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awakentrashpanda · 4 months

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Smiling Critters incorrect quotes

Dogday: What is the code etomologists use for "I stepped on it, I'm so sorry, it was dark out and the specimen was very small?"

Bubba Bubbaphant: "Impromptu dissection was performed under less-than-optimal lighting conditions."

Catnap: "Impromptu dissection" is an alarming phrase in any context and I thank you for it.

KickinChickin: What’s biologist for "the little f⭐️cker BIT me and I yote it into the undergrowth on reflex?"

Bubba Bubbaphant: "The specimen was removed from the study pool due to abnormal interaction responses."

♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

Hoppy Hopscotch: You look like a corpse that was just pulled out of the river.  KickinChickin: Wrong. I look like a cool rock star who just OD'd in their own pool. Big difference.

☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️

Hoppy Hopscotch: Nothing in life is free.  Bobby Bearhug: Love is free.  Bubba Bubbaphant: Knowledge is free.  Craftycorn: Friendship is free.  Dogday: Self-respect is free.  KickinChickin: Everything's free if you don't pay for it.  The Squad: ...  PickyPiggy: Kickin, that's illegal-  Hoppy Hopscotch: No, let him finish!

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Bubba Bubbaphant: Are you tall enough to play basketball though?  Hoppy Hopscotch: Are you calling me short?  Bubba Bubbaphant: I'm calling you vertically challenged.

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

KickinChickin: You have Crayons?  Craftycorn: Yes, I have—  KickinChickin: You're— how old are you?  Craftycorn (in tears): YES I AM AN ADULT AND I HAVE CRAYONS, I HAVE A BOX OF EMERGENCY CRAYONS IN THE CABINET UNDER THE TV BECAUSE EVERYBODY NEEDS CRAYONS SOMETIMES, OKAY? EVERYBODY NEEDS CRAYONS.

🎨🎨🎨🎨🎨🎨🎨🎨🎨🎨🎨🎨🎨🎨🎨

PickyPiggy: *standing at the top of the stairs* What are y'all doing at the bottom of the staircase?  Catnap: I accidentally fell down.  Bubba Bubbaphant: CATNAP PUSHED ME down the stairs because I refuse to pay HIS part of our rent!  Dogday: Catnap bet me fifty bucks that I couldn't reach the bottom of the stairs faster than they did falling down it, so I slide down the banister to get my money.  KickinChickin: I don't know how I got here. One moment, I was sleeping in my bed, three floors up, and then suddenly I was waking up here, just in time to get crushed by Dogday.

💡💡💡💡💡💡💡💡💡💡💡💡💡💡💡

Dogday: I love you.  Catnap: How many people have you said that to?  Dogday: Everyone.  Catnap: What?  Dogday: I told everyone that I love you.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

Craftycorn: Why does Picky always do the laundry so loudly?  Bobby Bearhug: So everyone knows that no one helps her out in the house.  PickyPiggy, in the distance: *slams the washing machine shut*

🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎

PickyPiggy: So Hunny-bunny, how did your first time cooking dinner go?  Hoppy Hopscotch: Pretty good if I do say so myself.  PickyPiggy: Oo! Okay, what are we having?  Hoppy Hopscotch: Alright, so for appetizers, we have a potato.  PickyPiggy: A whole potato?  Hoppy Hopscotch: Yes. And then for the main course, we have grilled cheese sandwiches!  PickyPiggy: These just look like big slabs of black.  Hoppy Hopscotch: Because that's what they are!  Hoppy Hopscotch: And then for desert, we have chocolate.  PickyPiggy: These are just chocolate chips?  Hoppy Hopscotch: They sure are!  Hoppy Hopscotch: And then for drinks, we have toast!  Hoppy Hopscotch: *lifts up a glass of blended toast* Bon appetite!

🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻

KickinChickin: I have a plan.

PickyPiggy: Good! As long as we aren’t breaking the law again, I’m open to hearing it.

KickinChickin: …

PickyPiggy: …

KickinChickin: I no longer have a plan.

🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶

PickyPiggy: why can’t any of y’all ever come up with a plan that doesn’t involve breaking the law?

Bubba Bubbaphant (awkwardly looking over at KickinChickin and Hoppy Hopscotch): Picky…You do realize that three of us have been to prison before, right?

