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✨My Dastardly Villain~✨

F!Hero Reader x M!Villain Yan OC

Part 1~

His Info: 💰✨

Part 1 _ Next Part>>>

!!!MINORS DNI!!!

CW: F!Reader, reader has a vagina, reader referred to as she/her, general violence, reader drinks alcohol, reader’s alia’s is Solar (powers include teleportation, and fire control), dub con (both parties are tipsy), explicit language, reader has tits, unprotected sex- I HAD SO MUCH FUN WITH THIS ONE GAIS I LOVE KAI I HOPE U DO 2 🙈✨, P IN V, oral on ML, umm like slight bdsm if you squint i think… and i think that’s it!

Song rec: Bop it up! by the marias

Anything in This Colour happened in the past:

An explosion inside the bank sends ripples of vibrations through the streets of New York City.

“He’s just so destructive! It’s so lame! and counterproductive,” You take a long hard swig of your drink.

He nods along with your complaints, enthusiastic as he listens.

The dive bar is full of greasy food, and even greasier patrons. it’s the perfect hole in the wall place to escape.

You’re conversing with a handsome man that’s wearing a black crop top and some grey washed jeans with silver chains decorating every inch of him. Though you have to admit your eyes are dying to see underneath all that.

You snap one of the villain, Sobek’s, obvious traps as you enter the bank.

“Oh my gods!” He responds, “What an absolute asshole! My own co worker is always getting in my way and trying to mess with my process!” He groans while rolling his eyes.

A orb of water whizzes past your head, you look up and find Sobek with a person hovering above the ground, only their lower half in the bubble so they don’t drown, but gods does it look uncomfy hanging there! “SOBEK!!” You roar! “Put that person down!”

“She’s always telling me what to do, like she knows what’s best!” He takes his turn with a swig of his fruity cocktail, but it makes him grimace.

You giggle at his obvious distaste for alcohol. “These idiots we work with really suck.” You say, trying to hold in any stray laughs.

“I’ll toast to that,” He holds up his glass, swaying a little as he does.

“Woah there sailor, someone’s a little tipsy” You reach up to take his glass and fall over onto him.

Catching himself, and you, on the edge of the bar, he says, “You sure you’re not?” and laughs, it’s such a beautiful and honest laugh, all the sounds of the drink machines rumbling and patrons’ boisterous voices fade as only his laughter filters through your ears.

You’re hyper focused on just him now, noticing how soft his hand is on your arm. You admire the way his big veins bulge under his dark skin as they run over the flexed muscles of his forearm.

He looks like a swimmer with some resistance training. you had been admiring his exposed belly for a while… And now you’re touching every ridge of taught muscle, you can’t help but glide your hand down the washboard, you tug on his silver chain that lays lazily over his hips.

You feel hot, and forget to breathe while still leaning over top of him. You hear him sigh out practically in your ear! You didn’t realize just how close you two actually are!

“Ah, um… Sorry, I-I guess I must be pretty tipsy…”You push yourself up, using his thigh… every part of him is so solid, like bricks of gold beneath your weight.

You’re both well over your limits, it would be a bad idea.

His dark brown eyes enrapture you, so full of lust and life, and vigor. He wants you too.

It’s such a bad idea…

“I-I should go,” as you pull away from him, his hand remains loosely floating in the air, lingering where it held you. He doesn’t move to chase you.

You stumble home feeling like you’re floating. You keep thinking about his eyes, how deep and warm they were…

No! stop thinking about him! You missed your chance, don’t go fantasizing now! At least not when you’re outside your nice comfy bed.

Once in your apartment you hurry, stripping as you cross the living room. You slip on some night clothes and go to brush your teeth when you start thinking about him again…

*Pop* you’re teleported from your bathroom to somewhere else, randomly, again!

Shit! This keeps happening! You have the power to teleport, sure… But you can’t control it!

And now you’re even more dizzy as the world spins from the drinks earlier.

As you calm down from your instantaneous, and unexpected jump in space, and grab your head, you start to look around the room…

You’re in a stranger’s bathroom! and the guy from earlier is now right in front of you!

He’s in a loosely held towel, hung low around his hips.He’s still wearing that little waist chain and your eyes linger. That perfect V just in your peripherals but you’re frozen to the spot, staring right at the center of his hips.

“um… Welcome to my place…?” In utter confusion, he stretches up and messes with his hair.

Oh gods… When he lifts his arm over his head, his muscles all over his body just—

You’re still just standing there, staring!

“S-sorry! I don’t know how this keeps happening!” You finally thaw and cover your face while spinning to give him privacy.

“You keep teleporting into people’s bathrooms when theyre naked!?”

“N-No!! i’m not— I’m not some pervert!! I just… Can’t control when or where I teleport—s-sometimes…”

He laughs, “Huh, sure.” He’s not convinced, but he’s not upset by the development, “well… Now that you’re back, wanna… Pick up where we left off?” He tries to sound cool, but he’d be lying if he wasn’t just scared shitless when a random person teleported to his sacred space without any warning.

However, he’d also be lying if he said he was anything but excited with who it turned out to be.

“And…” You look over your shoulder at him through your lashes, “Where did we leave off?”

There is fluttering in your stomach, maybe it’s the alcohol but… Nope. It’s really not. He’s just magnetic.

“you had your hands all over me,” he says with a shit eating grin.

Your skin alights, it’s burning hot and not because of your fire powers. You feel this heat.

“You also had more clothes on…” You say coyly.

“Just get over here,” he commands, which you follow promptly.

“Can I?” You ask a little shyly, hovering your fingers just over the promise lands of his body.

“Be my guest,” He smiles down at you, bringing his arm down so he can caress your cheek. His skin smells so sweet, like almonds.

You put your hand on his chest before sliding it down, swallowing hard as it gets lower and lower… Over that waist chain, and tugging on it, when it’s at its limit it flies back up and tickles him. his belly flexes inward a little under your still roaming hand.

Your eyes follow, wide and filled with wonder at his prospects. He hesitates before letting the towel fall to the floor.

Youre still looking him over when you realize youre still somewhat covered.

You start to strip, dragging it out just a little as you do.

First slipping off the shorts under your big top, holding them up and dropping them next to the discarded towel. Keeping eye contact with your mouth slightly agape, ready and wanting.

You pick up the edges of your top and roll it up a little before you pull it up over your head.

Once undressed you step closer, and reach up around his neck, you feel his hot and hard dick rub against your belly and whine because it’s not already in you.

You jump up and wrap your legs around his waist, he catches you without a problem, and feeling that thing under you is like being on a -very hot- cloud.

You’re both smiling like dorks, and colliding lips and smashing teeth alike, you can’t get enough of eachother and you haven’t even felt eachother yet.

He pushes you up against a wall first, tongue roaming your panting and open mouth, feeling every one of your ticklish little spots. Your soft sounds come out a higher pitch as he continues to torment you.

His massive hands are on your ass, digging in and spreading your cheeks, wishing that they could explore your body further still, but loving the squish of every kneed while they stay.

He groans ravenously in your ear, as he pulls you off the wall and sits you on the counter instead. His head moves down your front and drapes a leg over his shoulder. He’s peppering little kisses and nips all the way down. You’re breathing is becoming ragged, and he’s mesmerized by the way your tits move as your lungs fill up and empty.

“You’re so hot,” He spreads your lips with his thumb and presses his molten tip to your opening.

“Oh my gods!” You whine excitedly!

When he pushes into you he does so slowly and backs out every centimeter or so to push back in further, oh the effect is maddening! “Y-you Liar,” You moan.

“pfff what!?” He bottoms out while scoffing.

“About being shy!” You say before he pulls out to pound into you once and thrashes your whole body, sending a shockwave through you. You grab onto his shoulders fast! “OoooOh!” You whimper.

“C’mon, you’re not gonna finish on me already are you?” He smiles something fierce, that has you clenching, “If i see a ring before i say, you’re getting punished.”

“N-no! i didn’t agree to that!” You complain, before he smacks your clit, making you jump and whine harder. You think you just came, you’re squeezing and fluttering inside but the build up didn’t stop! and, oh shit…

“I didn’t say you could yet,” He tsks, and picks your other leg up putting that one over his other shoulder.

You feel so stretched, and he can reach so much deeper~ “Ah~!” gasps and moans leave you lips in a melody that he wants to put on repeat.

Knocking on the door startles you, but he keeps pounding into you, “Kai Mallory! You better not be doing what it sounds like you’re doing in OUR bathroom!”

“Shit.” He pulls out after a minute of hard debating.

“Who’s that?” You whisper.

“My mom…” He groans and wipes off his face.

He helps you down off the counter. and you both get cleaned up and decent before opening the bathroom door, heads down in shame.

“Sorry mom”

“I did not raise you like this!” She pinches his ear to bring him down to her level. “You’re lucky your sister isn’t home!”

You try to hold in any giggles, but it’s kinda cute funny seeing such a big tough guy let his mom do whatever.

She relents and walks away, before turning back and holding up two fingers to her eyes, and pointing them at you both in a “i’m watching you” motion.

“Sorry about that,”

“It’s all good! I didn’t know you lived at home!” or his name! “Kai.” You sigh it out.

“Come with me, I at least have my own room” He laughs a little embarrassedly.

His palm is warm in your own, you let him lead you down the hall.

His room is nice and clean! and he has a bed frame!!! score!

He lays down and pats the bed next to him.

“I can help you with your teleportation problem,” He’s laying with his eyes closed and his arms behind his head. “If you want…”

“Really!? You’re super?” You climb onto the bed but stay near his waist.

“N-no! definitely not!” he bolts back up.

“Kai…?” Your body is still so hot, and he didn’t get to finish…

“Yeah?”

“C-can I help you finish?” You ask, your hands timidly pawing at his shorts.

“um, yes. is that even a question? hah!”

You pull his short band down and his dick flings out already hard, it looks so painful… His slit pulses as his cock twitches, and leaks some pre.

“So big…” You put your tongue to his wet tip, it still tastes like you. You groan against it, and his hips roll just barely.

His stomach sinks in as he breathes and becomes more excited.

You wanted to play with him a little more but you both just want to cum, you start to play with yourself as you take him into your throat.

You relax it as best as you can but your still gagging around his length.

“You okay?” He asks sweetly.

You hold up a thumbs up “mmhmm~” and bob your head on his dick. As you pull back your head tilts up putting more pressure underneath his cock and as you go back down your head tilts down to give it that pleasurable pause all while his head and glands get sucked and taken so deeply.

You’re massaging him with your tongue and tasting him, and you’re both so excited.

Your fingers spin on your clit and as you cum for the second time that night, so does he.

“mmf!!!” Your throat is filled with a tsunami of cum, you swallow and swallow but there’s still more! some seeps out of your lips around him, you try to lick it up, but he’s already seen. He grabs your jaw in his palm, your mouth still around his dick.

“You let some out…” he wipes your chin with his thumb.

As you stare up into his eyes, you swallow again and realize he’s still hard.

“What’s your name?” he asks, with a dorky smile on his face, and his cock still down your throat.

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trinoxtrinox · 2 years

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A blazing rescue

Ectoberhaunt 2022, Side Chaos. Promt: Burn

Summary: A building is burning in Amity Park right now, and Phantom is unavailable due to a ghost attack happening at the same time. Thus it is time for the firefighters of the city to shine once more and show that the humans don’t need to depend on their own hero in order to solve their problems. He deserves a break too after all.

Content Warning: Fire, burning building.

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A burning building and a ghost attack, what a bad combination for events to happen at the same time during a summer day, however that doesn’t mean that everyone will be helpless to deal with everything that’s going on.

“Get everyone out of that building! Move! Move!” A firefighter shouted while giving all the other members of the crew their corresponding tools as they all got out of the firetruck and into the burning 3 stories high building, handing axes and watered towels with breathing masks for anyone that was still inside. “You two help me connect the hose to the water hydrant.”

There were in total 7 firefighters in this team, 4 of them went inside the building in search for anyone in need of rescue while the other 3 remained outside to turn off the fire that was ravaging the place, one manning the hose, another one keeping all the civilians outside the perimeter and watching out for any ghost attack, and the last one getting the stairs of the firetruck ready in case there was anyone in the third floor that couldn’t be rescued from the inside and had to get out through other means. The battle that Phantom was having against a ghost dragon just outside of town was still going strong, and this was one of the only fires that wasn’t caused by the ghost attack, but rather by accident or human hands, as could be witnessed by the fact that the fires weren’t colored neon green.

“How does everything look in there?” One of the firefighters outside asked through a radio on his uniform

“*cough cough* Everything looks fine on the first floor. There are some collapsed ceilings but nothing that’ll compromise the integrity of the building, I’m going to check the basement now.”

“I found *cough* a knocked out civilian on the second floor, eastern window, gonna need *cough* gonna need the firetruck’s ladder to get out, *cough* I can’t safely move them through the door with the fire present”

“Understood, pointing the ladder to the eastern windows right now,-” the firefighter in the firetruck began working in order to point the ladder to the desired position, “-What about the other two?”

“Third floor has a family inside, the fire hasn’t extended all the way yet here and there are some safe spots, but the stairs all have been blocked and the entrance of the emergency exit has been blocked by some debry, I don’t know from where since the ceiling is intact in that place.”

“Everything looks fine on my end, though there are some intense fires on the eastern side of the building, second floor, near the back of the building.”

“Understood, I’ll take the civilian from the window and then I’ll assist you on getting the cloth canvas to let the family jump” Said the fireman ass he climbed the stairs in order to receive the unconscious victim

“I’ll point the water hose to the eastern side of the building now, everyone be aware of the water that goes in from the windows.”

“I’m getting the cloth canvas right now, I’ll have to leave watching out for any ghost activity to someone else”

“I’ll keep an eye out while I drown the fire, you get the cloth ready and focus on getting that family out safe and sound.”

“*Cough cough* Hey everyone, we might want to hurry this up, there’s a gas tank in the end of the basement and the fire has begun trickling in *cough*, some water has been filtering inside thankfully but I don’t want to take any chances here.”

“Shit, we might need to put on another hose. Someone from the team inside come out here and help me put out the fire.”

“Understood, I’m on my way out *cough*”

The rest of the team continued on their work, the one in the stairs receiving the unconscious civilian and moving down the stairs, getting the emergency team from the hospital take the person into the ambulance while said firefighter got down and extended the cloth canvas, making sure their grip was firm before telling the family in the window to jump down one at a time. Meanwhile the water hose firefighter pointed the water towards the eastern side of the building, making sure to point towards one of the windows so all the water could get inside fast. From inside the buildings one person came out, the one from the second floor eastern side, and began digging out the firetruck for another hose to connect and begin fighting the fire on the western side. The last firefighter in the basement meanwhile took a few buckets that were in the place and began collecting water and throwing it at any fire that was beginning to get close to the end of the story, protecting the gas tank for as long as possible.

Eventually all the civilians were evacuated, and all the firefighters that were inside left the building, including the one that was in the basement, but by that point the fire was beginning to be put out, so there was no need to protect the gas tank.

“Sorry I wasn’t here earlier!” Phantom appeared before all the firefighters that were waiting outside the building. “Do you need my help here?”

“No need for that Phantom, we can put out a fire just fine with all of us.” The oldest member of the team comforted the ghost, “In fact, it’s almost completely out already.”

“Oh, well, good job on that then.” Phantom replied while putting his hand behind his neck, something he often did as a comfort gesture to himself. “I guess I’m not needed here then.”

“Not really, but I wanted to thank you for taking the fight with that dragon out of the city anyways. Who knows how much work we would have to do if more fires were to be made all over Amity.”

“Yeah, we don’t have the largest number of firefighters in the city after all.” replied another firefighter, this time the youngest of the team, though to be fair everyone was in an age range of 10 years.

“Um, well, thanks for the thanks then?” A green blush began forming on his face as he floated in place, not sure what to do. “I guess I’ll leave then? Thanks for putting the fire out everyone.”

“Thanks for keeping the city safe Phantom.”

“Yeah, thanks for protecting us.”

“I imagine that many of us wants to tell you that as well, but some are a bit busy right now” A third firefighter pointed towards the rest of the team, two of which were finishing out the fire, while the other two were either keeping the civilians out of the perimeter or comforting the civilians that were rescued from the fire. Once that was done, Phantom left the scene, and a few minutes later, the fire was officially totally put out.

#Ectoberhaunt22 #EH Chaos #Day 6 #Burn #Danny Phantom #Amity Park #CW fire #Fire

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annakie · 1 year

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Four Hours and Fifteen Minutes

I cannot put into words how normal today was until about 11:15 this morning.

Fry woke me up, mostly, around 6am. I also needed to pee, so I got up, then went back to bed. Fry kept being annoying, so I didn't really sleep that last hour, and eventually I sat up and browsed Reddit. Fry started being EXTRA annoying, telling me every few seconds that I needed to get up and feed them, so I put on my headphones and played music, especially when Leela started joining in the chorus from the living room. They don't get fed until after 7am, or they start expecting it earlier and earlier.

Later, as I was still sitting up browsing, Leela jumped up onto the bed. She occasionally comes and visits in the bedroom since it's opened up after Patchy died in August, but rarely stays long. She didn't stay long this time either, but for about five minutes she walked around me, and I petted her a bunch as she did. She hopped back down and headed to her bed on my desk, between one monitor and my computer, a bed on a heated mat on fairly low heat.

Always in the back of my mind now, especially the last two months, is a reminder that I almost lost her in April, 2021. Since then she's been on borrowed time, when the emergency vet brought her back around when one of her kidneys started failing and got infected. She's only had one working one since, and her blood levels have started inching up in bad kidney-related ways. So the last two months she's been on a pretty strict diet of low-phosphorous food.

Tomorrow, I reminded myself, she had a vet appointment to get those levels checked. I was hoping for a good report, though she does still get her treats, and sometimes sneaks off to eat Fry and Pemily's not-low-phosphorous food. Still, she's been happy and energetic the last two months and I had very little to report.

Eventually I got up, fed the Outside cats (still working on making them inside cats), grabbed a small handful of their food, sprinkled some on the floor to make Fry hunt for it. Opened the bedroom door. He, Pemily and Leela ran in. Fry ran to his hunting spot while I called Leela and Pemily to follow me back to the Office.

Leela got about six pieces of the junk food, Pemily got about twice that. I grabbed Leela's water bowl and now-empty-except-for-crusties food bowl and Pemily's little water bowl, along with my Yeti mug.

Leela yelled for food as soon as she finished her few pieces of kibble. I opened a new can of her food and spooned out over half of it into a clean food dish, filled the two small water bowls with cold, filtered water from the Brita, and walked back to the desk.

I set Pemily's water bowl down first, and Leela headed for it, before I called her back over to her own bowl of cool water and plate of food. She ate, ravenously, and drank her cool water with gusto. I headed back to the kitchen, filled my Yeti with ice, refilled the ice tray, poured water.

A little while later I made coffee and a bagel, Leela had almost finished her food and wanted the remainders smooshed so she could eat it better, I smooshed it.

A little while after that she was about done and calling for more food, loudly. So I went back and put the rest of the food from the 3.3oz can in the dish, knowing she wouldn't quite finish it. That's fine, Pemily or Fry could have it before I got Leela's dinner that evening.

I was right, she only ate about half of the remainders of the food. Whatever.

At 10:30 I had a meeting. I had to tell Leela to shush a time or two and apologize for her friendly talkative nature. I also told my boss about the vet appointment the next morning. He asked if everything was OK. Yeah, I said, probably! Just a check on her blood levels, since she only has one working kidney. She's old, almost 18, but aside from that, she's doing great. Hopefully we'll get a good report tomorrow!

I stopped Pemily from eating Leela's food as she snuggled in to the other bed on the desk, then the meeting started in earnest. I was mostly just taking notes, which is easy but requires a lot of looking at the screen.

At about 11 Leela hopped off the desk and went to her bathroom spot, and relieved herself. Then she had a good run around the house for about a minute, as is her way after her morning constitutional. She was yelling as she ran, as is usual, but I had my mic muted so didn't have to shush her or apologize for her. I don't mind it. She's running and happy, which must mean, she's healthy. Run all you want, itty bit.

At 11:15, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Leela standing up on her hindquarters for an inordinately long time. I looked over and she was falling backwards off the desk. I didn't have a hope to catch her. I expected her to leap back up in a few seconds.

But she didn't.

