shipyard. Some mildly important people are going to be meeting here tonight, according to his source that vomited up information to save his own skin.
He waits. There’s movement in the corner of his eye, something small, something fast. Tiny legs skittering across cracked concrete sound. Craning his neck and squinting, his eyes are locked on it instantly. His fingers reflexively twitch, and he has to resist the roaring urge to reach for one of the numerous guns he’s got and put a bullet right through the center of whatever is crawling around.
It’s a roach, an ugly version of brown, antenna poking up, and unfortunately, not lying on its back, dead.
Averting his gaze, Jason looks back to the spot from earlier. To take over a big hellhole like Gotham, he’s going to have to play it smart and provoke everyone just enough so that they move right where he wants them. That’s how things are done here. That’s how things have always been done here; it hasn’t changed since he was Robin. Guns blazing and ordering glasses of towering demands comes later. That’s the fun part, when his heart is rushing blood to every corner of his body and he can barely hear over the stampeding adrenaline in his ears—but for now he’s got to wait, patiently perched in permanent shadows.
More roaches come within twenty minutes. They’re in moderately nice suits (hell, one of them has a cigar in his mouth, saying he’s some kind of bigshot) and carrying black briefcases of cash that blend in well with the dim surroundings. What really matters here are the people. The cash is a bonus for him.
To have friends in high places and provoke the important guys just so, you’ve got to be standing on someone else’s back already, like these guys here.
The smell of salt from the water is light as his muscles strain in anticipation. He doesn’t hear the soft skittering roach as adrenaline electrifies his body. Fingers twitching again, he’s reaching for his guns, gloved fingers coiling around familiar handles.
He steps out of the shadows.
Footsteps dauntingly chilling; guns out, pointed at foreheads; and a sliver of moonlight shining on his red hood.
Jason’s met with furious expressions coupled with harsh, biting storms of swearing. They’re reaching for anything they’ve got to defend themselves, knives, guns, you name it. Regardless of whatever miracle they’re hoping to rip from their asses, they’re too slow. Footsteps shuffle over the concrete as some of them try to run with their tails between their legs.
Shoot first, ask questions later.
Fingers rapidly pulling triggers, bodies plummet to the ground, legs crippling at unnatural angles. Several jaws hit the concrete hard. Cracking nastily on impact, stained, yellow teeth burst from mouths. Teeth launch in every direction and are followed by endless streams of blood that leak from the buckled mouths. Agonized shrieks shred out of dry throats. A silent wave passes over.
The moderately important people are left unscathed for now. He needs them unscathed physically, but mentally is a completely different story.
“So,” Jason says and focuses on the remaining people, “let’s talk.”
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