#hi the duck is safe and sound and also with the proper doctors

[flying-guinea-pig]

Not What He Seems (ch.1)

(Prefer to read this on AO3?)

(It’s happening folks. The big reveal, four years in the making.)

NotWhat He Seems: Chapter 1

Thomas' heart always beat a little faster when he summoned something, even after several years in this job. It was the thrill of calling a powerful being into this reality with only your wits and some chalk lines as protection.

Beëlzebob was an intermediate-level demon. He took the appearance of every cliché devil ever - hairy black goat legs, a ridiculously buff and gleaming red upper body, large curled horns. The works.

He was also not cooperating at all.

"You are... di̵s̢tra͢c̢te͜d," the demon whispered, his voice echoing back strangely from the corners of the summoning lab. The shadows seemed to thicken.

Thomas kept his face impassive. These were just some special effects, after all. His binding circle was perfect, he didn't need to worry.

"I have outlined our offer in this document. These are the terms you have previously discussed at length with my colleague," he said, reaching out slightly to hand Beëlzebob the carefully rolled up contract. "All should be in order."

The demon unrolled it and took his sweet time reading it through. He would make a good addition to the safe summons list, despite being a bit higher level than their usual choices. This old-fashioned approach, with the written contract and all - it would teach the students to be patient and give them time to focus on the details before shaking on anything.

"Yes," the demon said, dragging a black claw over the parchment. "These terms are acceptable. However, there is one issue."

"Is there?"

A horrible, fanged grin. "The contract must be written in your o̦̰͚w̮̮n̬͇̹̕ blood, mortal."

Maybe it was his experience with grandstanding demons, or Tyrone had been rubbing off on him, but Thomas was not impressed. "That wasn't in the agreement."

"You will rewrite it. Ḩè̲̙͙̩̤r̦e̹̦ ͏͕̥a̝̱̺͟n̘͔d ̛̦̱̲̖n̩͈̪o̰̻͓͓͢w̺͍͎̦.̪̣͇̩́"

"No, I don't think so," Thomas said, mildly. Seriously? All that work was just wasted? Typical. He was not going to use his own blood to write it, sheesh. With all those clauses and addendums the thing was way too long. Not to mention willingly given human blood had power - power that wasn't a part of this offer.

The shadows twisted - the candles flared. "You will, little mortal, or I will step over this boundary and write it myself, straight from your veins."

"This attitude is not convincing me you're a good fit for our list."

"You have summoned me and I will not leave without my deal!" Red-tinged smoke filled the circle, edging over the chalk lines and spreading into the room. It stank of sulphur and decay.

Thomas coughed. Dramatics aside, maybe it was time to get rid of Beëlzebob. Too bad, Hicks would be disappointed to cross off another name on the safe summons list… It had shrunk a lot in the past years. If this kept up their students would soon only get to summon the Organ Duck. If they couldn’t offer a proper practical education they might eventually run out of interested students as well, which was bad news for the survival of the demonology department.

"Whoa, did someone drop a rotten egg in here?"

Tyrone usually didn't barge in during summonings, especially when they were trying to get more demons for the safe summons list, but this time Thomas didn't mind. The open door let in some fresh air and that was very welcome at the moment.

Tyrone entered the room, waving away some of the smoke. "Hey, Hicks mentioned you wanted to have a talk?"

"What? Oh, yeah," Thomas said, distracted. The smoke was dissipating with record speed and Beëlzebob was visible again, staring at Tyrone in abject terror. "I'm a bit busy right now though."

"Do you need any help?" Tyrone offered. His smile was perfectly friendly.

Thomas glanced at Beëlzebob. "As a matter of fact, he was just leaving."

"Yes! Yes indeed," the demon hurried to say. "Just leaving. Right now. I’m going. Big misunderstanding, you know how it is, have to be somewhere else, goodbye now!"

“Thanks buddy," Tyrone said. "Very accommodating of you, leaving without a deal like that. I will remember this. Here, have a snack."

With a snap of his fingers a familiar deep-fried ball appeared, partly wrapped in a festive paper towel.

Beëlzebob caught it with a flinch and popped away without another sound.

“So, what exactly did you want to talk about?”

“Just a second, let me clean up first.” He frowned at Tyrone. “Speaking of cleaning up, what happened to your shirt?”

“What?” Tyrone glanced down at the brown stains on his usually so crisp white shirt, and made a face. “Aw man, seriously?”

“Do I want to know?”

“I bumped into Banerjee on my way here. He was carrying samples. And he didn’t even apologize, can you believe it?”

Banerjee was the Cryptozoology department’s newest hire, working on his doctorate involving – honestly, Thomas had no idea, he just knew it involved a lot of mud. He wasn’t aware of Tyrone’s true identity. The university staff tried to keep that one under wraps. Parents might object to their children coming to a university where Alcor the Dreambender was frequently hanging around.

“He owes me a new shirt.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “You can literally make it brand new with a thought.”

“He doesn’t know that. It’s about the principle of the thing.”

Shaking his head, Thomas set to work. To his students it often came as a surprise that practical demonology involved a lot of cleaning up. The preparations were extensive, of course, but afterwards someone had to put away the candles and mop up the chalk, blood, and other assorted fluids the demons occasionally left behind. Beëlzebob in particular had left footprints of some kind of sulphurous ooze that he probably shouldn’t handle without gloves…

Safely removing summoning circles was an art, really. It’s not like you could just start scrubbing away with these things – the outer part was usually the binding circle, and you never knew if the demon was still hanging around, invisible, waiting for you to make a mistake. Not that he expected something to happen while Alcor the Dreambender was literally waiting at the door, but proper caution was a good habit to have.

“You know, I could clean this up for you with a snap of my fingers,” Tyrone mused, lounging against the wall while he waited. His shirt held no trace of the brown stains.

“Are you offering?”

“For free?”

Thomas snickered at the almost scandalous look on Tyrone’s face. Put down his cleaning supplies. He had planned to do this differently, but you know what? Now might be as good a time as ever. And it would be fun, wouldn’t it, to put Tyrone off-balance for a moment? “How about a deal then?”

Tyrone perked up.

“You get this room back to its cleaned-up, usable state,” said Thomas, and felt the smile break through on his face. “In return, you get to be my best man.”

To his credit, it didn’t take Tyrone long to realise. “Thomas! You finally popped the question then?”

“Yep. I said I was going to do it soon, this can’t be a surprise –“

“And she said yes?”

“We did talk about it beforehand, you know –“

“Congrats!”

“Thanks,” Thomas grinned. “So, what do you say? Fair warning though, being my best man comes with certain responsibilities. Making sure I’m on time at the wedding and such.”

Organising the stag night as well, technically. Though Thomas suspected Brad already had some thoughts in that direction.

“I’ve been someone’s best man before, I know how it goes,” Tyrone said. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Thomas.”

The room around them shifted, the magical arrays fading away and taking the trailing odour of brimstone with them.

Tyrone’s expression shifted too, as he let go of Thomas’ hand.

“What’s wrong?” Thomas asked.

“Nothing.”

“You seem upset?”

“I am happy for you,” Tyrone said. “It’s just… you’re getting old.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“No, I mean – look at you! Getting married. Maybe kids and a house, soon.”

“I’m not buying a house on a teacher’s salary,” Thomas said. “The rest… who knows? We’ll see how it goes. Is that what’s upsetting you? That I’m growing up?”

Tyrone shrugged awkwardly. He seemed smaller somehow. “You’re going to be very busy with all that – that life stuff. It’s happening already. Everyone is so busy. Your dates with Elisha, Eddy’s got his new job, Brad’s mucking around in his dad’s company - when was the last time we all hung out, just for fun? Not because it was someone’s birthday or anything? It’s been ages since we had a game night.”

That… had been a while, true. “I guess that’s what happens when you get older. There are more demands on your time, you get to juggle more responsibilities.”

“I’m not getting older.”

“Right.” Thomas took a deep breath.  “Listen, so… we’re busy more often. And it’s not like in college, where we all could just hang out all the time. But you’re basically part of the family, Tyrone. Alcor. You’ll always have a place here. And I’m sure the rest of the gang would say the same.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Thomas said. And smiled, to lighten the mood. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“You’d just miss all the amazing deals I make with you.”

“Of course” Thomas said, glad Tyrone was now teasing instead of moping. “I’m clearly only using you for your clout as Alcor. You’ve made my life so much easier.”

Tyrone mimed a gasp. “Sarcasm, Thomas? Ouch.”

“Not entirely sarcasm,” Thomas admitted. “You do make my life easier, sometimes. When you feel like it. For instance, vanishing that sulphurous stuff Beëlzebob left behind, I was not looking forward to handling that. The smell lingered.”

Tyrone suddenly looked way too innocent. “Oh, I didn’t exactly vanish it.”

Oh Stars. “What did you do?”

“Might have put it somewhere. Like, oh, I dunno… Banerjee’s car.”

Thomas facepalmed. Serves him right for making a vague deal like that. “Is it at least safe?”

“Define ‘safe’.”

“Tyrone!”

“Don’t worry, Thomas, I promised not to deliberately harm the university’s students and faculty, remember? He’ll be fine.”

“All this for an accidental stain on your shirt, really?”

Tyrone folded his arms in front of him. “He didn’t apologize.”

Thomas shook his head, exasperated.

Demons. They really knew how to hold grudges.

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

The Mindscape was a vast, endless realm where the strong hunted the weak and territories were defined, invaded, and redefined. This was the place where demons lived, and they didn’t like each other any better than they liked humans. The collective noun for a group of demons, as they say, is ‘a carnage’. Teaming up was rare, and more often than not ended in the stronger one destroying the other as soon as their goal was met. That was just the natural order of things.

Even so, sometimes even they needed a neutral place to go. Somewhere deals could be made without worrying about being devoured. This place was the Midway Bar, run by a demon known only as the Bartender, and for the past six years it had attracted a group of regulars.

They took over the table in the corner. Sometimes the group lost a member, occasionally it gained one. They weren’t here to make deals. They were here to drown their misery and sneak away before a stronger demon took advantage of their intoxication to ambush them outside these walls.

Beëlzebob entered the Midway Bar. He went straight to the Bartender, who after a short conversation pointed in the direction of the gloomy table in the corner.

“Get lost,” Flaga the Eagle-winged said, at his approach.

The demon next to her, who mostly looked like a giant fungus with teeth, curled a green tendril around their glass. “Yeah. This is a private party.”

Beëlzebob paused. He was stronger than each of them, he knew. But this was no place for threats. “Apologies for the interruption. May I sit?”

That wasn’t how demons talked to each other, especially not to a bunch of low-levels like them. They shared a suspicious glance. The one across from Flaga, some kind of feathered crocodile hybrid, raised his empty glass meaningfully.

Of course. “Listening can parch the throat so,” Beëlzebob said. “Let me get those refilled for you, and then we̙̮'̥͉̘ll̟̮ ț̳̮a̪̩̗̥l̯̹̹k̰.”

#transcendence au #alcor the dreambender #thomas strange #fic: not what he seems #the midway bar #demons #I mean it's TAU so that's a given

[nonbinary-octopus]

Virgil the Wee Vampire  Chapter 14: Negotiations 

Summary: Terms are discussed and a deal is made.

Warnings/Contains: blood, vomit

Wordcount: 2.7 K

Chapter 1: The Hungry Little Vampire

Masterpost

More stories

~~~

That night, as they flew together, and found some unsuspecting livestock to feed from and a space just big enough for two bats to shelter from the sun, Virgil and Thomas filled each other in on the events that had happened since they’d last seen each other in their cave days ago, and they mourned their family together.

They also discussed what they wanted to do next. By the time the sun rose, they had a tentative plan. The brothers fell asleep wrapped in each other’s wings, feeling more secure than they had in a long time. They slept soundly all through the day, and after the sun had set again, they returned to the house where Virgil’s humans lived.

They went to the window that Patton had opened for them; it was still open, and after Virgil peeked quickly inside to be sure they weren’t about to fly in on a human using the room, they entered.

“Where do you think we’ll find them?” Thomas asked as they flew through the hallway.

“I dunno,” Virgil said. He peeked into one of the sleeping rooms, but the door was angled so that he could only see a portion of it, and that portion was unoccupied. “I was only with them for a few days, but they seemed to gather in all the rooms equally.” He gave the whistle-click equivalent of a shrug. “We’ll start in the two big rooms, and if not, then we’ll come back here and I’ll call at the opening to each sleeping room until someone answers.”

They didn’t have to do that, however. When they reached the first of the two large rooms, they found all three humans. Logan sat on one of the cloth structures, gazing at a bundle of papers. Roman sat on the other, in a much more curled position. He too was looking at some paper, but unlike Logan, he was actively making marks on it. Patton lay on the floor, hands tucked under his head, with his eyes closed.

None of the humans seemed to have noticed them yet. The two bats circled near the ceiling a few times, trying to decide how to get the humans’ attention. Ordinarily, they tried to avoid doing so, so they weren’t sure what to do. Finally, Virgil flew down, shifting as he landed near Roman’s shoulder. “Hello,” he said.

Several things happened in rapid succession. Firstly, Roman made a loud, abrupt sound, his entire body jolting. Virgil, startled, fell off the back of the cloth thing, barely managing to shift in time to glide to a gentle landing. He couldn’t see the other humans’ reactions to Roman’s noise from his new position, but Thomas could. Logan lowered his bundle of papers, and Patton sat up. They both looked over at Roman.

“You okay?”

“Uh,” Roman said, twisting around to look at the spot where Virgil had stood. “Y-yeah.” He kept looking around the room with a confused expression on his face, but failed to look up. “Did you guys hear that?”

“You yelping?” Patton teased.

“No!” Roman protested. “The reason. It sounded like—” He finally leaned over the back of his seat, looking down. “Ah! Hi, Virgil. You startled me.”

Virgil waved a wing up at him, chirping a greeting in return despite knowing that Roman wouldn’t even be able to hear it, let alone understand it.

“Virgil’s back?” Patton asked, delighted.

Logan glanced up to the ceiling. “Looks like they both are,” he added.

Roman paused, looking over to Logan, then following his gaze up to where Thomas still circled near the ceiling. He looked down at Virgil again. “You are Virgil, right? Sorry, I… I can’t really tell you apart as bats.”

Virgil laughed and flew back up to the top of the cloth thing. He landed a little further from Roman this time, shifting again. “Yes, hi,” he greeted.

“It’s good to see you both again,” Logan said. Patton, grinning, nodded.

Looking up at his little brother, Virgil clicked a few words of encouragement. Thomas dove down, landing close beside Virgil and shifting. He stood beside and slightly behind Virgil, holding lightly onto his sleeve near the elbow.

Virgil drew himself up to his full height, looking directly at each human in turn. They, seeming to realize the importance of the situation, all sat quietly and waited. “When you said I could live with you if I wanted,” Virgil said slowly. “Does that include Thomas too?”

“Of course,” Logan answered without hesitation.

“We wouldn’t want to break up a family!” Patton added.

Roman nodded agreement.

Virgil nodded back at them. “Good,” he said. “In that case, we’re here to discuss the terms of that agreement.”

“Neat,” Roman said.

“Do you mind if I get something to write it down?” Logan asked. “For future reference.”

Virgil glanced at Thomas, who still looked nervous, but not more so than before. He nodded. Setting his bundle of papers down, Logan got up, moving slowly around the edge of the room to pick up a pad of paper and a pen. He returned to his previous seat.

“Ready.”

“First:” Virgil said, doing his best to keep his voice firm and level. He thought he did a decent job. “If we live in your house, we’re allowed to go out and come in whenever we want. There’s to be a window kept open for that purpose.”

Logan nodded, writing on his pad.

“Yeah, that’s a given,” Roman said.

“Ro, hush,” Patton chided. “It’s good to declare these sorts of things.”

Virgil took a deep breath. So far, so good. Logan stopped writing and looked up. Virgil took that as his cue to continue. “Similarly,” he said, “there’s to be a space for us to sleep, safe away from the sunlight, and you absolutely cannot move it into sunlight.”

“Also a given,” Roman said. “We’d be bad hosts if we put you in dangerous situations.”

Patton nodded sincerely. “None of us want to hurt you,” he promised. “Plus, Logan’s a doctor, so he’s specifically sworn to not hurt people. It’s called the Hippopotamus Oath.”

“Hippocratic,” Logan corrected. “But yes, among other things, it includes the clause to do no harm and would certainly forbid intentionally exposing you to sunlight.”

“That’s good,” said Virgil, who was feeling a bit confused but encouraged nonetheless. He continued with the next condition. “Next: you don’t tell any other humans that we’re here.”

“Why not?” Roman asked while Logan wrote. Patton gave him a stern look, and Roman lifted both his hands. Thomas flinched, ducking a little more behind Virgil’s shoulder, but Roman, looking in Patton’s direction, didn’t seem to notice. “Just curious. I’ll follow the rules, I just wanna know why.”

“Other humans are dangerous,” Virgil said. Roman looked a bit dubious. “The Slayer was a human.” Virgil was impressed that his voice didn’t tremble. Thomas’s grip on his sleeve tightened.

Roman’s eyes widened, then narrowed in a wince. “Oh,” he said. “Yeah, no, that makes sense. Sorry.” After a pause, he added, “No telling other humans. Promise.”

Virgil nodded, relieved. He looked to Logan to check that he was ready. He was. “You don’t touch my brother. Not unless he says you can. No picking up or holding, and definitely no grabbing.”

“What about you?” Logan asked, writing.

Virgil paused. “Patton can touch me,” he said after a moment. “I’m still deciding about you and Roman.”

Roman chuckled. “That’s fair.”

“What else?” Logan asked.

Virgil exchanged a look with Thomas, who shook his head. “That’s it.”

The three humans looked at each other, and all nodded. “Sounds good to us,” Patton said.

“We have some terms too,” Logan added.

Ah. Now they would see what it was the humans expected to get out of this. Virgil met Logan’s gaze. “What?”

“First, we’re all willing to supply you with blood, but we ask that you not bite us without warning, and allow us to choose the location of the bite, to reduce the risk of serious injury.”

That was reasonable. Better than reasonable, actually. The humans didn’t need to offer them their blood. Virgil nodded.

“Uh, hang on, I didn’t write these down beforehand,” Logan said, quickly scribbling in his pad. “Okay. If you’re going to be staying with us long-term, I might actually get some equipment from the hospital to draw blood without a bite being necessary. There have been no ill effects from bites thus far, but it’s hard to say what might happen with frequent exposure to your saliva.”

Virgil hesitated. “Like when you cut your finger and squeezed it in a glass thing?” he asked.

Logan shrugged a bit. “Sort of. With the proper equipment, it’ll be safer and heal faster, but you can drink it out of whatever kind of container is most convenient for you.” He looked down at his pad again. “That kinda brings us to the next point I wanted to make. Patton is really squicked out by blood — it bothers him to see it. We’ll ask you to keep any blood out of his sight.”

“I’m okay with helping feed you,” Patton chimed in, though he did look uncomfortable with the topic. “I just don’t wanna see it.”

Logan looked down at his paper again. “I think that’s about it,” he said. “Unless you two have anything to add.”

“Ah,” Roman said awkwardly. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t sneak up on me. I know it can’t always be helped, but, um. Maybe make some sound?”

Virgil exchanged an uncertain glance with Thomas. “We can try,” he said doubtfully. Bats were meant to fly silently, and it wasn’t like they could call out to Roman if they flew behind him.

Roman sighed. “I’ll take it.”

“Anything else?” Logan asked. Nobody said anything. “Alright. Let me just read these back, then. One: Virgil and Thomas are allowed to enter and exit the house whenever they like, and we won’t close their window.” He paused. “When it gets into the colder months, it would be less wise to leave a window open all the time, but by that point we may be able to install a cat flap. Er, a smaller door which you can open yourselves.” Logan hesitated again. “Actually, do you hibernate?”

“Hibernate?” Virgil repeated.

“A sort of long sleep during the winter, to conserve energy while it’s cold and food is scarce.”

Virgil hesitated, then nodded. “We sleep more when it’s cold.”

“Hm, alright.” Logan made a note of that, then continued. “Two: We are to supply a safe, secure location for Virgil and Thomas to sleep during the day, and under no conditions are to expose them to sunlight.” He glanced up for a moment, but nobody said anything, so he kept going. “Three: Virgil and Thomas are a secret not to be shared with other humans. Four: the humans are not to initiate physical contact with the vampires, with the exception of Patton with Virgil.”

“What’s a vampire?” Thomas whispered to Virgil.

Virgil shrugged a little. “Us.”

“It sounds made up.”

“Yep.”

Logan continued with his list. “Five: Roman, Patton, and myself will supply Virgil and Thomas with sufficient blood to keep them well-nourished and healthy; in exchange, Virgil and Thomas are to ask first before biting, only bite in pre-approved locations, and six: do their best to prevent Patton from seeing any spilled blood. Finally, seven: Virgil and Thomas are to attempt not to startle Roman, though we do accept the reality that you are very small and quiet and Roman is jumpy.” Logan lowered the pad. “Any objections?”

“Yeah, I’ve got one,” Roman said, lifting his hand. “I’m not jumpy.”

“I could change it to ‘not difficult to startle,’ if you’d prefer,” Logan offered.

Roman pouted. “I guess.”

Logan made another note. “Besides that, any objections or additions?”

“Sounds good to me,” Patton said cheerfully.

Virgil looked to Thomas, who nodded. “Us too,” Virgil said.

Logan nodded. “Then we have a deal. I look forward to getting to know both of you better.”

“Are you hungry?” Patton asked.

“Yeah,” Virgil admitted.

“I believe it’s my turn to provide your meal,” Logan said, pulling the box of bandages from its spot under the short table, placing it on top instead. “Unless you’d be more comfortable with someone else for your first time, Thomas.”

Thomas ducked behind Virgil again. Virgil thought back on the other times he’d bit the humans. Patton had held him for all but the first, and that just wouldn’t do. They were not going to hold Thomas. “Do you want me to get some and share with you?” he offered softly.

Thomas nodded immediately, sagging with relief.

Virgil squeezed his hand encouragingly. “I’ll be right back,” he promised, and shifted. It only took a few moments for him to fly over to Logan, and he circled him once, trying to decide where to land. Logan lifted a hand, and Virgil dropped down, grabbing onto a finger with his feet to dangle beneath it.

“Alright,” said Logan, who had become very still. “I suppose that works.” He lifted his hand a little further, looking at Virgil. “Are you… do you want to eat in that position?”

Well, no. Not really. Virgil huffed and let go. He landed awkwardly in Logan’s lap. Shifting back to his wingless form, he untangled himself, stepping onto the pad Logan had been writing on. Logan sat very still, looking down at him. Virgil stood up as tall as he could, looking back up at him.

“Alright,” Logan said again. He brought his hand back down, placing it in front of Virgil. 

Virgil stepped forward. Then he paused. Crouching, he touched the white bandage wrapped around Logan’s littlest finger. “Is it healing? It smells funny.”

“It’s fine,” Logan assured him. “It just needs a few days more.”

Virgil frowned uncertainly, but he stood back up, putting his hands instead on Logan’s first finger. With one more glance up at the human, he leaned in, licking it. One more lick to be safe, and then he bit.

Virgil drank deeply, filling his stomach as full as he could. He was drinking for two, after all. It took longer than when he had fed before, and when he had finished and pulled away, Virgil had to take a moment to gather himself again. He sat on Logan’s notes, watching absently as the human cleaned and bandaged the injury.

When Logan had finished, he looked at Virgil again, then glanced at Thomas. Virgil got to his feet, feeling heavy. He shifted, taking awkwardly to the air. Unsteadily, Virgil flew to his brother, landing clumsily beside him. Thomas dropped to his knees as Virgil shifted back, grabbing onto his upper arms to steady him.

Virgil gladly accepted the support, leaning on Thomas to pull himself to his feet. Looking over his shoulder, Virgil saw that all three humans were watching them. “Patton,” Virgil said.

Patton perked up. “Yes?”

“Don’t look.”

Patton blinked in confusion for a moment, but then obediently covered his eyes. Virgil turned back to Thomas with a nod and began to regurgitate blood into his brother’s mouth.

“Ew, gross!” Roman exclaimed behind him. Thomas flinched slightly, but Virgil ignored the loud human.

Virgil gave Thomas a bit more than half the blood he’d drunk from Logan. They pulled apart, wiping their mouths. After Virgil had checked to be sure that there was no blood on either of their faces, he called, “Patton, you can look now.”

“Erm,” Logan said softly, drawing all eyes to him. “I understand Thomas wanting to keep his distance, of course, but may I offer a… a cleaner method next time?”

Virgil glanced down at the cloth under their feet. “We didn’t spill.”

“That’s good, but not what I meant.” Logan gave them a gentle smile. “Spitting up blood into each other’s mouths seems unhygienic to me. Not to mention that it prevents both of you from drinking your fill.”

“Thomas won’t have to touch you?” Virgil asked hesitantly.

“He will not,” Logan agreed. “Neither will you, if you don’t want to.”

Virgil exchanged a glance with Thomas, who just leaned tiredly into him. “Alright,” Virgil said. “We can try your idea next time.”