So after about fifteen seconds I got up and went behind the desk and looked, and she was laying on the floor, looking dazed. She didn't look like she hit her head, more like she was splayed out.

I carefully checked her to see if she was hurt, but didn't seem so. She was slowly moving herself. Still, I was concerned. I unmuted my mic and said I need to be out of the meeting for a bit, remuted, then took my headset off.

I picked her up and put her in the other cat bed so I could see her easily, Pemily had left at some point. For about a minute she just laid there looking around slowly, then she got up and walked back to HER bed.

OK. She's alert, she's walking. Nothing seemed broken or hurt. She just had an oopsie, she'd caught her claws on something, yanked her arm back too hard, lost balance and fell. Clumsy, but it happens. I'll keep an eye on her.

After being out for five or seven minutes, I put my headset back on and finished out the meeting.

For the next two hours I was checking her every ten or fifteen minutes. She seemed a little slow, but mostly alert, and she didn't throw up or show other signs of trauma, so I let her be, and let her sleep. I’d mention it tomorrow at the vet.

Leela was awake around one forty five. She was alert and acting completely normal. She ate a bite or two of food. I was watching her, with one eye on my work screen, when her entire body tensed up, she pulled one arm to her body in a true claw-like manor, and was shaking a little.

No, something WAS wrong. I tried comforting her for a second then grabbed my phone. By the time I got my camera recording it was mostly over, but I caught some of it at the end.

She has a doctor's appointment in sixteen hours, I thought. What is this? Can I google it? She went back to being normal within a minute of the incident. I thought about the icy roads outside, if it would be safe to leave, or if it was an emergency now.

I tried, for about ten minutes, and of course none of it was good. I realized I was being dumb. I grabbed my phone and started pulling up my vet's number.

And then she did it again. It was definitely some kind of seizure. Now near freaking-out levels, I dialed, and it connected to my fucking headphones, and the next time too despite me trying to stop it. The third time, now I was full on shaking as I held Leela through the end of whatever was happening to her, I tried to hold my panic in as I talked to the office.

They put me on hold to check to make sure they had the capacity or if I'd need to go to the emergency vet. I quickly threw on clean clothes while waiting, forgoing a shower I probably really needed.

Bring her in, they said. I'll be there in twenty minutes, I said.

The ice had, thankfully, mostly melted on the roads throughout the day. I slid a few times, there was a lot of slush out there, but I told myself from the second I got her in the carrier and into the car, that I had to drive safe.

I did. And I talked to Leela the whole way, wanting to hear her cry because that meant she wasn't seizing.

And I thought about December 28, 2016. Driving Cebu to the vet after I woke up and he'd been throwing up blood and barely responsive. I thought about my dashcam recording of that morning that I found myself watching, listening to Cebu moan in pain and me begging him to hang on, knowing I was taking him to leave, more peacefully than now.

I thought about December 25th, 2016. When I didn't take Jim to the vet soon enough and he died in the middle of the night, alone without me, and probably scared.

I thought about August 12th, 2022. Worried, but not really giving thought to the fact that Patchy had gotten THAT bad. Thinking they'd re-hydrate her, give her some anti-nausea meds and tell me to double her prednisone again, buy her a few more weeks or months. Until Dr. N saw her blood levels.

I tried not to think about that, tried not to think that this could be Leela's last car ride. That I could be leaving there without her.

I mean fuck, her KIDNEYS are supposed to kill her. I've known that for almost two years!! What the fuck was THIS!?

I made it to the vet, with only a light amount of crying and icy road problems along the way. Took her inside and she'd been vocal the whole time AND while waiting in the lobby, voicing her displeasure. Got her into a room and she'd peed in the carrier.

I took her out and was starting to clean it up when Dr. N came in.

I gave him the history of the day. Of how ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY NORMAL she was all morning. The time of her first seizure. I was sure I hadn't seen anything like it earlier in the morning or anytime yesterday. I was with her like twelve to fourteen hours most days. It's possible she could have had one overnight but... she was normal by Breakfast so I didn’t think so.

Yes, she ate a lot. She pooped and RAN before the first one.

Okay, he said. It could have been a lack of oxygen and too much stress from the running. While we were talking, she tried jumping off the table, but I caught her pre-jump and held her.

Let's do bloodwork.

He took her, took some blood, they cleaned her up of any pee and cleaned the carrier as well.

They brought her back in and it was awhile for the results, so I was just holding her, talking her, then she climbed down and was hanging out on my Kaidan hoodie crumpled in the corner of the bench. I was absentmindedly petting her watching animal planet on the TV in the room... when she fell over onto me. Seizing.

I stood up carefully and laid her flat and called for Dr. N. A few seconds later he and the vet tech rushed in, put her on the exam table and held her through the seizure.

And when he was done, he looked up at me, still petting her as she recovered and told me the news.

Her bloodwork was very different this time than last time. Her kidney levels looked fine.

But some other numbers (he said them but I don't remember) were off the chart.

She's got lymphoma.

FUCKING. LYMPHOMA.

THE SAME. FUCKING. THING. THAT. KILLED. PATCHY.

They aren't related.

It happened in the last two months, and we didn't do any further tests, but he was sure that at the levels she had, and you know the fucking SEIZURES, it must have spread to the Central Nervous System.

He said we could TRY anti-seizure meds and prednisone, the same medicine Patchy was on for the last thirteen and a half months of her life. But this had ravaged Leela much faster than it had younger, healthier Patchy.

I could take her home and try over the weekend, he said. It would be at least a weekend before we knew if it would help.

If it didn't help, she would be seizing all weekend. She could die at any time from one of the seizures. It would be uncomfortable and painful for her. It would be difficult for me, especially if she didn't respond well.

It's possible it would buy her weeks of life, but literally one of the numbers she had was off the chart. Normal bad was like fifteen thousand. Hers were like two hundred thousand, he explained. They ran the tests twice, that's why it took so long.

It was my decision, he said. Give me a few minutes to think about it, I said.

He left. I held Leela and cried and tried to decide. She was worth the pain of trying to me. Tomorrow is Friday, I could see how tomorrow went on the meds, and they were open half of Saturday so I could bring her in then, if things didn't go well---

she seized again. In my arms.

Each one looked worse and lasted longer.

I called for the doctor but he was with another patient. I just held her and rubbed her head through it, until she twisted so much she almost slipped out of my arms.

I put her back on the table, and kept her warm while waiting. Dr. N came in and I told her she seized again, just minutes after the last one. He looked at me, and we both knew. We knew. I nodded.

He gave me a few minutes to say goodbye. I told her over and over again how much I love her, and that she was going to go see Jim again. Tell him, and Target, Sampo, Cebu and Patchy how much I love and missed them.

They took her to put the catheter in, I texted my boss and my family.

They brought her back in, already sleepy.

And then the medicine went in, and I petted her until her last breath. She still had bits of food on her nose from breakfast.

I thanked Dr. N. Told him I wanted to full package individual cremation, gave Leela one last kiss on the head, and left.

It was like, four hours and fifteen minutes from "Leela fell off the desk" to goodbye.

I left the vet in a daze, feeling like I'd been punched in the face.

I came home, changed into clean pajamas, didn't look at her spot where she was supposed to be on the desk. Grabbed my Yeti and a new box of Puff's Plus and went to the bedroom, where I laid for three hours, crying wondering how the fuck this happened. Texted one person, then felt like a jerk for dumping on them.

Called my mom, telling her all of this made me feel better.

Eventually got the courage to come out here and start typing this. After I cleaned up her bathroom area, and swapped out her tiny cat bed for one of the bigger beds. There's no reason why Fry and Pemily can't sleep there now.

I tried showing Fry he could go there now, but he left immediately. Different reaction than them happily reclaiming the master bedroom the instant I left the door open when Patchy was gone.

I've wracked my brain for some kind of sign that I'd missed.

Patchy had slowly gotten sick, eating less and less and throwing up more and more when she got lymphoma.

Leela has been eating like a horse and only thrown up hairballs a few times.

Leela gained weight.

There was a sneezing thing Leela had done a few times lately but it didn't seem neurological. I had videoed her doing it last week, once out of the like, three times she did it in the last two months. I didn't ask about it today. I could next time I go in, I guess. Not that it matters now. That’s the only thing I can think of, though.

I just... I can't wrap my head around how fast she went from "having a great morning!" to rapidly seizing five times in four hours.

I still worry that I should have given her a CHANCE. It was four hours. It's not impossible that she would have gotten through it and...

...and her blood numbers were way off the charts. And she likely would have had many more seizures, and she could have died here at home and I could have done nothing to stop it but watch her suffer.

Fuck.

She deserved to leave peacefully, and not in pain.

She was old. Two months and a week from eighteen. Once she became mine, she had a mostly happy life, once Fry stopped bullying her.

I very nearly lost her almost two years ago and every day since then has been bonus time. I used to morbidly joke that the money I spent on saving her life back then would be divided by the number of days that she survived past that, and I paid that much for every day of her life had been worth that much. The number is $7.71. I'd so gladly give $7.71 every day for another almost two years with her.

She's with Jim now, I am telling myself. In my little cottage in heaven. Cuddled up with Jim for the first time in a long time. They were friends. Jim didn't really like other animals but he did tolerate or even love Leela. They didn't cuddle often, but he let her when she wanted to sometimes.

So now I'm imagining her up with him, Cebu hanging out nearby. Meeting Target and Sampo, checking in on the bedroom and seeing Patchy there. Jim and Leela in a spot near where they know I'm going to be, just within arms reach, waiting.

I'll write a memorial post later, write down everything I want to remember about her. Right now I just am in that place where I am trying to believe it's real while desperately hoping it's all a very bad dream.

#my pets #pet death tw #memorial post #very sad post feel no guilt for not reading

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failedintsave · 2 years

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Skwisgaar/Toki?

Send me a ship

Who said “I love you” first

Toki said it first, it took Skwisgaar a little longer to work up to it after so many years convincing himself he didn't believe in it.

Who would have the other’s picture as their phone background

Toki has a photo of them as his background, and it's cluttered with added hearts and sparkles and layered with Snapchat filters (Toki with bunny ears and Skwisgaar with the puppy dog), Skwisgaar's phone background is still the default from when it came out of the box. Toki figured out his screen lock, but he only had the phone in hand long enough to change his own contact to '✨💖 KING TOKI 👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨🧸' before Skwisgaar snatched it away. It has since been amended to 'dildo'

Who leaves notes written in fog on the bathroom mirror

Toki draws hearts and kitties and also chubby little dicks. Skwisgaar writes dirty nicknames and pick-up lines, and on occasion something unexpectedly sweet and poetic, though he usually wipes it away before it can be read because he struggles to express himself through words and gets embarrassed

Who buys the other cheesy gifts

Every gift Toki gives is cheesy in the ultra saccharine 'Dis mades me think of you uwu' way, from cutesy figurines of tiny ceramic wolves that he orders out of a catalog to a really cool rock he found in the yard. Skwisgaar is a more practical gifter and has given Toki a lot of his comfort items like deddybear, his star projector night light and all his softest shirts (they don't catch against his scars like normal tees)

Who initiated the first kiss

Skwisgaar initiated the first when they were early in the just fooling around stage; Toki froze up completely when it happened but he enjoyed it so much he went right back for another, which turned into a full blown, pressed against the wall, hands tangled in hair make out. Skwisgaar also initiated the first kiss after they'd both (finally) acknowledged their feelings, and it was with a lot less swagger than any that had come before.

Who kisses the other awake in the morning

Toki always kisses Skwisgaar good morning, though it doesn't always wake him up. When it does, Skwisgaar will try to convince Toki to stay in bed and laze around til a decent time.

Who starts tickle fights

Skwisgaar actually, but he can't finish his own battles. Toki is too strong and he gets WAY too into it, which sometimes leads to less playful altercations after he refuses to stop when Skwisgaar asks.

Who asks who if they can join the other in the shower

Toki doesn't even ask, he just hops in. If he doesn't, Skwisgaar will use up all the hot water.

Who surprises the other in the middle of the day at work with lunch

It's canon that Toki is in charge of snacks, so while Skwisgaar, Pickles and Nathan are cloistered in the studio, he will stop by with lunch or treats and force them to take breaks. Having to monitor his glucose levels made him a little more mindful about dietary issues, and he always makes sure there's a dairy-free option on the tray, or at least reminds Skwisgaar to take his lactaid so he won't get a bellyache.

Who was nervous and shy on the first date

Skwisgaar was less shy and more fidgety; he'd never bothered with dating before and he wasn't sure what Toki would expect outside of a Netflix and Chill setting. The nerves passed quickly when he realized he was still just spending time with his best friend.

Who kills/takes out the spiders

Toki despises spiders and smashes them on sight.

Who loudly proclaims their love when they’re drunk

Skwisgaar's not-so-secret goofiness comes out when he drinks. He flirts and giggles and can't seem to stop feeling up Toki's muscles, ooh-ing and aah-ing when he flexes for him. He doesn't have to shout it from the rooftops for everyone in the vicinity to see just how smitten he is, though it's not out of the ordinary for him to sit down with his bandmates and stage whisper "Gonna marries dat guy. Shhhh, don't tells him!" while pointing at Toki. He seldom remembers the extent of it come morning.

#skwisgaar skwigelf #toki wartooth #skwistok #ship asks #asks #thanks! 💜

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nelithic · 1 year

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[ Garden ] - Outside of the dance hall, explore the miniature gardens the Elementals created for you, populated with all sorts of strange (and carnivorous) plants you’ve never seen before

These "elementals" could reasonably be described as young, bored gods, excited to play with their charges like a fledgling does their dolls. They at least seem to have good intentions, but they do not quite respect or recognize the monastery residents' autonomy, not enough to free them upon request, at least.

Leanne figures the best way to get through this is to play their game. They mean well, anyhow, and she doubts they will let harm come during this charmed, strange edition of the Ethereal Ball. And maybe, just maybe, she can speak with them, communicate, get it through to them that their relationship is something that can be two-sided. This is much less unsettling than the dreamscape, the malevolent energy that still rises in her nightmares. She can work with this.

Not everyone is taking this as well as Leanne, though, and she knows it. As she walks through the garden, taking in some fresh air and communing with these strange plants, she sees a figure on their lonesome. They don't seem outright distressed, per se, but they don't seem to be having a great time, either.

"Hello!" As Leanne nears, she realizes this is another dragon laguz; or manakete, or whatever word they use, from her homeland. Her long black hair obscures much of her face, and her fanciful outfit shimmers with the magic of the sparrows. She seems almost numb, a default guardedness further obscuring Leanne's ability to gauge her situation. "How is the night treating you? I am Leanne, of the Golden Deer. And the Water element, in the situation we are in now."

She extends her hand, the symbol upon it clearly visible. It's almost like a brand, thinks a small part of the back of her mind. Will it go away, when they're freed? There's only one way to find out.

no matter the time or place, gardens provide a much-needed refuge. such had been the case since they had still bloomed in the old world, since she and the divine dragon used to walk among them on the somniel, chasing transient moments of peace. this was before the last of them had withered to decay, taking their medley of smells and vibrant colors with them into the fold of degradation that set on the twilight of that world.

these of course are not those gardens of falling wisteria, elegantly shading the divine dragons' court in transient lavender. these too are fragrant, and enchant still, but do so differently. whimsy seems to beckon from the playfully-arranged hedges, a meandering design meant as much to mislead as to entertain. the flower heads move on their own, unshepherded by either wind or tending hand, following the routes of ballgoers among them like curious pets — or watchful eyes. the feast of colors is a melange, not an arrangement, popping hues one after the other swirling into intoxication. she understands now how insects will drown in the nectar that nourishes them.

it is while watching this very thing happen — the ruby-feathered stalks of a fork-leaved sundew folding in unhurried, escherian spirals about its latest prey — that a gentle greeting just behind her draws her attention away from the threatening illusion of enchantment. even a fell dragon is not immune to such things here, it seems.

( or perhaps the threat itself is only that of her own nostalgia, as slow and carnivorous a thing as the sundew. )

upon turning, her notice scans first the elegant girl in vernal pink, a cream of lace and climbing stems. the sweetness of her approach brings an inherent softness to the corners of nel's mouth too, even as she senses that the one who approached her is not human like the majority here; something wooded and effervescent filters forth from her presence, as dappled sunlight does through trees. "greetings, leanne. you may call me nel." cool hand meets leanne's outstretched palm and clasps it firmly — a wash of magic like something blooming beneath the skin; a flower of water unfurls its petals about her neck — before falling away just as easily. "and i thank you for telling me your assignment for the evening, though i am simply pleased to make your acquaintaince, that aside. i have been marked with air, though you may have already sensed as much."

"are you enjoying the festivities?"

#——— ⟢　𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 】₊　leanne.#toaball2023 #i learned writing this that nel does not mind small talk..... amazing #thank you for sending this !! leanne just out here being A Good

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havethetouch · 7 months

Text

Life Update

Dere! I am still around guess what :) I just took a bit of a longer break again from the web and stuff because honestly stuff got a bit much and there was so much other stuff that needed my attention and time. Not looking forward to clear my inboxes across all my accounts again but eh, it is what it is. Prolly gonna filter out the important stuff and reply to what I need to and just delete the rest for a clean start.

But hey, all that stuff that kept me busy and mostly offline was the good stuff. I had my mother over at my place almost every weekend for a month now to help me out with some of that stuff and it really imporved so much about my situation and my livin space and a lot of other stuff across the board like literally anytime my mother came over I would be weeping at the end of the day in joy and relief. So yah, lotsa improvements going on that would've taken me a lot longer by myself. Love my mom.

There was a bit of an issue with the water supply, it got tainted and I got a little sick from that but thankfully I am young and my immune system is a beast so I was a lot less affected from that than other members in the community. Still sucked though. For a couple of days I was hauling water rations around to the elderly folks in my neighbourhood who were unable to get it on their own. It was a whole thing. It also lead me into the house of my vis a vis neighbour who sometimes talks down from her balcony with me and used to talk a lot to my grandmother and my father as well when they were still around. Let me tell you this woman is a master crocheter - everything in her flat is basically crochet. Wall decorations, seat covers, couch throws, pillows, there was a computer chair decked out in crochet sleeves... lotsa nicknacks hell, every flower in all the vases I could see were crocheted. I was surprised to find items that were not decked out or complety made oud of thread tbh. That visit was like.. a revelation bc ages ago, maybe two or three years ago, there was this image going around of a rainbow hue shift blanket with a pattern included to crochet that yourself. And i was like... man, wish I could remember how to crochet I would love to do this. Which also lead to me two or so weeks ago walking up to my aunt and asking her if she by chance has knitting needles and wool and if she could teach me knitting. Long story short I can knit now I have a huge bulky scarf in the works and because I wanted some fexibility on what I work on I started a second project last Monday (I can either hyperfixate start to finish or I need at least two wips in any given craft so I can switch back an forth) and now I have a triangle shawl that I just finished this morning. Very lovely. I also bought a shitton of wool which raised some eyebrows with my aunt and both my mom because they assumed I would not somehow get really really into it? Well. Jokes on them. I am already planning arm and legwarmers, maybe a sweater. Lotsa shawls. It is very realxing for me and my hands really could do with a new craft that forces me to not grip stuff too hard and get into more fluid and flowy movements while creating. I am also really fast at this stuff apparently according my fam so like... yay knitting :) Which is also a reason why my absence from the web got extended. New hyperfixation on new hobby unlocket it is getting colder outside and I get urges to make myself warm comfy shit. I also have some sensory issues with some fabrics so being able to make my own shit is hella nice especially since I found the softest whatever bulky thread that feels like those soft cheaps synthetic fluffy blankets and I love that shit and that is the material of the scarf I am working on and that is also what imma make the arms and legwarmers out of and yeah idk if you can tell how excited this stuff makes me because it does and I am already thinking about if and where to get a huge loom from maybe next year because I did weaving once as teenager and mhhhhhh I kinda wanna do something. (The knitting stuff also basically started with I want a thing imma make it myself how I want it.)