🐤🐤🐤🐤🐤🐤🐤🐤🐤🐤🐤🐤🐤🐤🐤

KickinChickin: Have I ever told you that I love you like the mom I never had?  PickyPiggy: For the love of all that is holy, I am not taking you to McDonalds. It’s 2am!  KickinChickin: Mean.

🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰

Hoppy Hopscotch: I'm sorry. Please talk to me.  PickyPiggy:  Hoppy Hopscotch: Hello? World's most amazing person?? Sweet pea? Precious cinnamon roll that's too good for this world, too pure?  PickyPiggy: Hmf! 'Sorry' ain’t never gonna bring back my f🍎cking M&Ms.

🦄🦄🦄🦄🦄🦄🦄🦄🦄🦄🦄🦄🦄🦄🦄

Bubba Bubbaphant: What do we think of Dogday?  *pause*  Hoppy Hopscotch: *shrugs* Nice pal.  Bobby Bearhug: I think he’s gay.

🐘🐘🐘🐘🐘🐘🐘🐘🐘🐘🐘🐘🐘🐘🐘

KickinChickin: That was so hot, Bubba.  Bubba Bubbaphant: I literally called the person who just flirted with you a degenterate dog and told them I hope they get dragged through the streets.  KickinChickin: I'm so in love with you.

🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱

KickinChickin: Now, if I may speak for good-looking people everywhere...  Catnap: Only as their rodeo clown.

🐷🐷🐷🐷🐷🐷🐷🐷🐷🐷🐷🐷🐷🐷🐷

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rom-e-o · 11 months

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Warming Up (Ebenezer/Constance) (18+)

When you live in London, winters are brutal. It helps to have a few drinks on hard. Or, even better, a fiancée who serves as a delightful personal heater.

Story below the cut! This story include 18+ content, including sexual content (non-explicit) and references to alcohol! Minors, please don't interact!

<><><><><>

They assumed seats beside each other on the room’s loveseat, as any other couple would do. Alas, the liquid courage consumed by both adults earlier that evening (one in the form of London dry gin, the other in the form of caramel-colored scotch) inspired other ideas. Ideas of the more wanton variety.

The hearth blazed with enticing flames a few feet away, while the open windows revealed a snowstorm ravaging the cobblestone streets of London. Rather than distracting the two, the scenery only encouraged them closer.

“My, if I might be so bold, you feel … very warm,” Ebenezer Scrooge muttered, the lilt in his voice impossible to ignore as his fingers lazily moved up the length of the woman’s dress, fingertips occasionally catching on the wrinkles of silk.

“Oh?” Constance DoGoode, his clerk and lovely fiancée, asked coquettishly. She tossed her strawberry-gold hair over her shoulders with a flip that looked amazingly natural for her to do. For a moment, he remembered the inked images of siren’s he’d seen in storybooks as a child, with their angelic eyes and flowing hair.

That ethereal image, one he’d long thought to be fantasy, was sitting beside him. Sitting close to him.

Gods, she looked stunning.

As they were alone and in each other's private company, she removed her jacket and had set it aside. An informal, pale blue top poked out from the emerald green and cream-colored silk skirts that were synched at her waist. On one hand was an engagement band, and on the other a silver ring he'd gifted her earlier in the springtime during an impromptu trip to the market.

Even in the middle of winter, she looked like a diaphanous, springtime nymph.

“It’s the middle of January, dear,” he said, letting a chuckle tumble from his lips. His hand came to a rest on her shoulder, which his large hand cupped the circumference of with ease. “How are you always so bloody warm?”

A raspberry-colored lips smiled back at him, begging to be kissed. He longed to indulge that want.

“Hmmm, I always get a little hot when I drink,” she replied easily, head relaxing against the top of the loveseat. She peered up at him dreamily, eyes starry as she studied how the firelight illuminated his handsome features.

His strong profile, masculine chin and expressive eyes were all features she knew other women found attractive, but they were the only things about his she adored.

She loved the soft, downy chest hair the crested the top of his shirt, which since they’d started drinking, had become two buttons undone. In addition, she loved the lines on his forehead, the expression when he furrowed his brow or stared directly into her eyes. She thought they made him look even more handsome; wise, determined. Hardened.