~~~~~

Chapter 15: IDK yet

#original #my writing #sanders sides #gt #sanders sides gt #my Sanders Sides writing #Vampire Virgil au #Virgil the Wee Vampire

[nancywheelxr]

you said yanli x wen qing, so maybe something during their school days?? When WQ treated JYL for her headache/fatigue and JYL realizes that maybe the Wens arent so bad and also that she could be with someone who is actually nice to her?????????

okay okay, i love them so much, thank you for sending this!!! i’m sorry this took so long, I just had to get the vibes right.

Just to preface this: i’m absolutely ignoring yin iron, the war, etc, this is a happiness ONLY world because they deserve it 🥺🥺

* “How’s your headache?”

Wen Qing asks with little preamble– the minute Yanli sits down, she has a cup pressed gently into her hands, warmth seeping through porcelain to chase away the autumn from her fingers. “Gone,” she says, taking a sip and bracing herself to the inevitably bitter tea. Medicine has never settled quite right on her tongue, always too sour, too biting.

This time, though, the sting never comes. Instead, it tastes sweet, it tastes like early spring, and the surprise comes so swift, she can’t quite stop herself from looking up abruptly. Tidying up her desk, Wen Qing falters, bowl slipping from her fingers, and she clears her throat, looking away. “Wei Wuxian told me you found it bitter last time,” she explains, turning her back to Yanli, but her voice carries her familiar unimpressed tone, “so I added honey.”

Of course. “Thank you,” Yanli hides her smile. How very honorable of Wen Qing to go to such lengths to uphold a presumed debt towards her brother: most people would not think of small acts of kindness nor find them important, even if for Yanli, they’re the ones that most matter. “But I hope you know you owe us nothing.”

Wen Qing turns sharply. In the half-shadow from the curtains, her face is unreadable, but something flickers in her eyes, no answer forthcoming. Instead, she continues adding herbs now to her bowl, a green, fresh smell wafting up from her work, “what of your energy? Have you been feeling any tiredness?”

One could almost mistake her directness for rudeness, or even carelessness, but Yanli, who has known Jiang Cheng from birth and her mother around her father, knows better. When she takes the cup, their fingers brush, gentle as falling snow. When she examines her pulse, Wen Qing is careful not to startle her. When she tells her to rest, Wen Qing offers her lavender.

When she makes tea, Wen Qing adds honey.

No matter how suspicious the rest of the disciples regard the Wens, Yanli has seen Wen Qing kneel by her brother’s bedside, has seen her cry in worry, and has seen her threaten Wei Wuxian with her needles, hiding a smile in her sleeves when everyone’s backs are turned.

Wen Qing walks her back to her room, steps light as lotus petals, voice flowing quiet as a river’s murmur, and all the while, somewhere near her heart, something warm and radiant takes root.

*

“I thought,” a voice pierces the stillness, startling Yanli into nearly dropping her basket, “I told you to rest.”

The trees shade them from the mellow sun and paint Wen Qing in deeper burgundies among the greenery. Yanli smiles. “Apologies, Wen-guniang,” she takes in her stern expression, the little pinch between her eyebrows, and wonders if it would cause offense to reach up and smooth it out. “We didn’t have lectures and the day was so beautiful…”

“So you decided to ignore a doctor’s advice,” Wen Qing narrows her eyes just slightly, glaring at the basket as if deeply offended by it. Inside it, the lychees and apples sit idly, shiny and colorful, “and carrying weight too, I see.”

Yanli tries to hide her laugh into her sleeve, hitches the basket up, too warm, too content, to feel properly guilty. “You could always join me– wouldn’t it be better, then, if I wasn’t wandering off alone?”

Hesitancy crosses her face in an uncharacteristic feat. Wen Qing seems to be debating with herself whether to storm off or not, a thundercloud in the clear weather that is swept away with the wind as quick as summer rain. Her expression settles. She storms forward instead, taking the basket with a gentleness that belied her previous warpath. “You shouldn’t be straining yourself.”

A lychee rolls off to the floor, flattens a path in the grass. Yanli picks it up, says, “I’m not so fragile.”

Wen Qing’s gaze is scorching the side of her face, steady and sunkissing-intense, but Yanli looks resolutely forward, even as they start walking again, even as Wen Qing speaks up, quiet and certain, “no, you’re not,” she walks at her side, sleeves brushing with every breath, “but I’m your doctor. Can you blame me for worrying?”

“Are you?” What? Worried? Her doctor? Yanli ducks away, hoping to hide the heat she feels spreading across her cheeks, and privately startles at her own lack of answers.

Thankfully, Wen Qing doesn’t ask her to elaborate, merely scoffs. “Of course I am your doctor. How many times have you consulted with me?”

Yanli laughs again, picking a lychee off the basket. Vaguely, she wonders if she’s reading this wrong, if they are not friends after all, but Wen Qing has yet to move away, to further the inches between them so their hands wouldn’t brush, so their steps wouldn’t tangle in the grass.

“Maybe we should stop for a moment,” Wen Qing places a hand in her arm, soft and steady, but does not look directly at her. Instead, her eyes slant to a tall cherry tree a few paces off the path, its overreaching branches casting a long shade in the earth.

If she’s being honest, Yanli is beginning to tire. Cloud Recesses is colder than Lotus Pier and the chilled air pierces her chest like pinprick needles. It’s distracting. It melts like snow in the sun when Wen Qing’s hand lowers to cup her elbow, guide her to the shadowy corner. 

They sit, the basket between them, and Yanli takes care not to stare at her for too long– the late afternoon sun illuminates her profile too well, Wen Qing looks too lovely, it pulls at Yanli as if tied together by a string, tight and unrelenting. “Here,” she says, offering the lychee she’s just peeled. Her fingers are sticky with juice, but Wen Qing looks at the fruit, at Yanli, and her heart catches on fire. 

She takes it as if it’s something precious. “Thank you,” comes the response, prim and proper, and just thorny enough to very nearly send Yanli into giggles. Still, their hands brush. Still, her skin burns. 

Still, Yanli picks another lychee.

It’s not yet blooming season for the cherry tree and the leaves cling thoughtfully in their branches, and they sit in the shade, sharing lychees and apples and peaches, time dripping away sugary sweet. 

*

Later, when Wei Wuxian asks her, wide-eyed and sweetly unaware, why like someone at all, Yanli takes pity on him and doesn’t question his motives any further, answers him in the only way she thinks it won’t scare him off from Lan Wangji’s lingering eyes.

For once in his life, he leaves it well enough alone and– she’s glad. How do you explain loving someone so much you overflow with it? How to tell him it grows like ivy over your heart, a blooming thing golden and light, hiding behind your core? A yearning happiness so encompassing you ache with it. It’s wonderful. It’s terrifying.

And all the while, Yanli thinks of fingers sticky with lychee juice, the grass brushing her ankles, honey on tea.

*

The commotion with Jin Zixuan stays with her long after the dust has settled.

Guilt swells in her chest– should she argue further for her engagement? Should she not care more about the abrupt breaking? Jiang Cheng thinks so. He’s still fuming over it, long after even Wei Wuxian has cooled off, long after their father has returned to Yunmeng.

Privately, Yanli thinks the anger is just a smokescreen, that maybe breaking off this engagement is a blessing not just for her, but she will not push, not right now. Knowing her brother, it would do no one any good. Instead, she listens to his angry grumbling and pretends not to notice his looking. Jiang Cheng seems to be always looking, these days, eyes following Jin Zixuan as if a moth to a flame. 

He calls it glaring, of course.

This helps, a little, with the guilt and the embarrassment– her mother will not be happy about any of this, not at all, and gossip will run amok between sects, yes, but if it saves her brother the misery, then how can she regret it?

“Jiang-guniang,” Wen Qing’s voice reaches her before she comes into view, leaning against the railing beside her. She doesn’t dare turn to face her, but she feels the warmth of her hand so close to hers.

“Please,” Yanli says in a moment of boldness, words spilling without her permission and falling down to the garden below them, “are we not past these formalities? Call me Yanli.”

It seems to take Wen Qing aback, forcing her to pause, and Yanli watches her blink, a pink glow to her cheeks. “Well, only if you do the same,” she clears her throat, “Yanli, how have you been?”

Yanli shivers. The sound of her name in Wen Qing’s voice– how can it be so different? The way her lips curve around the vowels– she wants it to live there, safely in her mouth, always. Say it again, she almost asks, never stop, never tell me anything else. Instead, “I’ve been well, no headaches, no more tired than one would expect.”

“I meant,” Wen Qing shifts, their fingers brush in the wooden railing. She shivers again. “About your engagement.”

Oh. Finally, Yanli turns, glancing away to the greenery growing over the rocks to catch the tail-end of what must have been a concerned expression. As with looking directly at the midday sun, Yanli burns. “Then I thank you for your concern,” she nods politely, more muscle memory than any real presence of mind, “but there is no need for it. I’m fine, truly.”

Wen Qing hesitates, brow crinkling, leans forward just slightly, as if not even realizing, “forgive me if I overstep, but you seemed upset, earlier.”

“You could never,” she shakes her head, a small smile blooming unbidden, “I was upset to have caused such a disturbance and I admit, his words stung at the time, but– I think, it might have been for the best.”

Something flickers in Wen Qing’s eyes and Yanli wonders how she could have mistaken her as the sun before: it’s as if clouds have parted and the sky has cleared, and Wen Qing is brighter than ever. A constellation made flesh, light given a soul. 

Yanli wonders–

“In that case,” Wen Qing smiles, and it’s the loveliest thing Yanli’s seen in this life, the kind people would go to war for. She would do anything to see it every day until the end of the world. “Perhaps I asked the wrong person. Surely, Jin-gongzi must be distraught– otherwise, if he’s not, then he must be stupider than I thought.”

This startles a laugh out of her, too used to Wei Wuxian to be properly scandalized with the lack of decorum and delighted with the abrupt rudeness. She should not be so amused, she thinks, or so endeared by it, but as with all things concerning Wen Qing, Yanli is helplessly charmed. “Wen Qing,” she chides for the sake of it, just to say it aloud, savoring the name in her tongue, feeling it echo from her heart.

“It is forbidden to lie in Cloud Recesses, after all,” Wen Qing recites, wry and pleased, her eyes twinkling in the moonlight with mischief. It’s one of those things that she seems to keep very close to her chest, and Yanli swells with happiness at being allowed to witness it so freely. 

You could never overstep, she had meant earlier, anywhere you want, I’ll let the light in for you. Maybe this could go both ways. Hopefully. 

“Are you really not heartbroken?” She asks, growing serious once again, seeming to give her one last chance to request a shoulder to cry on. 

“Yes,” Yanli tries to speak with as much confidence as she can, suddenly desperate for Wen Qing to believe her, “we have been betrothed since we were children but it has never been any more than that.”

A nod. “You do not feel sad,” she catches her eye, solemn and infinitely patient. Kind. Gentleness hiding in plain sight if only one cares to look. “Then how do you feel?”

Has anyone asked Yanli this and meant it in such a way? She doesn’t know. Her heart trashes, swallowed by a riptide. “Free,” she smiles, “awake.”

Wen Qing seems to soften in the light. How is it possible they know each other for less than a year? It feels longer. It feels like she’s known Wen Qing her whole life, has been waiting for her. Whatever lies after death, she’ll know her there too. “I’m glad,” Wen Qing says, reaching to cover Yanli’s hand with hers, thumb brushing circles in a soothing heart-stopping rhythm, “you deserve more than that.”

Maybe it’s selfish of her, maybe she is the one overstepping, maybe she is reading this all wrong. Maybe Wen Qing doesn’t mean herself. But– so far, Yanli has hardly dared to want anything for herself. Can’t she have this? If nothing else, this. Her. 

“A-Qing,” she dares, voice quiet with all the other words she wants to say, and reaches for her, feels the silent tremor that travels underneath her palm. Hope. “A-Qing,” she repeats, and Wen Qing is so beautiful, eyes dark and wide, and Yanli never wants her to look away, never wants to say anything else other than her name. Forever, just them. Just their names in each other’s mouths. “What if I wish for more than I deserve?”

Wen Qing breathes, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “Impossible. You deserve more than this world could hope to offer,” she glances at the moon high above their heads, then back down at Yanli with fierce certainty, “tell me: whatever it is, it’s yours.”

Please, she begs, her. “What if all I wish for is you?”

The words taste like honey in her tongue, and they slip syrupy sweet from her lips, conquering this secluded garden in the Cloud Recesses for themselves and taking residence between the green. Yanli wants to cry, wants to dive in the lakes of Lotus Pier and stay underwater until no one remembers her existence, wants to–

Wen Qing makes a small, wounded sound, and lurches forward, hands shaking like they never do, and she smells like the herbs she crushes to make into medicine, like lavender, and Yanli loves her. “Then you must surely know,” she tells her, voice like a leaf in the wind, “that it’s always been yours.”

A happiness so encompassing, it aches. Yanli is so in love, it spills into the world like rain. “A-Qing,” she says into her lips, and then Wen Qing answers, a whispered A-Li tucked in between a kiss.

#the untamed #mdsz #cql fic #cql fanfic #mdsz fanfic #jiang yanli #wen qing #yanqing #wangxian #chengxuan #cql tag #yanqing tag #writing tag

[thesardonicwriter]

The Way It Is, Chapter 3 (Arthur Morgan x Reader)

You raced back towards the mountain. Even though you knew the danger, you weren't nearly as cautious as you should have been. You had been gone for too long already. You didn’t want to waste another second. Not when you had everything that you needed to keep Arthur alive. You dismounted the Count several meters away from the cave’s entrance, leaving the horse loosely hitched just inside the treeline. There was no doubt in your mind that he would leave as soon as he got free. You didn’t mind so much now. You’d gotten what you needed. You gently took off the Count’s saddle and grabbed the blanket. The nights were just going to get colder. They were going to need any kind of warmth that they could get.

“Thank you,” you whispered, resting your forehead against the Count’s strong side. The horse shuddered slightly as you moved away again.

You made the climb back up the mountain. Your head was on a constant swivel as you looked for patrols and listened for the slightest disturbance of the loose rock. Anything that could mean you was being followed. This was the most cautious you had been since you was just a teenager fending for yourself. This was the most vulnerable you had felt since you’d joined the gang. Funny how a gang of criminals could have made you feel so safe.

You crawled back through the lichen and found Arthur laying right where you had left him. None of the supplies had been disturbed. You started biting the inside of your cheek. That wasn’t a good sign. You were easily gone for an entire day, yet he hadn’t moved at all. You walked over to him and placed your hand on his forehead again. If it was possible, he felt even warmer. You dipped one of the few remaining pieces of scrap cloth into the cold water, placing it on his forehead. He groaned softly. That was a good sign. He was still semi-aware of his surroundings. You did whatever you could to keep your thoughts off of Arthur coming back from the O’Driscoll camp, bloody and weak. The shot to his shoulder had been much worse, sure, but he’d also had much more capable people than you taking care of him. What if you weren't able to save him? What if he died in this cave? 

It was a thought you had to keep at bay while you removed the torn up chemise bandages from his leg. The sight of it made you wince. It didn’t look great. At least it wasn’t infected. You grabbed one of the bottles of whiskey. You took out the cork with your teeth, spitting it somewhere in the cave. You took a quick swig before pouring some of the alcohol on his leg. 

Arthur’s eyes shot open. Immediately, You clamped a hand over his mouth. It didn’t do nearly enough to hide his exclamation of pain. He looked at you with a wild look in his eyes. You pressed a finger to your lips and pointed to the entrance of the cave. They weren’t safe yet. Arthur nodded and laid back down. He was awake. You kept your sigh of relief inside as you went back to work on his leg.

“Good to see you again, Mr. Morgan,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Where are we?” Arthur asked, grimacing as he moved to get up again.

You pushed him back down gently. “A cave on Mount Hagen.”

“We’re still on the mountain?”

“I couldn’t get you much further than that. I was lucky to find this place.”

“How long’s it been?”

“Three days, I think. Here, drink this.” You pushed the vial the doctor had given you into his hands. “You’ve got quite the fever. Drink.”

Arthur complied. You set the needle and sutures out and looked at his leg. You had done this a couple of times on yourself. It had to be easier on someone else, right? Arthur looked at you with a nervous expression. You sent back a confident smile, threading the needle. You kept one arm firm against his leg while you got to work. He did his best to be silent, but the cave amplified sounds. You could hear every groan and whimper that came from this mountain of a man. It made you smile a bit. He was still human. It also meant that he had feeling in his leg. 

“Roll over. Gotta get the other side, too,”

Arthur did as you asked. “Hand me that whiskey, would ya?”

You did as he asked. “Try not to drink yourself into a stupor. Need you somewhat lucid.”

“Whatever you say.”

You gave the other side of Arthur’s leg the same treatment. When you were done, you had him on his back again. You started wrapping his leg in the clean bandages. Finally, finally it was properly taken care of. At least, as proper as it could be from someone with very little experience in this area. You sat back, leaning on your hands and looking up at the ceiling of the cave. You didn’t feel safe. You weren't sure that you’d ever feel safe again. But you weren't alone, either. You glanced at Arthur. He was sitting up against one of the larger rocks, taking inventory of all his limbs. He was moving. You stood and went to the saddlebags. You pulled out a can of beans and tossed them to Arthur.

“Eat. You gotta keep your strength up,” you said.

“What about you?”

You held up a can of peaches. “Don’t you worry about me. I’m not the one who got the shit beaten out of them.”

They sat in silence while they ate. It wasn’t the same comradery that it had always been in camp, where silence meant safety. No, this was the silence of two people that knew their time was even more limited than usual. The kind of silence that came with fear. Neither of them would admit to the other that they were scared, but it hung in the air nonetheless. You set your can aside and pulled your knees to your chest. 

“Beats stew,” Arthur joked.

“Well, Pearson’s stew, at least,” You chuckled. “I mean, how many times can you make the same damn thing? No matter what we brought him, it always tasted the same.”

“Y’know what he’d say. Once it’s in the pot, it’s beef.”

They both laughed. For a moment, they forgot about any danger their laughter could bring because who cared? Arthur held his side and winced. You moved towards him, taking his temperature again. It wasn’t better, but it wasn’t any worse, either. You looked into his can of beans. He’d barely touched them. You gave him a look. Eat, it says. Arthur sheepishly takes another mouthful. You leaned back again, watching and making sure that he finished the whole damn can. He hadn’t eaten anything in three days. That was probably why his fever had gotten so bad. You didn’t know for sure. All of this was new to you. It had always been Susan or Reverend Swanson or Abigail that took care of the sick people in camp. Only, they weren’t in camp, anymore. They would never be in that camp again, with it’s easy atmosphere and friendly faces. Even if you got in a fight with someone, it would be resolved simply enough and they’d be back to being friends in no time. How could all of that just be gone?

“How’d you find me, anyhow?” Arthur asked, taking another bite.

“I left John to head back. I saw Micah headin’ towards where I last saw you and just… saw red, I suppose. Couldn’t let the bastard get away with all of that shit, y’know? When I finally found you two, you were already in a bad way. Micah was aimin’ for ya so I shot first. He fell over the ridge and I carried you as far as I could before findin’ this place.” You rolled your shoulders. “I couldn’t watch another person I loved die.”

Your last words were just barely above a whisper. Arthur nodded. You looked at the ground. You moved the sand with your finger, drawing simple designs.

How much longer could they hide here? It was so close to where the final moment of the Van der Linde gang took place. Surely, Pinkertons would find this place eventually. They wouldn’t leave it alone. You remembered Arthur talking about returning to Shady Belle. That had been over a week since the gang’s disappearance. How long would it be before they starved? Before they were found? Before one or both of them died? You couldn’t stop the steady stream of thoughts invading your mind. 

They couldn’t leave until Arthur had his strength back, that much was certain. There was no gurantee that the Count had stayed put. If he hadn’t, You weren't sure that your whistle would bring the horse back to you. Even if Arthur’s bruises healed quickly, he wouldn’t be able to walk quickly for at least a month. They’d need a horse to get away fast enough. How long were they going to be trapped like sitting ducks?

You stood up. “Get some rest, Arthur. I’m gonna keep watch. And drink some water, too.”

You didn’t wait for his response before stepping just outside the lichen curtain. You took a few steps away from the cave. Your pistol felt heavier in your hand. You looked at the inlaid metal. It didn’t look familiar anymore. It was like this gun belonged to someone else and you were just an imposter. Who was you now? Still an outlaw, sure, but that was a title you adopted because of Dutch.

Oh, what a fool you had been to waste all of that time on him. 12 years. 12 years you had trusted, loved, and helped that man and for what? All of that was over. If you were feeling this bad over 12 years, you could only imagine how Arthur felt. He was only four years older than you, but he had been with Dutch for 20 years. That was most of his life. He had done bad things in the name of Dutch van der Linde. Things that already ate at him inside, even if they were for the right reasons. You let out a heavy sigh. It wasn’t going to be easy, but you were going to survive. You were going to make sure Arthur did, too. You owed him that much, at least. 

You’d survived Guarma, right? This was going to be a piece of cake compared to that. You shuddered at the memory. The heat bearing down on your back. The fear that you’d never get to return home. You knew that you’d never get to see Hosea again. That hurt worse than any bullet wound you’d gotten over the years.

You reached into your pocket and pulled out the old copy of <i>Antigone</i>. The pages were worn. Some were tearing away from the binding, but it was the first gift Hosea had ever given you. You’d been able to read when the gang picked you up, but it wasn’t much more than bounty posters. It was Hosea who actually made you read books. Once you started, you couldn’t stop. You were on a constant search for something interesting to read. <i>Antigone</i> was the first play you’d read and you fell in love. Hosea had made a point to get this for you the next time they’d stopped. Made a big show of it, too. Him and Bessie. They always treated you like you were their own child and they would never know just how much you appreciated that.

You looked up at the night sky and the slowly emerging stars. You hoped that they were looking at you with pride now. You hoped that you were doing the right thing. Most of all, you hoped that you wouldn’t have to face your friends again. Even after everything that they had been through together, You knew that a meeting like that would end with one of them shot and dying in the dirt. 

Well, the stars were still the same. It was the only thing that you could count on, really, that the stars would always be the same stars. Sure, some things changed with the seasons, but you could always find the stars. For now, you occupied your mind with finding the North Star. It stood out amongst the rest of the sky. A shining beacon to bring you home. Back to safety. All at once, you're a young woman again, just barely 19, sitting next to Dutch by a dying bonfire.

<i>“You can always find your way home with the North Star,” he had said, “because we’ll always be waitin’ for you to come back.”

“Always? That’s a pretty steep promise, Mr. Van der Linde,” You quipped. You could just barely contain the smile threatening to cross your lips.

He put an arm over your shoulders. “How many times I gotta tell you to call me Dutch? We’re family, now. You, me, Hosea. I s’pose those boys over there, too.” Dutch gestured to John and the others. Arthur had Bill in a headlock and Bill was struggling to get out. It was futile. You finally let out a small laugh. “Atta girl.”</i>

You wiped your eyes. This wasn’t the end, you told yourself. It was just the beginning. A new adventure. Another chapter in your life and this time, you weren't starting it alone.