So.. yeah. Ah and in between I was also in Venice in September I can't remember if I mentioned that but I had a short trip up there and it was a blast and very inspiring. All in all life's been going up n up and as the seasons shift again I feel at ease and peaceful with everything going on. I also finally got my old landlord to fork over the security deposit so that's another loose end tied neatly and I do not have to go to his workplace to have a talk after all :) I still have a couple of things to do before winter hits because this will be my first winter out here (remember I moved in around March this year so it was still cold but it was more the tailend of winter in my area so yah that will be interesting. But I got my self made teas, I bought all I need to operate my fireplace and heat the house already in Summer and oh. I am finally financially stable again. Like fully stable. And bruh that is... a huge weight off my back (and also the reason why I was able to buy lotsa wool lets be real.) But yeah.. yeah only good stuff around on my end. All is well. And I feel great.

#touch speaks #long post #journal entry

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get-shiggy-with-it · 3 years

Text

gin and tonic and bad, bad men

Collab Masterlist

✧ pairing: bartender!dabi x waitstaff!fem!reader

✧ word count: 6k

✧ warnings: misogyny, scummy dabi, noncon/dubcon, yandere vibes, cat calling, toxic relationships, toxic work environment, face fucking (?), smut, semi-public sex (in an alley), alcohol, drunk reader, drunk sex, smoking mention, brief spitting, humiliation, light degradation, probably incorrect use of restaurant terminology, reader is implied female but no body parts are explicitly gendered

✧ summary: Dabi is willing to protect you from those awful, nasty men who torment you at work, but he never does anything on the house -- or the newbie at the bar catches dabi's attention and everyone else's.

✧ a/n: Heyy my first dabi, and he's scummy as hell in this. who's shocked? Not me. This is for the BNHAREM collab and it's a coworker/workplace au! Please go check out all the other works, everyone is so talented! Enjoy~

Dead men tell no tales, but drunk men’s mouths run wild.

Liquor loosens the lips like no other force of nature.

Dabi knows this to be true.

Whiskey runs hot in the blood and makes hands reach to lay claim on whatever is closest, whatever is prettiest within their grasp.

Alcohol on the tongue draws forth cravings from deep, hidden pits in men—bears their ugly truths to the world—and Dabi is the master of this liquid sorcery.

He sits, high and mighty, behind the safety of his bartop and watches the sea of bodies grow loose with vodka and gin and in turn he drinks their secrets. Sees the things they hide in sobriety and knows their nature with a removed certainty that is only found in those who have seen the darkest depths of mankind and come out the other side stinking of their filth.

The mahogany slab that separates Dabi from the waves of slobbering drunkards does nothing to stop the infection from spreading. He knows their thoughts, knows their truth, knows what their hands long to bruise, because they’re his thoughts too.

His truth.

His longing.

Kept only at bay by the simple fact that the boss doesn’t like him drinking on shift. Likes to keep his air of professionalism even if the bar is nothing more than a seedy dive in the bad part of the bad part of town.

Whatever keeps him off Dabi’s back is fine.

“The bar is over there and that door is to the kitchen…”

Toga’s voice pulls him from his stupor. The dirty rag he’d been using to halfheartedly wipe down the counters leaves his skin slick, calluses soft and plump as the water eats at them. She’s showing around one of the new hires. The turn over rate for staff here is so goddamn awful that this is a near weekly occurrence, so Dabi doesn’t pay her much mind as she wanders over.

It isn’t until her face is shoved up against his across the bar that he looks away from his task.

“Say hi to the newbie!” she cackles, smile just deranged enough to keep her safe from the crowds on packed nights.

Toga doesn’t look it but she belongs here too, in the filth and squalor of humans. But not like him. She thrives and gorges herself on their foolishness, twirling through the mob of patrons, always knowing who’s back to pat for gracious tips and who’s to stab when she needs to.

He glances up through his lashes and is both shocked and unsurprised by what he finds.

Hanging off the end of Toga’s arm, you stand out against the dingy background of the taproom. The smog of the bar clings to it’s staff, making their hair dull and their eyes red rimmed. You haven’t been poisoned yet though. The smell of the downpour raging outside still clings to you and errant raindrops drip down your chin like tears.

“Hey,” he grumbles and with another prodding look from Toga tacks on a gruff, “name’s Dabi.”

“He’s our bartender,” Toga provides after his silence and you smile. He guesses cause you don’t know any better.

You’ll learn not to do that down here soon enough.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

Your name slips off your lips and onto his like top shelf tequila. There’s rain on your palm as you reach out for him, so when he takes it to shake, you can’t feel the way the grime clings to his skin—can’t feel the roughness etched into his fingers through the chill.

Can’t see him for what he is.

Meanwhile, you’re practically transparent in the dim, neon light of the bar.

The buttons of your shirt are undone too low, he notices as Toga drags you away to the back. He could warn you, should warn you. That when the late night crowd stumbles in, you’ll want those extra inches of skin covered up. That dressing like that is just asking for something to get smacked.

You must be stupid to not know it, because he doesn’t think you do.

You’re not really carrying yourself like a slut, he thinks, watching you trail along behind his boisterous coworker smiling and nodding and eager to please.

He ought to warn you.

But he knows he won’t.

You’ll be gone within a week and Dabi will swiftly forget your name and face just like the others before you. He’ll sneak shots in while his manager’s back is turned and any memory of you will be filtered out by his abused liver.

But for now, Dabi reigns himself back in to polish some of the obvious stains from his glasses and prepares himself for the show. The doors open in an hour, and he wants to be ready for the action.

The drunk antics of all the city's criminals gets old fast when you’re the one who has to clean up their shit.

Fresh meat is the only real entertainment they ever get around here.

So Dabi watches as you don one of the stained, black aprons and doesn’t tell you to cover up that sliver of your chest practically glowing in the electric red and blue light. Just looks on from the relative sanctuary of the bar as Toga instructs you on how to carry the drink trays and waits patiently to see you be devoured.

After you trip on the way back to the kitchen, Dabi pulls a twenty out of his pocket and shoves it in a jar hidden under the bartop. He makes a mental note to tell the chef he’s betting on just under a week you’ll last.

At the very least he’ll get a free performance and a neat hundred out of your inevitable failure.

He goes back to polishing, only looking up once as you breeze past the bar on your way to unlock the gates for the nocturnal animals of the city to filter in as they please.

You smile at him again as you pass.

Dabi tosses another twenty into the jar.

***

Well, he may have lost the bet, but he can’t find it in himself to mourn the forty dollars too hard.

Today would be your two week anniversary, and honestly, Dabi felt a bit of grudging respect for the determination you showed, no matter how pointless it was.

Determination and foolishness often came hand in hand.

He couldn’t help but think you looked more than a little the fool as you smiled and made unbridled eye contact with the patrons while walking your rounds from table to table. You’d learned enough to cover up a bit more, but he can’t be sure if that’s because you’ve started to notice the stares or because a spring cold front has rolled over the city. Either way, he watches you shiver under the gaze of a particularly rowdy guest and feels a chill run up his own spine as he watches the man’s eyes trail up your thighs, drinking down the slivers of bare skin like his fifth beer of the night.

Dabi is intrigued now.

Wonders how you’ve made it out of the fray every night so far.

Wonders what you’re hiding under those skimpy clothes and friendly, thoughtless smiles.

He doesn’t have to wait long to find out.

It’s inevitable really. When you’re working nights there are certain occupational hazards to expect. So when the little clock above the bar reads just past one in the morning, and you drift out once again into the raging mass of bodies, Dabi isn’t shocked to hear the yelp and smash of glasses just a few minutes later.

The first die has been cast.

He looks up from pouring out two fingers of whiskey just in time to catch the man’s hand slipping between your thighs, dirty fingers digging into the flesh and yanking you down onto his spread legs. The tray of drinks you’d been carrying clatters to the floor, lacing the air with the sweet burn of alcohol and futile outrage.

It’s far too loud to hear what the man says to you, but the way his blackened, ragged nails press five perfect, filthy crescents onto your skin—how they mark you as a worthy target, claiming you with their muck—sends a clear enough message.

Dabi wouldn’t bother watching if it wasn’t you trying to squirm your way out of being passed from lap to lap around the booth. He’s isn’t the least bit ashamed to admit how curious he is to see which way you’ll react.

And while he expects passivity—a drawn look with wide eyes, hoping no reaction at all will leave them bored and searching for a more interesting conquest—Dabi finds himself on the wrong side of the tracks once more.

His eyebrows shoot up, quite the reaction from the generally stony bartender, as your hand cracks open palmed across the face of your captor. A strange, heavy silence falls over the bar. It lasts only a few precious seconds but it’s enough to draw the attention of your manager who pulls you, cursing and snarling like a dog without it’s muzzle, back to the kitchen.

It’s your face that does him in—seals both your fates in dripping cream and purple wax.

Working down here, in this pigsty bar with it’s air that clings and dirties and tarnishes, brightness of any kind is foreign.

Alluring.

And your eyes that shine with the glow of reckless willpower have the same draw as the fat wads of cash that slip too easily from drunk fingers into his tip jar. Defiance is a rare currency in the underworld and Dabi’s fingers itch as your secret is revealed.

You believe you’re worth something.

Even as he hears the rasp of his boss’ voice, berating and threatening from behind the swinging doors, Dabi can’t help but hold the image of your smile turned snarl. You’ll get off with a warning because you’ve lasted this long and it’s a hassle to find replacements with pretty enough faces. But only this once, do it again and you’ll be out on the street.

For his part he tries to look sympathetic when you crowd yourself behind the bar and pout with your tail between your legs.

You haven’t spoken to him since that first night and he hasn’t exactly made an attempt at conversation either.

It wasn’t like you were worth the effort before.

But now, as you sniffle and pretend the pin prick tears in your eyes are just from the bite of the liquor slicked floor, Dabi feels an old heat rise in him. Something stokes the embers that laid dying out inside the prison of his ribs, and he welcomes the familiar burn.

Like an old friend, like a knife at his throat.

The man from before approaches the bar to order another drink and his cloudy eyes don’t even seem to register the way you cower from him, back turned and sinking into the peeling wallpaper. They’ve forgotten you already. To them you are one of dozens, not worth the fight it takes when plenty of properly meek flesh hops from table to table, ripe for picking.

But Dabi see’s the flint in your hands and knows it’s you that lit this fire licking up the back of his throat.

With two rough fingers he beckons you over into the soft overhead spotlights of the bar. Like a beast to its master’s call you shuffle forward into his gravitational pull and look up at him warily.

“Wanna learn how to mix?” he asks, even to him his voice sounds harsh with disuse.

“...sure,” you say quietly, after a brief pause.

You’re warm and soft as he settles behind you, caging you in with his arms under the guise of reaching for a strainer or a jar of olives. Unlike that bastard, now long passed out from drink, Dabi’s face remains free of your claw marks when his chest brushes against you or his hand wanders to the small of your back to move you aside as he serves customers.

He even works up a little smile of his own when you stare, sunny bright over your shoulder at his attempt to distract you from the incident.

The city, the bar, the underground—all of it is an angry, storming ocean filled with angry, storming bodies that swiftly drowns its victims as they desperately tread water in the open, black abyss.

Without him, you’d learn to take the wandering hands and vulgar words or you’d be foolish enough to inhale them in lungfuls and sink to the bottom.

But as you smile and nod while he shows you how long to stir an Old Fashioned, Dabi feels his own neglected determination rise to the challenge.

By the end of the night, you already trail behind him as he does his rounds to each abandoned table. Like a stranded victim to a raft, you cling to the safety he’s dared to provide.

And if he plays his cards right.

He might not come out of this bet so empty handed.

If only you knew, he was no better than the rest of them.

You’d run straight from the trees into the wolf's den.

***

“What’s your favorite drink to make?” you ask.

Dabi glances up at you, his chest pressed against the cool surface of the bar as he surveys the empty taproom. It’s a little over an hour till opening, but the only thing waiting for him outside of this hellhole is an even deeper hellhole, so Dabi almost always finds himself lounging around the abandoned bar. The boss doesn’t care anyway as long as inventory gets taken and any dried blood from the night before is gone by the next day.

You’ve taken to drifting in early too, even sometimes on the nights you don’t work.

Normally, he’d be annoyed, but it’s better you’re here than out on the streets.

At least if you’re bugging him behind the bar, he can keep an eye on you. Dabi’s found recently that you’ve been on his mind with increasing frequency. It’s easier if you’re in his line of sight. There’s a certain reassurance in your dopey little smile and your hand fisted in the back of his shirt—your body knows where you belong even if your pretty little brain hasn’t quite caught up yet.

Pretty.

“My favorite or my best?” he grunts, pushing off the bar and wetting his lips.

“Is there a difference?”

You’re looking at him with what he assumes is meant to be a cocky grin, but he has a hard time taking you seriously with your crossed arms squishing your chest up like that.

“‘Course there is,” he turns to grab one of the highball glasses from it’s rack and sets it down on the counter. “Just because you like something, doesn’t mean you’re good to it.”

When he looks back at you over his shoulder, you’ve got this comical little furrow in your brow.

“To it?”

Dabi presses the tip of his finger into your forehead, “At it, whatever. Don’t frown so much, you’ll look old as fuck soon if you do.”

“You don’t know how old I am,” you scoff and slap his hand away.

“Bet I’m older,” he mumbles, searching the shelves of bottles idly while dropping a few cubes of ice into the glass.

It melts in his palm, slipping through the spaces between his fingers.

Dabi clenches his fist tighter.

“I don’t know about that,” you’re trotting around to the other side of the bar now, slipping into one of the worn, red topped stools and watching him start to mix.

He likes having you for an audience. Any other customer is only concerned with getting his drink as fast a possible, to numb whatever wounds need to be numbed on their insides. But you appreciate the art form of crafting this liquid destruction.

“I’m older where it counts,” he replies simply, pulling a bottle of gin down from near the top shelf and plopping it on the counter.

“Oh really? How’s that?”

Dabi measures out two ounces of sharp, clear liquor and pours it smoothly over the ice. He doesn’t bother looking at you as he works. He knows your eyes won’t leave him.

“Experience,” he offers and doesn’t elaborate.

The tonic water cracks open with a satisfying hiss and bubbles as he tips it into the glass. You trail your fingers through the condensation on the bar absentmindedly.

“I’m not as clueless as you think I am, you know that?”

He does glance at you then, senses the lack of your attention that’s focused on the fading finish of the bar top.

Dabi waits in silence.

You do elaborate.

“There’s some real fucking choice clientele here, but nothing that’s gone down on shifts is like, a new development.”

“No?” he asks because you expect him to respond and because he enjoys the way you perk up when he actually engages in a conversation with you.

He likes that you like it.

His attention.

It’s not often he finds anyone worth the effort.

“No.”

You stare at him expectantly now, eyes flicking between him and the glass as he stirs the drink a few times and grabs a lime wedge.

Dabi rolls his eyes at the clear fishing line you’re casting for more questions, but takes the bait anyway.

He hopes you know how lucky you are.

“What, got groped on the train a few times and now you think you're a seasoned member of the criminal underground?” he squeezes the fruit between two fingers lightly to spread its juice around the rim and lets it float atop the ice. “I fucking knew you were a dramatic little bitch.”

“I am not dramatic,” you pout just like you do every time the boss chews you out.

He gets the distinct feeling you’re just as much of a petulant little brat elsewhere as you are at work. Then again, that is what makes you so interesting. If you didn’t try to gnash those little baby teeth at him every now and again, he wouldn’t have bothered jumping to your rescue so often.

Dabi doesn’t partake in...partners often. People disappoint him, which isn’t shocking considering the amount of shit he’s seen them spew in his years behind the bar. People are dirty and never in the sexy way all those pop songs talk about, and that makes them boring. The allure of inviting someone else into his shoebox little life is shaping them to fit it. You can’t sculpt mud that loses its shape, slips through your fingers and back to the filthy earth where it belongs.

But you haven’t been stained yet.

You sit at his bar looking like a perfect slab of clay, ready for his hands to dip past those sweet, sweet lips and form them to fit only his fingers.

A rare find in a place like this, just like the single malt on his top shelf—unexpected, leaving behind a pleasant burn on his tongue.

He thinks back to that man on the first night he showed you some of the drinks and all the others that came after him. Here, in the bar, you can come scurrying over and hide behind the wall of his chest. You can put Dabi and the counter between you and the mass of hands and whistles.

He hadn’t really bothered to think of what might happen to you when he’s not around.

Who might touch his precious treasure he’s managed to dig out of muck.

Who might try and ruin you before he gets the chance.

His brain is working to rationalize the growing feeling of possession he feels towards the half frown half permanent smile that you fix him with. But he knows.

He knows exactly what he’d like to do to you and how he’d like to do it.

Knows it’s exactly what all those creeps on the train or drunks that stumble in one hour to call would like too.

It’s fine though. People like him wouldn’t be so attracted to people like you if you weren’t asking for it.

And you were asking.

Every time you stood by him, attached at the hip and let him chase off the assholes who tried to get in your pants or practically begged him with your eyes for some scrap of attention—you were asking for him to take control.

Even if you were too stupid to see it for yourself.

Your body knows what you want, even if you deny it with every fiber left of you.

He doesn’t offer another response, just slides the concoction across and into your outstretched hands.

Gin and tonic is simple, bare bones and hard to fuck up. He likes that. Everything else is so goddamn complicated, this type of magic doesn’t need to be.

You seem to forget the weight of the previous conversation and peer curiously down into the glass. Dabi is shameless as he watches your lips wrap around the curved edge and your throat constrict as you swallow.

He likes that more than the floral gin that hits his tongue when you pass the drink back and he sips.

“So which is it, your favorite or your best?”

There’s a pause as he considers the questions before passing the glass back to you.

“My favorite.”

He isn’t looking at the drink when he answers.

“Oh,” you respond quietly, sipping lightly on the drink he’s made and looking at him like he isn’t seconds away from taking you then and there.

“Stay awhile after your shift,” he says, not much thought behind the words. “I’ll drive you home.”

***

You look almost angelic, a beacon amongst the refuse and grime of the back alley, silhouetted by the dying orange glow of a lone street lamp. The door to the kitchen is still rattling in its frame as Dabi pulls you stumbling behind him.

He isn’t angry.

But there’s something burning in him.

In reality, he’d felt the potential of the night the instant he walked through the front doors, slipping behind the bar to clock in only to find you leaned up against the drink racks, ready and waiting.

The same sensation since the first time you’d smiled that dopey smile his way was raging to a crescendo under his skin. He’d been doing you a service all these weeks, keeping you from the prying eyes and fingers of the patrons—keeping them from soiling what was his to ruin.

Tonight he would take what he was owed.

Indulge a bit in what he’d won, the gold nugget he’d plucked from the dirty, city sewer riverbed.

After all, he needed to make sure you were a worthwhile investment.

If the boss thought the restaurant business was risky….well, Dabi knew better.

You struggled a bit as his fingernails dug into the skin on your bicep, but he just tugged harder, clicking his tongue at the jumble of slurred protests you groaned into the sweet summer air. There was a space between the two massive dumpsters out behind the kitchen Dabi used to go to smoke. It was a nice, private little spot. Didn’t smell too great but nothing here did, and that wouldn’t matter when he had you to distract him anyway.

In seconds he had your back to the wall, hidden on either side by steel containers. The brick caught on your uniform and Dabi watched the fabric tighten around your chest and throat. You brought your hands up to his shoulders, but your hands were weak as they shoved at him, easy to gather in one palm and pin down.

He wasn’t exactly sure what put this idea in his head—the urgency in his blood—but it definitely had something to do with that last customer.

It was halfway through your night shift, closing in on one in the morning. Dabi was stuck behind the bar, churning out cheap beers and lines of shots. You’d been forced to brave the sea of regulars, too busy to hide yourself away in the kitchen with Toga or watch with owl-wide eyes as Dabi doled out liquor.

The bar was unusually packed. Not that it was strange for a bar to be full on a Friday night, but he’d never seen the place without an empty seat in sight.

Maybe it was because you were so easily swallowed up by the roiling mass of bodies, or maybe it was because Dabi lost himself in the magic of the drinks—of the mixing and matching and perfecting—that he didn’t notice the man.

That the way this particular customer stared and touched and spoke to you miraculously didn’t end in a smart slap to the face and a screaming session from the manager.

No. It seemed that somewhere along the way he’d let that light in you, the matchstick spark, dwindle just a bit too much, let you sink just a bit too far into the mud of the place. Cause when this man pulled you into his lap and plied you with shot after shot, cheering all the time, calling you his ‘pretty little thing,’ you didn’t put up any fight.

No.

No you smiled that dumb, bright eyed smile at him.