His hands were another magical part of him, and his fingers so dexterous and skilled. She took great joy in twining those digits together with hers at every opportunity, tangling them until they were both wrapped up in a tizzy and giggling like flustered school children.

Even idle motions, like how he turned the page of a book or undid his cravat at the end of a long day, captivated her. Not to mention, his hands were also quite efficient at tasks that took place beneath the folds of her skirt.

Daydreams about his hands were temporarily broken by him leaning forward to lift his glass from the lacquered table before them. Chips of ice sloshed quietly in the short glass as he drained the last remaining swig of scotch.

All the while, her eyes snaked up the column of his throat, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. A small droplet of the amber drink lingered tantalizingly on the corner of his mouth before sliding down his face and to his chin.

She licked the corner of her lips as she watched.

He wiped his face after the last swallow, and was quick enough catch her cornflower-blue eyes all but lapping at his lips from the next seat over. A grin split his handsome visage.

“Are you looking or leering, my darling?”

Constance beamed innocently. “Can't I do both? You know I adore multi-tasking.”

"At work, dear."

"You are a piece of work, some days."

"You wound me."

"Oh, I adore work," she said. "As you know. I find it fascinating and addicting."

He chuckled warmly, sliding right back into place beside her. “My, my. I’m honored.”

One of his strong arms went about her shoulders to urge her closer, to encourage her to share her heat with him, and she happily obliged. Not before, however, rolling her eyes at his earlier comment.

“Oh, please,” she teased, hand slapping his chest lightly. “I know you are perfectly aware of how women and men fawn over you all the time in public!”

“Do they?” he asked.

“Yes! You are a magnet for attention, you handsome man.”

“Yet,” he started, dropping a kiss atop her head, “Yours is the only attention I care for.”

With a fresh surge of heat flooding her cheeks, she buried her face in his chest and heard him let out a triumphant laugh.

That was yet another thing she adored about her soon-to-be-husband. The sound of his laughter was as deep and rich as summer thunder. Even better was when he laughed when her head was pressed to his chest, and she could feel the reverberations echo through her own body, making her own heart dance with glee.

“If you keep making me blush when we’re this close, I may get hotter than the fireplace,” she said, peering up at him from her huddled position.

“Now, that sounds like a compliment, my darling."

“It’ll be less pleasing when you start overheating,” she teased back, lips curling into a grin. "You know you hate what humidity does to your hair, love."

Fingers teased the opening of his shirt again, even taking a second to undo another button, revealing another impressive sliver of chest.

When he arced a knowing brow at her, she only winked. "Just preparing you."

“Please don’t think I’m complaining about how warm you are,” Ebenezer teased. His hand settled atop one of her thighs, thumb stroking the high point of her voluptuous curve. Heavens, her form was epicurean in nature, like something crafted by a long-struck artist determined to render their vision of perfection in marble.

Her smile. Her voice. Her warmth. Her eyes.

Maker, her eyes. To see his own reflection in those lake-colored orbs did them a disservice, in his opinion.

“You’re not?” she asked, her voice perfumed with intrigue.

“Oh, quite the contrary,” he supplied, hand drifting north until his brushed her stomach. He felt the muscles of her abdomen flutter beneath the touch. “It’s quite becoming.”

“Truly?” she asked, leaning closer. Her ample bosom caressed his shoulder, creating another point of contact between them.

“Oh, yes,” he drawled, his smile wicked as he leaned forward. She tilted her face, expecting him to kiss her cheek or continue his teasing in a similar fashion. Alas, he pressed his lips to her temple, then inched down to the shell of her ear. “I enjoy feeling your warmth near me. On me….”

He dragged his lips down the side of her face until they skimmed the hollow of his cheekbone.

“Around me.”

This praise earned another shudder from the woman.

“Mm, you’re being a tease,” Constance moaned, even as her hand rose to cup the spot on her thigh that he’d been caressing before. He noted this movement with a flick of his steel eyes before refocusing on her.

“Guilty,” he admitted, his voice so low it was almost a growl.

He leaned forward again, and this time, Constance was quick to catch his lips against hers. A brief gasp of surprise escaped him, but it quickly turned to a moan of delight as she nudged him hard against the back of the loveseat.

Her lips occupied his easily, keeping him distracted long enough for her to crawl into his lap. Her glorious thighs spread easily over his narrow hips, and as she descended upon his lap in full, the molten heat he felt was even more intense than before.