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x reader insert #arthur x reader #arthur x reader insert #arthur morgan #dutch van der linde #the van der linde gang #dutch #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr

[turningtummyrubs]

LOVE the last piece you wrote on Ryek and Ark, thank you! I have an idea, please feel free to decline, but one day, Ryek is compromised during a mission because of another bad stomachache (boy he sure gets a lot of those!) and is in serious danger, but then Ark comes to his rescue! Ark disposes of the bad guy and then takes care of poor, sick Ryek. 🤤

Hehe, I love this prompt! Time to torture Ryek some more the poor bb

(Also sorry for the laaaate reply)

———

Ryek ducks and rolls swiftly out of the way as the tinkling crystals of the chandelier come crashing down like a shower of icicles. He presses himself to the floor behind a tall marble pillar, chest heaving with exertion as his eyes track Target 162, a short woman with a halo of dark hair and fierce eyes. Tami Braysben would’ve been a challenge any day, but with his stomach aching as it’s been for the past hour at least, Ryek has to admit that completing this mission is near impossible.

Tami looks around the grand room, at the ripped oil paintings on the walls and the mess of chandelier glass shimmering on the floor, before promptly turning and heading up the swirling spiral of stairs leading up to the second floor. Ryek has no idea what she might want; all he knows is that he’s supposed to bring her back to headquarters. He groans and flips over onto his back, flinging an arm over his eyes as his stomach squeezes with another cramp. He can feel glass dust pricking his back through his expensive dress shirt. He’s certain it’s stained with blood by this point.

Ryek tells himself to rise. Tells himself to follow Tami and do as he’s told and bring her back in, but even the thought of standing leaves him nauseous. In the heat of the moment, the pain in his abdomen had been an afterthought, but now, feverish cheek pressed to the cold marble floor, it’s impossible to overlook. It twists and churns with a queasy fervor, gurgling sickly every so often as something strains at his insides.

A low moan scrapes at his throat as he miserably curls onto his side, wrapping an arm around his stomach as something tightens with a sharp intensity. His vision has begun to go blurry, only the most vibrant of colors standing out. The blood red of the drapes, the turquoise strips of painted canvas torn up on the floor, one of Tami’s bright yellow heels dangling off the banister of the stairs. 

Realistically, the pain in his stomach shouldn’t be enough to render him so... useless, especially not with the amount of training he’s had, but something’s been off with him all week. For one, he hasn’t had a true conversation with anyone in ten days. Then there’s also the fact that as winter draws near, his giant house only grows colder and lonelier. He hasn’t slept properly in ages and he longs for human contact and the anniversary of his grandmother’s death passed only a few days ago and—

Things just haven’t been great for Ryek lately, and he knows if this stomach ache hadn’t come along, something else would’ve toppled him off the thin line he’s been walking. 

He curls his knees up and lets his tired eyes fall shut, sweat blazing at his temples as he resigns himself to potential death at the hands of Target 162.

Ryek is unsure how long he lies there. It feels like a day but, logically, it was probably around six minutes. That is, until he feels the cool press of a callused palm against his hot cheek. He would’ve recoiled in fear or confusion if it hadn’t been for the immediate cinnamon and ash smell accompanied by the touch. Ark.

He musters up everything he has and forces his eyes open, pulling his face away from Ark’s questioning hand. Ark’s staring at him, eyes dark with worry and face open in a way it usually wouldn’t be. Ryek suspects the manic flush to his cheeks and the delirious haze clouding his eyes has probably lowered Ark’s guard, and rightfully so. How is he even here right now?

As if Ark heard his unspoken question, he murmurs, “HQ sent me. Apparently, you weren’t answering your comms.” His eyes rake over Ryek’s shuddering body. “Are you injured?”

Ryek shakes his head, looks down at himself as if to check, then shakes his head again. Ark crouches down beside him and returns his hand to Ryek’s cheek, thumb brushing lightly over his fevered cheekbone.

“Jus’ don’t feel good...” Ryek whispers dazedly, eyes slipping shut again as he instinctively leans into Ark’s touch.

Ark’s voice sounds full of worry as he says, “You don’t look good either, Marriano.” He pulls his hand away and Ryek is startled at the way his eyes sting immediately at the loss of contact. He’s even more touch-starved than he’d thought. The miserable feeling only grows as his tummy clenches and a piercing grumble gurgles up from his gut. “Look, I’ll take care of 162, and then I’ll come right back, okay?”

No, Ryek thinks. Stay. “Okay.”

Ryek shrinks into a ball and tries to block out the sound of Ark’s fading footsteps. True to his word, at least, Ark returns quickly. Ryek can hear muffled screaming noises, probably from Tami, before she’s thrust out the door and supposedly handed off to another member. Ryek strains to hear Ark’s murmured conversation with what sounds to be one of the lower-grade captors.

“Said he’s not feeling well... worse than I’ve ever seen him... I know... yeah...”

Ryek can’t help but scowl. He truly must look as pitiful and pathetic as he feels. Even so, he can’t help it. He feels like he’s been run over with a burning garbage truck. His hand presses miserably into his tummy as his breaths grow labored.

Ark returns to his side after a couple of minutes and, before Ryek can say anything, scoops him up into his arms as if he weighs no more than a doll. Ryek knows he’s not that light—looming at well over six feet and roped with muscle, but Ark seems to be completely unaffected. Ryek will admit that the feeling is nice, of being able to turn your face into the soft fabric of someone’s shirt and feel safe. To be surrounded on all sides by warmth and hear the steady thrum of a heartbeat pounding in your ears like a comforting song.

He vaguely takes in the change in scenery as Ark lowers him into the passenger’s seat of his car. Ryek already misses the warmth of his arms. He swallows as his stomach lurches when they begin driving. He muffles a small whimper as everything tilts and swirls and further stirs up the sickness already roiling in his tummy. He feels a heavy hand grasp his shoulder for a brief moment before the comforting heat is gone again.

“Steady now, buddy,” Ark murmurs, and Ryek thinks he can feel the car speed up. If he focuses he can see the blurred whiz of a stop sign and a smear of trees.

It feels like only moments before they’re parked outside Ark’s house—tall, looming brick with white trim. There are flowers on his windowsill. “There are flowers on your windowsill.”

Ark blinks, looking up at the petunias as he helps Ryek out of the car. “Er, yeah.”

Ryek just shakes his head, unable to formulate a proper sentence. Gravel crunches beneath his feet as he slowly makes his way into Ark’s house. The moment Ark’s arm leaves his shoulders, he promptly collapses in the foyer.

“Marriano!” Ark exclaims, looking alarmed. He scoops Ryek back up in his arms and Ryek resists the urge to nuzzle into his shoulder and fall asleep. Instead, he scowls and pretends to be annoyed. “Do I need to bring you to a doctor or something?”

Ryek shakes his head vigorously, expression souring further. “Don’t even think about it,” he says, or wheezes more like it.

He can practically feel Ark frown, but he doesn’t object. Ryek whimpers softly as he’s set down in a cold bed and immediately regrets it as he hears Ark’s low chuckle. A cool hand smooths over his forehead, pushing back his hair, before Ark murmurs, “I’ll be back in a sec.”

Ryek doesn’t have time to protest before he’s gone, footsteps padding softly down the hall. Ryek turns onto his side, knees curling up slightly as he feels something shift weird in his stomach, gurgling low and unsettled.

He slips a hand beneath his shirt, kneading slowly, and his breath hitches as a wave of hot pain coarses through every vein in his body. God. He turns restlessly onto his back, chest heaving as he throws an arm over his eyes and moans quietly with pain.

“Shit,” he hears Ark say when he returns a moment later. Ryek hears the sound of something being set down and a quiet clinking before the mattress shifts and Ark rubs his shoulder.

Ark eases him up into a sitting position and softly says, “Drink some of this.” A warm mug is pressed into Ryek’s hands and he blindly complies, some of the tensed muscles coiled in his abdomen relaxing at the hot tea. A few cramps still linger in his stomach though, twisting and seizing every few moments with renewed pain.

Once Ryek’s finished with the tea, Ark takes the mug and says, “Lie down.” Ryek lies back down again, eyes hazy with fever, and relaxes as he feels Ark’s broad hand smooth over his abdomen. His palm palpates gently at the strained churning in his guts, working away the cramps with warm heat.

They lapse into comfortable silence as Ark rubs Ryek’s stomach, and the last thing Ryek hears before he falls asleep is, “If you ever make me worry like that again, I’ll stab you in your sleep.”

#belly kink #stomach ache #belly rubs #ryekandarkane

[labyrinth-archive]

The Symbolism of Owls Fandom: Doctor Who Pairing: Whouffaldi Length: 2,300 words Rating: G   Also on Ao3

“This is new,” the Doctor says, staring at the ceramic owl on Clara’s bookshelf. “It is. You don’t like it?” ”It looks very cross.” “It looks like you.” “Ha ha ha,” he says dryly, the words coming out in sharp little Scottish staccatos. “Your wit is sparkling, Miss Oswald.” Or: At some point, Clara starts collecting owls. She’s trying not to think of the symbolism there. (She’s kidding herself. She’s an English teacher. Of course she thinks about it.)

It starts at a department store. It’s Tuesday afternoon and it’s raining, and it’s all quiet and quite unremarkable as Clara makes her way through the store, picking up items she needs: New ankle boots (to replace the ones she lost after a rather unfortunate incident on Kalvinan IV involving space squirrels and sentient quick sand), an area rug (to cover the scorch marks left on her living room carpet after that little sonic fire that happened last Wednesday - she’s so not getting her flat’s deposit back), and a wine rack (because she realized somewhere in between escaping alien rodents and putting out the Doctor-induced fire in her flat, that she really needed to start keeping alcohol on hand.) It’s as Clara’s walking past the home decorating section and wondering if the TARDIS can age wine that she spots it, sitting on a shelf right at the level of her eyes: A small, white ceramic owl. The expression molded on its little glossy face is adorably odd and comically cross, with sculpted feather tufts that nearly look like furrowed eyebrows, and if Clara squints, she can almost imagine it staring down it’s pointed beak and advising her not to be lasagna. Unable to help herself, Clara steps closer and picks it up, carefully running her fingers over it’s ceramic feathers before tapping the tip of its beak and smiling to herself. It looks funny and grumpy and it doesn’t go with her normal taste in decor or anything else she owns, and she really shouldn’t like it so much, but she does. She loves it. Clara tries not to think too much about the symbolism there as she plops the little owl in her basket and heads to the register. (She’s kidding herself. She’s an English teacher. Of course she thinks about the symbolism. She buys the owl anyway.) # When Clara walks into her flat after work the next day, she finds the Doctor already there, standing by her bookshelf and staring down unblinkingly at the new ceramic owl that’s currently propping up several classic novels (treasured classic novels, she might add, since they contain autographs and personalized messages to one Miss Clara Oswald even though all the authors had been dead decades before she’d even been born). “You can blink, you know,” Clara says, slipping her bag off her shoulder. “It’s just a regular statue, not a Weeping Angel owl. I checked.” Slowly, the Doctor swivels his head to send her a disdainful look over his shoulder. The resemblance between him and the statue is quite uncanny, really. “Weeping Angel, no,” he says. “Alien, possibly.” “Excuse me?” He shrugs, “Some owls are alien.” “What do you mean owls are aliens?” “They can turn their head nearly two-hundred-and-seventy degrees, why do you sound so surprised?” He says, sticking his hands in the pockets of his velvet coat, and looking for all the world like he has a pair of elegantly folded wings. “And I didn’t say all owls are alien. I said some owls are alien.” “The best owls are alien.” He blinks at her, looking suspicious, and then he shifts his shoulders, looking much like a bird ruffling it’s feathers. “Why are you smiling at me like that?” “Not smiling,” Clara says dismissively, as she’s definitely smiling. “So, where are you going to take me today?” # The next owl Clara obtains is a teeny tiny little plastic one. She’s much too old for toys, she knows, but this owl has silver feathers and bright blue eyes, and she just couldn’t resist it when she saw it sitting in a plastic toy bin next to the register. (Yes, again, she’s an English teacher. She knows there’s a comparison to be made there, thank you very much. She’d just been trying not to read too much into it when she bought it.) And one day, when the Doctor nips off to the TARDIS swimming pool to check on the carnivorous goldfish he’s keeping there until he can take it safely back to its aquatic planet, Clara takes the grey plastic owl out of her purse and places it gently on the TARDIS console. She supposes that it’s a bit like how one might put a bobble-head dog on their car’s dashboard, but Clara thinks that, just this once, the great space and time machine won’t mind. “I think it looks like him,” Clara admits, looking up. “Don’t you?” The TARDIS’ console flashes bright blue at her words and then burbles something that sounds like whirring laughter. Apparently, she agrees. (“I keep moving that thing and the TARDIS keeps putting it back,” the Doctor grouses at Clara a week-and-a-half later, when the plastic owl is still sitting prettily on the console. “Why is she doing that?” Clara shrugs. “Guess we both have a soft spot for angry owls.”) # Clara sits at her vanity, finishing getting ready to go...somewhere. (The Doctor hasn’t quite explained where he’s taking her yet, but he suggested it has something to do with Sontarans and space Vegas, a combination that Clara finds both frightening and fascinating.) And while she’s fixing her hair and fastening on her watch, the Doctor’s meandering about her bedroom, flipping through the stack of books on her bedside table and fiddling with the assortment of items on her dresser. He scans her fish tank (finding that the fish are, rather disappointingly, from a PetCo on this planet and aren't anything remotely alien), sniffs at her perfume bottle (it’s hard to tell, but Clara thinks he likes the scent), mutters at a miniature of Newton’s Cradle (probably, Clara thinks idly, something about him being there the day it was invented), and it’s just when Clara’s opening her jewelry box that she hears him harumph. It’s a very disapproving harrumph. It sounds all displeased and Scottish. Clara glances up in the mirror, and watches as his reflection wrinkles his nose at her new throw-pillow sewn in the shape of an owl’s face. “This is new,” he says. “It is. You don’t like it?” ”It looks cross. It’s a very cross pillow.” “It looks like you.” “Ha ha ha,” he says dryly, the words coming out in sharp little Scottish staccatos. “Your wit is sparkling, Miss Oswald.” “Oh, I know it is,” she says. “Here, hook the necklace clasp for me, will you?” ”Yes, boss.” # It is three o’clock in the morning and Clara Oswald is staring straight up at her ceiling, mind reeling, not sleeping, because eight hours before, she had a fight with the Doctor. She hates fighting with the Doctor. Even when he’s definitely in the wrong and even when she’s truly mad and even when he really says things he shouldn’t and crosses the line. (If there is a line. It’s gotten hard to tell lately, where boundaries lie, if there are even any in their lives anymore.) It’s as Clara’s thinking this that she hears an oh so familiar whir and the TARDIS begins to materialize right in the middle of her bedroom, its deep blue beaming in and out of focus. See? This is what she means by questioning if their relationship has any boundaries anymore. As it is, Clara’s not even really surprised to see the TARDIS. He’s turned up in her bedroom in the middle of the night enough times before. (She realizes, shortly after thinking that sentence, exactly how that sounds, and she has to shake herself several times to stop thinking about it.) Clara’s got a robe on and is standing up, arms crossed, by the time the Doctor steps out. (Or steps in? Never mind, it’s three in the morning and she’s too tired for proper space-dimensional wording, even if she is an English teacher.) He blinks at her robe, then past her to the sky out her window, and says, “So not seven o’clock then.” “Three o’clock.” “Ah. Well, when you take all of time and space into consideration, being four hours early is still pretty good parallel parking.” Clara sighs, rubs her temples, “Doctor, what are you doing in my bedroom at three in the morning.” “It was supposed to be seven.” “Doctor.” He sends her a look that suggests he’s suitably miffed as well as chastised, and then gingerly, he reaches into his pocket, and cups something in his hands, and then, hands still cupped awkwardly, he deposits the something in her palms. The room is still dark, save for the pale star-white glow from the TARDIS, so it takes Clara a moment to see what the Doctor’s given her, but slowly, her eyes adjust to the dim light, and she realizes she’s holding a delicate painted porcelain owl. She stares at it, stunned, and together, they stand in silence in the pale half-light for a minute. “You like owls,” the Doctor says matter-of-factly, breaking the silence. “So I got you one. From seventeen-eight-one. Or two. It was hard to tell.” “Thank you.” “You’re welcome.” (And this is why they have no boundaries, Clara thinks. Because at the end of the day, he’s the one person in the entire universe who truly knows her; knows her intimately, horribly well, and no matter how many times they may break apart, they’ll always come back together, because yes, he’s the type of man who’ll drive her mad but he’s also the type of man who has all of time and space at the tips of his fingers and yet uses his time machine to come to her flat to apologize by way of a knickknack.) “I love owls,” Clara says very quietly. (The Doctor stares at her, like he understands her words must mean something, but he can’t tell what. He thinks, maybe, that it means he’s forgiven. And he’s not wrong, even if he is missing the larger meaning behind her words.) Clara bites back a smile and ducks her head, studying the tiny porcelain trinket in her hands and when she turns it over, she blinks at the royal-looking French inscription and says, “Wait, the seventeen-eighties? Doctor, did you take this from the Palace of Versailles?” “Er, well, I was there ironing out something with a Slitheen. Kind of pocketed it. I don’t think Marie will mind.” # Clara’s collection only grows from there. A braided owl fob she picked up to put her house keys on. A plush owl she won from a claw machine in nineteen-eighty-four after fighting off an alien in an arcade. A blown-glass paperweight she picked up from a book shop. A set of owl-printed oven mits she unfortunately burned after a failed soufflé. Because, yes, she loves owls and by now she’s learned how to live with the symbolism. (Especially when she’s living in the space between one heartbeat and the next.) # It is Tuesday (or, well, it’s Tuesday somewhere), and Clara Oswald is winding her way through an alien bazaar. She doesn’t look a day over thirty, but she’s well over three-hundred. (How far over three-hundred, she doesn’t quite know. You lose track of silly little things like ages and years when you’re spending your time spinning out across the stars, saving planets and cheating death.) Clara’s only there for things she needs: a change of clothes (hers got a bit burnt after saving that colony on Axmis from the fire trials), goggles to use when repairing her TARDIS’ circuits (she’ll never admit it, but she talks to her old girl as much as the Doctor talked to his), and a new barstool for her ‘diner’ (she’s been missing one ever since she broke the old one over a Dalek. It’s a long story.) But then she spots it, in the stall selling antiques, sitting on a stack of crates right at the level of her eye: A small, white ceramic owl. It’s old and weathered, its paint is scratched and its horns are cracked, but it looks exactly like the very first owl she got, so, so, so many years ago. (For all Clara knows it’s the very same owl. For all she knows, after her death on Trap Street, the ceramic owl and her other belongings were packed up and donated and put in a thrift shop and bought as gifts and eventually passed on in wills as antiques until they now sit, some hundreds of years later, miles and miles and miles away from Earth, on an alien planet, simply waiting for her to find them again. Stranger things have happened. She’s proof of that.) Carefully, Clara picks the owl up, smiling at its glowering beak and the grumpy look in its eyes. (By now he’d have a different face, she knows. But she also knows that thanks to the wonders of time travel, the owlish version of him she knows and loves is still somewhere out there, right now, right this very minute. And maybe, there’s a version of her with that version of him. The thought is comforting.) “It’s a very old antique,” the alien vendor tells her as she runs her fingers over the carved feathers. “Made in the form of some Earthen creature.” “It’s an owl,” Clara tells them, handing over her currency. “An owl,” the vendor repeats, carefully rolling the odd word over its blue tongue. “What’s an owl?” Clara smiles, holds the ceramic close, and she thinks. She thinks of the shade of his eyes and the sound of his voice and the rare curve of his smile and the way he made her laugh, and she is over three-hundred years-old but she’s still an English teacher and she’s still very much aware of the deeper meaning behind the owl and the literary device she’s using as she smiles and says: “It’s something wonderful.”

#this isn’t showing up in the tags ugh #doctor who #whouffaldi #whouffle #twelfth doctor #clara oswald #twelveclara #my fic

[mo-nighean-rouge]

You Can Call Me- IV

About a million years ago, @ianmuyrray asked for “FAKE MARRIED AND PREGNANT DO IT” based on the trope prompt below. This is what you get, friend. Some characters show up that you might like, idk.

I didn’t really know when I would have this ready, but then I caved to some writing peer pressure from @lady-o-ren recently, and asked @whiskynottea and @isitgintimeyet for some beta TLC and here we are.

Modern AU: Inspired by a Fanfiction Trope Mash-up prompt - Bodyguard and secret relationship. A look at the life of Prime Minister Claire Beauchamp behind closed doors.

Previously: Part I | Part II | Part III | AO3 | Masterlist

Claire reached for him, hands trembling as she swept her thumb across the cut under his eye.

He hissed at the contact against the open wound, but couldn’t find the energy to truly mind. He basked in her touch, preserved for him after all.

“Oh, Baby,” her voice wavered.

Before Jamie could answer, Claire went limp in his arms, dead weight held up only by her oxters draped over his elbows.

Part IV

Jamie felt like he was swimming through the thick and sterile air as he strode purposefully down the endless hallway. It wasn’t Claire’s weight in his arms that slowed him, but the hollow agony in his chest each time he glanced down at her still form sprawled in his arms. Her limbs swung uselessly with his hurried gait. He couldn’t even protect her head properly as it thumped against his shoulder.

Murtagh had guided the yacht to shore in only minutes, but time had stretched mercilessly ahead as Jamie waited, exhausting the possibilities to coax a response from Claire.

The back-up officers they had radioed had been waiting on the dock in full force, more than equipped to drag the barely stirring forms of Randall, Wolverton, and their bloody goons into police cars.

“Let’s go,” Jamie had commanded the first unoccupied officer he passed.

“But Agent…” the man had squabbled, eyes darting around for someone of higher authority to disagree.

“Drive, damn ye,” Jamie had insisted. He wouldn’t wait for an ambulance to push through the growing crowd when they had been only streets away from the hospital.

Jamie had ducked into the back of a patrol car with Claire stretched over him, Murtagh having promised to report back once he resolved matters at the scene.

He had patted the perspiration from her face and felt for her weakened pulse as the car’s sirens drowned out the mad thoughts rushing through his head. As his fingers had run through her gnarled curls, they had come into contact with a harsh knot on her head, the swelling worsening as time passed.

Jamie’s rapid thoughts matched the pace of his steps as he finally burst through the last set of doors.

Several faces looked up as they entered the confined space. “Please,” Jamie rasped without taking a new breath.

Registering the pallor of Claire’s countenance, an orderly turned to pull a hospital trolley forward.

Much as he didn’t want to let go of her, Jamie laid Claire delicately on the trolley as the staff around him rolled off questions and phrases he couldn’t process.

“By Christ!” The young man’s eyes widened as he examined Claire’s face while fastening a blood pressure cuff around her bicep.

The nurse taking her vitals followed his gaze, her own face going a shade paler. She stepped to face Jamie as the rest of the party rolled the bed down the hall. She stepped in front of him, her badge reading “Phaedre Cameron, Staff Nurse” prominent.

Jamie allowed an infinitesimal nod as his feet set into motion underneath him. “Alexander Malcolm,” he responded over his shoulder as he made his way past her.

The nurse held him back before his steps could quicken to the pace of the trolley as it carried Claire beyond double doors. “Are you family?” she asked briskly.

“Please,” Jamie said again, barely sparing a glance at her as the attendants pushed his heart away from him. “She carries my child,” he said softly, rising to his toes to keep track of her curls through the miniscule windows as they disappeared further down the hall.

“So you’re her husband?” Her voice returned, warily following his gaze through the glass. She surely had recognized the leader of her country by now, but would know of no such relationship.

Jamie grunted, but did not argue. She wasn’t altogether wrong.

The nurse hesitated, nodding before finally leading him beyond the doors. They caught up with Claire and the other nurses just as they rounded the corner into a secluded area.

She left his side to confer with the doctor leading operations, each stealing glances at Jamie as their conversation grew more serious.

Chaos. Monitors flashing, machines beeping, more wires attached to Claire than he could count. He wished he could touch her, hold her. Was she in pain? Or worse, beyond registering the sensations tethering her to life? He folded sloppily into a nearby chair as his legs gave way.

He yearned for her eyes to fly open and for her to give them all a tongue lashing for focusing on her and not checking on her child.

Christ. The bairn. Jamie pitched forward and put his head between his knees, balancing precariously on the edge of the chair. That she be safe, she and the child.

He fell to his knees and raised his chin to the heavens, the motion around him falling away.

The room held its breath in anticipation, creating a silence broken only by the steady pulsing of the heart monitor.

The beat sounded steady, for all Jamie knew. But after a few minutes it was rivaled by the echo of a faster, fluttering rhythm, nearly stopping Jamie’s own heart.