Flashed this nobody asshole Dabi’s sweet little smile and drank the shots he’d poured like Dabi hadn’t wasted the nearly a month driving you home and keeping you safe from the human garbage that wandered in off the street. Like all that work had been for nothing, up in ashes the instant that man’s hand found purchase on your bare thigh and you didn’t so much as squirm in his grip.

You squirm now though.

Fight despite the alcohol blurring your vision and turning your bones to jelly. Normally the boss hates it when his employees drink on shift, but if you want to take it like the fucking slut you were well, who’s Dabi to stop you?

He kept pouring rounds for that table and watched the man tip sweet, top shelf whiskey down your throat. It didn’t take long till you were losing your balance and sinking deeper into the quicksand debris of the bar.

Gin and tonics used to be medicinal—mixed up with quinine to treat malaria. Dabi likes that. Likes the idea that he’s whipping up healing potions instead of Molotovs. Likes the freshness amidst the burn.

But Dabi wants you to burn now.

Wants your throat on fire with the betrayal.

It’s easy to force your knees. The whiskey made you pliant even as you shake your head and look up at him with bleary eyes.

“You’re looking at me now, huh?” he works his tongue across his teeth as the words leave him, spitting straight on your cheek to watch you recoil in disgust. “Didn’t seem too interested in me earlier.”

“I don’t, I’m sorry...what?” you mumble.

He thinks if you were more coherent you might be crying.

Maybe he should have cut you off sooner.

“Don’t act stupid with me,” he still has your hands held above your head and his free hand moves to grip your scalp. “You’ve been behind my bar so many times, there’s no way you don’t know I see everything.”

“Why didn’t you…” Dabi shakes your head as your eyes droop and you gasp at his nails raking your skin. “You could have helped me!”

“What? Help you get fucked by some drunk shit? I don’t think so.”

“No,” you shake your head yourself this time, face screwed up in confusion and as the grit of the alley bites into your knees. “They wouldn’t let me leave, I was scared, Dabi please—”

He is swiftly losing his patience, hand leaving your head to fumble with the clasp of his belt and pants. The look on your face—tears beginning to bead at the corners of your eyes and mouth opening up as words try but fail to find their way off your tongue—is enough to have his cock twitching with interest.

“Listen sweetheart, cause I’m not gonna fucking say this again,” he can’t help the laugh that bubbles up in his chest as his dick falls free from his boxers and your eyes go almost all white as he strokes up the ladder of piercings on his shaft. “You might think you’re cut out for this job, but you aren’t shit. Everything’s got a price down here and you’re gonna have to pay the fuck up for what you owe me.”

You look like you want to protest, even in this state—on your knees in an dirty as fuck alley with a fat cock nudging your lips—but he’s got his thumb worked between your teeth, shoving down on your tongue until your jaw pops open and he can sheath himself inside.

The half choke, half sob, half shameful moan that squeezes out past his dick only has Dabi growing harder. It’s been so long since he’s fucked someone’s throat. So long since he’s fucked anything at all, he’s nearly forgotten how goddamn good it feels to have something other than a fist wrapped around him.

His fingers migrate, moving to grip you by the cheeks, keeping your mouth open and jaw locked so you can’t bite him. Not that he thinks you really would.

Your body knows what you want.

And it seems like you really want a fucking dick in your mouth.

He pulls out, listening to the click of the little metal barbells against your teeth and the gasp of air you take before he plunges back in.

“Look at you,” he muses, daring to release your hands which flop uselessly to your sides as he holds your face still and starts to roll his hips. “Don’t know why I waited so long to collect, fucking shit.”

Your neck bulges with every stroke of his hips, and when the ring at the tip of his dick nudges the back of your throat, you gag so pretty he can hardly stand it.

He wonders idly, as you cry and choke on his cock, if you’re thinking about the man in the bar. Wishing it was his length you were lapping at like a good little hole.

Wishing Dabi had been better.

Not like the others.

And for a moment, it has him stilling—the horrid notion that there might have been something not so twisted between you if only he wasn’t scum like the rest, if he wasn’t just hiding his dirt on the inside.

Tar logged lungs and heart.

But then he remembers that if he just fucks you hard enough, you’ll forget all those nasty things until you’re fit just for him. Molded for Dabi right down to the thoughts in your head.

So instead of stopping this now and hoping you’re drunk enough to forget the filth of the alley and the salt of his cum on your tongue, he picks up his pace.

His thighs burn with the effort, not used to this kind of movement after years alone, and your face is a mess of tear tracks and spit that dribbles out in streams around the length of him slamming into your throat.

It’s quick and dirty and hard and everything Dabi has ever been and will always be. Delicious and hot and fresh. His blood is pounding in his ears, drowning out the cries and sobs and whimpers coming from you between his knees. Instead his head is alight with the thought that soon he’ll mark that mouth as his, claim you before the others could. And if the road to hell is paved with good intentions then Dabi doesn’t know where he’s going when he dies, but he’s deep in heaven now.

With a bang and a whimper Dabi will pretend didn’t slip past his lips, he slams past your teeth once more before exploding in your mouth. Thick, white ropes of release coat your tongue and he doesn’t pull out, just works his fingers under your jaw until he feels you swallow around his softening cock.

Only then does he take a step back to survey his work.

Half in shadow, surrounded in trash and debris, cum stained with dirt under your nails, Dabi feels pride well in his chest.

Distantly he thinks that this burning sense of completion, of perfection, of accomplishment, is what an artist must feel—hand finally dropping the brush to gaze upon their life’s work.

A masterpiece.

His perfect, human clay creation.

Your mouth still hangs dumbly open, hands resting on the brick dust coated ground, your eyes are wide and still stare up at him—reminiscent of a peasant gazing onto a king, confused at the power before you. And with the dim burning of the streetlight, illuminating his hair and glinting off the silver piercings adorning his ears, Dabi thinks he must look just that—a king with his crown of bloody jewels.

He watches as you sway and fall forward on your hands and coughing onto the ground. Your chest heaves, your legs shake, and Dabi feels his shoulders soften. He tucks himself away slowly, refastening his belt as your sputtering subsides. With careful steps, he moves to stand in front of you once again, running his hand along the back of your head until your breaths come deeply and his mouth tastes sickly sweet at the way your hands move to grip at his boots.

“Hey,” he mumbles, feeling some strange heat in his face that brings him to his knees before you. “Look at me.”

And you do in an instant.

Dabi half expects a glare, steely and cold like the walk-in but it’s not.

Your eyes are blank and glossy, staring hooded and helpless like a stray cat desperate to be carried away and fed warm milk.

He wipes a bit of his own release from the corner of your mouth and doesn’t question the sudden, intense need to lick behind your teeth. With filthy hands he cups your face and revels in the feel of your swollen lips and the taste of himself on your tongue.

It screams ownership.

And Dabi has never had much to his name so the thought only makes him want to cling harder.

As he pulls away there’s a smear of red dust on your cheek from his thumbs stroking the skin. Marked. Claimed. Coated in a thin layer of grime just like every other poor soul that walks into this place, but that dirt is his. That filth is him, a permanent imprint on your bones.

He thinks you’d look good with his name in black ink etched into your flesh, dark and blatant so anyone who looks at you would know, would see who owns you even when the muck has been washed away.

“You did good,” he says, giving you a smile of his own—maybe his first, surely not his last.

Your voice is nothing more than a sunken ship wreckage of what it once was, interrupted with sniffles and creaks. “I..want to go home….”

“Let me drive you,” his hands reach under your arms to lift you shakily off the ground, head tucked safely into his shoulder as he helps you limp to his car. “Not safe for you to go walking at this time of night. Men can be fucking monsters you know?”

His heart pounds happily in his chest as you nod against him.

“Thanks,” you whisper into his shirt.

Dabi grins wider than he can ever recall. The kind of expression that makes his cheeks ache and his head spin.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” the words drip off his tongue, top shelf truth if he’s ever heard it. “Anytime.”

#dabi x reader #dabi x y/n #dabi x you #bnha fanfiction #tw: alcohol #tw noncon #tw dubcon #tw misogyny #tw sexism #tw cat calling #tw drinking #tw toxic behavior #tw yandere #tw spitting #bee.writes

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theramseyloft · 3 years

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Shipping a Pigeon

This is not just important for breeders and rescues to know.

The recipients of shipped pigeons need to know how this works as well.

https://foyspetsupplies.com/new-vented-single/

This is the Horizon Micro Environment vented single box, currently the industry standard for shipping pigeons.

These shipping boxes are designed around the thermodynamics of air and the physiology of the birds.

They are made of sturdy corrugated cardboard, which is surprisingly well insulated!

The wide vent at the top of the box vents out warm air as it rises, drawing cooler fresh air through the smaller holes all down the sides and across the bottom on the solid side of the box, where the label is attached.

Air holes are covered by a filter, which provides a few benefits: Keeping the bird and its mess contained, moderate protection from outside contaminants, and most importantly, darkness.

Pigeons are diurnal.

Deprived of light, they basically shut off and fall asleep.

If they could see and were active, more than 24 hours with out water would leave them dangerously dehydrated.

But while they sleep, their digestion is drastically slowed; allowing them to conserve water and calories for days longer than they could while active.

I line the boxes with two layers of paper towels and send seeds with them, but there is no safe or legal way to send water, which is why keeping them in the dark for the trip is so important.

Live birds travel mostly by ground, to protect them in case of hazardous materials ending up in the same scheduled shipment.

If that happens, the live animal is simply delayed until the next scheduled truck or sent along a different rout.

Some times this results in delays. It is not uncommon for a bird to arrive a day or so later than projected, but pigeons travel very well.

If both bird and box are correctly prepared prior to departure, Pigeons are comfortably travel safe for up to seven days.

To prepare my birds for departure, I bring them in 24-48 hours before departure day and keep then in a hospital cage where they have nothing to do but eat and drink and their appetite and hydration levels can be monitored.

Both of which is done by observing the quality of the poop.

Hospital cages are lined with white paper towels to make this easier.

Paper towels wick the moisture away from a fecal sample, letting you see how much liquid was present in a ring of what’s been wicked from an individual poop.

Too much liquid with a large portion of the first day’s meal left over warns of depressed appetite.

Lots of liquid with very little food left either means that was not a large enough portion, or warns that there may be parasites present that you had no prior knowledge of.

If you give a larger portion of feed and the solids to liquids ratio corrects, then chances are you underestimated that individuals intake.

If you adjust the portion and the poop is still very sloppy and wet, it isn’t just a portioning issue and shipment needs to be delayed so that the necessary diagnostic measures can to be taken to work out what’s wrong.

If a bird is pooping too dry on the first day, it may just be stressed by the transition into a hospital cage.

If it’s still pooping dry the next day I alert the recipient that the bird is not sufficiently well hydrated and arrange to try again next week.

This is why 48 hour pre-departure holds are better than 24 hour holds.

It is always better to delay and risk the annoyance of the client to be sure the bird is in good enough condition to arrive safely than to assume everything will be fine and risk sending your client an animal that will arrive in need of medical care.

Six weeks is the bare minimum safe shipping age for a baby pigeon, as that is when their baby feathers have generally come all the way in.

New feathers are fleshy and vascular, and requite a LOT of moisture from the bird growing them, so while the baby is fledging, it is extremely prone to dehydration.

Mine go out at nine weeks, because six weeks is the youngest they can safely be vaccinated for PMV and Paratyphoid, and the soonest they can receive boosters and be fully vaccinated is three weeks later.

That puts them well into a travel safe level of development,

A word of caution on adult cocks!

While hens and young birds under four months are generally safe to ship together, It is safest to ship adult cocks with a divider!

Part of what makes pigeons such easy travelers is the close resemblance for them of a shipping crate to a nest crevice.

Adult cocks are VIOLENTLY defensive of potential nest spaces, and his travel partner cannot get away from him!!!

This can result in a travel partner getting scalped to the skull and neck vertebrae if they are lucky enough to shut down in time,

Or being kept awake and active long enough to fatally dehydrate en rout, leaving only the winning cock and a corpse.

It does not matter if the cock in question was bonded to or friends with this travel partner.

Cocks in driving mode have even scalped and killed their own mates in the confines of the shipping box.

If you are sending out a cock over four months old with another bird of any sex or age, put a divider between them!!!

A length of cardboard running diagonally from one corner of the box to the other is all it takes to ensure that both an adult cock and who ever he’s traveling with will arrive safely and whole, if you do not have the option to send him in his own box.

On arrival, place new birds straight into their enclosure, and show them where water is.

It’s important to give them a few days to get their bearings and adjust to the new normal before being invited out for bonding time.

Human-social pigeons will look to you for comfort after all this change, and will usually beg to be let out on arrival day.

At the very least, wait until you have seen them drink and eat before you let your new bird come out and explore the room at large.

Expect a new arrival by mail to be thirsty and disoriented. They just spent 2-4 days asleep in a box, the jetlag is real.

For the first few days, expect wet poop. The bird will be more interested in water than food for about the first three days, though you should see a steady transition over to water and food intake balancing out over that period.

Ideally, shipping is only done a few times in the life of a pigeon. If not from their breeder straight to their forever home;

Then from the breeder who hatched them to a breeder that wants peeps from them, and from there to their permanent pet home when they retire

Or from a rescue to a long term foster to a permanent home.

When done correctly, shipping is the safest, most comfortable means by which to transport a pigeon over long distances.

But if done incorrectly, it can be severely injurious or even fatal.

If you are adopting a pigeon from a rescue, purchasing a pet bird from a breeder, or purchasing breeding stock to add to a project, you now know what to ask the rescue or breeder about their shipping procedure to ensure that your birds travel comfortably and arrive safely.

#shipping birds #shipping safety #tw: animal death #tw animal injury

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demonologistfucker · 3 years

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MC wants to meet some Creatures - Obey Me! Brother’s - Fluff

Gn!mc asks one of the brothers to take them to find a magical creature. This is for the main brothers, but if people want one for the newly datables just ask! I would love to do more <3

Lucifer

Is Cerberus not enough? We can go down and pet him if you like

It’s going to take some convincing to get this trip to happen. Needlessly risking the human's life just to see something neat? I think not

But your eyes were so big when you asked… fine. He’ll find something worthwhile that isn’t going to get you killed

Prep for the trip is Lucifer covering you in about 50 different protection spells.

Then you’ll be flying. Hold on tightly and try not to look directly into the wind. That’s not good for your human eyes. Lucifer’s arms are firm around you as his wings stretch out. With a push you’re off. Being lifted from the ground purely from the strength of his wings? It’s an undescribable feeling.

Soon you are out of the Devildom and flying above the Hell Wilds. A vast landscape of all sorts of terrors. From red grasses that could cut through bone, or the vast tar fields that bubble toxic gas. There is a beauty to it. Especially if you are safe above it all.

A large canyon comes into sight. “This canyon was cut by Lotan’s first rampage, and where Levi made Lotan his pet.” Lucifer begins to descend. Swooping down in a tight spiral to slip into the canyon.

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness. Then you can see something glowing. Many somethings glowing. They crawl over the canyon sides. They are nothing like you’ve seen before, but if you were to pin down to something earth like… they are most similar to sea slugs? But they have legs and bright, piercing eyes. With beautiful fins running down their back. Each looks to be a droplet of a rainbow.

“Gems left in the earth can collect enough magic to come to life.” They have no name, but they could fit in the palm of your hand. Tho please don’t touch they are highly condensed magical creatures and could shred your human body without meaning too.

Mammon

“Can I trust you?” He looks at you with surprising serious. Though he’s scratching his chin which makes it a little hard to take him seriously. When you say Of Course, Mammon quickly cracks into a grin. “Alright, give me a day, but-” He just starts nodding and runs off. Delighted with his own idea too much to tell you more

The Next day you meet Mammon outside the house of lamentation. He is already in his demon form and has a large sack in his hands. Which appears to be full of weird trinkets and a whole lot of grimm.

Where are you going? The Hell Wilds. Which is… so unhelpful because the Hell wilds are nearly infinite.

Mammon scoops you up bridle style, and then you’re off into the air. Mammon cannot stop smiling, “I haven’t taken anyone here before.” He mainly says this too himself. But looks at you with so much delighted you can’t help but blush.

This would be a much longer flight if Mammon wasn’t so good at using the air currents to his advantage. Diving to catch the updraft that send you both rocketing through the air. You’re at not risk of danger. Mammon wouldn’t let that happen to you, but it does feel like a roller coaster. When you level out, you’re facing a dark mountain. It cuts into the air with jagged certainty. Mammon lands halfway up its sides.

“She doesn’t like it when I fly into the nest. So we’ll have to walk to the rest.” If you ask any questions about what is happening. His response is a grin. “You know how Crows and I get along? Well… this is where that started.”

The mountain is only partial rock. The rest is ash, twigs and mud stuck together to keep the mountain from falling apart. Crows and ravens sit perched along the cliff sides. Some crows come flying to the mountain with fresh mud to repair parts of the mountain. The dark birds watch you and Mammon with intense, unrelenting eyes. Mammon smiles to them, and carries on with ease.

The path winds up to a crack in the side of the mountain. Mammon gestures for you to wait outside while he walks in first. You can hear something massive stir. The rustle of feathers and the scratch of claws against stone. Then Mammon pokes his head out and beckons you in.

Curled within the mountain is a great beast. It’s hard to tell one part from another because she is massive, and her dark feathers blend into each other. Her head is stuffed into the bag Mammon brought. When she sits up, she has a golden cup in her maw. The Crow Drake is stunning and terrifying. Her eyes are molten red, and her teeth cut through the gold.

The Crow Drake is the matriarch from all the crows and ravens in Hell. When Mammon was young, he fled to this mountain and was given a drake’s comforts. As well as his first crow familiar.

She reaches up to get a good look at you. Her beak pressing against you. Nudging you around and bringing her eyes right up to yours. Then she sits back and let's out a satisfied sqwaks. Mammon is about to say something when the Crow Drake leans over and picks him up by the collar of his jacket. Mammon is plopped onto her soft back, and she begins preening his hair. Making little noises every once in a while. “I know I used too much conditioner, stop harassing me” Mammon is blushing fiercely.

Levi

“Gah! Why can’t Lotan be more gentle.” Levi really wants you to meet Lotan, but it’s highly likely that Lotan would try to kill you the moment you met. All the photos of Lotan have been just… blue scales, or a big eyeball.

But Lotan is one of many Sea serpents. Actually, there are all sorts of magical creatures in the sea, and Levi is going to tell you about All of them. While he tries to figure out how to make sure you can breathe underwater.

“I am not allowed near the merfolk palace though, so... Can’t take you there.” If pushed on the matter, he will turn red and stammer about how Lotan just wanted a snack.

He found a spell! He’ll need Solomon’s help, but it should give you 24 hours of breathing underwater. Now it’s time to go into his tank.

Did you assume that he just had a normal wall sized fish tank? Of course not. The back wall has been turned into a convenient portal to The Ocean. It’s not an earth ocean, and hell doesn’t actually have a lot of clean water. This Ocean is an in between realm that connects to the abstract of earth’s waters, and all the magic that one could possibly find in those depths.

At first Levi gets distracted showing you all the fish. Look at the coral! And the trigger Fish! Oh, what a pretty anemone. He’s so caught up in showing you around that he’s not even embarrassed to be holding your hand the whole time.

Levi is such a strong swimmer he barely even notices dragging you along with him. His tail easily propels you both forward, and with great agility he can swim through the coral reefs. Then you hit the edge. Suddenly there is a vast nothing below you. Light fades below.

Down you go! It would be more unsettling if you didn’t have leviathan right besides you. Who is practically vibrating with his excitement. Underwater Levi looks so much more comfortable. Moving with such ease and without any hesitation.

You can feel the water begin to shift as something Massive approaches. Levi pauses and let's out a trill. Which is met by a deep noise that rattles your bones.

Red is a hard color to see in the deep ocean. Not enough light in that wave length can reach that far down. So at first it’s just a dark dot in the distances. Then it’s brilliant red head comes surging towards you. The water rushes around as the sea serpent begins to swim in a spiral around you and Leviathan. Leviathan is beaming and spinning around to keep up with the Serpent’s face. Letting out happy trills sporadically.

Eventually the Sea Serpent settles down and lets its body relax out. The Serpent stretches out so far that it’s back fines look so small. Yet their face is larger than a bus. The Serpent looks at you for a long while, and then it flicks it head upward. Which makes Leviathan blush a vibrant red.