It was the first time their child had made its presence known. There’d scarcely been time to schedule a scan as of yet, though they had estimated how far along Claire might be.

Taing dhia.

The roomful of people trickled out of the door, leaving only three occupants. Four, Jamie scolded himself absently.

The lead doctor snapped his gloves off and turned to face Jamie as he waited in the corner in agony.

A sheen of perspiration glowed over the man’s dark skin as he drew closer. An easy smile rested on his face. “Alex, is it?”

Jamie’s hand rose instinctively to grasp the other man’s. He nodded, focus not trailing away from the chest rising and falling across the room.

“Joe Abernathy.” The doctor stepped into Jamie’s line of sight to hold his attention.

He tried to take in the news the kind American doctor relayed to him, making sure to nod when appropriate. Everything sounded fine, but he couldn’t allow himself reprieve until she set her eyes upon him once more.

Severe dehydration, he said.

“I can guess how troublesome her morning sickness has been. We’ll get her caught up on fluids and monitor things from there.”

Minor concussion, he said.

“I’m sure you know she’s been knocked around pretty thoroughly, Mr. Malcolm.”

It’s up to her now, he said.

“We’ll have to wait for her to wake up. Their heartbeats are both strong, which is our main concern for now.”

Jamie had done his best to follow along and swallow his emotions, but couldn’t control the sob that escaped him at that simple statement.

Abernathy gripped his shoulder. “You did well, man. We might be telling a different story if not for you.”

As Jamie stood and pulled his chair behind him, the doctor clapped him on the back, then pulled the sleeve of his white coat up to glance at his smartwatch. 

“I’m told the Doctors Beauchamp are stuck in parade traffic.” Dr. Abernathy’s finger swiped smoothly across the small screen. “There’s also a small crowd in the waiting room that’s anxious to see the two of you.”

Goistidh. Jamie unlocked his mobile. Eight missed calls from Murtagh. Five from Claire’s assistant, Mary McNab.

“I’ll tell you now, but will also be sure to let the persistent young lady in the waiting room know, that no one on our staff will speak a word.”

Abernathy looked up to meet Jamie’s eye once more, seeming to finally take a closer look at him. “That’s a nasty cut you’ve got there, man.” The doctor gestured toward Jamie’s eye. “I’ll send someone up to see that it gets taken care of.”

Jamie shrugged the doctor off. “‘Tis nothing to fash over.”

“The stitches might help take your mind off things,” Abernathy suggested.

“Dinna want to ‘take my mind off things,’” Jamie mimicked. Another bout of guilt flooded him. “I’m sorry, Doc.” He swallowed deeply. “This is almost more than I can bear, myself.”

Abernathy fixed him with a look. “She was in good hands, Mr. Malcolm. She still is.” 

The doctor exited the room and closed the door quietly behind him, leaving only Jamie’s thoughts to fill the silence.

Jamie didn’t spare space between his chair and Claire’s bed. He reached for one of her cold hands and rubbed it between his own.

“Wake up, lass,” he whispered. A surge of feeling rose in his chest. “If ye’ll ever obey anyone in your life, let it be me, now, Claire.” He scrubbed his dirty, scuffed palms across his eyes. “Please, mo chridhe.”

Motion at the door stirred him from his greeting. A blonde blur sped in and hit him squarely in the chest. “Nunkie!”

“Germain Henry!” drilled a stern feminine voice. “Give yer uncle some space.”

Jamie squeezed the toddler against him and ghosted his own lips over his forehead before Marsali swung him up and settled him against the swell of her belly, patting Jamie’s hand soothingly. Her expression became disapproving as she took in the damage to his face.

He looked up as his future brother-in-law squeezed his shoulder as he circled the bed, pulling forward the chair on the other side.

Fergus leaned forward to brush his lips over Claire’s clammy forehead. “Milady,” he whispered, the light French lilt from his university and medical school days in Paris echoing in the sentiment. He gripped her hand with both of his, eyes not leaving her still form.

Jamie’s heart twisted. The moniker had been bestowed on a prim and proper young Claire by Uncle Lamb when she struggled with culture shock during her first trip to the edge of the earth. Soon after she’d gained her bearings, her passion for the world she lived in had established itself, along with her heart for helping its people.

Marsali allowed Germain to roam once more with a warning to ‘nae get underfoot.’ She washed her hands at the corner basin and slipped on a pair of rubber gloves, helping herself to the cotton swabs and peroxide stored in a high cabinet.

Jamie winced at the sting as she swabbed the wound under his eye.

Satisfied, she ruffled his hair and helped herself to the medical chart fastened near the bed. She surveyed the information with her experienced obstetrician’s eye, her observations undetectable until a gasp emitted from her and her gaze landed on Jamie.

He immediately knew what the file had revealed to her, and nodded his permission for her to speak it aloud.

“Did ye know, a bràthair?” Marsali whispered.

Fergus snapped to attention, both his hands still grasping Claire’s.

“Aye.” Jamie breathed, the barest of grins tickling his lips. “She was – is – sae excited to tell ye both at Thursday night supper.” He clapped his hand over his mouth, unable to stifle the sharp intake of air that followed. He met Fergus’s eye. “Ye should know, man, it’s driven her mad to keep it from ye…”

Fergus nodded slowly, stroking Claire’s wrists. Jamie suspected he was seeking her pulse points himself. “She will,” he said firmly. “She’ll tell me.”

Jamie sniffled hard in an attempt to regain his composure. “I’m sorry I didna protect her,” he whispered.

“You have, ye dolt,” Marsali cut in. Her steady hand smoothed the wrinkled bed covering over Claire’s belly where Germain had tugged it, attempting to check on his aunt for himself. 

“I met Claire when she was but 15, a gangly wee thing gettin’ in her uncle’s way. She’s always been headstrong and determined. But I’ve never seen her so passionate, so content. Not until ye came along.”

“You couldn’t have expected this,” Fergus added, boosting Germain to his lap.

Marsali’s mobile vibrated.

Jamie could hazard a guess at how many times it had sounded that day based on the weary expression that crossed her face as she answered it.

She began speaking in rapid Gaelic, making it clear who was on the other end of the line. She could give Jenny a clear update without worrying Fergus unnecessarily.

Jamie flinched as he overheard rough translations for ‘still out’ and ‘hard knock to the head.’ She kept their big news to herself for now, and Jamie couldn’t help but imagine the sheer joy that would cross his sister’s face when she heard. Not to mention the bizarre hints he’d heard about their father today. How could he drop something like that on her, especially if it wasn’t true…

But he could puzzle all of that out later. As long as his stubborn lass woke up, all would be well.

The moment Marsali switched back to English, stepping toward the door and whispering into the receiver, Jamie knew she was talking about him and his own haggard appearance. There was no language the women shared that could conceal their worries from him.

As Germain’s impatient questions and complaints of an empty belly increased, Fergus and Marsali finally escorted him out of the room and to the cafeteria, promising to bring something back for Jamie. He doubted he’d have the will to eat it.

And so he was alone with his desperate thoughts once again.

________________________________________

Claire struggled against her heavy eyelids as awareness came back to her. Her immediate line of sight was blurred, and she ached all over. Gone was her torn pantsuit, a starchy white gown in its place. Her sorry state was apparent, almost as if she were taking account of her injuries from outside her own body.

She tried to recount what had happened in the last few hours… days? She had a vague recollection of a gun being drawn and shots firing, and someone going down painfully. Jamie?

Claire jolted at this thought, her vision adjusting to recognize the profile standing at the window across the room from her, with dazzling afternoon light refracting off his cinnamon waves as his head hung low and shoulders drooped. Though she could barely make him out in the shadows, she knew she loved him. He appeared healthy and strong, uninhibited by ballistic injury. So how much of what she remembered was actually real?

Could she trust her own tender feelings, anything besides the pull she felt toward him in spite of the weight of her limbs gluing her to the bed?

Had they truly shared all the things she thought she remembered, or was it all just lovely images her mind her created to comfort her as her body healed?

________________________________________

 Jamie lifted the corner of the curtain with just the tips of his fingers. The car park was littered with news vans, camera bulbs flashing as hospital officials created a barrier between the crowd and their front doors. In the hours that had passed since he carried Claire in, it was clearly no longer a secret where the prime minister was recovering, nor how she had fallen victim to betrayal and neglect. He dropped the flimsy material in disgust. Just once, if they would leave her alone…

He barely registered the rustling on the other side of the room, but spun to attention. Claire was moving.

Her head flopped across the pillow as she sniffled, then moaned.

Jamie released a startled cry, just watching in relief as she flexed unused muscles.

Claire stilled, eyes focused on him. She looked awkward and unsure.

He cursed himself for putting distance between them. She should have woken with her hand in his as he watched her closely for any simple comfort he could provide.

Jamie raced back to her side. “Thank Christ,” he whispered, kneeling to adjust the pillow under her as she sat up.

Claire tensed and leaned back into the pillow as their eyes met. Jamie wished he didn’t see it, but there was fear in her expression.

“C—Claire…” he soothed. “It’s over. You’re whole.” His mouth curved into what might have been a smile, but it apparently had no calming effect.

She gulped and took shallow breaths, wild eyes looking anywhere but at him. A panic attack.

Understanding dawned on Jamie. She didn’t remember. Dr. Abernathy’s term returned to him: Concussion. He wondered briefly how bad it would be, whether she would remember him at all. He wouldn’t be able to bear hearing her call him “Alex” or “Agent Malcolm” without a hint of the flirtatious banter or sultry tone of jest that usually accompanied the nicknames.

He couldn’t bear not to know, either.

“Seas, a leannan,” he cooed. He curled his fingers under her jaw. “Breathe with me, mo ghraidh.”

Her eyes locked on his as he spoke the language of his heart. “… Jamie?” Her face lit with hope.

Jamie’s nerves unknotted themselves. “Just me.” His other hand smoothed her tangled curls from her glistening face.

Claire’s breathing slowed as she leaned her cheek into his palm, grimace giving way to peace.

He boosted himself into the bed beside her, relief flowing through him as she curled into him, careful of the IV running between them.

“I’ve been having terrible dreams, I think…” She shook her head. “I was worried I’d dreamt it all.”

“Nay, mo nighean donn.” He kissed the side of her head, her sweaty neck, anywhere he could reach as his palm stroked down her side.

Claire’s hand flew to her middle, features crinkling once more. “Our baby, is everything...?”

“A braw one like ye,” he managed to choke out. “Has a good wee heart, I’ve heard it myself.”

________________________________________

 The door squealed open again just as Dr. Abernathy finished setting up the ultrasound machine.

Claire exhaled as her extended family piled through the door.

Amid the bustle of activity in the crowded room, she and Jamie had barely managed to speak discreetly about all that had occurred that day.

Claire had insisted on letting Jamie squeeze her hand as Nurse Cameron had placed five stitches under his right eye. His grip had been mild, but he had let her see him wince as the nurse had tied off the final suture. They had no secrets, and if she could bear a bit of his pain, she would.

She had stroked his curls as he recounted all the possibilities that had raced through his mind at the mere suggestion that Brian Fraser was alive. Much as he wanted to find out for himself, Jamie couldn’t risk investigating if it meant leaving Claire and the baby behind.

His tears had soaked into her gown as he apologized for not suspecting Frank sooner and taking care of the problem himself.

“Shh, shh,” she had whispered. “You had nothing to go on. I can just imagine it, ‘Metropolitan Police Protection Officer breaks into the House of Commons to tackle Home Secretary to the ground.’” She had scratched his stubbled chin. “You’d still be in gaol now.”

Jamie had snorted against her shoulder, shaking with the force of her own laughter. “It’s no’ funny, Claire.”

“Are you quite sure?” she had asked, lips curled. “I’m looking forward to the joy of seeing both those characters put away for awhile.”

“Aye,” he had rasped. “I’ll see to it, a nighean.”

Claire had tilted his chin to lock eyes with him. “We will.”

Jamie had sniffled and nodded firmly, grasping her palm to place a kiss there.

Fergus set Germain at the foot of her hospital bed, but her nephew jumped onto her sore legs instead. “Auntie Bear!” he cried.

She tried to withhold her groan as she gathered him to her. “Gracious, but you’re getting big, my lad.”

Claire got a lovely whiff of his lingering baby scent as her sister-in-law stooped beside her bed and took her face in both hands. “How are ye, a chridhe?”

Claire grasped her hands over Marsali’s. She had never been able to hide anything from the other woman’s intuitive gaze, so she shouldn’t have been surprised when Marsali glanced down then met her eye knowingly. She darted a glance to Jamie, who shrugged helplessly in the midst of feasting on his newly delivered hamburger and chips.

“My wife read your chart,” Fergus’s voice sounded as he closed in on their huddle to ruffle her curls. “Congratulations, ma cherie.”

Claire laughed and took a wonderfully full breath. “I don’t suppose I could have kept it from you for long. You might have been suspicious otherwise when I booked an appointment with you.” She squeezed Marsali’s hand before leaning into Fergus’s arm around her shoulders.

“Alright, Ms. Beauchamp,” Joe interrupted the lovingly chaotic scene.

Claire smiled up at him. In the half hour since he’d walked in to find her conscious, she had already grown to like the young doctor for his wit and gentle manner.

Nurse Cameron gestured that she was ready with the cool gel.

Fergus swept Germain out of her lap as Jamie nestled closer on the edge of her bed, shielding her as she wrestled the thin hospital gown up over her hips.

A few minor adjustments later and Claire’s eyes filled with tears as she watched a tiny form swim on the screen in front of her. She held onto Jamie – perhaps not as tightly as he clutched her – to make sure it still wasn’t a dream.

She had no idea how she’d do it all, but knew she could with the support of those around her.

#You Can Call Me #Claire Beauchamp #Jamie Fraser #Joe Abernathy #Marsali Fraser #Fergus Fraser #Germain Fraser #alternate universe #outlander fanfic #My fic

[atths--twice]

So this will be the last of the Year of Firsts series. It seems fitting and tomorrow will begin the next year into their lives. Hope you enjoy it! 

Faith Meets Bella 

With a new puppy in the house, it’s time for Faith to meet her playmate.

Mulder woke to the sound of whining and thought for a second it was Faith crying. Sitting up, he looked at the monitor and saw she was still sleeping and knew it could not be her. Grinning, he remembered Bella was downstairs and he quickly and carefully left the bed, closing the door behind him.

Walking quietly down the stairs, he saw her in her crate and he smiled. Once she saw him, her whining increased and she began to wag her tail. Well, more like her entire body as she could not seem to control her excitement.

“Hey now… calm down there, girl. Shh. We don’t need to wake the whole house, not just yet. Let me get your leash and I’ll let you out.” He picked up the leash and unlocked the crate, reaching for her and petting her as he clipped on the leash. “There we go. Hey, Bella. Our little ball of dark magic. Let’s head outside and take a little walk.”

He slid on his tennis shoes, grabbed a jacket, and opened the door. It was chilly outside, with the sun just coming up, and he smiled. Bella pulled at the leash, excited to be outside and he closed the door, heading down the stairs.

Stopping to let her pee, he put on his jacket, shivering as he did. Taking a deep breath, he looked at all the decorations that would need to come down soon. It had been a wonderful month and now it was time to look ahead to Thanksgiving and Christmas.

“You ready? Want to check out your new home? Come on, girl.” He gave a gentle tug to her leash and she bounded along beside him.

They walked down the driveway and to the left, heading along the property line. Bella jumped and bounced, barking with happiness. He smiled as he watched her, thinking of what Faith was going to think of her when she woke up.

Not wanting to tire her out too much, they did not walk far. As they came back up the driveway, he looked at their fence situation and realized they would need to do something about it. It was definitely not pet friendly and losing her was not an option. One night with them and he already loved her to bits.

Stopping to let her pee once more, they walked up the stairs and he sat down on the top step to pet her. She jumped over him, into his lap, onto his other side and back again. She stood on his thigh, her front paws on his chest and licked at his face. He laughed and held her close, her little body wiggling.

“Oh, Faith is going to adore you. What do you say we go see if everyone is up yet?” She licked him again, her cold nose at his neck, and he unclipped her leash, holding her in his arms.

He opened the door and heard Faith and Scully upstairs. Scully was speaking to her in a silly voice and Faith was laughing. Bella looked at him and then cocked her head to the side.

“Yeah, we need to wait. This is a big moment. She will be your playmate for the next ten or so years. You’re going to love her, I promise,” he said and stood by the stairs and called up to them. “Hey, we’re ready when you are.”

“Oh… did you hear that, Faithy? There is a surprise for you downstairs.” Mulder heard Scully say. “We’ll be down in just a minute,” she called down and he smiled.

He hung the leash on a hook by the coats but kept a hold of Bella, waiting until they came down to set her on the floor. Hearing Scully on the stairs, he turned around and smiled again, meeting Scully’s happy eyes.

“Dada!” Faith shouted and reached for him but then noticed he was holding something in his arms. Scully came closer and Faith looked at Bella inquisitively.

“Faith, this is Bella. She’s going to be part of our family now. She’s a dog and she’s very excited to meet you.” Bella wiggled, trying to get to her, and Faith looked at him and then reached out to touch Bella.

As she did, Bella licked her hand and she pulled it back in surprise. Her eyes were large as she looked at him and he smiled with a nod.

“It’s okay, honey.”

She touched her again and this time Bella was calmer, for a split second anyway, before she licked her again and Faith screamed with excitement. They all laughed and sat down on the floor, letting Bella walk around and come to Faith.

Faith sat on Scully’s lap and Bella barked and bounced around them. Faith stared at her and then stood up and Bella stopped bouncing and sat, impossibly still, as she stared up at her. Scully looked at Mulder and he raised his eyebrows at her. Faith squatted down and she and Bella were face-to-face.

“Mulder,” Scully whispered and he nodded, aware that they were witnessing something unique.

Bella stretched her head closer and very gently licked Faith’s nose, who smiled and touched Bella’s head. They stared at each other and then stood up, almost as one. Bella barked and Faith laughed, clapping her hands. As Bella began to bounce around again, Faith toddled after her babbling away.

“I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that. It was like they were talking to each other or… she put a spell on her,” Mulder said, stunned as he watched them playing together.

“Who put the spell on whom though?” Scully asked, her tone just as incredulous.

“What?”

“Mulder, we’ve both noticed how animals seem to behave around her. The duck at the park, the horses at the orchard, the goat at the petting zoo,”she said and he stared at her. “What if… what if she has a way with animals?” She shrugged and he looked back at Faith, who was now chasing Bella as best as she could on unsteady feet.

“You know,” he said, thinking of something that had not crossed his mind in years. “I had a friend in school, Kip Stevens-”

“Kip?” Scully asked with a smile. “Kip and Fox… such country club names.”

“Yeah, shut up,” he said and she laughed. “Anyway, your comment made me think of him. He always had a way with animals. He lived close to us and during the summers, he would set traps and catch animals- squirrels, rabbits, snakes. There was something about him that even wild animals calmed around him. Some of the boys teased him and called him Doctor Dolittle, but I was always fascinated by his ability to do it.” Bella barked again as Faith dropped to her hands and knees and crawled after her.

“I’d say that sounds like our girl, and well, Belladonna seems to have fulfilled her namesake,” she said with a cheeky grin and he nodded.

They watched them play for a couple of more minutes, each of them struck with the beauty of the obvious friendship the two would share. Rising from the floor, they set about getting breakfast ready for everyone.

Mulder took out Bella’s food dish and filled it, setting it in front of her, and then set her water beside her. She ate hungrily, happily, and hurriedly. Taking out a couple of snacks, he told her to sit and when she did, he gave them to her. He smiled and rubbed her ears. Scooping her up, he grabbed her leash to take her outside once more before he joined them at the table.

As they ate, he told Scully about the fence situation and she looked at him with wide eyes.

“Oh, Mulder,” she said, covering her mouth. “I didn’t even think about that. Oh my God.”

“Hey, it’s something that’s needed to be done for a while now. Even without a dog, we have a little girl who should have a proper fence to keep her safe. I’ll call around… or maybe Skinner knows a guy.” He shrugged and refilled both their coffees. “Until then, we do have some things we need to do, what with Faith now walking and wanting to avoid any catastrophes.”

“Hmm… what are you thinking?”

“I’m glad you asked…”

A couple of hours later, they came home with some new items for the house. A stake for the yard with a twenty foot cable, allowing Bella to be outside without worrying if she would run away or become lost. After measuring the staircases on the porch and inside the house, they had bought four gates, two for the porch and two for inside, which would lock in place and keep both Faith and Bella safe.

They had also bought some different food for Bella and despite a look from Scully, he had added more toys, and a larger bed she would need eventually. He had picked up two, one for upstairs in their room, but she had put a stop to that plan.

“She has her crate, Mulder. She’s used to that and if you put it in our room, it will confuse her,” she had explained, and he was set to argue when she made a point he could not ignore. “Besides, I don’t want to be stared at by our dog while we’re having sex.” She had raised her eyebrows and he had set the second bed back on the shelf, unable to argue with her logic.

Coming into the house with their new items, Bella barked, standing on her hind legs, her front paws on the crate, her tail wagging. Scully set Faith down and she walked to Bella, looking in and smiling at her. As soon as she was that close, Bella calmed down and waited for Scully to open the door, coming to Faith first and licking her hand.

“I swear to God, Mulder,” Scully said as she shook her head and watched them. “It’s remarkable and almost…”

“Spooky?” he teased and she shook her head.

“For lack of a better word, yes. It is damn spooky,” she said, clipping the leash to Bella’s collar and taking her outside to pee.

Mulder picked up Faith and grabbed the stake and cable to install outside. Setting her down in the grass, he opened the package as she toddled over to Scully. Within minutes he had it screwed into the ground and clipped Bella to it, allowing her to run and play within the set length limits. While she did not seem to mind the restrictions, it bothered him.

“You know, I’m sure Alan would know about a fence guy more so than Skinner. I’ll text him,” Scully said, taking out her phone and typing quickly.

“Why would he know of one more than Skinner?” he asked, frowning at her.

“He has a house, as you know, and had to have the fence put in, so it seems more likely he would know someone.”

“I don’t remember a fence around Alan’s house.”

“Around the backyard? By the hot tub?”

“Oh, I remember the hot tub,” he said fondly and she looked him up and down.

“Yes, the hot tub was nice,” she said and he raised his eyebrows. “Very nice. But there was also a fence around the yard so I’m just putting out feelers. You can still ask Skinner. Mulder?”

“Hm? Sorry, I was just thinking about that hot tub. Goddamn, Scully.” He shook his head and let out a breath.

“Language, Mulder.” She winked and picked up Faith, kissing her cheeks and taking her inside for a nap.

Mulder tossed a ball for Bella until she, too, seemed to need a nap. He unclipped her and brought her in to sleep on the new bed they had bought, as he took out his phone to text Skinner and sat down on the couch.

“Aww, we tired them out,” Scully said, sitting beside him with a smile. She leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed. “She’s really a cute dog. The fence will be pricey I know, but if we factor it in to the next ten years at least, well…” He nodded and she sighed.

“You made a good choice with Bella. We didn’t have her at this time yesterday and it almost seems wrong that we didn’t. She’s already firmly established her place in the household. I mean, just look at that face,” he said and she laughed.

“I quite agree.”

“I’m glad they have both fallen in love with each other.”

“I put a spell on you…” Scully sang quietly. “Because you’re mine.” He laughed and she lifted her head to look at him. “Guess the version.”

“Of that song? Please… do you even know me? Annie Lennox of course, even if CCR sang it first.” She looked impressed and he raised his hands in a shrug. “Come on, at least challenge me.” He shook his head and she smiled.

“I have a challenge for you,” she said in a low sultry voice, biting her lip as she turned and straddled him, snaking her arms around his neck. “I’m not sure you can handle the task at hand, but I trust you will try your very best.” She shifted in his lap and he groaned.

“What’s the challenge?”

“Hmmm. Are you sure you can handle it?”

“Scully… I can handle anything,” he said, his hands around her waist.

“Well, you think you can handle four times?” she purred and his eyes widened.

“Before she wakes up? I… I don’t know, but I’ll give it the old college try,” he said, smirking at her, as his hands began to move lower.

“Great, I’ll go get the tools.” And with that, she abruptly climbed off of his lap, leaving him stunned. “I mean those gates won’t put themselves up.” She started to walk out of the room, grinning at him over her shoulder.

“Oh, you tricky little minx,” he said, standing up and adjusting his pants. Her laughter rang in his ears, as he followed behind her, ready to do her bidding.

__________________________________________________________

I adore the thought of them finally having another dog, well more like a dog together, as Scully had one in the past. Daggoo, or the dog WE knew as such, was a cute and nice idea, but we never saw him nor any sign he lived in either of their homes, after Scully began to steal him from the animal control center.

I love that they will have this puppy and a little one simultaneously, so they can grow up together and be the very best of friends.

#The X Files #XF Fanfic #Post MSIV #Family Life: The Story Beyond the Series #New Puppy #Happy Family #Family Fluff #Happiness #Meeting the new family member #Love #Fluff and Humor #MSR

[whimpering-hearts]

Coffee Break : aph crack drabble

Coffee Break

Featuring: Norway, Finland, England (ft. Denmark)

Words: 1,786

Genre: comedy, action,

A/N: I had a burst of inspiration to write this at 1am. I was inspired by how dependent on coffee I became during Finals week lol. I have no idea if this story makes sense, but it was great fun to write, and I hope that people find it enjoyable! :)

- 

It was painful for some people to accept it, but sometimes sacrifices must be made for the sake of the greater good. That went for health, too. As much as some people enjoyed the taste of cookie crumbs and bubbling soda on their tongues, in the end, all sugar caused was trouble. It was known for causing bad diseases, making people obese, and a series of other unhealthy habits.

Arthur Kirkland hadn’t minded when the World Counsel of Health had decided to ban it in large dose and raise the price so people would buy less. To be fair, Arthur’s food was awful and he had no taste for what sugar had to offer to some of the finest pastries and desserts in Europe. His food was borderline inedible.

So when the World Counsel of Health had decided that caffeine was harmful to the growth of the human body and assisted sleep deprivation and mood swings, Arthur hadn’t cared much. He’d always been more of a tea drinker – it was so much more proper than coffee, at least in his mind. Arthur was still caught up in his glory days. Caffeine was turned into a prescription drug that one could only buy if a doctor approved it beforehand, and even then it was ridiculously expensive. That also meant that coffee was internationally taken off the shelves.

But while Arthur hadn’t minded the take away of coffee and caffeine, other’s definitely did. People around him were in tears; some were sobbing in the streets for days, and a certain Nordic was so outraged that he nearly set his capital on fire. Wasn’t there a time Arthur had been surrounded by people crying in the past? Yes, when was that? Oh wait, it was his Alfred’s Revolution and he’d been the one who was crying with the rest of the British Army. Oh well, there’s a first time for everything.

It was a day like any spring day, however the English weather had decided to give Arthur a break and show some sun. Arthur felt like it had been ages since he’d last seen the sun without any clouds. It was the perfect day to get outside and walk around the city; he’d be a tourist in his own city for a day. The blond visited all the popular sights, Trafalgar Square, the London Eye, Buckingham Palace – these were all sights he’d seen countless times over the years. 

Finally, at some point in the afternoon, he decided to stop by a drugstore to pick up a much needed new comb and some first aid supplies. You just never knew what was going to happened these days. Kids were crazy and it seemed that their parents had failed to implement proper manners. However, Arthur wasn’t a first-rate caretaker either, as Alfred had declared independence as soon as he understood the concept, and then everyone followed in suit.

Arthur had just rounded a corner into another aisle when Arthur got a bad feeling in his stomach. No, not his stomach, his gut. After living centuries, Arthur had learned to trust his gut, and was telling him that something wasn’t right. 

As if to answer his question, suddenly there was the sound of warning gun shots shooting up into the roof and then shouting. Arthur threw himself to the ground, backed himself up against the shelf and peered out towards the door. There stood two men, completely dressed in back with ski masks on.

The man on the left fired his gun into the air, blasting holes int he ceiling. Some gasps came from around the store, and by this point everyone was on the floor, holding their heads and trying to stay as low as possible. Arthur watched carefully as the two men walked around, holding their guns, but to Arthur for some reason they didn’t seem that intimidating.

“This is a robbery!” one of the men shouted. “If everyone remains where they are then we won’t have to take you hostage.”

Some more gasps and cries came from the people in the store at the possibility of being taken hostage. A mother gripped her child closer.

“Wait, what,” one of the robbers whispered under his breath to the guy who had announced everything. “I said I wasn’t comfortable with that stuff,” he whispered.

“Tino, be quiet,” the other man bit back under his breath. “I’m just trying to scare them. We’re not hurting anyone. Now stop talking.”

The man – Tino – continued to point his gun at people as he and his partner made their way deeper into the store. As they moved, everyone huddled close to the floor and ducked their heads in fear of making eye contact with the madmen. The two men walked up to prescription desk, which a woman was crouched behind, shaking in fear of what might happen to her.

“You,” the more aggressive man pointed at her, and she trembled even more. “You’re going to load all this store’s caffeine tablets and coffee bags into this duffle bag–” the man threw a grey duffle bag onto the counter as he spoke, “– and don’t lie to me,” he continued with a cold tone as he pointed the gun. “Just because you don’t have them out on the shelves doesn’t mean you don’t have them. I know they’re in the back. You’d better bring all of them to me.”

The woman stuttered and started to speak, but she quickly figured that it was best not to argue with these men and just do what they wanted. Tears caused by worry ran down her face as she picked herself up, nodded and quickly began to load the packages of caffeine into the grey duffle bag. Arthur must have spotted at least over a hundred pills of caffeine get dumped into the bag. 

When the woman finished, she put her hands in the air and mumbled, “I need to go to the back room to get the coffee packets. I promise I won’t run.” Her visible trembles could be seen from half way across the store. She was terrified to death. Arthur actually pitied her, and he could relate. He wasn’t afraid anymore, as this wasn’t his first time in this type of situation. However, that didn’t mean he was going to play the role of the hero.

“Ja, you’re not going to run away,” the more dominant of the robbers stated confidently. He gestured to the man next to him with his hand. “Go with her and make sure she doesn’t run.”

Tino seemed uncertain. “Oh, okay. Wait, what are you going to do?” He questioned.

“Stay here and make sure nobody runs or calls the cops.”

Tino asked no more questions and disappeared into the back room with the woman. At least he seemed a bit more sympathetic than the other guy. Who were these people? Were they actually at a a pharmacy to steal coffee and caffeine? Why not the money? Who would be this desperate to steal caffeine and coffee? These two people apparently. So many questions that Arthur wasn’t sure which were the most important to answer. One thing he knew though was that he’d been in worse situations, but this was one of the…strangest. Of course, there had been weirder situations, given the things Arthur used to get into with Vladimir and Lukas. 

After a bit, Tino and the woman reappeared. Tino nodded to the man indicating that everything had been taken care of. The man, who’d remained in the room, took the bag from him and slung it over his shoulder. As he turned around, he scanned the room with his gun. More gasps and yelps of fear came from the crowd, but Arthur knew that these two weren’t going to shoot anyone. They probably didn’t even have the guts to shoot someone, but Arthur didn’t want to test that theory.

“Okay, we’re leaving now,” the unnamed man announced. “Nobody is allowed to call the police for three minutes. If I hear sirens before three minutes, I will blow this place up.”

Even more gasps came from the crowd. Arthur knew that it was probably a lie, but he wasn’t going to take his chances.

“That’s right. I’ve rigged this place with TNT, and if you don’t listen to me, I will blow all of you up,” he explained as he and his partner made their way to the entrance door. Over twenty pairs of eyes followed them as they did so, each counting down the seconds until they’d be safe, again.

“Okay, all of you’d better wait three minutes or I’ll know.”

With that both men ran out of the store, and everyone heaved a deep breath of relief.

The two men ran around to the back of the store, the sound of their breath and footsteps echoing in the dead air. They stopped behind the store, near some crates to catch their breath. The man carrying the bag dropped it on the ground and yanked off his ski mask, revealing a messy head of blond hair.

“What in the world was that, Lukas?” Tino asked as he tugged off his own mask. “You went off script.”

“I wanted my coffee,” Lukas responded, sounding as if there was nothing wrong with what he’d just done. “Where is Matthias? He’s suppose to be here.”

Tino just scoffed and took a few steps away from the Norwegian, who glanced over at him. Tino crossed his arms and gave another scoff of disbelief. “I can’t believe you just threatened to kill everyone in there. You terrified those innocent people half to death, you know?”

Lukas just shrugged his shoulders and continued looking around. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.” Where the heck was Matthias? How were they suppose to get away without their getaway driver?

At last, Lukas saw a car that resembled the one Matthias had dropped them off in pull up to the curb. Lukas had told him to wait there, not drive around the parking lot like a lost puppy. Lukas signaled for Tino to pick up the bag and put it in back with him; Lukas would take the front seat.

As Lukas opened the front door, he was greeted by Matthias’ smiling face. He looked so happy despite being a getaway driver.

“Your Uber driver is here,” Mathias greeted with a wide smile. Oh, he thought he was so funny, didn’t he. Tino quickly threw the duffle bag in the car and both men piled in.

“Hey, want to hear something special?” Lukas asked Matthias as he threw his seatbelt on and the car began to take off.

“Yeah!”

“You’re an idiot.”

#Hetalia #1P England #1P Norway #1P Denmark #1P Finland #PT: Submission #Th: My Followers Rock! #PT: Check Out This Awesome! #submission

[pixie-unger]

Neighbours - 2

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Fred answered the knock on the door promptly at 10am.  She tried not to grin since she could hear them out in the hallway for the last five minutes.  She opened the door and stared.

Despite her elvish ancestry, Fred wasn’t tall.  She was a perfectly average 5’4.  At six feet, Tianda was a perfectly respectable size for an orcess.  “Uncle Frank” was not just the tallest male of any species, Fred had ever seen, he was also the biggest.  If he had been human, she would have diagnosed anabolic steroid use, but his physique wasn’t totally unheard of among Orcs.  On the other hand, it wasn’t exactly common, either.

The man had to duck to fit through the doorway.

Fred’s mind temporary boggled at the idea that HE was dating Mac’s teacher.  The woman was shorter that Fred!  How did they even...Nope! No! Not her business!  Reroute that train of thought right now.

Frank’s nose twitched and he grinned at her.

Fred forced herself not to frown and offered everyone a coffee.

Frank excused himself downstairs to go visit his girlfriend.  Tianda and Fred made awkward small talk where neither of them talked about the kids’ fathers.  That was, until Brayden asked Mac, “Is your daddy in jail, too?”

Mac gaped at him, “Yeah!  Is yours?”

“Yeah.  For armed robbery.  How about yours?”

“He tried to kill Mum with a baseball bat before I was born.  Are you ‘lergic to peanut butter?”

“No.”

“Mum!  Can I make peanut butter toast?”  Fred and Tianda shared an awkward glance.  Fred shrugged.  Tianda nodded.  Mac whooped and bounced over to where they kept the bread. “I love using the toaster,” she confided in Brayden.

While the kids were making mostly a mess, but as a byproduct, peanut butter toast, Fred awkwardly rubbed the back of her neck.  “Yeah, so there’s that.”

Tianda considered this.  “When does yours get out?”

“Next year.  We got divorced shortly after Mac’s birth.  Left him off her birth certificate and he didn’t contest it; I might have lost child support, but it means he’ll never get visitation rights.  He had a slightly stronger defence at his trial - there is a permanent restraining order against him, though.”

“Wow...”  Tianda breathed.  “Those don’t always work, you know.”

Fred shrugged.  “Nah, but skipping the country and not giving a forwarding address generally does.  Convicted felons can’t enter the US.”

“Well, shit.” Tianda said.  Her kids both giggled at her.  “Right! Sorry.  Bad word.  You don’t get to say that, understand?”

All three kids nodded.

From then on, Tianda and Fred spent the morning commiserating about raising kids as a single mom.  Tianda rubbed her belly and admitted that her husband’s brothers were being incredibly helpful.  “I don’t know how I would manage without my family to help out.”

Fred dropped her gaze to stare at her lap for a moment.  “Yeah,” she said quietly.  “But he knows where my parents live and, like you said, restraining orders don’t always work.”

Tianda hauled herself out of the chair.  “We need to go organize some lunch and get Frank to take us for groceries, but…  Look, there’s a Fogtooth party next week.  Do you know what that is?”

Fred shook her head, “Fogtooth is the local clan, right?”

Tianda nodded.  “There is a barbeque in the afternoon, it’s great for families.  Everyone is welcome.  Why don’t you and Mac come by and I can introduce you to some of the other moms in the school.”

“That sounds great!”  Fred gushed, hoping for good weather.

----

Saturday started out great, but rain was forecast for that evening.  Fred hoped it held off until she was safely home.

The barbeque was hosted by the community association and the Fogtooth clan, which Kate had been clear to point out was most definitely not the same as the Fogtooth gang.  At least not on paper.  In reality, most of the male clan members belonged to both.  By all accounts, the block parties were strictly demilitarized.  Even the local humie gang, Altamira was invited.

Hell, America’s first orc cop even turned up with his partner, his partner’s wife and their kid.  Fred vaguely recognized the woman as one of the Emerg nurses from the hospital.  They were all very polite, even if Officer Jakoby was smelling her.  At least he didn’t comment.

It was the kind of hot out that promised thunderstorms later.  Fred didn’t own a pair of shorts, but she dug out a long sundress that came down to mid calf on her.

She had a burger and a beer and met a bunch of moms from Mac’s class.  It seemed like the split was ⅓ orc, ⅓ human, ⅓ other.  Kate from work had a nephew at the school.  Mac’s teacher wasn’t there, but Frank was.  Fred wondered about that, but didn’t ask.

She rather got the impression that all the moms already knew about her ex-husband, but at least no one asked if he had been an elf.  Elves don’t go to jail.  Not really.  Not often.

Fred could feel the storm coming, but she toughed it out until Mac started to yawn at seven, then said her polite goodbyes.  The nice thing about being hanging out with the orc crowd was that no one tried to talk her into staying.  There were some perks to being around people who could smell your pain, namely she had never had to have the spoons discussion with anyone who wasn’t human or elf.

They made it to the front entrance of the apartment building before the rain hit, but by then Fred could hardly walk.  The nice thing about everyone being at the party was that there was no one to witness how she nearly had to crawl up the five flights of stairs to her apartment.  She gave Mac a bath and tucked her in, then took some painkillers and had a soak in the tub herself.

Ugh.  She needed to find a ground floor apartment.

That was one nice thing about this building.  Unlimited hot water that was very nearly hot enough to burn.  Getting out of the tub was hard.  Fred let the water out, then flopped, inelegantly over the side.  She wrapped up in a towel and made it to her room by leaning heavily against the walls.  She dug out a clean sleep shirt and panties without turning the lights on.

Fred was in bed before nine.  She left the window slightly open and enjoyed the sound of thunder outside.  After a particularly loud crash, Mac woke up and came screaming into bed with her.  Fred rubbed her back.

“Go to sleep, sweetie.  I’m gonna need your help tomorrow, alright?”

“ ‘es, mama.”  Mac mumbled.

And with that, Fred felt another wave of guilt.  Mac shouldn’t need to help her as much as she did, but neither of them could do it alone.

----

Zarfu had spent the afternoon flipping burgers and keeping an eye on the new doctor.  So far, she had a good rep in the community.  Hell, Tamra said she was the first doctor she had taken her boys to who understood that sometimes boys just play rough.  A scuffed knee and three stitches didn’t immediately require a call to child protective services.

But he didn’t understand why she was here.  She stank like pain, with an undercurrent of fear and that faint hint of lust that seemed to always follow hume females.  As he watched her, he noticed she wasn’t moving around very much and she was slightly favouring her right leg.  Not enough so that a person would notice if they weren’t paying attention, but enough that it was obvious if you were.

She disappeared in the crowd and Zarfu forgot about her.

Until he met her in the local bodega the next morning.  Today she was walking with a cane.  She was buying breakfast for her and the kid.  He was buying Red Bull for his hangover.

She frowned at him.

Zarfu was not in the mood.  “What you looking at, bitch?” he snarled.

She blinked in surprise and replied honestly and without fear, “A man in need of a gatorade.  Tell, you what.  You pick out your favourite flavour, I’ll buy it and if you drink it before the Red bull you will feel better.”

Zarfu just snorted, then huffed to try to blow the smell of her pain out of his nose.  “You think so, huh?”

“Yeah,” she said.  The kid handed him a clear sports drink.  

Zarfu glared at her.  That worked.  The kid squeaked and hid behind her mom.  Now he felt bad and when Zarfu felt bad, he shared.  “You want make me feel better?  Suck my dick.  That’ll make me feel better.”

The woman just sighed and didn’t say anything, she just looked tired.  When Zarfu snorted again, she smelled like hurt.  That was when he remembered that she was a doctor and might not be completely full of shit.  He snatched the gatorade out of the kids hand and stormed out out of the store without paying.

She was right though.  He felt quite a bit better by the time he got to Dorghu’s

----

Mac watched the orc, who was easily a foot taller than her mum, storm out.   Fred ran her hand over Mac’s head and said softly, “It’s okay, baby girl.”

“He was really scary, mum.”

“Yeah.  But he’s gone now.  Look, we will either figure out how to fit in, or we will move again until we find someplace we do fit it.”

The Dwarf standing on a box behind the counter, waved off Fred’s attempt to pay.  “You fit here, Doc.  We have a hard time getting good health care in this neighbourhood.  I heard how you fixed my mother-in-law’s ingrown toenails.  Not many would want to tackle that job.  Said you were proper respectful, too.  Not many of your kind would be.”

Fred winced at the “your kind” comment, then she insisted on paying anyway.  “I want to keep my money in the community.  I pay you, you buy something from the guy up the street, this neighbourhood gets a little better off.”

Mac noticed the teenaged orc in the corner listening to the whole exchange, but her mum didn’t.

#orc boyfriend #monster boyfriend

[timeclonemike]

Random Idea: “Portia” Spider-Man AU

I haven’t actually seen Into The Spiderverse myself, but I have read that it has started a trend towards people coming up with their own Spider-Man AUs. More specifically I read that there’s a lot of people lashing out against that for some reason, which I don’t get.

I also watched a walkthrough of the PS4 game, which actually motivated me to work on a completely different project.

I might as well state right now that I do not have an encyclopedic knowledge of Spider-Man in particular, or the Marvel multiverse in general, much less the exponentially greater possibilities that come from a huge fan base. To the best of my limited knowledge, I don’t think I’m treading on anyone’s toes, and if it turns out somebody had the same ideas before me and reads this, I promise I’m not trying to steal your thunder.

The Origin: Pyotr “Peter” Parker is second generation Russian-American living in the Big Apple. He’s a scientific prodigy, and he was well on his way to getting a scholarship that would launch him to dizzying academic and technical heights when his life was demolished; his mother, father, and uncle were all killed in some sort of crossfire between different mob families. His academic performance and social life were also casualties, first from grief, and later from the impotent rage burning inside him from seeing nothing at all happen to find and punish those who had done so much harm. The kid who was on a fast track to following in the footsteps of such scientific visionaries as Tony Stark, Hank Pym, and Oswald Octavius did the bare minimum of work needed to keep his teachers and Aunt May (his only living relative) off of his back; the rest of his days and much of his nights were spent in an angry haze of revenge-based daydreams and fantasies.

The Transformation: Peter does not remember exactly how, but one morning he woke up with a painfully swollen spider bite. After a day or so, the swelling went away, but it was replaced by other “symptoms” that were decidedly more permanent. In no particular order, he could stick to various surfaces, detect motion nearby, and found that his strength and agility were dramatically increased. Most dramatic of all, he could jump much, much farther than any human being had any business jumping. To an angsty, hormonal teenager who had fumed and raged inwardly as he watched the injustice perpetrated on his family go unpunished for years, it was like Christmas morning. (It was actually Arbor Day, but that’s not really important.) With barely enough sense to get gloves, a ski mask, and goggles to hide his identity, he set out to to do by himself what the police and the courts could not, or would not, do through proper channels.

The Defeat: Superpowers or not, a teenager is not a match for multiple, competing organized crime families. Peter was shot four times, twice in the left leg, once in the right shoulder, and one glancing blow to the skull that would have punched his clock if not for his Spider-Sense based reflexes. With a concussion, a leg that couldn’t support his weight, and a whole lot of lost blood, Peter was forced to back off to some place safe, call 911, and nearly collapse right after tossing his “costume” in the closest dumpster. Emergency surgery and a blood transfusion saved his life, and while his recovery was almost miraculously fast according to the doctors and nurses keeping an eye on him, he still had to convalesce.

The Lesson: The time spent in bed, with nothing to do but mull over his defeat, forces him to reconsider what he is doing and why. He was about ready to throw all his dreams of revenge out the window and move on with his life... when the assassins showed up. After all, gunshot wounds are reported to police, and not every officer who swears to uphold the law actually keeps that oath. The assassins try to smother Peter while he pretends to be asleep; for their trouble, they get kicked with the same amount of force that previously launched Peter across streets and up the sides of buildings. Fortunately for them, they are in a hospital already. With a paranoia that has nothing to do with his new danger-detector in his head, Pete leaves the hospital without being officially discharged, makes it home, and discovers that his Aunt May ended up taking out two home invaders... and instead of the invaders being carted off, Aunt May is the one being held on trumped up charges. Peter has the consequences of his actions thrust into his face, and he angsts over his irresponsibility for all of five minutes before he has an epiphany that few Spider-themed superheroes ever figure out: Not everything bad that happens is automatically his fault.

The Comeback: While only a few days older, Peter is now much wiser, and begins a methodical plan of attack. The forces arrayed against his family cover the city like a web, but he’s learned a lot about spiders recently. Between phone calls, letters, and Duck Duck Go, Peter maps out the people he has to fight. These include a hanging judge, an attorney general living beyond her apparent means, and a couple of cops who have some black marks on other people’s social media, if not their professional records. With a new, thematically different costume, some cheap smartphones, and gadgets put together from dollar store specials and dumpster diving, Peter starts collecting evidence of corruption and leaving flash drives and SD cards in the mailboxes of the people who seem to be trustworthy. The gears of justice start to grind, while the gears of corruption have sand thrown into them. (What actually happened is that Peter found the AG was in the mob’s pocket, kidnapped her, called her “handlers” and played back some carefully edited sound bites recorded from a rival family’s conversations. Her “execution” was interrupted, but her home and worldly possessions went up in flames at the same time. She suddenly has much larger problems than she did before.)

The Arch Enemy: Aunt May’s two counts of justified self defense are properly rendered as such by a court that does not have multiple actors in somebody’s pocket. Turns out a whole lot of internal affairs investigations have opened up, and a laundry list of cold cases have been opened, in addition to the conflicts already set in motion. What keeps May and Peter safe, though, is what happens to a mover and shaker way up in the food chain (known as “Hammerhead” to his subordinates because of his shark-like ferocity). Hammerhead gets a mysterious visit from a masked figure who kicks his ass three ways from Sunday, and who lets him know that he’s taking his time to make him suffer for killing the masked figure’s brother. Three bullets are put into Hammerhead with his own sidearm, but the bullet that would have gone in the man’s skull misses, apparently because his guys finally showed up to help him. Hammerhead falls for the ruse hook, line, sinker and compressed air tank, and all the resources dedicated to finding this spider-themed vigilante get aimed in different directions, including the ones that had been sent after this Pyotr Parker kid, since he’s an only child. (The guys sent after Parker don’t have much to say, because his kicks packed a wallop and also because nobody contradicts Hammerhead when he’s angry.) This lays the foundation of a mutual hatred that lasts for the next decade at least, and “The Hammerhead versus The Spider Man” becomes a popular topic of discussion and speculation in the criminal underworld, law enforcement, civilian social media, and the hero community.

The Method: Unlike many Spider-Men, Peter isn’t explicitly an out and out hero. The last time he had ambitions of heroism, rushing in like Iron Man or Thor or Daredevil, he ended up in the hospital. To the contrary, by imitating the methods of his criminal prey, he achieved results far beyond his most optimistic predictions. In that sense, his spider-motif resembles that of the Portia Jumping Spider, a genus of spider species that hunt and prey on other spiders. His powers reflect this, with his impressive jumping abilities. Also like the Portia spiders, Peter stalks his prey and studies their strengths and weaknesses before developing the perfect way to take them down. Sometimes this comes from capturing sensitive information and delivering it to those who can do the most damage with it. Sometimes this means a more immediate response, like a kick that can ruin somebody’s whole day plus the rest of the week. What really sets Peter apart, though, is the “criminal” empire that he is growing using the resources he steals from his targets. Granted, his “Drug Labs” are churning out generic insulin at affordable prices, but it’s the principle of the thing. Likewise, the sex workers and street walkers in Spider-Man’s “territory” have seen a massive drop in violence once he cornered a particularly belligerent john in an alley and mentioned that a lot of male spiders have their sex organ bitten off by the female.