She approves

Satan

Satan needs two weeks to prepare! But he has an idea. How do you feel about sewers?

“The Devildom aqueducts are actually one of the cleanest places in hell. It’s really an astounding work of engineering-” he goes on for a while about all the intricate workings. Seems there is a lot of plant filtering the waters, as well as creatures that can digest what the plants can’t process.

Satan gives you one of his books of magic. “I am their friend, but if you want them to accept your presence, it’s best to provide a gift. To show you mean well.” Unlike the others, Satan will give you a heads-up on whom you’re about to meet. Though, he gives the explanation as you’re walking towards the sewer’s entrance.

“Their name is Elos, and they are one of the oldest chimera’s alive. They were created in less than stellar circumstances, but handled it rather well.” By eating their creator. “Now they used the leftover alchemical equipment to do their own studying, as well as keep the aqueduct ecosystem in balance.”

The entrance looks like any other sewer grate in a city. Satan can easily move the heavy cover off, and watches as you begin to climb down the ladder. Satan closes the cover as he starts his descent. The sewers are Massive. The tunnel is about 20 feet wide and 20 tall. A perfect circle, except for the walk ways going along the side. A sort of seaweed is growing at the bottom of the waterways. Little fish duck in and out of the waving reeds. Further in more plants grow along the side. Some areas have full banks that cover the waterways. You can also see long claw marks running along the sides of the tunnel. As well as the residue of a recent magical explosion. “Hmm, looks like Elos got annoying company.” Satan smirks at the blast marks.

One of the original designers of the sewers was the grand wizard who made Elos. So there is a laboratory at the dead center of the sewer system. If one were to look at the blueprints, you’d be able to see a magic circle drawn by the tunnels. Well almost one. Those plans were later worked over to fix the functionality of the sewer system for the devildom. Elos didn’t want to do any city wide magic, so they aren’t really upset about it.

Outside of Elos’s laboratory is a large blue door. Painted on it are bright yellow runes that start to shimmer green as Satan approaches. Satan knocks, and it’s a full three minutes before the sound of the door unlocking. With effort, it swings inwards, and the smell of chemicals and herbs assaults your nostrils.

Satan goes about the polite introduction. Leading you into the laboratory, but it’s hard to pay attention. There are so many strange machines littered across the room, and Elos themself is a feat to understand. Their face is divided into three parts, one of a bull, one of a woman, and the other of an ape. They have large arms with hands that drag across the floor. Their fingers are thin claws of a bird. Chest comes from some great lizard not from earth. Hide legs appear to be lion like, and its tail is an arched scorpion stinger. Elos looks at you with deep eyes.

When you present the spell book Satan gave you. Elos sneers at you but takes the book. “A gift provided from someone else is weaker… but will do.” her voice is a dry and raspy. Speaking with vocal cords never crafted for such intricate language.

Asmodeous

“Want to meet some of the lovelies that help me torment souls?!”

They’re the creature Asmodeous has easy access to, so I recommend saying yes if you want to go with him

“They’re for a very specific time of person. The sort who think their beauty makes up for all the harm they caused.” A dark look smolders in Asmo’s eyes, but when he looks at you, it softens. Back to his normal bright heart eyes.

Asmo summons a cab to drive you both to the outskirts of the devildom. To… a ranch? Soft green meadows stretch out as far as you can see. Wooden fences mark the edge of the road. When you look close, you can see sigils carved into the posts.

Out in the field you can see them. Powerful horses with glimmering spiraled horns. Some are pure white with long wavy mains, but they are as diverse as any herd of horses.

“My beautiful unicorns,” Asmo leans over the fences to get a better look at them. “You’ll get to have a closer look at those in the stables right now. They won’t be too happy about being locked up, but they’re so wonderful just to look at.”

These unicorns come from more of a… vicious tradition. Their diets are completely carnivorous and with a strong preference for humans.

While you enter the stables, Asmo explains that these stables are more for necessary check-ups, and not where the unicorns stayed. They had their own dens somewhere in the meadows. Asmo hadn’t cared to find it, but it is out there.

So the unicorns that are in are here to have a thorough cleaning by one of the stable works. No you cannot help I’m afraid. These Unicorns would not be able to tell you apart from the souls they are encouraged to feast upon. All the other folk who work at the stable are non-human, and they still get bite. What’s worse is when a Unicorn decided to charge.

To make sure none of that happens, you’ll be safely on the other side of the door. Even though you can’t get close. You still can see the Unicorns very well. They are beautiful creatures. The shortest is still taller than the average horses. With eyes set more forward on their skull, and sharp angular bodies. Their legs are less brittle. With hooves that are divined into three sharp angles.

While most of the unicorns with in the stable seem antsy to leave. They all give their own greeting to Asmo. A dappled gray is the most affectionate. Letting Asmo pet the sides of their face, and rubbing up against Asmo’s head. It looks at you with curiosity. Sniffs the air and whinnies. “I know,” Asmo coos. “They are very tasty looking, but you can’t have any. I want this human to stick around.” The Unicorn snorts and flicks it tail in annoyance.

Beelzebub

His eyes light up when you ask to meet some magical creatures. “We won’t have to go too far… but we should wait till the house is quiet.” Que Mammon sprinting through the hallways trying to out run Lucifer. “They don’t like the ruckus.”

Beel asks you to meet him in the kitchen once everyone else has gone to their rooms. When you enter you find him setting out a tray with a dish of milk, honey, and some crackers. He then hands you a block of cheese. “Cut up some cubes of this.” and so you do. Beel doesn’t take any food from the tray, but he does rummage in the fridge while you get the cheese ready.

Once it’s all ready, Beel sets the tray in the middle of the counter. He then pulls out a little golden bell, and rings it. There is a beat of silence, and then doors you had never seen before open. One door is tucked into the wall trim, another in the backspace, and a third underneath the cabinets. Who comes tumbling out are small fuzzy creatures. They walk on their hind legs, and have large flat faces. Almost like a bat, but their eyes are old and wise. They are dressed in hand stitched clothes made from old table clothes, towels, or other scraps of fabric they could steal without much fuss.

“Who is this?!” One of them points pocket knife at you. “My friend,” Beel says and when he looks at you he can’t help but smile. “Hmm… did your friend cut this cheese?” Beel nods. “Next time make them smaller. Our children will struggle to hold these.”

These are House Brownies. A type of fae that can be found in most loving homes. They are a people of high standards but with over whelming big hearts. Beel is the main reason the house brownies live within the house of lamentation. No one else remembers to set out food for them. So no one else gets the help of the Brownies. Beel however often finds that his chores have been done for him, and snacks are often left on his bed side table. Small snack since the brownies can’t carry too much, but he deeply appreciates it.

Brownies are some of the easiest fae to talk with. The worst you can do is hurt their pride, but they are quick to accept earnest apologies. Not the sort of fae who will steal your name and trick you into dancing yourself to death… well… There have been a couple brownies who have done that. But the people were true assholes.

One of the brownies who is dress in a floral dress comes up to you. They give you a once over, and then start to climb up the back of your shirt. Now on your shoulder, the Brownie sniffs your face and pokes your cheeks. The Brownie’s whiskers tickle, and it’s hard not to react. But their fur is so soft, and they smell like honey and clove.

“You should have brought this one sooner.” The floral Brownie says in a sing-song voice. “They can bring us human snacks, yes?” “I want a candy!” Another brownie cheers. “Are human homes as noisy as demon homes?” “What is a cat? We hear the mean one speak of them, but never have seen them.” “Is cat friend or foe to the brownie?” Another brownie is now climbing you. This one decided to perch on the top of your head. “Human smells nice. Keep them Beel.”

Belphegor

“Okay, but you’re paying for their snacks.”

Which turned out to be nearly ten pounds of red meat. You’re also the one who has to carry the bag as you walk into the properly sketchy parts of the Devildom city. Belphegor looks as nonchalant as normal. Except for when he needs to glare at any other Demon who might start making eyes at you.

Now it’s into the dark alleys you go. Winding past business and into tight brick alley ways. The surrounding buildings seem to tower up through the sky. Blocking the darkness above. There is even a hint of sulfur in the air.

“Alright, set the meat down.” Belphegor stops at the intersection of four alley ways. It makes a small circle in the middle. The ground is dark and stained from years of murk. Moss grows up the walls, and blooms in the cracks. You set the meat down and then back up next to Belphegor. “Are you nervous?” He grins a little and then brings his fingers to his lips and whistles Loud.

You can hear them running. Many heavy feet charging down the paths. They’re coming from every direction, and now hear their panting breath. Growling and snarls as they try to be the first to reach their meal.

If you thought earthly wolves are big. You are blown away by the size of hellhounds. They keep their heads low but still stand at least three feet tall. Their teeth are as black as their fur, and they have barbed tails that whip back and forth in a frenzy. The Hell hounds are at first completely distracted by the food left out for them.

“When they’re not hungry, they’re really sweet.” Belphegor crosses his arms and leans back against the wall. Patiently waiting for the Hell Hounds to calm down. “They’re in the city to hunt down pests. Lucifer see’s them as exterminators,” One of the Hell Hounds now trots over to Belphegor. It rams its head into his stomach, demanding attention. Belphie laughs a little and starts to scratch its ears. Now content that it’s getting love. The Hell Hound eyes you. First a sniff, and then it tries to bite your clothes. “Hey,” Belphie says in a stern voice, and that’s all the Hound needed. You’re not food? Well then you must be friend too.

The message is spread through the rest of the pack, and soon you are surrounded. The Hell Hounds breath is rancid, and they will not stop trying to give you kisses.

Two of the hounds manage to get Belphie on the ground, and sit on top of him. Belphie’s face is flushed, and he only tries to get them off half-heartedly. Then accepts their cuddles and closes his eyes. “They’re not allowed in the house. So I come here a lot… you can join me next time if you want.”

A/N: Thank you @squidubus for the great idea of Mama Crow Drake preening Mammon’s hair. I luuuv uuuu

#I had... so much fun with this #mammon's mom is a Crow Drake #Obey me!#Obey me! headcanon #Obey me! Lucifer #Obey me! Mammon #Obey me! Leviathan #Obey me! Satan #Obey me! Asmodeous #Obey me! Beelzebub #Obey me! Belphegor #my writing #creatures #fantasy #I just love magical creatures okAY?!#also you with MC powers Can befriend the man eating unicrons if you really want but you gotta Earn it

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arrowflier · 3 years

Note

Thank you for brightening my day with your stories. I always look forward to checking out your blog. Here's a prompt for you: S10 and 11, but Fiona is there and never left Chicago. How does the story change? Does she calm things down or cause more chaos? How does she get along with newer characters Tami (who she only knew a little) and Sandy? How does she react to Frank's dementia and death? Does she use her landlord skills and make Lip sign a damn lease before renting on a handshake deal?!

There's so much potential with this, but I just picked a few short scenes from season 11 to try and get a vibe!

“He can’t just kick you guys out,” Fiona insisted, following Lip through the house. He skirted the edge of the sofa on his way to the kitchen, and she almost ran into it. Only years of muscle memory and navigating her home in the dark—unpaid electric bills, drunken stupors, trying not to wake up the kids—kept her from banging her hip against the arm.

“He can,” Lip argued, passing through to the next room, “and he did.” He opened the fridge, looked at the beer cans inside. Closed it again, and got a glass of water from the tap instead.

“Sold it right out from under us,” he said bitterly into the glass. “New owners want us out before they close.

Fiona watched him take a sip, make a face and swallow it. Then she slapped the back of his head, hard, and grabbed the water before he could drop it.

“Listen to me,” she ordered as he scowled, rubbing the injury. She leaned down to get on the same level, face to disgruntled face. “I was a landlord, remember?”

“Not a very good one,” Lip muttered, and flinched back when she raised her hand again. She lowered it when he put his own up in surrender.

“I was a landlord,” she repeated, then paused, lips twisting. “And one of the reasons I’m not anymore is cause of a family of squatters I couldn’t get rid of.”

“And?” Lip asked, eyebrows raised. “The fuck’s that got to do with anything?”

Fiona rolled her eyes.

“Thought you were supposed to be the smart one,” she said dryly, then, “If it was that easy to kick somebody out, don’t you think I would’ve done it?”

Lip frowned.

“I mean, sure,” he said slowly, working through the thought. “But we don’t even have a lease.”

“Neither did they, that’s for damn sure,” Fiona grumbled. She turned to lean back against the counter next to him, shoulder to broad shoulder. Both had held enough wait for a lifetime.

“Doesn’t matter,” she told him. “That you don’t have a lease, I mean.”

She turned her head, looked at him.

“The eviction process isn’t as quick as people think.”

Lip’s brow furrowed as he glanced up at her.

“Are you…” Lip trailed off, started again. “Are you telling me to make him take us to court?”

Fiona smiled.

I’m telling you you might as well fight for it,” she said. “You’re broke anyway; what have you got to lose?”

---

“Can you believe her?” Debbie spit out, slamming the cabinet door shut. She stood, holding a box of cake mix, and set it down so hard on the counter that Fiona’s drink almost tipped over.

“Believe what?” Fiona asked, scooting back just in case. “That she left?”

Debbie glared.

“No, not that,” she said. “I told her to leave, remember?”

“What then?” Fiona took a sip of her beer, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the counter once she deemed it safe again.

“That she just abandoned her kid,” Debbie said. “Left him all alone, no mother, no nothing, just so she could go live a little.”

Oh. Fiona frowned.

“Debs…” she stared, swirling the dregs of beer left in the bottom of the bottle. She looked back up at her sister, down again to shield herself from the heat Debbie let off.

“I don’t think that’s what happened.”

“How can you say that?” Debbie asked, loud, angry. “You of all people know what it’s like to be…to be abandoned!”

Debbie bent down to grab a heavy metal bowl, slammed that down, too. The sound echoed, ringing through the quiet room. By the time it faded, she had too.

“It’s not the same, is it?” Debbie asked quietly, and Fiona shook her head.

“No,” she answered, just as soft. “No, it’s not.”

“Guess I should talk to her,” Debbie whispered, flat. Defeated.

“Probably,” Fiona agreed, then stood.

“Spend some time with Franny, first,” she suggested on her way toward the stairs, looking back in time to meet Debbie’s eyes as she lifted them.

“You’ve done a good job with her, you know,” Fiona said, and smiled. “I’m really proud of you”

And then she walked up the steps, and left Debbie to her thoughts.

---

“What—Mickey?” Fiona asked, passing her brother’s husband in the doorway. He was scowling, shoulders squared, stomping through the door and outside.

“You’re brother’s an asshole,” he answered shortly, and then he was gone.

Fiona watched him go. Then she went straight through the house, and out the back door, to where she knew Ian waited.

Sure enough, the door opened onto his stiff back, and she slipped out without a word. Sat down next to him, there on the stairs, and stole the cigarette from his hand.

“Thought you were trying to be healthier,” she asked, taking a long drag.

He reached for it, and she passed it back, their fingers brushing.

“Yeah, well,” he said, just staring at the glowing end of the stick. “Not much point in that if I can’t even afford to pay the bills next month.”

That again. Fiona sighed.

“We’ll be okay, you know,” she tried, but Ian waved her off before she could finish.

“We’d be better if he’d get a damn job.”

Fiona nodded.

“Sure,” she said, “we might be.” The filter of the cigarette was burning low, close to Ian’s fingers, so she took it again and threw it under her shoe.

“But are you willing to give everything up on a maybe?”

Ian looked at her.

“What do you mean?”

She shrugged, leaned into him. He was as tall as her, now, and her head slotted perfectly onto his shoulder.

“You’ve got the closest thing to happiness any of us have ever seen,” she said, looking out over the yard. She picked absently at the step she sat on, prying up thin splinters and smoothing them back down again.

“Maybe you should just let yourself have it, for a while.”

Ian was silent. But he reached an arm up around her back, let her in closer. Rested his chin on her head.

“You think so?” he finally asked, so quiet she barely heard it.

She rested a hand on his knee, squeezed it. Breathed out.

“I really do.”

---

“Oh my god, Liam, where have you been?”

Fiona was on him the moment he got through the door, long arms scooping him into a hug so tight she grunted with the effort.

“I was so worried,” she said, pulling back, hands gently but firm as they found his face. “You can’t just disappear like that, Liam, I sent everyone out to look for you hours ago!”

“You noticed?” Liam asked, his young face scrunched, and Fiona shook him, then folded him back into her arms.

“Of course I noticed, you little asshole,” she muttered into his hair, pressing her cheek against springy strands. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Liam shrugged, his shoulders barely moving in her tight embrace.

“Everybody is so busy,” he said. “Trying to figure stuff out.”

“So?” Fiona asked, still holding him, hands smoothing down the back of his hand-me-down shirt. “Why does that mean you get to wander off without telling me?”

“Gotta figure out my stuff too, don’t I?” he answered, quiet, sad, and Fiona let go of him to crouch down. She looked him in the eyes, brushing a hand over his soft hair, and forced him to meet her gaze.

“You’re a kid,” she said firmly. “What do you need to figure out that you can’t come to me for?”

“Where to live, for one,” Liam said, looking away, and Fiona frowned.

“What do you mean?” she asked. “You’ll come live with me.”

His eyes widened, and she hesitated.

“Do you…” She paused, swallowed. “Do you not want that?”

Liam just blinked. Then smiled, bright and relieved, and buried his head down on her shoulder in all the answer she needed.

---

“Hey, You okay?” Fiona asked, coming up behind Carl where he stood staring at Frank’s ashes on the mantel. She put a hand up on his shoulder, rubbed once, twice.

“Course I am,” Carl answered, all swagger and false confidence. “Frank was an asshole.”

Fiona hummed.

“He was,” she agreed. “But he was our asshole. And I know you two used to be close.”

“Nobody was close to Frank,” Carl muttered bitterly. “They just thought they were.”

A beat passed, tense, quiet. Then Carl’s shoulders sagged.

“Not like he was the same Frank anymore, anyway,” he said softly.

Fiona stepped closer, a warm presence at his side.

“Does that make it easier?” she asked. “Or harder?”

Carl shrugged.

“Neither, I don’t think,” he answered, then his face scrunched, the way it used to when his brothers made him think to hard. “Just feel like it’s wrong to still be mad at him, you know? He didn’t even remember all the shit he did, at the end.”

Fiona looked at him, and smiled sadly.

“That’s okay,” she said simply. “I’m still mad, too.”

After another moment, she leaned in, kissed the side of his head.

“Time to get to work though,” she said, “we can be as maudlin as you like when you get back.”

“What’s that mean?” Carl asked, following her into the kitchen, and she laughed as she dug his packed lunch out from the back of the fridge.

“I’ll tell you later,” she said, “but right now, work mister!”

Carl accepted the answer, and his lunch. Then, as Fiona grabbed her keys off the counter, the ones to her new SUV, he said, “I’m thinking of quitting, you know.”

Fiona didn’t hesitate, shoving him toward the door.

“That’s fine,” she said, slamming it shut behind them. “But until them, no brother of mine is going to be late!”

#daily speedwrite #shameless #fanfic #fiona gallagher #lip gallagher #debbie gallagher #ian gallagher #liam gallagher #gallagher family dynamics #background gallavich

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vidalinav · 3 years

Text

Because You’re an Asshole (One-shot)

Contains ACOSF Spoilers.

Look, Cassian needs to drink some respect Nesta Archeron juice (as they all do). I hope to god he gains some perspective in this book, and he doesn’t continue this stupidity of reducing Nesta to butchery status. (Raises glass) Here’s hoping this lug nut starts making an effort. But this fic is purely self-indulgent because well... I’m the fic writer. So I can do what I want.

Summary: Nesta rejects Cassian in front of the Inner Circle (Takes place in my head a couple of months after first 6 chapters)

Nesta wouldn’t say she had changed much, but to her sister and their group of friends she’d say she might as well have been a different person. For they pretended not to stare as she arrived with Cassian in tow. Some extraterrestrial creature in the middle of a restaurant.

She greeted the owner, Sevenda, lifting her lips into a polite smile and nodding when she caught Nesta’s gaze.

“Hello, sweet girl,” The female gushed, “I didn’t think you were helping out today... please don’t tell me one of the others conned you into taking their shift.”

Nesta shook her head shyly as Cassian told the female they were meeting the rest of them for a late dinner. Sevenda kissed him on the cheek, and Nesta wondered how one person could show so much affection when she could barely muster a proper laugh.