The Gadgets: Unlike most, if not all, Spider-Men in the multiverse, Peter never came up with the idea of web-shooters or web fluid. He has a number of other tricks up his sleeve, sometimes literally, that fill the vacuum when it comes to mobility, combat, and controlling the combat environment. The most complex of these would have to be his costume, which also diverges dramatically from what other Spider Themed Heroes use, in that it is designed to blend in rather than stand out. The basic suit color scheme is a grey-green mixture that’s hard to see under low-light conditions, and Peter has a number of optional “urban ghillie suits” that can look like grey concrete, brick, rusted steel, or other patterns. He’s also been known to take his enemy’s clothing, but it’s not clear how much of this is intended to help him infiltrate them and turn them on each other and how much of it is just humiliating his defeated foes. His mask incorporates multiple vision enhancement devices, from light amplification to infra-red to sonar and radar, and these give him a multi-eyed appearance in keeping with the spider theme. Defensively and offensively, he has arm-mounted weapons that incorporate compressed air guns that can fire chemical darts at range, and provide a close-range electrical charge to incapacitate people in close combat. (In the early days he carried a literal dart gun and stun gun but kept losing them during fights.) Finally, he carries a small arsenal of counter-intelligence tools designed to let him eavesdrop on targets, clone their cell phones, break into secure areas without leaving signs of forced entry, and jam or intercept enemy communications. All of them are incorporated into his suit. He has ambitions of getting an Octavius Harness, since extra arms would complete the spider motif and also make him far more dangerous in combat, but he can’t afford it and he’s years away from learning how to jailbreak the safety features that Doctor Octavius put on his technology to keep it from being stolen.

The Cover: When he’s not making life interesting for the criminal underworld of New York City, Peter works as a photographer. He’s done contract work for the Daily Bugle, including the occasional shot of this Spider Man character, but most of his income is from people needing photographs of their belongings for insurance reasons. After all, this is a world where superheroes and supervillains go toe-to-toe at least twice a week. He’s done weddings, Bar Mitzvahs, graduations, family reunions, anniversaries, baby gender reveal parties, and more. He’s also done some stuff that would normally be within the purview of a private investigator, despite the legal risks, in order to make ends meet. His social circle is limited to a handful of people who still tolerated him when he was lashing out at the world as a teenager, which is basically a handful of former classmates that have moved on to college, trade school, or something else, especially Miles Morales (who also lost family at a young age), Felicia Hardy, and Eddie Brock. His dating life is non-existant despite multiple attempts by both Eddie and Miles to play matchmaker.

The Rogue’s Gallery: The Spider Man has a long standing antagonism with Hammerhead, but has occasionally faced off against other supervillains and even some superheroes. On the villain side, Peter has defeated an electricity controlling lunatic named Electro, some guy in a rocket assisted flight suit the press called the Vulture, the enigmatic and theatrical Mysterio, and some one or something called the Sand Man. Unfortunately, Peter beat the Sand Man by fusing him into glass, and was not able to pull off the same stunt twice. The former Sand Man, calling himself Vitreous, had to be stopped by the Avengers, and The Spider Man’s role in the creation of a much more dangerous villain is what got him on the radar of so many heroes in the first place. For the most part, he knows he’s outclassed and doesn’t really want to fight people who, in theory, have the same general goals, so he tends to run from these encounters. So far he’s managed to evade Iron Man, Hawkeye, and Oswald Octavius in his superhero alter ego of Doctor Octopus. His encounter with Loki resulted in Peter getting the upper hand in classic trickster legend style, earning the God of Mischief’s respect. In other cases, Peter has not been so lucky; while he managed to escape each time, he’s been almost crushed to death by Giant Man, beaten to a pulp by Captain America, and drop kicked into the East River by the Hulk as if he was some sort of football. He has technically never fought Dr. Strange, but was involved in a fracas between the Sorcerer Supreme, Deadpool, and Dr. Doom that resulted in the Eye of Agomotto being lost for five years; everyone involved has agreed to never speak of what happened again. Finally, there’s the matter of Sean Gargan, an aspiring superhero with Scorpion themed powers who has sworn to bring The Spider Man to justice after his father, Mac Gargan, was injured while The Spider Man was fighting Electro.

#spiderman #spiderverse #AU #Portia Spider

[dndeviants]

As above, not so below

No! Linda tried to grab the stake from Donavich’s hand, stepping forward, but she felt herself drop with a crunch.

What the-? She felt her heart race as she realized that her foot had fallen through the floorboard. 

Donavich was faster than she anticipated, and he was aided by the poor circumstances of her situation. She whirled around as far as she could with her stuck foot and took aim at the priest.

Ismark struggled to loose his rapier from his belt, and swung at the priest, trying to get him to stay away from his sister, but Donavich knocked the young man over a fallen pew.

He was right upon Ireena. In one swift motion, with all his might and righteous fury, he brought his stake high in the air.

Ireena fell backward and screamed in terror, raising her arms up to block the attack, and tensed herself, squishing her eyes shut... waiting for the pain of the stake piercing her.

But it never came.

She opened her eyes. Vasili had somehow gotten in front of her, and had the mad priest’s wrist locked in place. Vasili was furiously silent, and the priest had a look of shock on his face, which quickly contorted into pain when Vasili crushed the wrist in his hand, forcing Donavich to drop the stake, and kicked the priest backwards.

“Hey!“ Linda shouted, and fired. 

Donavich cried out as a bullet pierced his shoulder, blood pouring down his back, ruining his once holy vestments. He bellowed in anger, “Light of Lathander, blast you fiends!”

Light began to swirl around his hands and illuminated the room. The light coalesced into a sphere. The priest raised his hand and hurled it forward.

Ismark, Ireena, and Vasili dived out of the path of the light, but it was no use. The sphere of light burst into flame and the heat scorched the skin of them all. Ismark and Ireena took the worst of it. 

Ismark clenched his teeth and held on to his rapier, forcing himself to stay on guard despite his pain. 

Vasili ducked behind a pew, granting Ireena and himself cover for at least the moment.  He touched her arm and looked into her eyes, “Stay here,” he commanded in a soft voice. 

Ireena looked into the man’s eyes and felt her willpower to fight slip away. She nodded in affirmation and made herself smaller behind the pew, hoping the priest wouldn’t see her.

Vasili murmured something in a strange language while he touched her, and a spark of magic zipped over Ireena, turning her invisible. 

Vasili felt Ruki enter the room. Good, he would need her assistance. He stood from behind the pew, and approached Donavich. Donavich threw a punch at the tall, black-cloaked man, but Vasili caught the punch with ease, and hissed, "Stop this at once! You can't help anyone by killing them!"

I could easily kill him, thought Strahd to himself, as he had the priest in his control, But now is not the time to make a mess of things. Not in front of Tatayana... not in front of the guests.

Ruki made a quick assessment, and rushed up to Donavich, raising her staff. She struck him across the face. A look of hurt and surprise was all he could manage before he fell limp to the ground, unconscious.

Vasili gestured to the rope along the back wall of the chapel that was meant to replace the rope that rung the chapel bell, “Ruki, get that rope. Help me tie him up before he wakes..”

Ruki nodded and retrieved the rope. It was unusual that Strahd would show such mercy, especially to a priest, and especially to a priest that had just threatened his precious Tatayana. Perhaps he was serious about making a good impression on his guests.

“Thank you,“ Vasili mumbled, helping Ruki to tie up the Father, before rising and surveying the rest of the church. He looked down and saw the stake at his feet. Vasili kicked the stake away from himself in disgust.

Ruki could tell that he was fuming internally. Certainly enough, his voice seethed with rage in her head. 

Self-righteous priests! Had he harmed her further, I’d have ripped him limb from limb! His venom was beginning to show on Vasili’s face. If he showed too much, his diguise might be compromised.

Calm, my lord. Ruki touched Vasili’s arm, He is subdued.

Strahd struggled to calm himself, but eventually relaxed into his usual detachment. “Vasili” was safe, for now.

Ismark approached the two of them, looking at the priest he had known for all his life. He stared at the unconscious Father, then backed away, suddenly hit by a wave of horror,  "Gods above... he tried to kill us!"

Ireena shifted from behind her hiding place, still invisible by Vasili’s magic. She ran up to Linda, "Are you okay, Linda?"

Linda nods, “Just a little stu-” she turned to the source of Ireena’s voice and found nothing. She blinked, “Where are you?”

Ireena’s voice responded, “I’m right by you... here, let me take your hand and help you out...”

Ruki nudged Vasili out of his distracted thoughts. Vasili turned to see Linda being pulled by an invisible force. “Oh, apologies...” he waved his hand and let the invisibility spell fall.

Ireena appeared again just as she helped Linda out of the hole. Linda sat down and rubbed her leg, pausing when she heard the sound of crying coming from the hole...

Ireena whispered, “You hear that?”

Linda nodded, “What is that?” she looked down the hole, seeing only blackness, “It’s down there...” she looked to Ismark, “How do we get downstairs?”

Ismark snapped to attention and stammered, “It-it would have to be through one of those rooms up front!”

Linda shakily stood up and walked with purpose to the front of the church. She checked doors and opened them. All of the rooms she checked were barren, no sign of any activity or any passageway. She grumbled and checked the last room.

“It’s locked,“ she turned to Ismark.

Ismark closed the door he checked in disappointment, “Nothing...” he looked over to Linda, “That one is locked?”

Linda jerked her head over to the chapel where Father Donavich lay, “Search him for a key!”

Vasili looked over to Ruki, “Do you care to search him?” He adjusted his gloves with a slight look of discomfort on his face.

The spell must be wearing off... Ruki hurriedly searched the priest’s belt and found his coinpurse and his keys. She took the keys and stood up, taking Vasili with her as she delivered them to Linda.

Linda flipped through the key ring and matched one to the door. She opened the room, and saw that it was in shambles. Furniture had been moved and tipped over, the walls were scratched and barren, and there was grime and dust coating almost every surface... among the wreckage, she spotted a trap door...

The wailing seemed to be crystal clear now, and she could make out the words:

“Help me... please... Father!“

Linda sprang to action, pulling up the trap door and heading down into the basement. She was followed closely by Ruki and Ireena, Vasili and Ismark lingered behind cautiously, but entered into the darkness nonetheless.

The cool damp air was still and deathly. It was dark, but lamplight had brightened the room just enough for them to see four pillars with chains fastened to them. They each held a limb of an emaciated young man with long, curly brown hair. His skin was pale from lack of sun, and his limbs were thin and bony from what appeared to be long-term starvation. He was surrounded by skeletons of tiny creatures.

Linda and Ruki approached cautiously.

Ireena cried out in shock at the sight, “Who-?”

The young man stirred and looked up at them with a gaunt face, his blue eyes glassy bloodshot from crying.

“Gods!“ Ismark exclaimed, “It’s Doru!“

“Doru?!“ Ireena could scarcely believe it.

Ismark ignored all caution and ran to the young man and tried to pull loose his chains, but it was of no use.

Ruki slunk back into the shadows with Vasili. The two of them withdrawing for the moment from the boy who dared to rebel against the vampire. Ruki extended her senses...

He... is still human... she was surprised at this. He was most certainly bitten, the purple wounds branded Doru’s pale neck, but it appeared that they had arrived in time to save him from the curse of undeath...

But only if he had immediate help and proper care.

My lord, she projected, he has not yet become a spawn.

Ruki heard Strahd’s voice once more.  I see... That is why I could not sense him... I always wondered what happened to the one I bit in the rebellion and then let go... it seems that he would have been better off in my larders after all. But I pity the boy. Betrayed by his own father...

Doru gazed up at them with his glassy blue eyes, helplessness on his face, but hope in his heart, “Help me... please...” he moaned, “...water...”

Linda pulled her canteen out, and kneeled by him, gently pouring water into his mouth. She grimaced as she saw the tell tale bites of a vampire... and not just any vampire... they were too similar to Ireena’s bites to be coincidental. It seemed Strahd had made this young man a victim too.

She sighed and also pulled out rations. She broke up her crackers into small pieces so he could eat.

Doru coughed and sputtered, but a new sense of urgency filled him, "T-thank you... please. You have to let me out of here!"

Linda stood and examined the locks on the chains. She started testing the keys on the ring to different locks.

Ireena covered her mouth, her eyes were teary with pity for Doru, but also anger at the injustice of his imprisonment,  "Why are you in here?” she asked, “Why did he do this to you?"

Doru shivered and gulped, "When I went to help the doctor with everyone else... I was the only one to get bitten... but we all ran. We ran as fast as we could to get away, and I got lost... and then I found my way back. I tried to get Father to help me lift the curse, remove the bite... but he was convinced I was already impure and damned! He drugged me and locked me in here..."

Linda successfully unlocked Doru’s bindings, letting the chains fall to the ground. Doru tried to stand, but fell into the dirt, his hand brushed against one of the tiny skeletons. He whimpered, "I've been living off of rats and rain that falls through for gods know how long."

Linda put her arm under Doru and helped him stand, “You can come with us then,” she looked at Ireena, “More curses to be lifted.”

Ireena nodded.

Doru sniffled, "Anywhere is better than here...” he struggled to move forward, panic fueling him, “We need to go before Father finds out!"

"You don't have to worry about the old priest...” Vasili’s voice startled everyone at its suddenness. “However, I do have a question for Master Kolyanovich..." he turned to Ismark, fixing the burgomaster’s son with a hungry glare, "The priest has locked up his son unlawfully, and has made an attack against you and your sister... children of the Burgomaster, no less...” he paused, “What will your justice be?"

Vasili leaned up against a pillar and folded his arms, waiting for Ismark’s answer.

Linda huffed and held onto Doru, "Lock him away? Take his son from him? The man is already crazy and not fit to be a priest."

Ismark nodded his agreement, "He's a danger to the public in this state. It is best to imprison him for the time being... however, Lord Holtz..." Ismark held up a finger in warning, "We are not obligated to turn over our prisoners to you until our own council has tried him. Those are the laws your lord gave to us."

 "Take him to the village prison? You have one right?" She looked to Ismark.

Ismark tilts his head and frowns, "Well... it is more of an indoor stockade. We don't have a prison proper."

Linda sighed, aiding Doru forward, “It works.”

They left the Church of Barovia, returning to Kolyan and explaining the circumstances of the attack. Kolyan was furious and ordered the town guard to make an immediate arrest and to call forth a council for judgement. Doru was taken to a village nurse to be taken care of. Ireena and Ismark decided that it would be best to go to Vallaki and excused themselves to pack.

Vasili, Ruki, and Linda stood outside of the Burgomaster’s mansion, stonily waiting for the burgomaster’s children to be ready. 

Vasili looked over to Linda. Her face was grim and in deep thought. She fumed silently over the priest’s zealotry, and the injustice to Doru, but also over the confusing situation involving Strahd. 

Vasili spoke in a quiet voice to her, interrupting her line of thought, "I know that you are eager to help these people lift their curses,” he used an understanding tone, “but we may have to leave the boy behind. He isn't fit for travel at this moment, and despite superstitions... a bite from a vampire isn't immediately condemning."

"I know.” Linda was curt with him, “He needs to get healthy again before he can do any traveling."

Vasili simply nodded and folded his arms. He turned to Ruki, "Ruki... do you think we could summon the carriage here? I feel it would be a more leisurely way to travel, especially for the Burgomaster's children. We've all been through hell already today."

Yeah, thought Linda, hell for sure. She snorted a small laugh, but it was humorless.

Ruki nodded and reached out her senses to summon the Black Carriage.

Vasili leaned against the mansion, folding his arms over his chest. He turned to Linda, speaking in a dry voice, "Welcome to Barovia, home to undead, fanatics, and even undead fanatics at times... I'm sure this isn't what you are used to in your home."

She rolled her head over to look at Vasili, and blinked slowly while raising her brows, "Not to this extent."

Vasili nodded and folded his hands, "Can you tell me anything about this apprentice of yours? What does he look like? Name? Just so I know what to look and listen for."

Linda nodded, refreshed that this man was actually taking initiative to help her. “His name is Timothy Greene,” she began, “He is seventeen years old. Has green eyes. Mid-brown hair. Not quite as tall as I am. Strong jaw, youthful face, thin brows...”

Vasili took out a notebook and wrote the details down dutifully and earnestly. Linda watched him write and looked over the notes. No error in the description. She only corrected him on the spelling of his name... not that it fully mattered. The description would be good enough, she hoped. She was surprised that he was taking this as seriously as he was, given that he had other pressing duties to his lord. 

Whatever Strahd may be, Linda thought, Vasili seems to be a good man.

Vasili reviewed his notes, "I will be sure to see what I can find on this... Timothy...” he reviewed the spelling of the name and smirked at Linda, “Now for your part of our bargain... Is there anyone you have met so far that you think may be a suitable replacement for the Lord Strahd?"

Linda could tell that he was jesting. She looked Vasili in the eyes, and fixed him with a deadpan, "No."

He laughed. The low and quiet laughter he made seemed to bring Linda’s heart up to her throat. She felt her face go red when he gave her a tight-lipped, crooked smile.

"At least you are refreshingly honest..." he purred.

Linda put her hands on her hips, "Of course. There is no need to sugar-coat things. I haven't met too many people..." she averted her gaze from him.

"I suppose that is true,” he mused before growing serious again, “Well, there is an entire country for you to explore... and the closer we get to Krezk, the more likely we will hear something about those werewolves, and possibly your Timothy. "

Linda sighed, "I hope so. He was going to take over my shop. Almost done with his apprenticeship..."

She thought about the simple times she had with him, about how his parents would be worried sick. She had a duty to return him-

Her thoughts were once more interrupted by Vasili’s curiosity, "You run a shop?” he looked to her with interest, “What kind of wares do you specialize in?"

Linda nodded, "I'm a tinker. I make toys, clocks and firearms plus ammunition."

"Fire-arms?” Vasili spoke the strange word and made a guess, “I suppose those are weapons? Ranged weapons perhaps? I don't know of any other weapon that uses ammunition..."

Linda nodded, impressed by Vasili’s reasoning. She took her revolver out of her holster and held it up for him to see, pointing up and away from any other thing, "This is what I fired at the Father. It's like I took a cannon, and made it small enough to fit in my hand and gave it multiple chambers.""

He thought for a moment, and inspected the weapon without touching it, "I was wondering what kind of enchanted object you had. It sounded like you had a thundering enchantment, but could sense no magic. I thought that perhaps my senses might have been failing me. The situation was a little overwhelming."

She shook her head, "No magic here. Just black powder."

He raised a gloved hand to his chin in thought and purred in amusement, "Now that is interesting..."

She re-holstered her gun, "Took a while to figure out how to get the extra barrels to work."

Vasili blinked in surprise, "So am I correct to assume that you made the weapon you carry, the accessories, ammunition, and this 'black powder' that fuels it?"

She smiled in satisfaction, "I did."

"Impressive,” he breathed, “Innovations like that always fascinate me."

Linda was excited to have someone to finally share her interests, “Me too!” she exclaimed, before making her voice more calm and level, "They fascinated me as a young child. I learned to tinker about the same time that I earned to play the piano. Both are skills that take years to hone."

Vasili mused, "You play the piano, too?"

She nodded, "Music is an outlet,” she could play music and listen to music to feel better about any situation, “I play pretty frequently."

Vasili seemed to share her enthusiasm, "I was a virtuoso myself at one point, but...” his fingers twitched, as if agonizing to play at a keyboard of some kind, “it's been so long since I've played..."

"It's like riding a horse. You never really forget," Linda put her hands in her pockets in order to disguise her own ache to play.

"Well perhaps I shall have to test that theory..." he thought to himself for a moment.

Ruki rose from her trance and nodded over to the mansion door opening. Ismark and Ireena exited their house, carrying a simple case of luggage between the two of them. 

Vasili looked them over, and gave them a brief, curt nod, before returning to his usual serious manner, "I suppose it is time to go to Vallaki. Let's find the carriage. Perhaps we will be able to pick up Lord Aric and Jeeves along the way..." 

#story update #linda tacklemeyer #ruki von holtz #curse of strahd #vasili von holtz #strahd von zarovich #dnd 5e #writing

[jeaneybean]

Surprisingly Jake doesn’t fuck things up

Anya does, though!

Magnolia heads up to the castle to do her part in the plan, which is to go up and ask to be a stablehand. She plays the half-orc card, being humble about her questions and whatnot, whenever she’s asked why she wants a job she’s like ‘Oh, I like to be useful, and I know that people don’t like to see me. I’m just happy to take a job.’. She lands an interview, performs well by picking up the entire barrel of meat for the wolves herself, and comes out alive and mucking out the stable through use of calm animal and dominate animal. She’s shown into the undercroft where she’ll dump anything she mucks, and then is shown to her room, which still has the last stablemaster’s things in it. She gets like 100 electrum peices, which was probably the last dude’s funds to get out of town. He’s not using it.

Jake finds a tailor and gets a fools outfit made before heading back to the inn and dropping 3 gold on drinks for the night. He heads up the next morning to chat with the guards and try to get an audence. Since Vera’s group had got their audence and Mags got a job the guards are like ‘okay, we know how this is going to go’ and take him up. Juno’s none too pleased to see the guards making her decisions for her, but her brother is pretty amused with Jake’s audition. They invivte him to ‘entertain’ during dinner.’

Oz wakes up and goes to find a servant to try and get a first aid kit because somebody’s been experimenting with his magic and hurt himself a little. After that he goes looking around the castle to try and scope things out but is found by a servant, plays it off as he’s looking at architecture, and gets escorted around while the servant tells what he can about the place. Everything he knows is wrong.

Mags sees Vera come back into the castle in the morning after she went outside to try and help Nitahn turn. Vera returns to her room and goes back to sleep, waking up at around noon. It’s then that the amulet spits out Anya, soaking wet and injured. Vera does just enough healing to close up her wounds so the blood won’t alert the wolves. Oz comes to knock at Vera’s door after he gets away from the servant and is like ‘Do you have any idea how annoying it is to be told incorrect things by people?’ and Vera’s like ‘ah  yeah about that, come inside, do you know anythign about medicine?’ because Vera’s not a doctor, her husband’s a doctor, but shes pretty sure if she heals Anya without setting the bone that things won’t work right.

Curiously Oz has been paying a lot more attention to healing as of late and gets the kit to take a look at Anya’s wounds. With a bit of effort he sets Anya’s collarbone and she passes out, Vera healing her once she’s down. Oz wakes her up with smelling salts and gets his dress clothes for Anya to wear while her clothes are drying. They fill Anya in a bit on why they’re there in the castle. Anya spots the hidden door to the catacombs in Vera’s room and operates it, opening it up. Vera asks if she can scout out, also it’ll be better for her to hide in there rather than hide in Vera’s room.

That’s about when a servant comes looking for Oz, telling him about the banquet. Oz says he’ll tell Vera, she’s not feeling well after her early morning. Y’know. Pregnant women. Oz tells Vera and Anya about the banquet and the entertainer and Vera and Anya both are like ‘god damn it’ because it’s Jake, and he’s probably going to get eaten.

Meanwhile Vlad goes to wake up Nitahn who’s passed out from his earlier shenanigans. He invites him up for dinner again. Nitahn is pretty out of it and doesn’t want to go until Vlad mentions Jake performing and Nitahn gets up all grumpily and grabs his violin just in case he needs to distract them from murdering Jake.

Magnolia’s told about dinner when she goes to feed the wolves. After doing the same as yesterday (Calm animals + dominate) she cleans up more of the stables, hauling the bones back to the same bone pile. It’s there that Anya finds her. They talk for a bit about the situation, Anya questioning the plan because apparently ANya thinks we have a concrete plan instead of the awful lack of a plan we’ve got. Anya goes back to exploring, opening secret doors after listening. She finds a room where a young man is alone and shuts the door real quick, hearing him scrabble after her.

The dining hall is set up mostly the same as before, with the seating going: Vlad, Nitahn, Deidric, Vera, Juno, Oz, Beatrice the super norther werewolf who is eyeing Oz hard. The one that did a BJ motion with a bone last time. 

Jake rolls in, using all his spells to make an entertaining show. Sticking coins to people’s hands, magic missiling thrown coins, ghost sounds to amplify his voice, the whole 9 yards. The group is getting into his physical comedy but Juno isn’t too into it. She calls in the wolves to swarm around him (magnolia tries to get them to go in one by one but they are excited for dinner) and Jake looks to the table and is like ‘Who wants to give me some meat for these hungry wolves!’. Four people lob legs at him and he catches all four, making a big show of throwing over three of them to the wolves before asking Juno who should get the fourth one. She points to her brother and says he could use more fattening up. So Jake ignores the wolves and heads to the table, offering Deidric the leg and grabbing him some mead with mage hand when asked.

As Jake had been doing his magic show, Juno asked Vera about her opinion on the man. Vera made several disparaging comments on the drow, and since he was male and half drow he was probably worthless to both sides. She’s of the opinion that Jake’s just trying to make a living by what little magic power he has, because if he was any good he’d be a sell-spell instead of doing this. Or, he might just realize his proper place in the world. Juno asks if fools have a place and Vera says they do, entertaining their betters.

It’s at about this point that Anya goes back to Vera’s room only to find one of Juno’s guards rifling through Vera’s things. The man turns and spots her, Anya’s like ‘Housekeeping.’. He tries to grab her, she ducks back into the tunnels and disables the door from her side and books it back out of the catacombs.

Said guard goes to Juno and is like ‘we have a situation’. She steps off to the side to take care of the situation. Of course, this is when Anya sneaks into the kitchen and winds up face to face with a servant who’s staring at her. Anya reaches into her bag of tricks and throws a bear at him. Of course, a bear in the kitchen attracts a lot of attention. Anya gets out to the stables.

The cry of ‘bear!’ goes out, and Nitahn looks to Deidric and is like ‘is it hunt time?’ and Deidric is like ‘OH FUCK YEAH’ and starts changing into a werewolf. Vlad grabs Nitahn and is like ‘you can’t get hit’ and Nitahn is like ‘I’m going to play them music’, and he does. Oz hides behind Vera as Vera tries to see what’s happening. But, like, small woman. Pregnant. No armor. Vera’s not going into the kitchen with a bear. 

Obviously the werewolves take down the bear easy, and Jake sneaks into the kitchen to get the servant safe. Juno is all like ‘Don’t let him leave’ to Jake, because she knows it was a drow that was spotted sneaking in.

Meanwhile Anya stumbles outside into the sunlight where she is stunned for a round, coming to with someone trying to grab her. She gets away and runs towards the portcullus, getting shanked when she ran past one person and stabbed with a spear when she dashes past another. She gets out of the castle walls and weighs her options, tumbling down a cliffside to run towards town. She’s out of the frying pan, but into the fire.

#The idiots do a adventure

[imagine-loki]

The Witch's Familiar

TITLE: The Witch’s Familiar CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 14/? AUTHOR: nekoamamori ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine getting so attached to Lokitty early on that you insist on carrying him just about everywhere.  RATING: T (so far) NOTES/WARNINGS: Also on AO3 Click here

    “What are we wearing to this… party?” Loki asked on the elevator ride back up to your rooms. He sounded nervous. You took his hand and brushed your thumb over the back of it, reassuring.

    “We’re wearing our battle costumes,” you told him gently. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. It’ll be loud and obnoxious and probably full of Tony being drunk and people acting stupid,” you added, equally gently. It really wasn’t going to be an event that Loki would like. Hell, it wasn’t going to be an event that you would like, but you were obligated to go. Tony had made you promise.

    “You will be there,” Loki replied carefully.

    “Because I have to go. It’s supposed to be fun. Tony insists it will be. I don’t believe him, but I have to show up at least for a little while,” you told him, whining. You just wanted to sit on a couch with a purring Lokitty and a book.

    “Then I will join you and we will protect each other,” Loki’s voice was warm, obviously caring about you and your well-being, but you could hear the nerves in his voice. He didn’t want to spend the evening with the mortals, with Tony, or his loud drunken friends.

    “Lokitty, just stay here. You’ll be safer and happier and won’t have mortals stepping on your tail. I know how you feel about them not giving you a chance,” you insisted. You didn’t want to see him suffering through this party.

    “Nonsense. It would be dishonorable to let you face this battle alone,” he said in such a lofty formal tone that you couldn’t help laughing. He seemed pleased that you had relaxed. You kissed his cheek when you were outside of your room. It had become a friendly, caring, gesture over the last few weeks when you couldn’t reach the spot between the cat-ears on top of his head.

    “Wait for me and we can go down to the ballroom together,” you suggested.

    “That sounds like an excellent idea,” he agreed quickly. He lifted your hand and bowed over it as he kissed your knuckles. You smiled at the old-fashioned gesture and ducked into your room to get ready for the party. You used magic to summon your battle armor. It was a pain to put on normally. Coulson had given you a new set when yours was destroyed in the explosion. It now had gold trim with the green and black. You had a feeling he was trying to ship you and Loki too. But it looked cool and was functional, so you didn’t complain. You did your hair and put on makeup since this was a party and made sure your wand was wrapped securely around your wrist pretending to be a bracelet. You didn’t want to be without it among all these people, most of whom you wouldn’t know.

    You carefully settled your witch’s hat on your head, securing it in place with magic. You took a glance in the mirror before you left your room. You looked tiny, innocent, and adorable. It was the exact look Coulson had been going for in your costume, a cute little witch who helped out the team and saved the world. There were negative connotations about witches being evil, so he’d designed your costume to look adorable, despite that it was mostly black. You were also careful to keep up a cheerful, polite, kind demeanor at all times. It had gotten you the reputation of being America’s sweetheart and the public loved you.

    You stepped out into the hall and saw Loki waiting for you in his full battle armor, including his golden horned helmet. You saw the illusions hiding his cat-ears and tail. You only saw the illusions because you were a witch. They were very well done. You also noted that he chose his current armor setup and not the set from New York. Wise choice. “Hope you weren’t waiting too long,” you greeted him with a smile. He was leaning against the wall with a book in one hand. He vanished the book and looked over at you as he stood.

    “Not at all,” he replied with a smile.

    “Good job on the illusions,” you told him by way of complimenting his appearance. He would be uncomfortable if you told him how hot his battle armor was. Instead, you complimented his skills, which he would appreciate more.

    “You look lovely as ever, little sorceress,” he replied warmly, accepting your praise for what it was. He hesitated a moment, but finally said: “I wanted to ask before we head to Tony’s party: would you allow me the honor of escorting you on a proper date this Saturday evening?”

    “It would be my honor,” you replied automatically, just as formally as his question had been. You’d been waiting for him to ask after all. “Where are we going?” you asked curiously.

    “It is a surprise,” you gave him a look. The last date you had gone on had not turned out well. Neither had the ones before that. You weren’t sure you trusted surprises, even from him. “Trust me, love. It will be a pleasant surprise. At the worst, we will have a fun evening out and remain friends.” You relaxed at that. You could accept the surprise fun evening if there was no pressure that you’d lose your best friend if the dating thing somehow didn’t work out.

    “Alright, but you’re going to have to give me some clue or I’ll have no idea what to wear,” you informed him with a teasing smile. You saw his grin and the glimmer of mischief and fun in his eyes.

    He offered you his arm. “Shall we?” you hesitated before you took it. He looked surprised and a little hurt that you didn’t take his arm automatically like you usually did.

    “Not that I mind,” you told him quickly “but if we go down to that party arm-in-arm every single person there is going to assume that we’re dating and it will end up all over the news and tabloids. I don’t mind,” you repeated firmly. “I just want to make sure that you’re ok with it,” you knew how shy he was even around the team, though they were all starting to warm up. Out among normal people who would probably recognize and hate him for trying to take over the world? It was already amazing enough that the magic school accepted him with little to no question. He was a cat and a god, of course he’d tried to take over the world. Everything had worked out in the end, so the witches and wizards moved on. It’s what they did. Muggles were harder to convince.

    “You wish to make sure I feel safe?” Loki mused with a warm smile. He looked truly touched that you were thinking of his feelings. “I promised to face this challenge with you,” he reminded you and offered you his arm again. You smiled and placed your hand on his offered arm. “This might be fun after all,” he commented as you walked to the elevator to head to the ballroom. He would enjoy the press having a field day.

    You tightened your grip on his arm when you stepped off of the elevator, glad for his presence. The ballroom was packed. Everyone was in costume, though the rule was that only the team were allowed to dress as Avengers. At least your friends would be easy to find. You didn’t know how or why Tony had invited so many people to this stupid thing. “It’s alright, love,” Loki’s voice was kind, but you saw his tail bristle under the illusion spell. He wasn’t comfortable in this crowd either. You steeled your spine and courage and stepped into the room proper.

    “Let’s go get drinks,” you told Loki and gestured to the bar. “That’s where Stark’s likely to be and we can’t escape until he sees us here,” you added. Loki inclined his head to indicate that he’d heard you over the crowd and he led you to the bar. The crowd seemed to part for him and you couldn’t tell if it was magic or his presence that was getting them to move.

    “You two finally decided to show up!” Tony exclaimed when you reached the bar and handed you each a drink.

    “You threatened me if I didn’t,” you glared at him.

    “You need to have fun sometimes too, kid,” he teased, “even if it’s forcefully. Now have fun,” he told you and shooed you toward the dance floor. You weren’t going near the dance floor until you had to, or until Tony played something you could actually dance to instead of this…club music. Instead, you found the science bros corner. It was a quiet corner where Bruce and Doctor Strange were currently hanging out.

    “Nice illusions, not-a-cat,” Strange greeted Loki when you two made your way over. Loki bristled, not liking being teased by Strange who didn’t really trust or like him.

    “Stop that,” you told Loki firmly and kissed his cheek to calm him. “Strange teases, it’s what he does. You can’t stab him for it,” you added quickly before Loki could do just that.

    “The press is loving you,” Strange said sarcastically, commenting on the pictures that were being taken of you being escorted by Loki and of course that kiss on the cheek. You shrugged.

    “No one cares what the press thinks,” you replied more bravely than you felt.

    “I think you’ll care when they put out the story that America’s sweetheart is being courted by a reformed super villain,” Strange countered. You shrugged again.

    “They’ll learn what he’s really like, eventually. Until then, who better to prove that he’s not evil than ‘America’s Sweetheart’?” you replied. Loki raised your hand to his lips to kiss, grateful that you were standing up for him.

    You chatted with Strange and Bruce until your drinks were gone. You vanished the empty glasses back to the bar, then went to go find the others. You couldn’t escape from the crowd until the entire team had seen you here. Thor was overjoyed to see Loki here and clapped him on the shoulder jovially, while Loki growled at the treatment. Nat and Clint were on the dance floor. Cap was hanging out with some WWII friends and nodded to you when he saw you.

    You grinned when one of the line dances started and dragged Loki out onto the dance floor by the hand. He followed, letting you drag him like a well-loved stuffed animal, or your best friend, which he was. “I do not know this dance,” he protested feebly, interested by all the people dancing in sync. So you taught him the electric slide.

    A slow song started and he looked equally confused at this dance. You wrapped your arms around his neck, his arms went automatically around your waist. “I know, it’s not like a proper ball,” you empathized with him mournfully. “There’s no finesse to these… slow dances. Not like the waltz. You just kind of…hold your partner and sway,”

    “That can be enjoyable as well,” Loki’s voice was a purr as he held you close to him. His lips touched your forehead. “Quite enjoyable, though you are correct. This is nothing like a proper ball. There is no finesse, no style, no… emotion in the dance itself.” You both ignored the press taking pictures of the pair of you.

    Thor grabbed both of your arms later in the evening, once most of the crowd was dying out and dragged you over to the bar where the others on the team were gathering. “Thor!” you both protested.

    “C’mon, you two, it’s tradition!” Tony exclaimed. “Thor, you brought it, right?” he asked. Thor let you and Loki go now that you were at the bar with the others. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a giant flask.

    “What tradition is this?” you asked Nat.

    “Stark wants to get shitfaced off of Asgardian booze. So he makes us all drink it, forgetting that it takes a lot more of the stuff to get those of us who aren’t normal humans shitfaced,” she explained quickly as she took her shot from Thor as he passed them out. You shrugged and took one too. You weren’t a normal human either.

    “Be careful with this,” Loki warned as he accepted one as well.

    “It has been aged 1000 years,” Thor reminded the team. “And not for mortals,” he glared at Tony, who downed his shot, regardless of the warning.

    “How many shots does it take to get you drunk, anyway?” Tony demanded as he watched you down the shot.

    You shrugged. “More than a human, less than Thor,” you answered. You hadn’t tested your limits in a long time. “That stuff is good,” you added to Thor as he refilled your glass.

    “Careful,” Thor reminded you again. You nodded and sipped on the second round. Tony was not nearly so careful and was down for the count almost instantly. Clint and Bruce were soon on the losers pile with Tony. You stopped after the second, not wanting to end up drunk. A taste of the stuff was one thing, getting drunk was just silly.

    It was getting late and you’d been social much longer than intended, so you turned to Loki, who was watching the antics with amusement. “Lokitty, mind walking me back upstairs?” you asked. He raised an eyebrow, but set his glass on the bar. “Guests are only supposed to have access to this floor of the tower, but mistakes have been made… I’d rather not find out alone that someone snuck into my room,” you explained, though tried to make it sound like it wasn’t a huge concern.

    One of the guys always walked you back to your room after these kind of events, usually Thor, since he was the most responsible as the most sober. Nat and Clint always slept in the same bed after these things, claiming it was for protection from nightmares. No one dared dispute their story or tease them. Bruce was safe because of the Hulk, an Iron Man suit guarded Tony, and Thor and Cap were…Thor and Cap. Thor wouldn’t leave you alone last time until you’d created satisfactory shields around your room. There had been one incident since you’d lived here of a drunk girl in a Black Widow costume making it to the living room and passing out there. No one was taking chances with anyone’s safety on the team.

    “Of course, darling,” Loki replied warmly. He offered you his arm and nodded a goodbye to the others. He wouldn’t be coming back to the party once he escaped.

    “Brother… ” Thor’s tone was a warning. He wanted to say more, to make the suggestion that your relationship was too new and too unofficial to handle without breaking.

    “Lady Y/N is perfectly safe in my care,” Loki replied grumpily, growling that Thor questioned his honor. That wasn’t what was going on, but was the obvious conclusion.

    “I am not questioning your ability to keep her safe. I merely wish to remind you that it may be necessary to do so, which is uncommon in the safety of the tower,” Thor replied calmly, not offended at Loki’s grumpy reply. “People have slipped past our security into the tower before. Take this responsibility seriously, despite the fact that Lady Y/N asked you lightly,”

    “I’m not helpless, Thor,” you grumped at him.

    “No, you’re not,” Thor agreed mildly. “But that doesn’t mean you should be stupid,” he replied. You nodded in agreement with that. It was a perfectly logical assessment. You took Loki’s arm more firmly and let him lead you to the elevator.

    “Are you alright?” Loki asked you softly, noticing your grip tighten.

    You nodded. “Just tired of all of the people,” you admitted softly. The others knew you were an introvert, but only Bruce seemed to really understand how exhausting it was.

    “I completely understand,” he agreed, just as shy and introverted as you were. Once the elevator doors had slid shut you both used magic to ditch the costumes, back to comfortable pajamas and normalcy, and Loki dropped the illusions on his cat-ears and tail. You reached up automatically to scratch behind one of his ears. He gave you a warm smile in return. “Are they others taking a buddy with them to look for intruders?” he asked you curiously.

    “Nat and Clint are sharing a bed tonight. Tony and one of his suits will be sharing a bed, or hanging out in the lab with Bruce. Hulk will keep Bruce safe. Cap is Cap; I’m not sure he even sleeps. Your brother is well… Thor. He can take care of himself. If not, his roars will wake the entire tower,” you explained on the elevator ride.

    “The oaf is quite loud,” Loki agreed. “Is he exaggerating the threat?” he asked softly, his tone demanding a truthful answer.

    You didn’t want to worry Loki, but you knew better than to lie to him either. “I don’t think it’s as bad as he’s making it sound, but there have been intruders before, including one since I’ve lived here,” you told him. He nodded, accepting your words, but you saw the worry behind his eyes.

    He wrapped an arm around your shoulders as you walked down the hall to your room, an overprotective gesture, but you didn’t mind, especially when you had asked him to walk you safely home. You opened the door and stepped aside so he could go in and check for intruders. You knew how this worked and didn’t deny that his honor demanded that he verify you would be safe. Loki peeked his head out of the room a minute later. “It’s safe,” he told you. You nodded and followed him into the room. He hesitated and you saw what he wanted to ask, and saw him try to figure out how without upsetting you or sounding like he was pushing for more than just sleep and protection.

    “Lokitty, just stay,” you told him gently and began pulling back the covers on your bed. He just stared, shocked at the suggestion. “You want to make sure I’m safe, especially now that you know it’s a legitimate concern and not just something your idiot brother made up. I’d feel better knowing you’re safe too,”

    “You would not think it… forward?” he finally asked, though it sounded like that wasn’t the word he was looking for. It got the concept of his hesitation to you well enough.

    “Lokitty,” you sighed in exasperation. “You’re my best friend and I trust you,” you saw a heartbreaking expression in his eyes that anyone would say that they trusted him. “Besides, you’ve slept here plenty of times before,” most of those times he’d been in cat form, but still, it had only been most of those times. “I’m inviting you to stay for sleep and safety. There’s plenty of bed for both of us. So, yes, you’re invited to stay. But if you climb on my face or do any other annoying cat thing to wake me in the middle of the night, you’re never getting another invitation,” you warned him lightly, using the exact words you’d warned his cat-form with.

    He chuckled. “Does that mean you wish for me to change forms?” he asked just as lightly, willing to do that if it would make you feel safer about his presence.

    “And risk you refusing to turn back again? No. I was just teasing so you’d relax and cool that adorable blush. Especially when there’s no need for a blush over a simple sharing of a sleeping space,” you teased. He laughed and seemed to finally relax. “Now I’m exhausted after having to deal with so many stupid people. Are you staying, or do I need to come with you to make sure your room is clear of intruders too?” you asked and covered a yawn with your hand.

    He kissed your forehead. “Take the side of the bed furthest from the door,” he told you firmly. You couldn’t help smiling at his automatic jump to taking the more vulnerable position. “I’ll join you in a minute,” he added warmly. You nodded and climbed into the bed while he went to the door to lock it. You both made the shields around the room, twining your power together. Nothing was getting through those shields. Loki joined you a minute later, sitting against the pillows with a book. The lights in the room went out, but he held a little ball of light in one hand. “Will this disturb you?” he asked, perfectly willing to set the book aside so he didn’t keep you from sleeping.

    “Not at all,” you replied, curling yourself comfortably under the covers. “Goodnight, Lokitty,” you bid him warmly and closed your eyes to finally relax after dealing with so many people. You needed to recharge your introvert batteries.

    “Sleep well, darling” he bid you softly. His voice was warm honey as he read aloud from the book of poetry he held. You fell asleep listening to his sweet honeyed voice and the lovely cadence of his words and accent, feeling perfectly safe in his company, and knowing that if he was here reading to you that he was safe and happy too.

#Loki #Lover #Imagine #Submitted fic #submission #the witch's familiar #nekoamamori #chapter 14

[timelostcarrion]

Mirror

‘In waiting am I.’

A dangerous exchange, a shallow curved blade that met nothing but the flesh of cheek and raked up into the eye, cutting flesh with the smoothness of a fresh scalpel. Steel reefing glasses off and to the floor a deal of distance, rupturing all sight to one eye, hopeful to leave a nasty mark. It wasn’t going to go unanswered.

‘Listening. Feeling. Experiencing. I am apart of you as you are me.’

Erupting anger with a guttural snarl, crude, bone like claws pierce through clothing, ripping the flesh clean and deep across like an animal, spilling the flow of blood to the floor, tearing muscle. But no guts to be had unfortunately. Oh not yet.

A cry of pain. Distance had to be made, a heavy result of two recoiling away from each other to tend wounds.

An audible crunch of glass resonated within the panting filled atmosphere and followed with a resounding growl, the open space was arena cleared and left a mess, the marble floor scattered and littered in decor that was present before this fight broken out. It wasn’t a clean one either obviously, blood droplets left tats on the white marble, smeared, desperate, and extreme to the worse, mixed and mostly belonging to one and another. Especially her... It was a vicious sight to see... it glistened in the firelight of heavy, chain hanging lamps from the columns.

‘Her strength may be pain, but that doesn’t mean she’s unstoppable.’

With the twist of a boot on the hard stained floor, the once familiar victorian doctor further crushed a pair of glasses that were under the sole, hunched forward and tattered with varying wounds that oozed blood and stained over the brim of her clothing. It left her cold and more deathly pale from what she’d usually be, the blood loss so bad that the negatives were starting to take hold of her, more obvious by the dark rings under her eye, darker than usual. Tunnel vision all locked on her suited opponent. What crimson scattered and spilled was mostly hers, looking alike she was hit with a barrage of knives for how vicious the assault looked. Her once elegant clothing shredded, torn and pulled to appear like rags almost, she’d not have had her coat with her upon arrival either. Exposure of skin and the wounds deep, one similar to her enduring a failed disembowelling attempt from her adversary not long ago and still pulsing fresh with gravity claiming the flow from her to the floor, heavy in droplets. Ever more was her dominant arm not up to par anymore and out of commission, dangling, dislocated as it swayed in her movements. Or worse... broken, it wasn’t too well for her and the worse in the horizon. She looked like a mess. But... Neither a proper weapon was she holding, and left only with a bloody amputations blade that she kept hidden away. It wasn’t as efficient as a normal one would be, but it was a must and her only choice.

‘What once deadly grace. That case no longer counts anymore, her body was failing and the pain no longer holding its luster. Drawing such recklessness, instead of fluency... You’re acting more like the unrelenting and malicious, bloodletting presence within you. You’re acting like me aren’t you? My... you’re a moron, you’re doing it all wrong...’

The doctor wasn’t too interested in using her other abilities. A knife fight? A duel? Not at all was she going to turn it down and ruin it. Her opponent had it close enough and she had confidence in using a knife herself. Unfortunately her acquaintance didn’t fair first hand... a man lied far behind the doctor, out of both reaches of the woman and adversary, unconscious. Josiah is trying to protect him. Her kind fairness was dwindling though, she was losing more like.

Through tinted lenses of that metallic mask, an eye was honed in and locked upon the one that gazed back at her with a displeased look, bloodied and holding a hand against the nasty gash of a wound over his eye she left behind that, just about as fresh as her wounds.

Josiah could only return the look more harshly, the snarl and visible anger, manifesting madness that was hidden beneath that mask and concealed a warped grin. Overflowing with aggression that was weakening overtime as the sensations of defeat tried to discourage her. Being a big influence to her rage display here, further more that this ravaging individual harmed her companion. It mixed two and two, never was it a good combo. She can’t stand the thought of failure. Just couldn’t, the overwhelming frustration, justification was hard if one wasn’t succeeding. She was convoked along to help... resolve this issue. It felt as if she was making it worse. Of all fights that she was left with? Knox, the wannabe tyrant. The eldest of the leonte family, it was clear there were difficulties. Goddammit Liam... how could you ditch him with me? Not that it was Liam’s fault he couldn’t handle his brother. She had to step in.

After all, it may had felt like a knife fight until compared to the beastly traits of the man before her. It seemed simple, it really wasn’t.

She had to catch her breath, but now was she lasting on borrowed time. What pain was thrusted into her, what ferocity she endured, the tearing of flesh by vicious, knife like claws, the human body wasn’t able to sustain so much for so long, her tolerance was becoming her weakness. Clearly he suffered just as much with vicious slashes, deep and non, but oh, not like her wounds. He wasn’t human either and that was clear to Josiah even if he looked like one.