Truthfully, the only reason she made it to this dinner at all was because Bryaxis had asked her to. He’d been in the middle of telling her how the stars moved on an axis, and how the shadows were often wandering souls. He had so many stories to tell in that dark place in the library, but he’d wanted stories too. He was persistent, pushy…persuasive and Nesta could not let down her new friend when all he wanted to do was know about the outside world.

Nesta knew enough about being ostracized. She felt for the monster for she was a monster too. Cast away to the darkened ends of the library.

But, Nesta wanted this night to be over. She’d promised Bryaxis ten minutes and ten minutes only. She could survive that long on fake grins.

She tried not to sigh audibly as Sevenda showed them to the table, where the others already sat. Laughing loudly... then quieting to silence as they neared.

Nesta should have felt offended. But she couldn’t find it in herself to care too much.

The night would be over soon enough anyways.

True, Amren had visited her in the library just last week and they’d been cordial. She saw Mor on a regular basis to winnow to Windhaven, and Azriel was always there. It seemed odd to her now that they stared as if she were someone new. Someone they didn’t know at all.

Perhaps, though, it was because she’d agreed to come in the first place and when she did, she’d allowed Cassian to accompany her there. Though she suspected the offer was more because they were all still wary of her change, her calmness.

Nesta wouldn’t have called it that herself.

She hadn’t stopped being angry, she’d been born angry. Raged and kicked her way to this world.

Nesta just merely stopped... fighting back.

There was a peace in that, she supposed. Even if the thought sometimes made her want to hurt something and then herself for letting it happen.

Most of the time she was just detached enough to smile when someone called her name and when they left she’d go back to staring off into space, the dust like hidden galaxies floating through the filtered sunlight. It was what Nesta liked about the library in truth. That most didn’t bother her when she’d looked out the array of windows, up on those tall ladders, ready to see Velaris in a tiny frame.

In this way, the world was a lot smaller than she’d realized.

Less frightening.

And because the world was less frightening, the people in it, too, were less mean. She’d wandered after her workday, tired, but with a furious curiosity for more, like a hunger she couldn’t satisfy, and she’d ended up here. At Sevenda’s--the female greeting her and offering her a meal, even when Nesta told her she didn’t have the money to pay.

On the house then, the female said.

It was the best meal she’d ever had and Nesta had come back every time she could. Helping with the books, with inventory, while the owner patted her on the shoulder, her cheek, and brought her something new to try. Like a doting grandmother.

It felt odd, she thought seeing the rest in a large booth to the wall. This place, too, did not belong to her...

“No need to order,” the female proclaimed, “I know what you all like.”

Nesta waited for Cassian to scooch into the booth before she sat on the outskirts. Easy access to the door. Easy to leave.

But the others didn’t bother her much. Distantly, as if Nesta was not in the room, she could hear their voices begin again. To each other of course. Never to her. Though she’d accepted it long ago that she would never be what they wanted. They would never be what she needed.

Cassian laughed. The sound hurting her ears. He never laughed like that with her. Nesta supposed she wasn’t that funny… and she wasn’t really his friend.

Instead, Nesta looked to the restaurant. Alive in all it’s glory. Loud and bright. She looked to the waitstaff. Most of them she’d met already, worked with some of them, and they smiled or waved when they saw her. Nesta lifted her hand to greet them, too.

One of the girls, Amina, brought out waters for the table.

Amina grinned when she saw her there.

But she did not leave when the cups had been set. Instead, she lingered, lowering her voice and leaning towards her. “We’re going to the symphony tomorrow if you want to come.”

“And you must come,” Sevenda said, coming from behind with a plate of appetizers in her hand. Something to tide them over.

Nesta blinked at the two females, unsure of what to say—what to do.

“I’ve never been to symphony before,” Nesta answered.

Sevenda set the bread in the middle of the table, and then raised a hand to her chest dramatically. “You’ll just adore it. Grand tales, handsome males, intriguing music all around. Perhaps, I’ll gather more of the staff and we’ll make a whole day of it.”

Nesta shook her head, waving her hands slightly. “You’re pretty busy, you don’t have to—”

“Nonsense, sweet girl,” She said, raising a hand to Nesta’s cheek. She could feel the warmth on her face. “Nobody would be too busy for you.”

Nesta smiled at that, a testament to how much she had changed that she’d allowed the touch and a triumph at how Nesta felt something other than nothing at all.

“I’ll be right back,” Sevenda noted chipperly. “Eat some bread.”

As the female left, Nesta didn’t want to look at the rest of the group, didn’t want to see how they would judge her, didn’t want to see if she cared or not. They’d meant to heal her. Did they think they were successful?

Cassian gazed down at her, his eyes uncommonly fond. All Nesta thought was that she was probably not embarrassing any longer.

She wondered if seeing her tolerated by others made him realize that she was tolerable.

Because, Nesta had not been tolerable to him this morning.

“You know, we can go to the symphony,” Cassian suggested, the apples of his cheeks blooming a dust of red. Nesta’s brows furrowed at the words. Her lips tilting down into an expression that might have been quizzical. "Some time... together I mean.”

Nesta looked at the others, but it seemed they were trying not to snicker, or they were too curious at what she would do. Rhysand tried to hide his smirk, Azriel held onto the bridge of his nose, Mor raised a brow as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing, Amren took a sip of wine, rolling her eyes, and Feyre... well Feyre looked to her.

Say something, her eyes seemed to say.

But Nesta went to gaze at the people around her, happy and conversing at their own tables. The noise a rum drum lur of heartbeats and shouts and quiet whispers of some things she’d never be able to listen to even if she tried to read their lips.

This was... life, she thought. A cacophony of angry yells and laughter.

She’d almost forgotten what it sounded like...

But it wasn’t because of him that she could now recognize the notes. A song Nesta desperately wanted to hear. It wasn’t because of them at this table... and Nesta wondered what made Cassian suggest this. In front of his friends.

Did he think she would not easily reject him?

Didn’t he know she was a private person?

“Cassian, what’s my favorite color?”

He simply blinked, surprised by her words. She waited for his answer, but it never came.

Nesta continued.

“What’s my favorite drink?” She asked.

Still Cassian said nothing.

“What time do I usually get up in the morning? It’s certainly not the time I’m forced to train with you.”

Cassian didn’t answer and instead of it making her angry, it just made her irrevocably sad.

“How about... my favorite book?”

“You’ve read so many how could you choose,” he said. Nesta huffed a laugh.

She’d read the same book for the past three months because she couldn’t stand to open a new one. There was something about the familiarity that comforted her and the thought of meeting new characters, entering new worlds scared her for reasons she was only beginning to understand. That book had been sitting in the living room every morning. Every night.

Nesta leaned forward, her cheek resting on her palm. The action made her breasts push up in her dress and she noticed the way his eyes lingered on them.

“No?” She asked, somberly, shaking her head. “How about the food I hate. The thing I’m most scared of. Excited about... Nothing?”

Nesta waved her hand, her voice growing louder, “I mean I know you know how little I eat, how bad I fight, how much weight I’ve lost. You’re very good about reminding me. But do you know... where I even go in the evenings?”

She looked down wrinkling her nose as she huffed a laugh, “You know I get nightmares every night... you must hear them in that room above mine.” She pointed to Azriel. “He does. He asked me about them once. I think I told him some lie or another... but have you ever asked? Have you even asked how I’ve been doing? How I feel? You certainly didn’t ask whether I wanted to train with you but of course that was settled fairly quickly.”

She took a deep breath, waiting for him to speak but he didn’t. Nesta fiddled with her napkin, unfolding it and then looked to the ceiling. She could see the dust float around the rounded lights.

“You know I hate to do this in front of your friends,” She lifted a hand in their direction, looking to Cassian once more. “I’m sure they have such high opinions of you. Their opinions of me, of course, are already very low. A bitch, I’m assuming is what I’ll be called today. Probably, to make your pride feel a little bit better. A little less wounded... Maybe they’ll believe it themselves too, because well,” Nesta shrugged, “the evidence is already there. It’s the nature of the circumstances I suppose.”

“It’s rather funny I think,” though Nesta didn’t laugh. “You don’t know anything about me. You want to go on a date?”

She lifted her hands up. Innocence personified. “I mean I’m assuming that what’s you meant by us going together to the symphony. We’re clearly not close enough to presume a casual friendly outing and everyone in this room and their mothers know we have some sort of history or they wouldn’t ask about it every time they see me or whisper it when they see us together.”

She smiled, her cheeks straining from the pull. “But for all that history... you know nothing about me. Instead, you have confused your emotions for ‘I’m sure she’s such a good fuck.’ Was it the boobs, the ass? The face maybe? I get that all the time.” Nesta gestured to the room around them, aware that she was making a scene, “Ask anyone of these males who’ve slept with me, I’m sure you’ll find one at any given moment...”

She clasped her hands together, crossing her legs as if she were holding a business meeting. Nesta raised a shoulder. “But at least they didn’t pretend. When they wanted to sleep with me, well... they just said they wanted to sleep with me. Unfortunately, if that’s what you want, you’ll have to buy me a drink first because I’ll have to be much drunker than this.”

Nesta leaned back in her seat. She couldn’t stop fidgeting, like the adrenaline had made her want to fight. She inhaled audibly, a low sound, exhaling lightly.

Cassian looked ashamed.

She tilted her head at that expression, feeling much calmer already.

“Look. As much I hate to admit this, a strict routine has done me some good. Maybe that’s why I can speak these words so truthfully,” Nesta said, her voice casual. “But do not ever think I have forgotten that I am as much a prisoner in my own body that I am in the House of Wind. I have little choice in anything regarding my life, even before this war. But this... I can choose this.”

Nesta refused to look at the rest of them as she lifted a hand to her neck, rubbing the muscle, suddenly tired and achy. “Not only have you bombarded my life in ways I didn’t expect nor ask for, you consistently touch me without my permission, get into my space when I am uncomfortable, push me when I am irritated. Why would I want to go out with you—A male who does not respect me?”

“I hope you didn’t think that me healing or whatever you called it,” She gestured away, “meant we’d be together... Time has already changed, unfortunately. Without us knowing it has slipped us by. Drifted right through our fingers...” She took a breath, staring at the lights on the ceiling. “We’re different people now...”

Nesta looked him straight in the eyes. Willed him to listen to her, really listen. “I won’t wait 500 years for you. I want more.” She shrugged, the light of Cassian’s eyes dimming. “I want better.”

She picked up her things, piling the plates and cup on top of each other. Making sure the napkin was neatly folded. Nesta swallowed, the heaviness setting in. She peered up at Cassian, his hair wild, stray pieces falling out from the leather band. His eyes bright and a hollow amber. “I want you to know that it isn’t because you’re a bastard. I’m sure you’ll think that when you go over this conversation later. But I’m not rejecting you because you’re a bastard... It’s because you’re an asshole.”

Nesta stood up to leave, but Cassian grabbed her hand. She peered down at him. He’d always been taller than her. It seemed odd to see him so small.

“What about me? You don’t know anything about me either.”

Nesta laughed, a small, short sound. “Your favorite color is red.”

Mor’s favorite color, too.

“Your favorite food? Stew, because it reminds you of Illyria. You’re scared of thunder, because it makes you think of your wings being shredded, or at least that’s what you told Azriel when you didn’t think I was paying attention. You like to drink whiskey when something bad happens, but rum when you're celebrating, and you have nightmares too. I suspect they’re probably the same as mine.”

She smiled at him, a melancholic tilt of her lips for those bittersweet memories—for those bittersweet dreams. Cassian looked dejected and she wanted to smooth away the lines with her fingers, but she’d been hurt for far too long from far too many people who’d promised they protect her, so Nesta clenched her fists instead.

“I’m glad we had this chat today.” She looked around the table, grimacing as she tried to smile. The others looked to her as if they were seeing her for the first time. This girl who’d calmy told the commander to go fuck himself. “Please don’t invite me to anymore of these.”

And with that Nesta left, nodding a farewell to Sevenda, coming out with a large tray of food. Two minutes and she was already making her way out the door.

You know these really make me feel better about everything I have to process. But I am so tired, because I can’t sleep waiting for this book. So is this fic good? I don’t know. I can barely read it through.

But I keep ranting, like everyday.

So, one rant=one mini fic

lol so now I have to go write the Nesta sticks up for Cassian fic (which is different than I think you’ll think it is) My work performance is really going to go down this week. But at least this one is uwu status (i.e. fluff--mostly)

Bye.

#acosf spoilers #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acosf #nessian fanfiction

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teawaffles · 3 years

Text

Louis and the Aquaria: Chapter 2

Two days after that. The normally-unused hall had undergone a complete transformation — and Fred was stunned.

“Wow……”

Sitting before him were three large water tanks, roughly five metres wide. Within each one were some aquatic plants, as well as 20 to 30 fish in a range of vibrant colours and distinctive appearances. They swam through the water, sometimes gracefully, sometimes powerfully — the beauty of the aquaria was simply overwhelming.

“What do you think, Fred?” asked Louis, as he walked up to him.

Without taking his gaze off the tanks, Fred shared his thoughts.

“I’ve never seen such beautiful fish. Are they all from other countries?”

“Indeed. Southeast Asia, Africa, and South America — I heard that they were collected from these three regions and brought here via special channels. There was a concern that the quality of our local water would not be suitable, hence even the water has been directly imported from their native rivers and lakes.”

“The scale here sure is different……”

Even the water that filled these tanks had been procured from the fishes’ native habitats: once again, the thoroughness of this endeavour left Fred in awe.

“I’m planning to bring in more of Herder’s equipment at a later date; but for now, all I can do is to watch over them like this…… Oh?”

Noticing something strange, Louis peered into one of the tanks.

Before his eyes, a small pufferfish was biting the fins of its tank mates. Looking at the other aquaria, it was clear that other tiny skirmishes had broken out.

Seeing the colourful fish engaged in unbecoming violence, Fred looked puzzled.

“It seems even fish need to be compatible with one another.”

“Indeed. It looks like it isn’t enough to simply divide them by their native regions.”

Hesitating a little, Louis slowly put his hand into the tank, and broke up the fishes’ fight as gently as possible. [1] Confirming that the conflict had been resolved for now, he breathed a sigh.

However, Fred spoke up in concern.

“If it’s already like this from the start, Mr Louis, then it looks like it’s going to be quite difficult for you.”

“Still, it must be done. ——For the sake of William’s plan.”

Hearing those words filled with conviction, once again, Fred could feel the strength of Louis’s emotions toward his brother.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

Two days after the fish had moved into the mansion, the hall underwent another transformation.

The curtains had been drawn, and the entire room was dim. The large water tanks had been removed, and around twenty small aquaria were now lined up in their stead. Each tank was outfitted with the latest cutting-edge machinery to assist in the fishes’ upkeep.

In charge of their care, Louis quietly strolled among the tanks, scrutinising the fishes’ appearances one by one.

“Yo, Louis. How are they?”

Just as he’d completed his round of checks, Moran and Fred entered the hall.

Looking at his notes on the conditions of his charges, Louis answered in a businesslike manner.

“There are no problems at present. I’ve finally managed to understand their individual dispositions, hence their care should proceed more smoothly from here.”

“That’s great — though, it has gotten a little crowded in here.”

Moran looked around the room. Beside him, Fred was staring curiously at a device attached to the top of the tank.

“Is this machine necessary for taking care of them?”

“Yeah, it’s called a filter: it serves to improve the water quality,” Louis explained briefly.

In order to ensure he'd covered all bases, Louis spared no effort in his research, making detailed reports to Herder as he employed a variety of equipment in the fishes’ care.

Certainly, for the aquaria to be mechanised to such an extent, the level of technology required was several steps ahead of its time. To use such revolutionary technology for the sole purpose of rearing tropical fish: one could even call it extravagant.

As Moran watched the machines in operation, a dubious look crossed his face.

“These guys have been living in the wild up to this point, so it does feel a bit pitiful for them to be shut indoors all day. Why don’t you let them swim in the big pond outside once in a while?”

But Louis gently dismissed his proposal.

“I understand where you’re coming from; but we have to consider issues like how they would adapt to the water, and so I have refrained from doing that.”

“Then, at least bring the tanks outside so they can enjoy the sun.” 

“That can’t be done either. If the aquaria were to be placed under direct sunlight, there would be other problems such as algal growth and spikes in water temperature. Hence, the day-night cycle has been replicated using artificial light.”

“An artificial sun, huh. All thanks to the development of industry,” Moran muttered.

Louis turned his gaze toward the lights installed above the tanks.

“These incandescent bulbs and other electrical technologies are still yet to be widespread — one can really feel the portent of Mr Herder’s work.” [2] [3]

As the two men made small talk, Fred watched the fish in the aquaria, his face aglow.

Then, the door to the hall opened.

Rhythmic footsteps echoed, and in came William.

“Nii-san.”

Louis broke off his conversation with Moran, and turned to face his brother.

“How has your work been?”

“It’s going well. Once we convey to Stapleton that we’re keeping tropical fish, I’m sure his interest will be piqued.”

“That’s good to hear. I hope your contact with him will be a success.”

“Thank you. And I’m glad to see that the fish are doing well. As I thought, it was the right decision to entrust their care to you, Louis.”

“I owe that to both your and Mr Herder’s help.”

Even as his reply was modest, Louis puffed out his chest.

Watching how close the two brothers were, the elder Moran smiled. But as he looked at the aquaria again, a tiny doubt suddenly struck him.

“By the way, we’re keeping these fish so we can meet with this Stapleton guy, right? Then when that’s done, what’ll happen to them?”

Louis tilted his head slightly as he pondered.

“Well…… As far as I understood his nature, in all likelihood, he’ll want to take the fish. In that case, we’ll probably hand them all over to him.”

He’d said that with a straight face, and Moran was stunned.

“Really? Don’t you think we should keep at least one of these tanks in the mansion?”

“No, not at all. These fish were collected for the sole purpose of my brother’s plan — they are simply a means to an end, and I hold no greater affection for them beyond that.”

“I-I see……”

For Moran and Louis, even as they shared William’s ambitions as his comrades, they knew full well they were but one of his chess pieces: if he were to order them to die, they were prepared to lay down their lives at any moment.

These fish were also no more than tools — everyone in the room understood that. But upon hearing how bluntly Louis put it, the older man could not hide his astonishment.

Next to them, William glanced over the fish.

“Still, they do look rather healthy, swimming around like that. For one, the colours of these Puntius rhomboocellatus are rather vibrant.”

“Ah, so that’s their name? It’s quite a mouthful.”

What William had just mentioned was the scientific name of the fish. In the event that Louis was unable to care for the fish, Moran and Fred had also familiarised themselves with their names just in case; but since they felt rather formal, Moran didn’t use them very much.

At his brother’s satisfied expression, Louis beamed with joy.

“You have a wonderful eye for aesthetics, nii-san. Besides those, I would also recommend the Mikrogeophagus ramirezi.”

“Hm, they’re a beautiful shade of blue. Though I personally like the Neolamprologus brichardi over here as well.”

“I see. Then what do you think about the Julidochromis transcriptus and Pelvicachromis taeniatus? Both are from Africa too.”

“……You know, it’s great that you guys get along so well — but can we leave it at that?”

Moran’s eye twitched. But they ignored his puzzlement, and continued their jargon-filled exchange.

“Still, taking the practical view, I quite like these Corydoras paleatus for cleaning up remnants of food from the tank. On the other hand, these Laubuka dadiburjori will jump out of the aquaria if they’re left uncovered, and I had a hard time finding tank mates for the Boraras urophthalmoides.”

“Speaking of utility, Louis: I suppose you would fancy the algae-eating Siamese flying fox as well?”

“Fufu, you see through everything, nii-san. Oh, please look over here: the Nannostomus beckfordi are spreading their fins.” [4]

“——Stop! Stop! No more of that talk!”

Reaching the limit of his patience, Moran stepped between the two brothers, yanking them out of their own world.

Their conversation interrupted, Louis looked puzzled. “What’s the matter, Mr Moran? I was just about to show him the Triple Red Apistogramma cacatuoides.”

“You guys are getting completely carried away, and leaving the rest of us behind! And what’s with those bloody names? This isn’t some university lecture!”

Beside him, Fred was pointing at the fish one by one, murmuring the names that had come up in the brothers’ exchange. Clearly, he was making sure he remembered their names properly.