Knox though could only watch, his eye squinting as his head tilted to the side, black bangs swung over his right greyed eye that had a vertical gash and was now ruptured, held safely though and not counting its ability to help. It was visible and old damage, left blind regardless beforehand... no matter, he could always replace those glasses too besides the healing process though. The drawing blood trickled off beneath his palm and through fingers, it hurt but he will manage. If he so got out of this fight as well, Knox had to tear enough bone plates formed by the slashing wounds, off. It was his protection from bleeding out, but also his bane. Thankfully it wasn’t present amongst his face. The damage left varying gouges in his flesh and butchered his once gentlemanly clothing that- all even done by the hands of one. If anything- fair trade, ruin hers, she ruins his formality right back too. Sagged and dampened in his own blood, but as well hers. He’d never seen the doctor act out like this ever, at first was she so... lovely. A graceful blade dancer, which was replaced with this frenzied mess that was swinging a blade with all her might and what rapid strokes she could, no longer the hand of a doctor but the claws of a butcher. This wasn’t like her at all. He didn’t need to see under the mask to feel what pulsed from her, it wasn’t fluent anymore and oh so wide open and sloppy. Desperate. He was going to bleed her dry before she could sink her blood craving blade into him once more. Knox would watch the doctor shift and twitch from her hunkered state, his bone consistent claws that punctured through his fingertips flexed amongst his freehand as if he was preparing for her next assault. He could see the loss and despairing nature clawing it’s way out of her, the way she was eager to make him bleed now and no longer harbouring her style he was trying so hard to avoid at first. This little blade dancer wasn’t holding up the tempo and dance anymore they had, all under pure discord now, how unfortunate. Though she sure held up better than Liam had. Knox disregarded him easily.

“You don’t look so good...”

Taunting, his voice ghosted with a rumbling chuckle and spreading smile. But adding along.

“Where did all that evasion go? How long do you think you’ll last before you fall without it?”

In response, all that would emanate from Josiah was a strained, but unhinged chuckled that warped into a murmur. Like she was trying to say something, but the plummeting wicked aggravation spilled and all that murmuring turned into a sheer cry of ballistic laughter that echoed into the open room, she really couldn’t laugh through her oncoming defeat, the resonating sound receded to a scream shortly after. A bloody blade rose, wobbling in her footing for only a moment before she’d go full force and propel her weight straight ahead at him, to her best abilities did she try and ignore the pains restless force that throbbed lively throughout her being and no longer enticed her, even worse that such sudden movements elicited pain to shoot through her useless arm. She will bear it.

Josiah blitzed at him and in such a foolish way could she in this state. Uncoordinated not lacking calculation, disgusting bloodlust just encouraged her need to behead and dismantle this failed king, she just wanted him dead. This violence rang out. This couldn’t be suppressed... this feeling. Nothing else was working, even her screaming conscious that was smothered out foremost. The rationality. She lost herself... the fear of losing, the raging humiliation. Her sense of protection. What she felt may stay present, but the strength was fading like her light.

Yes... just as he’d wanted, such hate to fill the air. Knox opened his arms almost welcoming her to come at him, pulling his bloody hand from his face and exposing the vicious gash as blood fell from his palm. He could see the faulting demeanour and surely enough he was going to see it with his own eyes, this weakened doctor. His fingers coiled in partially, bloodied claws waiting to tear flesh once more. This fit of aggression was going to be her last. It felt almost slow motion once he’d watch her blade thrust forward and up.

He knew where she was going, right for his throat. Before blade met flesh by mere inches, Knox had did a bit of a pivot spin and duck, completely avoiding her and the blade that whizzed by.

Josiah’s breathing slowed, the look on her face, the grin crumbled as she practically thrown herself right passed him. Wide eyed, before she could stop her momentum or even turn her head all the way, it all happened in the blink of an eye. A sharp pain tore through the side of her head, forcefully making her head crane up to the side and throwing her gaze to the ceiling with a hitched gasp leaving her lips. She could feel the weight of her mask release and her footing slow. The loud ruckus of metal hitting the marble floor with a skid present and echoed in the heavy air as the vibrations through the adornment shattered the lenses, Knox had cut the two straps of her mask loose and clean off in one stroke, sending it to the floor. But not without her as well. Josiah’s footing slowed down to the point where she’d stagger and buckle, falling down onto her knees with her head throwing to a hang, her blade dropping just before she did and mirrored almost the same sound of clatter. It left her reeling within her mind now and completely burned suddenly from the hit, it wasn’t light either even for a slash.

Her entire figure slumped forward and hardly kept upwards in balance, blood coated down the side of her head and hair from the three slashes left behind, and flowed down to her neck from the removal, she could feel the warmth absorb into her unraveled cravat and button up collar.

The brief fear she had was that she’d gotten her throat shredded open from the way her blood trickled down it and the muscles that ached within, thank god was she wrong and her senses played a fool. So... soothing to be felt. But not the endurance anymore that was given all in one more blow. The look on her face was no longer a blast furnace of ballistic frenzy, and instead replaced with shock and loss. Pain. What the hell was that about? She felt sick now as everything subsided... Like she was going to fall forward, making her upper half sway and send fresh droplets to the floor as her hair caught weight of the blood and dangled heavily. How could she even let herself succumb to such savage and vulgar emotion...? Even let alone letting it take the reigns. So much distortion, so much static. Making her mad was one thing- but it didn’t go her way either.

‘Absolute moron... I don’t need to see to know you’re failing. You’re going to get us both killed. I’m coming...’

The doctor could hear the heavy steps of Knox, the way he’d strut was obvious to her that he was cocky enough to assume victory. He was right to feel that way too... though not hearing them move any closer and remain at a distance. In dead, embarrassed silence, her head stayed down as her arms motionlessly hung. Festering strength, it was lost and hardly persisting. What had she done? She’d lost. She failed and had failed to protect her companion now that she was down. Physically present though was a visible tremor rippling through her, the blood loss causing great tension in her muscles, it was painful. The worse way to possibly die now, the more she registered pain on herself. She’d move her still enabled arm, just to twist it so her eye could drift over to try and look it over. Shredded just like her lower half, he was the one blood letting here. God did it hurt... not like these were the half of the wounds and pierces. There was worse ones to consider too...

But the wounds... they began to darken and emit a light smoky black, scentless and seemingly harmless miasma. It wasn’t as noticeable though as her tunnel vision didn’t partake in her support and only extent. Slowly though, Josiah would be trying to get up with her gaze lifting ever slightly. She was running cold, tired, panicked. It was mixed across her face now, she was trying to focus on Knox who was still at a comforting distance. The more she’d move though, it felt like she was ensnared in deep thorns. The more she’d struggle. The more it hurt.

Though from his distance, he could see it. It was pleasing, the look of bloodied beauty that was once riddled with rage. Now ready to succumb, yet fighting submission. Stubborn. He was one to savour and watch to see what more she will try and do in her sorry state.

“Why do you hide such a winsome face? Such a lovely lady, but where did that fire go?”

Knox insisted, he did find it amusing and furthermore from someone like her. Perhaps even a bit impressed- Though he didn’t get a response, and more stuck to watching this soon to be corpse move and sway as Josiah gotten back up to her feet to try and take a couple steps. But now he was beginning to see the black miasma manifest lowest to her back more prominently, at first he’d think his eyes to deceive him from his sight sometimes. Worse now from his useless one... but this wasn’t a trick at all. Instead of him speaking, he would continue to watch her now with slight alarm looming on his face. The confident one lost, but he wasn’t too worried about her directly doing anything. It was just strange.

Josiah wasn’t in any condition to be standing, let alone trying to get at him with this loss. She wanted one more pull, one more push before she’d give in. Not that she had a choice anyhow with that... With the frail shake and lift of an empty hand, all dead weight dropped on her as it forced her back to her knees. The world fell before it pulled her backwards after collapsing knees first with a struggling, breathless hitch trying to form with her head falling back to let herself descend finally back down. Her sight going dark as her eye would close from its heavy state, not even noticing the new, but light pain manifest from her back and the buzzing sting from her wounds. Like they were being split open, the miasma having grown more visibly thick at this point and swayed ever gently.

“So u-useless... I apologize...”

Was all she muttered in a tasteless tone, directed at herself if anything in a self-loathing manner. Apologizing for Liam’s sake... She was done... Josiah would be waiting to feel the hard impact finally be enough to knock her out the rest of the way, but was only greeted by a pair of dampened arms that caught her and held her up before collision. Instead of the back of her head meeting hard floor, it met a firm shoulder, her cheek tickled by feathered and dishevelled hair. Josiah had completely given up trying to come to terms, but accepted her position. All she could hear was a throaty, sinister exhale pass by her ear, with a visible effluvia ghosting from a dark maw of exposed teeth. Faintly smelling of iron... All she could feel was the warmth emanating from the embrace... the sensation. What emotion present, Josiah would have hidden tears slowly begin to trickle from her closed eye. It’s all that was able to be made in during the time. Why was she crying...? Not even she was sure... maybe from finally realizing her position. Where she was now, she didn’t succeed.

Black ooze dripped and fell from the new covered appearance, and in contrast with the thick black secretion that once flown from the wounds of the doctor, now emanating off the silhouette. The miasmatic discharge slowly dissipated into the air after a moment, the black ooze remnants on the floor that had fallen from the stranger left itself to stain the marble below like a puddle. Knelt, the stranger would gently caress fingers up the side of the doctors head, smearing the black discharge against her cold cheek as the remainders fell in persistent droplets below, as if leaving no trace of it being on the dark figure to begin with, not even dampening her hair or clothes. Exposing pale digits and attire more as it went on though, but of course some of it dampened the doctors clothing when it soaked into it unlike her own. Her freehand laced over Josiah’s torso to hold her as blood smeared and covered her coat forearm, the black ooze only mixing within it. Alas, her hand coming up to cover over the doctors closed eye and bandage to pull her head back against the crook of her neck to rest it. The silhouette slowly raised her head to return the heavy gaze of Knox, only briefly feeling the doctor writhe in her arms from the pressure she applied.

Fashionably late... Thankfully she pulled through more carefully, unlike usual and tearing herself free, any faster then it would’ve killed Josiah from not being able to endure the process of how painful it actually was in that manner.

‘I am here...’

The two would share a deadly and silent gaze, both Knox and the clearing individual. Ezme has finally shown herself under that black visage. A possible good deed? Who knows...

The situation alone threatened Knox to an extent, he’s never seen such an event before. From the start it manifested itself, to this very point. Speechless, the once confident man could only get ready to commence the fight again with forming hostility. Once the dark ooze cleared itself more and shown off the strangers appearance, it hit him. As clear as day, it was nothing but dumbfound on his face for the moment. This... thing... how? He would slowly begin approaching, drawing forward like a predator. There was no mistaken for a mirroring image, especially that face that cleared of whatever blood consistency like residue was falling from her.

‘To finish what you’ve started.’

Ezme would scoff, the look on her face wasn’t the common tooth baring grin. Instead nothing but incoming anger that exposed a cruel snarl, the prominent illumination of her right eye hummed a haunting yellow from beneath feathered hair that casted a heavy shade over her gaze. Dripping and rolling down her cheek from the afflicted eye like persistent tears, that very black substance she manifested from. Her body free of it all now. Ezme will need to attend this quickly if she wanted to keep Josiah alive. Carefully, she would scoot back to let The doctor lay on the floor, settling her gently on her back before standing to step over in front. Not without picking up Josiahs blade of choice, ezme was going to see it through for her and some entertainment. Especially more considering Knox was already in bad shape, he was a familiar face she’d known too. Even voice, she knew to arrive this time without bearing her mask that was hanging at her hip with a heavy sway. It was easy to mock him without it.

She braced though after a few more steps, twirling the blade within her hand and using nimble fingers to get a feel for it and weight, coagulated blood stringing from it to the floor. She held secure now before bending forward shortly after, giving him an over exaggerated bow and scrape with her extending the blade off to the side, the look on her face replacing with a ridiculing smile and taunting his lower position in his nobility. It was a joke, he’d never deserve such a formal gesture. She could tell it pissed Knox off when his pace sped up just a short distance away, the look on his face prominent with annoyance. No more time for silent jokes. But to hell with that, only she is the one allowed to bring about the doctors destruction. She could’ve taken over to truly possess the weakened mind, but Ezme couldn’t have her opposite dying the rest of the way either during this- not by this fool.

Truly, her only goal was to keep the doctor from perishing, though whom Josiah was trying to protect was her least concern, Liam. Brotherly fights were common amongst siblings... Knox and Liam. Though even she knew the pale prince had no chance against this monstrosity. But now she was here... Why not fight fire with fire then?

The next second after thought, Ezme sent herself lunging forward from her bowed position with a newly formed malicious smile. The momentum she burst from allowed her to leap at him while taking the blade hilt into both hands, and raise it above her head in the process as if going for a plunge attack. And in doing so, triggered Knox to maneuver defensively, and more quickly with his incoming assault. Once more was combat initiated as the gap closed between an aerial strike and grounded collision. Natures blades to man made steel. It would be a cycle all over again.

‘My one favour for you... When you’re upon deaths door. To think I would be the one cleaning up your mess. That your heinous manifestation would be the one to aid your soul in this moment, while you lie on the precipice...’

#[Josiah] #[The doppelgänger] #{A scenario from ages ago i rewritten} #{Im sleepy theres prolly a million things off with it rn but sUFFER} #{I proof read this thing too many times half alive its about time i post it before i never do} #{I uh dont trim bc mobile hEhehk- suffer again} #{This only took me three weeks and extra suffering to read over} #{Just take it im sick of it theres stuff off in it and rephrased i cant wheeze}

[queenpersephonesgarden]

Whumptober Day 27

Prompt: “I can’t walk” Fandom: Young Justice Characters: Bart Allen, Wally West Words: 2407 Warnings: graphic injury, more than canon typical violence

The strange, geometrically structured hallways of the Reach’s central Earth base tended to twist in on themselves and loop around until you were right back where you started when you first entered the building if you weren’t paying very close attention to your surroundings.

Bart had been paying very close attention for the past thirty minutes, but it was pretty clear to him that if he hadn’t had Helena’s voice calmly chattering in his ear, he would have been lost five minutes into his trek.

“I think I finally found the elevator that should have been on the east side,” he whispered quietly into his comm, cautiously using one hand to phase through and break the activation panel beside the only door in the hallway that didn’t line up perfectly with a corresponding one on the opposite wall. Sure enough, as it slid open, he could very clearly see an open, empty shaft that went far off into darkness both above and below him. The abyss yawned below him, the occasional flicker of light from a wall circuit doing nothing to stop the unease pooling in his gut.

He’d found it, but it had taken an extra twenty minutes the Outlaws didn’t technically have. Things would have been a lot simpler if the Reach could design their bases less like giant hives and more like actual buildings.

But there would be time for complaining about mazes later.

“Good work. Doctor Light and Nightwing are in position along with Red Hood and Red Arrow,” Helena told him, sounding far calmer than Bart himself felt. His pseudo-sister’s training as Robin still served her well, nearly a decade after she’d been forced to leave the name behind. Bart heard her type a few keys on a holographic keyboard, and the display in his goggles zoomed in on the not-very-accurate minimap he’d been following since he’d arrived. The small, flickering signal he’d been searching for briefly lit a point on the map green instead of red. “Flash’s signal seems to be coming from about thirteen floors below you. You’ll have to be extremely careful; if that was the floor where they’ve been holding him, then it’s likely they have traps specifically designed for speedsters down there. Go slow, and keep an eye out for anything.”

Bart grimaced at the thought of going even slower than he already was, but didn’t try to protest. He’d seen what the Reach was capable of when they wanted to restrain a metahuman, and he wasn’t exactly eager to experience that himself. “Sure thing, boss. Anything else?”

He readied the small grappling hook stashed in one of his hidden cupboards as Helena sighed quietly. “You’ll be going pretty deep underground, so it’s very likely our comms won’t reach each other until you come back up. If you do need help, hit your emergency signal and get as high up as you can. Don’t worry; I’ll be heading to the main cellblock with Arsenal, so it shouldn’t take me long to get there.”

Bart couldn’t quite help a smile, even as he prepared to descend directly into the belly of the beast. “I know you’ve always got my back, so why would I be worried?”

The surprised chuckle he heard just made his smile grow wider. “Just try not to die before I get there, okay?” Helena’s voice took on a softer tone. “Good luck, Bart.”

“I’ll certainly try to find some,” Bart said with false cheer. Some good luck would be really nice right about now; he hadn’t had nearly enough of it, lately. “You be careful too.”

With that final farewell, Bart deployed the grapple and jumped into the void, rappelling down into the darkness of the Reach base.

-

This is not the first time he’s ever seen the deeper parts of an alien hive.

Many of the human labor force captured and used by the Reach to collect scrap and haphazardly throw together some semblance of working technology that could be useful to the Empire had been forced to carry their meager offerings from the camps all the way into the nearest mining colony, sometimes miles away from where they lived and often so quickly they collapsed on emaciated legs before they could even get there and back to where they were relatively safe.

Bart has been in and out of colonies and camps since he was nine years old, but the sheer size and complexity of this base is almost overwhelming. He’s never been on one of the science floors before, never seen the terrifying instruments of torture and dissection he’s catching glimpses of through broken doors and cracked windows, and the shapes of them in the gloom are making the hair on his neck stand on end.

His comm signal had fizzled out like Helena said it might, but his goggles’ HUD is still working, pinging helpfully off of disabled cameras and giving the already darker, dimly lit corridors some nice, eerie lighting to go along with the shattered security droids and debris littered throughout.

Not a cozy place, by any stretch of the imagination.

It looked as if some sort of hurricane had swept through.

It looked, Bart noted grimly, like a rather angry speedster had ripped through here. He’s never met Wally or his children before, but Bart knows Jai is capable of super-strength when he diverts his speedforce connection into growing the muscles in his arms rather than distributing it throughout his entire body. Bart doesn’t know if Wally or Irey are capable of the same thing, but as he watches the remains of one drone spark and fizzle spastically, he starts to think that might just be the case.

“Aw, geez. Helena’s family is scary. Maybe that’s where she gets it from?” He can’t quite keep from running his mouth, even down here in a potentially life-threatening situation. Damian would probably scold him for that if he could hear him.

The sharp crash of glass hitting the ground makes Bart zoom to one side of the hall, ducking into an empty doorframe. It’s incredibly thin, not proper cover at all, but it’s all he has at the moment.

He peeks around it, tense like spring, ready for anything to appear out of the darkness, but nothing comes charging out into the open, no new security bots start flooding the corridor.

The sound of glass sliding across metal, and a weak, muffled voice; cursing in English, not the strange, inhuman clicking of the Reach.

Wally, or Jai or Irey? Another Reach prisoner, also used for experimentation? Or a trap?

The haunted atmosphere of this lab is already making Bart paranoid, but his training with Damian is giving him even more of an edge than normal. His stomach churns in protest, but he heads forward anyway. Waiting around in enemy territory never tended to end well, in Bart’s experience.

He tiptoes carefully up toward the door the voice seems to be echoing out of and freezes at the corner, staring into the room.

His eyes slowly trail their way across the ruined walls and filthy ground before he spins around and promptly empties his stomach onto the ground.

It’s a damn massacre.

Remains of Reach droids and scientists alike are scattered across the metal floor in a macabre amalgamation of bluish gore and gears, bits of heads and legs suggesting that something had blown straight through their torsos too fast for them to react. The bizarre alien blood was making several of the droids spark weakly in the low light, casting odd shadows across the horrific display.

Several tables, filled with what once had likely been human bodies, now held nothing more than what could only be described as actual organs, some of them pulsating grotesquely where they were attached to some huge, otherworldly medical instruments.

And a single remaining intact humanoid body, slumped next to a table, breathing heavily and covered in a lot of blood.

Bart heaves once, twice, then clamps his mouth shut and swallows the bile down, tears pricking his eyes and body shaking.

He has a job to do, and he’s running out of time to do it.

God, he hates this. He wants to go home.

He shoves the childish thought aside and straightens back up again.

Bart enters the room quickly, forces himself to walk carefully over broken remains of alien bones and metal casings, tries not to think of what could be squishing underneath his feet, definitely does not let himself look at the lazily pulsing sacks on the tables as he approached the figure that isn’t as familiar as it should be.

Wally West is even paler than he was in all of Linda’s pictures, hair cropped much shorter and shot through with more gray than red. Worry lines have been etched into his face, scars just barely visible beneath the Reach clothing he’d apparently found trailing all the way down his throat and across the left half of his face, burns and incision marks that made him nearly unrecognizable and his left eye cloudy white rather than green. Shoulders that had once been broad were now bent inward by some invisible weight, a body that had once been lithe and agile now thin and emaciated far beyond healthy for a speedster with an accelerated metabolism.

He's slumped half over on his side, shoulders heaving with breath and one arm pressed hard to his waist, where Bart can see a deep red stain spreading lazily across the jumpsuit he’s wearing, slowly overtaking the blue blood of the Reach scientists, and Bart swallows hard.

This is a man about five minutes after an incredibly violent episode, injured and seemingly unaware of his presence to boot. He’s only seen a small handful of people brought back from the Reach’s science division, and none of them had been anything close to this level of powerful and dangerous.

He couldn’t afford to fuck this up.

Deep breath in, out. Once more, and again, the way Helena taught him.

Bart spots a sizable piece of glass on the floor and takes a heavy, deliberate step onto it.

The crunch that announced his arrival made Wally snap to attention, head coming up to glare straight at Bart from his hunched position, and Bart froze completely, hands open at his sides, trying not to let his terror show.

It’s been a while since Wally was back home with the rest of the Outlaws, and the light in the room is flickering and near useless; will the man even recognize the modified Kid Flash uniform in the gloom?

But he apparently didn’t need to worry; Wally blinks his eyes hard several times, scanning Bart from head to toe, evidently recognizing him as a nonthreat and slumping a little more to the side with a long, pained sigh.

“Wassup, Kid?” Wally asks, daring a bloody little grin, and Bart is so surprised he can’t answer for a second. He wasn’t quite sure if the man would lucid or coherent in the state he’s in, but apparently the older speedster’s accelerated healing is doing at least something to help his addled brain.

Bart still approached slowly, watching for any sudden movements, but he needn’t have bothered. Wally’s arm stays fixed firmly around his bleeding middle, and he doesn’t move to sit up until Bart is already beside him, hissing quietly in pain as his wound moves with him.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Bart says in as steady a voice as he can manage, and he means it, because as strung out and crazy as this man is right now, he’s been an inspiration to Bart since he was little and he doesn’t know what else he can say to a guy who singlehandedly ripped through an entire Reach lab. “Why weren’t you in the main cellblock? That’s where we were supposed to meet, right?”

Wally shakes his head too fast, listing a bit awkwardly to the side again when he apparently gave up on sitting straight. “Thought I could find Jai,” he slurred slowly, shakes his head again.

Bart feels something cold sink into his stomach. He doesn’t dare take a glance at the human remains displayed on the table above Wally’s head, and his hands don’t start shaking again when he reaches helplessly to press against the wound in his abdomen.

“Here.” A hand, slick with red red red, rises slowly so Bart can see what it’s holding in trembling fingers. A data card, like one of the fancy ones Roy had been looking for recently, some sort of super-secret Reach project that was going to change the tide of the war or something.

Bart barely spares it a glance, too focused on trying to stem the flow of blood because hell, what else can he do, but Wally practically shoves it under his nose with an impatient sound. “You gotta take this and go, Kid. Someone’s… probably noticed the cameras by now,” Wally’s voice is thready and breathless, but still holds as much authority as Damian’s does when giving Bart a direct order.

And that’s stupid, what the hell?

“I’m not leaving you here, dude! Helena would kick my ass if I let her grandpa kick the bucket in a place like this!” He tries to sound as convincing as he can, but he can tell by the old man’s face it’s not working. “Come on, we can still make it to the rendezvous point if we hurry-!”

“I can’t…… can’t walk, Kid,” Wally interrupts, and Bart’s limbs feel numb when the data card is clumsily slipped into one hand. He clutches onto it reflexively and looks down at the blood coating it, ears buzzing. “You gotta go.”

He should argue. He should tell him to hell with that, tell him Linda and Helena were waiting for him, tell him Damian had the schematics for the Reach warship hovering over Earth, tell him they finally had a chance in this war, tell him there’s finally something to fight for again.

There’s a lot of things he should say, but Wally’s eyes blink shut a little too long before the right one opens again, glazed over and unseeing, and he shakes his head one more time. “Run, kid,” Wally murmurs, before leaning back against the table holding what’s left of his son.

Bart turns and flees, because what the hell else can he do?

#Bart Allen #Wally West #Young Justice #DC comics #fanfiction #my writing #whumptober #whumptober 2018