Quizzical, Louis responded. “They might be troublesome for you…… But my brothers and I memorised them in one shot.”

“Y-You’re kidding, right?” Moran paled.

“They really are on another level……”

Astonished, Fred also stopped what he was doing.

Hailing from a noble family, Moran himself was an Oxford graduate; in addition, Fred also possessed an above-average intellect. But when confronted with the intellectual abilities of the three Moriarty brothers, who were able to memorise such complex names in just one go, the two men were unable to hide their amazement.

“I mean, wouldn’t it be easier to give them nicknames instead?”

At Moran’s suggestion, Louis put a hand under his chin.

“Nicknames, hmm…… I haven’t had any problems so far, but giving them simpler names might be a good idea.”

“Right? It’s insufferable to have to listen to those curse-like words every time I come here.”

“Let’s try it then. But I will be rejecting any distasteful ones,” Louis quipped.

Moran looked around the room, his gaze landing on a tank with a school of guppies swimming within.

“Alright….. Then how about we call these ‘Fred’?”

Behind his glasses, Louis’s eyes widened.

“We’re giving them our own names?”

“It’s fine, innit? It’s a lot better than calling them ‘Mr Guppies’ or something.”

“It’s certainly easy to say—— But even so, why call the guppies Fred?”

“Because they’re small and agile, aren’t they?” Moran grinned.

Fred shot him a dubious look. “Is your reasoning that simple……?”

That logic did seem a little problematic; William, who’d been watching from the side, made a troubled face.

“Since you’re adept at disguising yourself, Fred: if we were to name a fish after you, it should something like a leaffish that uses mimicry. Moreover, guppies already have a rather simple name, so I don’t think it’s necessary to give them another one.”

“It’ll be fine — it’s best to go with your gut for such things. Anyway, it’s decided then: the guppies will be called ‘Fred’.”

It seemed that for once, Moran was unwilling to listen to William’s words.

Then, another aquarium caught his eye. Fascinated, he gazed at the sole inhabitant within.

“Ooh, this guy has the tank all to himself, eh? I like that feeling of aloofness — this one’s gonna be called ‘Moran’.”

The fish Moran had just given his own name to, was in fact the tiny pufferfish that had to be isolated on the very first day, after attacking the other fish.

“Ah, about that one……”

Louis did want to explain why the pufferfish was all alone; but seeing how excited Moran was, he hesitated.

However, Moran seemed to have taken that pause in a different light.

“Oi oi, did you like this one too? Sorry, but it’s first come first served — so I get to name him.”

“R-Right. If you’re fine with that one, then……”

Moran looked like he was really enjoying himself, and so Louis decided to keep his silence on the truth about Moran’s new namesake.

Along with Louis, Fred had also witnessed what the pufferfish did on the day it arrived. It pained him a little to see Moran blissfully unaware of that, and he looked away.

Then, a certain tank caught his eye.

“These are quite like Mr William and his brothers.”

“Eh?”

Intrigued, William and Louis followed his gaze.

Dancing before their eyes was a group of beautiful fish with an almost divine air around them — ones that could even be called kings of the aquarium.

“——Angelfish?”

Within the tank, three angelfish were swimming in close formation. They had glittering silver scales, with black stripes running vertically down their sides. That closeness truly reminded one of the Moriarty brothers, bound to one another with firm ties.

Their name brought to mind angels, and William could not help but chuckle in self-mockery.

“I think that’s the last thing we should ever be called.”

“Not at all. In a way, you three are angels — but more of the ones who sound the trumpets in the Book of Revelation.” [5]

At that ironic turn of phrase, William let out another meaningful laugh.

Beside them, with a somewhat absent-minded look, Louis admired the fish he’d grown so familiar with.

“Though, just as Fred said, their elegant appearance certainly befits both William and Albert nii-sama.”

“No need to be modest, Louis: you are just as noble as they are.”

“T-Thank you very much, nii-san.”

Louis turned a little pink at that. Looking at the three fish swimming together, Moran nodded enthusiastically.

“Then starting from the front of the group, their names will be ‘William’, ‘Albert’ and ‘Louis’.”

“It’s a bit embarrassing……” William smiled bashfully.

Moran walked away from the tank. “Both Louis and Fred agree with it, so it’ll be fine. Anyway, I’ll be off.”

“Eh? What about the rest?”

Fred called out to him just as he was about to leave the room, and Moran ruffled his hair as he replied.

“Now that I think about it, there’re just way too many of them. We’ve already named five of them after ourselves — that should be fine for now.”

“I guess……”

Faced with Moran’s overly freewheeling attitude, Fred was lost for words.

“…………”

Under normal circumstances, Louis would saddle Moran with some chores at this point. But his attention was still drawn to the tank with the angelfish.

He had yet to notice it himself; but their three names, now conferred onto those fish, had set off tiny ripples in his heart.

Footnotes:

T/N: Yuumori is set in the early 1880s — you can read more about that here.

[1] Yes, Louis did just put his hand into a tank with a pufferfish 😥

[2] Edison’s first light bulb had been invented less than ten years prior, and this used a carbon filament — tungsten filaments would not be developed until the early 1900s. (Wikipedia)

[3] At this time in history, electricity really was the preserve of the rich and few — even in 1919, only 6% of UK households had electricity (Science Museum UK). Interestingly, AC (alternating current) power systems were starting to be adopted in the UK around this period. (Wikipedia)

Aside: The ‘artificial sun’ gave me flashbacks to the manga Letter Bee… (Wikipedia)

[4] This is a form of threatening behaviour between fish.

[5] Moran is referring to the seven angels that blow trumpets to bring about seven cataclysmic events, as described in the New Testament (Wikipedia). Seraph of the End fans would be familiar with this one :3

Translator’s notes

Louis’s honorifics

I know I used “Louis-san” in the manga scanlation, but I’m just going to go with my gut and use “Mr Louis” here :x

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #a study in scarlet

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potatoes-is-are-food · 3 years

Note

Not the same anon but I would really like those demonic poly Shigadabi headcanons maybe some poly shigadabikei headcanons if your okay with it but it’s fine if you don’t want to spoil the series in anyway. I love their relationship, it’s the cutest despite being weird. Love you and don’t overwork yourself with writing and work😘

So I wanted to include Kei but also not give too much away about what’s coming up so here’s some mostly shigadabi demon hcs but with a little bit of keigo in there too and keep in mind these take place later into the story after they’ve had little sacrifice for a while so things are more established.

This is somewhat short but any other questions about this fic are welcome!

SFW(slight mentions of nsfw)

- Tomura still very much enjoys occasionally freaking you out, telling you creepy/gross things that demons are known to do like actually eating their sacrifices.

- Dabi tries to make him stop but there’s plenty of times you’re alone with Tomura and there’s really not much he can do aside from console you and let you know sometimes the weird shit he says isn’t even true.

- That doesn’t mean he doesn’t also pick on you for being too trusting, often luring you into thinking he’s going to do something soft only to see how you react when he ravishes you when you’re off guard.

- Keigo is just as bad, possibly even worse although much more lighthearted with his teasing. He won’t tell you about how he cannibalized another demon once (too long of a story anyway) but he will poke fun of you for anything mundane that can get you flustered. Very prone to pinching soft places on your body that get you riled up and squirming.

- Dabi occasionally likes to take you out for a date to the human world for some one-on-one time. It’s really sweet and he usually lets you pick what activity to do since he’s really only there to be selfish and have you alone for a little while.

- Keigo takes you out a lot, he loves the human world and thinks it’s fun to “play boyfriend” especially if it means you’ll let him rail you in a love hotel while you’re out.

- Dabi is closer to Tomura and Kei than they are to each other but that doesn’t mean you don’t occasionally happen across the two of them playing videogames together all snuggled up on the couch.

- The pocket you stay in becomes their permanent residence so any time they’re not on a contract they’re home. You’re not left alone often and when you are it’s not more than a few hours before a tired demon storms in and demands your attention again.

- Tomura has no filter and spills secrets about Dabi and Keigo constantly, pissing both of them off to no end when you come asking questions about why Keigo assumed he was supposed to eat his sacrifices or why the fuck did Dabi decide to put staples in his skin when that wasn’t part of his punishment.

- Since Dabi is nice and got you a nice pocket to live in it came with seasons, so you get to go play in the snow, the rain, sit out in nicer weather with a book if you want, etc. Also means your demons get to play with you outside when it’s not too hot or cold.

- They’re all very very fond of you but that doesn’t mean they’re not pricks a fair amount of the time. Watched a sad movie and now you’re crying? Oh get ready for condescending cooing “oh poor little sacrifice can’t handle a movie, what a baby come here and let me kiss your tears away” only to lick up your neck and face and laugh when you sniffle.

- There just is truly nothing they love more than picking on you to various extents, Dabi stops if you start to seem genuinely upset, Keigo stops when your eyes get glossy and you’ll let him “comfort” you, and Tomura likes to lick up your tears after he’s pushed too far and the way you cling to him anyway even though he caused your distress.

- Typically things are calm and at least two of them are around so you have a lap to sit in while you listen to them discuss contracts. Sometimes they let you ask questions but the answer is usually violent and therefore very censored.

- Demons don’t actually need to sleep but it does feel nice and since you enjoy it (read: get pounded to exhaustion regularly), they like to relax and have a nap beside you when you’re passed out from their rough treatment or dimensional travel.

- They’re mean and stuff a lot but their affection more than makes up for it. Constant sweet words, hand holding, soft kisses, checking up on your needs often and making sure you’re okay after they’re harsh or rough.

NSFW

- Tomura seriously just does not understand about 98% of human etiquette and has on SEVERAL occasions tried to grope/strip/hump/otherwise violate you in public in broad daylight in crowded areas. Dabi no longer lets him take you out alone.

- They’re all constantly groping you when you’re home. Hands up your skirt, around your neck, on your waist, etc.

- Don’t say you’re bored unless you want one of your demons to flip you onto your back and start prepping you to take their cock. Cause that’s what’ll happen.

- Their casual touches rile you up and they absolutely know and use that to their advantage, lightly trailing fingers all over your body at any given moment just waiting for you to snap and let them know what you want.

- If you come up on your own and sit on Keigo’s lap, straddling him and kiss any part of his face or neck he just melts. Finish what you start, though, or he’ll take what he wants after spanking you raw for being a tease.

- You will never be able to fit Tomura’s monster dick in your mouth but that won’t stop him from getting you to try every so often. Your jaw hurts and you strain but it just doesn’t fit so he usually settles for finishing in your mouth and watching you swallow it or make out with Dabi while it’s coating your mouth and throat.

- Dabi prefers to let you do what you want when you’re blowing him, often commenting that you suck at it but at least you look cute while he strokes your face and ruffles your hair. He usually just moves onto fucking you.

- Keigo, however, likes to fuck your face every single time and cum as far down your throat as possible. He’s sweet after, though and tells you you did a great job while he gives you some cool water to soothe the demolished back of your throat.

- For whatever reason they all seem to really like fucking you in front of each other, even when the others aren’t involved. You’ll just casually be getting bounced on Dabi’s lap while Tomura plays videogames beside you on the couch and it’s just a very normal occurrence.

- They’re all nice to ride for different reasons: Dabi praises and degrades you sweetly, lets you ride however you like while he strokes your soft skin until you cum and he flips you over to pound his own release into you. Tomura usually loses patience and starts bucking up into you just right to make you a drooling mess, clinging to him for dear life while he pinches at your clit to make you squeeze him while he floods your insides. Keigo likes to sit back and watch the show, forcing you to keep going no matter how many times you gush on top of him until he finishes, head thrown back and an absolutely gorgeous blush covering his cheeks as his eyes roll back in his head.

318 notes · View notes

makoodlesarchive · 3 years

Text

when i was young i fell into a river

pairing: kirishima x reader

word count: 5k

warnings: none, really! a bit of angst, a bit of fluff i guess?

notes: hello, it's me, back again with some writing! it's been a long time and i'm very sorry about that, but i've finally gotten around to writing and posting my spirited away au! i'm v stressed with college so this turned out more vent-y than i had originally intended, but hopefully it's enjoyable anyway! thank you all for being so patient with me, i am endlessly grateful for you

The dream is the same as always, comforting in its familiarity.

A salt-scented breeze cools your sweat-soaked brow as you pause behind one of the sliding screen doors, the rice paper windows doing nothing to block out the chatter of the other workers. The bubbling noise of the bathhouse is constant, and the quiet little moments you steal away for yourself in the middle of the working day is the only solitude you’ve gotten since you came here. The work is physically back-breaking, but you know that you’re working towards a goal. It’s just a shame that you can’t remember exactly what that goal is.

One of the other girls calls your name, and you sigh as your unofficial break comes to an end. You slip back into the room, ignoring the way the frog spirits snicker and hold their noses as you pass. They like to complain a lot about your human stench, but it doesn’t stop them from threatening to eat you every time you make a mistake. Fear, you’ve found, is an uncomfortably successful motivator.

The days bleed into one another, full of scrubbing dark wooden floors and the rich earthy scents of the herbal mixes they use in the baths. The spirits that frequent the bathhouse, that once inspired so much awe and fear in your heart, become so commonplace that you hardly spare them a glance anymore. From the cackling masked spirits that always travel in threes to the grinning cat spirits to the sombre, unspeaking river spirits, you only go as far as to offer them a polite bow before scurrying out of their way. They never spare you any attention, anyway -- most of the time, the spirits’ eyes seem to look right through you.

All but one, that is.

He looks to be a boy around your age, but appearances can be deceiving around here. His red eyes are often dull and blank, but even so they have a certain ageless quality about them that no human twelve-year-old could ever possess. His scarlet hair sticks up in gravity-defying spikes, and his skin is as smooth and clear as running water. His face is often stuck in a carefully cultivated blank expression; the only thing about him that doesn’t seem intimidatingly otherworldly are the deep purple shadows under his eyes.

He helped you once, when you first came here. The rare act of kindness had stuck in your head, made even more remarkable in the face of the following weeks and months of harsh work and cruel co-workers. You wonder if he remembers; he doesn’t often look at you, but sometimes when he does you swear you can see a flicker of something in his eyes.

Two of the girls start yelling at each other, arguing heatedly over the way the work is being divided. A foreman appears to break up the fight, but then they both start shouting at him instead. You take the moment of distraction to relax, wincing at the pull of your tired muscles in the back of your neck. All the other girls working at the bath house are older and bigger than you, which means you need to work twice as hard to keep up with them and prove that you’re worth keeping around.

In the brief moment of rest, your eyes are drawn slowly to the corridor, where guests and workers alike bustle past as they travel to the treatment rooms and bathtubs deeper into the bathhouse. As if you’ve conjured him just by thinking about him, the boy stands in the doorway.

You straighten up on instinct, suddenly self-conscious of your sweat-soaked body and dishevelled uniform. He’s not even looking your way, preoccupied with the two girls who are still yelling at the frog foreman. Slowly though, his eyes began to travel the room, and you take a deep breath and hold it as his dull ruby gaze lands on you like a physical weight. You crack a nervous smile, feeling the muscles in your cheeks that have gone unused for weeks ache at the strain, and raise a hand to give him a tiny wave.

For just a moment, that blankness in his face seems to quiver and fall away. He smiles back.

You jolt awake, breathing heavily and coated in a light sheen of sweat. You’ve had the same dream, or some variation of it, regularly ever since you were twelve years old and while it’s become familiar to you, you still find yourself feeling vaguely panicked when you wake up after it, as though you’ve forgotten something very important.

Once your heartbeat has calmed down a little, you pull yourself out of bed and trudge into the kitchen to make yourself some tea. The weak, milky light of dawn filters in through the windows, lighting your apartment up just enough so that you don’t have to turn on a light to make your way around. You take your tea out to the balcony and sit, gazing out at the purplish early morning sky.

Most of the time when you wake up from those dreams you feel blessedly lucky to be living alone with no one to question or bother you, but sometimes you can’t help but be overcome by overwhelming loneliness. The dreams are silly and most of the time they don’t even make any sense, but in the aftermath of them you’re always left with a vague sense of unfulfillment, though you can’t put your finger exactly on what it is you’re missing. You always end up exactly like this; sitting outside on your balcony in the early morning light, drinking tea alone and desperately wishing for something more.

You sigh, and go back inside.

The dream is the same, but different.

The garden is in full bloom, greenery overlaid with bursts of beautiful bright colours. Camellias, rhododendrons, and oleanders wave and shiver gently in the warm breeze, and apple blossoms hang heavily from a nearby tree. The flowering garden is enormous and maze-like, and you have yet to see it in any state other than fully flourishing.

It’s a beautiful place, especially after the hot, cramped working quarters of the bathhouse. You inhale the sweetly fragranced air and feel the knot of tension in your spine unfurl; it feels like the first time that you’ve been able to breathe all week, but that’s not the only reason that you’ve found yourself outside.

At the bottom of the garden, the grass drops off into a sheer drop. The cliff face overlooks a seemingly endless ocean, and you perch a safe distance from the drop before leaning back in the grass. The sky is an almost surreally deep blue and you watch as enormous fluffy clouds float by, looking as though they’ve been painted on a jewel-blue canvas.

It’s not the first time you’ve had this dream, and you know what you’ll see if you keep patiently watching.

It doesn’t take long — it never does. You time your lunch breaks precisely, all so you get to see this sight.

The clear blue sky makes it so much easier to spot the shiny white scales, flashing jewel-bright in the sunlight. The dragon writhes in the sky, streaking through the air like a great serpent caught in the wind. Even from this distance, you can see the knife-like teeth, the great sharp claws that gleam like pyrite, and the twisting horns that erupt from his head like daggers made from calcified bone. He looks deadly, a living weapon that swims through the air like a salmon in open water, but the sight of him makes something settle in your stomach.

You wonder what it would feel like to fall through the air with nothing but the wind to break your fall. You imagine it must feel like freedom.

The dragon flutters through the air, buoyed by the gentle sea breeze. If you didn’t know better, you might almost think that he was showing off — his movements are hypnotic, dreamlike, more like a dance than anything. His scales glow pearlescent in the midday sun, otherworldly and earthly all at once.

You could happily stay and watch him skim through the sky forever, but already the bell is being rung to call all workers back into the bathhouse. You heave a sigh so deep it feels as though your chest is about to crack with the force of it, before hauling yourself to your feet.

Your break is over, and now it’s back to work.

Sometimes you find it difficult to tell when you’re dreaming and when you’re awake. It feels as though everything is always happening all at once, in the present tense, forever. You don’t get to rest when you close your eyes and drift off to sleep, because the dreams just keep coming and coming. Sometimes you don’t feel like your life is real when you’re awake.

Riding on the train has always been therapeutic, especially at this time of the early morning. The sun rising lazily over the horizon sends milky threads of purple and pink across the cloudy sky, and you cradle your chin in your hand as you gaze out across the moving landscape. You love these little trips, feeling more at home in the creaky, overfull train carriage than you do in your own bedroom sometimes, though you can’t quite work out where that particular feeling comes from.

You know sometimes that stories end with “And then I woke up — it was only a dream”, but in your experience the story simply doesn’t end. You cannot fully wake up without the tail-ends of your dreams clinging to you for the rest of the day, and you never fully sleep. You just dream, dream, dream.

Sighing, you lean your head back against the seat that you’re slumped in. The train carriage is too full, and you were lucky to get a seat in the first place — from your vantage point, you watch as people sway in tandem with the motion of the train. It’s almost hypnotic, how they undulate back and forth with every turn, brushing against each other only to be pulled apart again by the lurching train.

Through the sea of bodies, you catch a man’s eye. It breaks the monotony of the morning commute and your own spiralling thoughts, and your spine straightens unconsciously. He quirks an eyebrow briefly, slightly, in such a way that no one would be able to safely accuse him of having done it.

You look away, startled for no good reason. Do you know him? He feels familiar in a way that you can’t quite put your finger on. The train rattles on, and it takes several long minutes before you work up the nerve to glance the man’s way again. He’s still watching you, but you’re ready for it this time. His attention isn’t such a shock, and you allow your eyes to wander over his face properly.

You must know him, you think. Your eyes track over his features as though they’re winding over a well-worn path, admiring the curve of his nose and the fullness of his lips and the arch of his eyebrows over his intense, watchful eyes.

He smiles at you, and it feels as though you’re sharing a secret from across the crowded train carriage. You smile back — it’s just a small tug of the corners of your mouth, but it’s the most you’ve smiled in months. Longer, maybe.

In the middle of the carriage a woman laughs at something her friend has said and sways backward, blocking your view of the stranger. It feels like a loss.

The train trundles onwards, and the carriage gradually empties out. You watch people step off the train with friends, with their heads ducked low, lost in thought, arguing over the phone, distracted with their book bags. By the time it comes to your stop, the man is gone.

You try not to feel disappointed as you step off the train — it’s silly, after all. You don’t know the man, and whatever you thought you felt as you looked at each other was surely all in your own head. Your head has been awfully full, recently.

As you step off the train you grapple with your bag, side-stepping a businessman who is busy shouting down the phone at some unfortunate coworker. You’re distracted, which is the only reasonable explanation for how long it takes you to realise that the man from the train is standing in front of you.

“Oh.” You blurt, startled. You had already begun to resign yourself to never seeing him again, so you can’t help but feel distinctly caught off guard at the sight of him standing before you. “Hi.”

“Hello.” The man says. He’s looking at you expectantly, but you have no idea what he’s waiting for — as it is, you get completely distracted by his eyes. You hadn’t noticed on the train, but now that he’s up close you see that they’re a truly unusual deep burgundy. He tilts his head when you remain silent, and bites his lip. Now that you’re really looking, you notice how sharp his teeth are. “You’ve barely changed at all.”

You blink at him. “Er…” You trail off nervously. You don’t recognise him, but you feel like you know him. Clearly, he thinks that he knows you.

“It’s fitting, isn’t it? Meeting again on a train?” He smiles, and it’s an impossibly knowing expression. You don’t think you’ve ever been on the receiving end of a look that intimate in your life, though you have no idea what he’s talking about.

Someone collides hard with your shoulder and you stagger for balance. You only look away from the man for a mere second, but it’s enough; when you look again, he’s gone.

You take to walking. There’s a wooded area behind the town, and you enjoy traipsing idly through the trees. Ancient roots erupt out of the dirt and fan over the ground like hairs, and the moss that covers the trunks of the trees is such a deep green that it almost seems like paint pigment. It’s soothing, being surrounded by nature like this. It reminds you of childhood — the simplicity of being able to jump over tree roots under a canopy of pale green leaves, of being able to leave all your thoughts and stress at the boundary of the forest.

It’s where you come after waking sweat-soaked and disoriented from a dream that clings to you like a burr, where you walk among the ferns and the needle-leaved weeds until you manage to shake the last vestiges of memory from your mind. You need it, especially in the mornings where you wake up with the acrid scent of herbal cleanser stinging in your nose or the bite of hard calluses on your palms from non-existent rough cloths. On mornings like that, you walk and walk until you no longer feel as though you’re more alive in your dreams than you are in reality.

Deep in the forest is a great red facade, painted a flaking, faded red. You wander by it frequently, admiring the overgrown greenery that crawls up the walls like reaching fingers, the mossy stone guardian that stands sentinel amongst the cracked flagstones that lead into the tunnelled entrance. You’ve asked around in the town, curious about what exactly this building was for, but most of the locals either don’t know what building you’re talking about or admit that they’re not sure. One man told you that the facade was built for a theme park in the 90s that had ended up going bust in the recession, and that the building only looked old.

You remain unconvinced on that front. The building has the kind of presence that only very old things have; it feels like it’s watching you.

For the most part, your walks in the forest are peaceful. Recently though, you’ve found yourself plagued by an insistent, irritating sense of deja vu. You don’t know where it’s coming from, and it hits you at the strangest of times — when you’re making tea, or in the bath, or cleaning your apartment, or on the train, or admiring the sky on a cloudless day.

The man from the train is the boy in your dreams. It takes you weeks to come to that realisation. You just wake up in the middle of the night on a random Tuesday, with wide eyes and clammy skin and his name slipping from the forefront of your mind.

It shouldn’t be possible, but once it dawns on you, you’re certain of it.

Even stranger is that once you realise it, it feels as though you see him everywhere. You see flashes of red hair when you’re walking down the street, when you’re grocery shopping, when you’re walking home late at night. It’s only ever the barest glance out of the corner of your eye, just overt enough for you to know it’s him, but subtle enough for you to question yourself immediately after.

One night, you travel to a local city to meet some old school friends. At night, the city seems to pulse. The music from seedy clubs spills out into the neon-lit streets, muffled shouted arguments echoes from alleyways and apartments alike, and the streets are peppered with people either scurrying or stumbling home, with very little variation. Though the perpetually overcast sky hides any trace of the moon or stars, the streetlamps reflect in the ever-present stagnant puddles littering the street, lighting them up in varying shades of sickly yellow.

At night, the city seems alive. Chronically ill and struggling to breathe, maybe, but clinging to life all the same.

The way the neon lights flicker in the gloomy darkness, just barely illuminating the shadows of people hurrying through the streets to get in out of the rain, reminds you of something you can’t quite remember. It sits in the back of your mind like a sour taste, but no matter how much you reach for the memory it remains just out of reach.

You spend most of the night staring out of the steamed up window of the pub, entranced by the sight of the night streets and frustrated by the memories that seem to dangle just out of reach. You know that it doesn’t make for good company, and you feel guilty for that. Your friends don’t seem overly surprised at your detachment. You’ve been drifting away for years, and though tonight was supposed to be all about reconnecting it seems clear that it’s not going to work.

When you eventually stand up to leave, with forced smiles and awkward goodbyes, you can’t help but feel melancholy settle over you like a second skin. As you slip out of the pub and onto the dark streets, the thought crosses your mind that you’re not used to being alone like this. It’s a silly thought, really; you’ve been alone for years. But sometimes, in those liminal moments between waking and sleeping, you swear you can hear the gentle drowsy breaths of dozens of people sleeping all around you, as though you’re surrounded on all sides. On those nights you wake up hot and claustrophobic and uncomfortable, but never feeling lonely.

It is probably your own fault, you reflect as you drift down the sidewalk like a ghost. It’s difficult to make an effort to know people when you feel as though you don’t know yourself. You don’t know how to bridge the distance between yourself and other people. You think sometimes that you’re missing chunks of yourself.

You pass an open shopfront that’s serving street food, and glance briefly in at the kitchen. The cook is illuminated only dimly in the smoky room, standing out as a shadow figure more than anything, and for a split second you could swear that he has six arms. You look away quickly and carry on walking — you don’t want to look again only to be proven wrong. You want to preserve that little second of magic strangeness for as long as you can.

The puddles on the street seem like they’re glowing with the light reflected from the neon streetlamps, and you weave your way carefully around them to avoid getting your feet wet. The night has a strange quality about it, almost as though it’s holding its breath.

Considering the combination of your pensive mood and the expectant air of the evening, you don’t feel surprised at all when you look up from the wet cobblestones to find the man standing only a few feet ahead of you.

He smiles like he’s nervous, his gaze tracking carefully over your face. In his hands, he’s holding flowers. Camellias, you think. It’s the first time since you first saw him on the train that hasn’t been a fleeting glance out of the corner of your eye— he’s here in front of you and he’s real and solid and sturdy. He seems more substantial than the streets around you, than your friends back at the pub had been.

“Do you remember me?” He asks, voice soft as though he’s afraid of the answer.

“Remember you?” You croak. It feels as though the words are catching inside your throat. “No. But I’ve seen you every night in my dreams for years.”

If that’s the answer he’s expecting, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps looking at you, your face, your body. You wonder exactly it is that he’s seeing. “These are for you.” He says eventually, holding out the flowers. “I didn’t- I wanted to bring you something, when I saw you again. And I know that you always liked the garden.”

He’s talking as if the places that you’ve dreamed about are real. It doesn’t come as the earth-shattering surprise you might have expected — rather, it feels like a key turning in an old lock. A click, and then a sense of yes, that’s right.

You take the flowers, and clutch them to your chest. They’re a fleshy pink, with a vibrant yellow centre. The petals are as soft as velvet. Holding them feels like holding a safety blanket. “Thank you.” It’s the only thing that you can manage to say right now. Your thoughts are too full, and nothing else makes it out of your mouth.

It’s rather startling, the feelings that bubble up in your chest. It feels like something has just been unlocked, as though you had stored away all this emotion somewhere deep in your ribcage and then forgotten about it only for it to resurface at this precise moment, for this precise person.

“Eijirou.” You croak. “Kirishima Eijirou.”

His whole face brightens, and his eyes sparkle. “Yes. That’s me. You do remember!”

They’re not quite memories, you don’t think. They come in dreamlike flashes — the garden, an ocean, train tracks, the feral snarling of a dragon with sharp teeth, hard work and hot food, friends.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” Kirishima is saying, his face open and earnest. “But I told you that I’d come and find you again, remember?”

You do remember, sort of. A flash of a warm hand holding yours, pushing you forward over a boundary between one world and another, and a goodbye whispered behind you that sounds like a promise.

“You saved me.”

Kirishima laughs, though his eyes look a little shiny. “It was the other way around, actually. I would have stayed trapped in that bathhouse forever, if it weren’t for you.”

“The bathhouse.” You murmur, wide-eyed. It was real, real, real.

“Things are different now.” He edges closer to you. He’s large and imposing and taller than you, but he’s hunched slightly in an attempt to make himself unthreatening. “That’s why it took so long for me to come for you. Things were changing. Me and Katsuki run the bathhouse now.”

Katsuki. In your mind's eye you see a boy with wild blond hair and a dangerous look in his eyes, a boy who gives you extra rice when he can manage and takes over parts of your chores when you get so tired that you’re fit to pass out.

“I didn’t mean to make you wait.” He says quietly, and the tide of emotion that you had just barely been holding at bay comes crashing over you. Before the first tear has welled over the edge of your eyelids, Kirishima has stepped forward and wrapped you in his arms. The flowers are crushed between your chests as you cry.

“I didn’t even know what I was waiting for.” You cry into his silk suikan.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers into your hair. “I’m here now. I’m not going to leave again.”

You don’t release your grip on him. You’re not willing to take the chance.

After a moment, Kirishima speaks again. “Are you ready to go?”

“Go?” You echo, finally pulling away. “Go where?”

“Home.” He says, and he means the bathhouse. He means the spirit world.

“You want me to work for you?”

“I want you to help us run it.” He corrects. The distinction is important for both of you — though the memories are distant, you both know what it feels like to have your names and voices erased so cleanly that it makes you wonder if you ever existed fully at all.

“I don’t know anything about running a bathhouse. Especially not one for spirits.” You say, but Kirishima just laughs.

“You were always a hard worker. You’ll learn as you go. That’s what we’ve all been doing.”

You want to say yes. The word beats in your head like a drum, and you can’t think of a good reason to say no. The bathhouse. Home. The chance to feel real and awake at the same time.

“Okay.” You say on a breath, staring at him with wide eyes. “Stay with me, this time.”

When Kirishima’s face lights up in a smile, it’s the first time that you think you can accurately describe someone as incandescently happy. “Good luck getting rid of me again.”

You laugh, feeling nearly delirious with relief and joy. It’s real. He’s real. He’s come back for you, and now you’re going back with him. You think you should probably feel nervous or hesitant, but this brief encounter has felt more solid and right than the rest of the night spent with distant school-friends made uncomfortable by your silences.

“So, how do we get there?” You ask, but Kirishima just grins at you like you should already know the answer.

The train station is tucked away down an alley just off a busy main shopping district.

“It’s easy to miss if you don’t know exactly where you're going.” Kirishima tells you with a sharp smile, and it’s easy to believe. The red brick building that housed the train station is unmarked, and the trains couldn’t be seen from the main street. The alley itself is home to many curious sights -- paper lanterns bob overhead (though they don’t seem to be suspended by anything in particular), a yellowed flyer from the 1950s advertising Marlboro cigarettes drifts along on what seems to be a breeze despite the noticeable lack of wind, and three magpies sit on a wall wearing little golden timepieces on chains around their necks and caw in time with the ticking.

“Ready to go home?” Kirishima asks quietly. In his hand, two train tickets flutter in a non-existent breeze.

A family of mice scamper past your feet, pulling a miniature suitcase between them. A tall, thin woman wearing a blank white mask assists them onto the train.

You laugh at the whimsy of it all — it feels as though you’ve stepped into a fairytale, into a dream, into your childhood. “Yes,” You grin, “I’m ready.”

Kirishima beams back at you, and holds out a hand to help you onto the train. Finding a seat was easy — despite all the passengers you had seen boarding, the carriage was oddly empty. As soon as you’re seated, you sigh. It feels as though you’re sinking into an old overstuffed armchair, comfortable and familiar. When the whistle blows and the train starts moving, you turn eagerly to watch as the train begins to pick up speed. Within moments, you find that you can barely recognise the landscape blurring past the window — It seems that you’re zooming passed a beautiful sea-view, despite the fact that the city the train station was located in was conspicuously land-locked. You sigh happily and lean against your seat.

You still don’t remember everything about your experience in the spirit world all those years ago, but you think you remember hearing someone telling you “Once you meet someone you never really forget them. It just takes a while for your memories to return."

You make eye contact with Eijirou, who smiles back at you so fondly that it nearly hurts to look at. He’s changed so much from the boy in your dreams, in your memories. His eyes are no longer glassy and distant — now they’re shiny and expressive and so bright. His hair is longer too; still spiked and wild, but longer and curling softly over the curve of his neck and shoulders. He’s the boy your remember from all those years ago, but he’s also a man now. Grown, like you have, but smiling at you gently just like you’re ten years old again.

Through the window behind his head, the sunrise begins to bathe the water in delicate pinks and yellows. You’ll wait for as long as you need to for the memories to return, but even if they don’t that’s alright. You can just make new ones.

#this is so cheesy lol but whatever i've been staring at this doc for too long and i want it out of my sight #kirishima x reader #bnha x reader #kirishima eijirou #ghibli au #kirishima eijiro fluff #kirishima x y/n #mha x reader

257 notes · View notes

kkaeyva · 3 years

Text

work of art

𐐪𐑂 includes: delusional corrupted!albedo

𐐪𐑂 summary: even when the world ends, you will always be part of his canvas.

𐐪𐑂 genres + warnings: angst, major character death, blood mention, swearing, spider mention, food mention, that’s about it i think

𐐪𐑂 note: today i woke up and chose violence on readers’ hearts

𐐪𐑂 word count: 1.3k

albedo’s eyes flutter open to welcome the presence of the morning sun filtering through the window. he hums something quite monotone as he lifts the covers off of him, sitting up to observe the room, as he always does.

“good morning, love,” he presses a gentle kiss to your skin and tries not to flinch when his lips meet glass, cold like it’s been frosted over from chilly winter air. the blonde makes a mental note to make you a warm coffee, maybe something to wake you up— but for now, he’ll focus on himself first. (you are still asleep, after all.)

his blue eyes dig into the bathroom mirror, just barely under enough to penetrate the surface of the cold glass like a pebble into a still lake. he recognizes the person who stares back at him, though he’s not sure he’d call him a friend. a foe would not be a good title either. he blinks himself out of his trance and reaches for his toothbrush.

albedo doesn’t cough very often, and when he does, it’s only a natural reflex to clear his throat; this is one of those times.

“my throat’s quite dry today,” he observes as his fingers brush over the diamond-shaped tattoo that sits upon his neck. the skin feels rough under his fingertips, so he gulps down a glass of water to wash away the feeling. (it does nothing to help though, and albedo is left feeling more unnerved than before.)

the breeze adopts a faint melody of whispers and rhymes; characteristic of mondstadt, albedo thinks. though he was always neutral about the weather, he clearly recalls how rejoiced you used to get whenever you felt the sun on your skin. he smiles absently at the thought and considers stepping outside today, for your sake. and of course, just for your sake, he gives in to the urge.

he steps over sticks and rubble as he walks out into the open. the sun shines as it always does, as if it ignores the issues of the world below; narcissistic, as things are. he turns the other cheek when the sunlight extends a ray to caress his skin with fiery warmth.

nevermind, he sighs as the door creaks shut behind him, this was a bad idea.

the controllable, indoor lighting is much more his style. it works with him when the weather does not; a cooperative being. as such, it illuminates something in the corner of his eye, as if it were the guidance at the end of a tunnel: his forgotten, blank canvases collecting dust.

and, just to humour himself, he picks a less dusty one up. it’s not too big nor small, able to sit comfortably on his well-worn easel. there’s nothing in the room that inspires him, he realizes, but he also doesn’t want to make the trek to dragonspine. (the sun is not very comforting at the moment, you see.) he settles on a tried and true muse— you, of course.

so he begins.

the curve of your jaw is natural to him. so is the way you pucker your lips and the way your eyes crease when you smile. the tone of your skin and how the shadows dance along it has long since been committed to his memory. he makes quick work of painting you, but he feels something is missing. there should be something or someone beside you, smiling and enjoying the environment in the painting just as much.

right, he almost laughs at his own naïvety, he has to be there beside you.

(now, albedo isn’t one to draw self-portraits very often, but he tries to paint himself as accurately as possible when he does. and so he brings a mirror.)

albedo stares perplexedly at the same reflection he ignored this morning. no, no. he must’ve remembered himself wrong. he definitely does not recognize the person staring back at him. it makes him want to cry.

where has the brightness in his eyes gone? and the dark circles around his eyes weren’t there last time he checked. he looks sickly, a pool of guilt and hatred in his eyes. the star at his neck has morphed into a disgusting shade of violet, with spidery legs extending from it like someone smashed a hammer directly into glass. the broken expression he sees in the mirror makes his mind spiral.

he rushes outside. the sun burns as if he poured one of his potions directly onto his skin. it doesn’t matter to him at the moment, though, because surely—

the tall, overarching buildings of mondstadt are now only piles of rubble and ruins littering the ground. there is no wind, not even a light breeze. the statue of the anemo archon is what he assumes to be the giant, grey figure laid down on its side as if it was a god defeated in battle.

like the statue, albedo crumbles. he falls down onto his knees and it brings a stinging, painful shock throughout his body but he really can’t afford to care about that right now.

did he...

did he do this?

he wants to scream. his throat restricts him, much too dry to even let out a hoarse whisper.

he wants to cry. when his tears flow down his face, it feels thick; disgusting. it feels like blood— not his, though. (it’s so much worse when it isn’t his.) he can’t name whose blood it is; there are too many names going through his mind: lisa, jean, amber, venti, sucrose, klee, you. (oh, you.) his tears spill down his face. he gets up only to run away from it, away from the blood. he seeks your comfort as he rushes through the house (please please please be there—)

where are you?

where have you gone?

albedo picks up the picture frame on the nightstand. (funny how it perfectly reflects in the lighting— archons damn this controllable fucking lighting! leave him alone! let him wallow in his own self-destruction!) your smiling eyes look at him fondly. he doesn’t deserve your kindness, does he? but he really, really needs it.

he traces your face with his hands, covered in the transparent blood of all those he cared about and more, and flinches when he meets the icy, cold glass. his mind connects the dots at the last minute. he barely registers the sound of glass breaking as the picture frame hits the floor with a shattering impact.

there is only one last place for him to go.

he stumbles to his easel. the canvas is safe, thank the archons, though his palette and paintbrush have fallen to the floor, long since drying and staining the hardwood with the colours of you.

he gasps lightly, in awe, when you positively glow, not exactly like the sun, nor like the candlelight of the house’s ceiling lamps— something new, something different. something he fears he is too corrupted for. something he wants to protect for the rest of his life.

albedo lifts his hand to caress your face, only to reel back in horror when the only half-dried paint sticks onto his fingers and stains his skin with your colours. your beautiful, perfectly sculpted face is now smudged— just as delicate as he remembers.

and even though you look like you are melting, fading away from his life, he smiles, basking in your light. his throat starts to burn again when he tries to say “i love you,” and the paint on his hands feels more like (your) blood when he tries to wipe it off— he’s become numb to the horrifying feeling, even just for a little while. he’ll spend his time loving you, even if his memory dies like paint going down the drain when he washes it off the palette. he cherishes you so, even when his neck looks and feels like crackled glass. he’ll paint you over and over again, and when he runs out of paint, he’ll find more. he’ll create more, no matter what.

(why?

because you were always a work of art.

and you always will be.

now, would you say the same about him?)

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #albedo x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact drabble #genshin x reader #albedo #genshin albedo #albedo.txt #kkaeyva.writes #tw blood #cw food #cw language #cw spiders

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