"Well, if you're so determined," she teased, hoisting her skirts with ease. "I'll indulge you."

The subtle crinkle of her skirts and underlying petticoats mirrored the crackling embers of the fireplace only a few paces away. Let, the heat between them was something no hearth could emulate.

<><><><>

Tag list: @quill-pen

Thanks to @my-name-is-clover for the Connie faceclaim idea. I'm running with it. I'm in your debt.

#scrooge a christmas carol #scrooge 2022 #scrooge netflix #scrooge x oc #oc constance

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of-ruins-and-rubble · 5 months

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When Vyrox rounded the corner, this was not what xe expected to see.

Reaver sat on the floor, legs awkwardly crossed with his tertiary arms deployed. Turncoat was situated in his lap, fiddling with an open panel on one of the small limbs. He grabbed a nearby laser scalpel, never taking his eyes off of his work. His nose scrunched up.

“How you managed to lodge a bolt in here is beyond me.” Reaver let out a noise between a huff and a grunt. One of his primary hands came up and rubbed at his helm, nearly sheepish. Turncoat set down the scalpel and removed the offending bolt, now severed in two, and rolled his optics. “Honestly, this is the fourth time in the last few cycles you’ve had slag stuck in your gears. What’d you do this time?”

Vyrox leaned against the doorway, arms crossed.

“I-”

“Chased Caliper down the hallways. Again.”

Both sets of optics snapped to Vyrox, and a thrill zipped up xyr struts. Catching these two off guard was just too easy, and part of Vyrox thought to set another impromptu training for the Six. Tack it onto the mental list. Xe walked into the room, not sparing another glance towards the bonded-not-bonded pair. At the back of the room, Vyrox opened a drawer and rummaged around until a small computer chip fell into view. Xe grabbed it and turned on zir heel, closing the drawer with a flick of their wrist. Neither of them made a sound or moved save for their wide optics and shocked expressions since Vyrox had made eirself known. Vyrox hummed a note, rather amused.

Xe reached the door and paused. They glanced back at Reaver. "The next time you let Caliper loose, remember to do it somewhere more sparkeater-proof, hm? Cleaning up bodies in the conference hall can be such a hassle..." When Vyrox turned right into the hallway, the two must've snapped out of their embarrassed trances. A loud clang echoed from the room, and Reaver made a startled noise. Vyrox would've smirked had xe been forged with a mouth. Turncoat's voice was as engrossingly entertaining as it was vexing. "You did WHAT-"

#ic post #drabble #Vyrox #Caliper #Turncoat #Reaver #transformers #maccadam #The Salvific Six

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grantgoddard · 1 year

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This is your early morning trunk call : 2004 : BBC World Service Trust, Cambodia

I pull back the bedroom curtains and, from my window, see a huge elephant ambling along the promenade above the Mekong River. I know it must be 6:30 a.m. Every day at this time Sam Bo, the only elephant in Phnom Penh, walks to his day-job giving rides to children around the base of the city’s only hill. The street beside him is already filled with rush-hour traffic, since most shops and offices open daily at seven. Weaving in and out between huge chrome-clad and tinted windscreen four-by-fours driven by NGO staff and government officials are hundreds of motorbikes, which have totally replaced the humble bicycle as Cambodians’ preferred mode of transport. If there is a Highway Code, nobody seems to have read it. Confusingly, traffic travels in both directions on both sides of the road and often on the pavement too.

You see young schoolchildren riding motorbikes to school, and parents carrying three or four children precariously on a single bike. I have seen a motorbike carrying a full-size palm tree, another loaded with an iron girder which could easily have decapitated someone, and a bike carrying three dogs, one of which had its paws on the handlebars. Few people wear crash helmets, but most wear surgical masks (available in various colours from market stalls) to keep the dust, pollution and bugs out of their mouth and nose. Phnom Penh is the L.A. of Asia – nobody walks. What were once pavements are now clogged with parked cars, row upon row of parked bikes, impromptu shops, and families sat on plastic patio chairs selling petrol in old soft drink bottles from the kerb. The few people who walk around this city – the very poor and foreigners – are forced to negotiate the gutter, where we risk being hit by bikes coming at us from all directions.

In the morning, I work at the Women’s Media Centre of Cambodia where I am training four enthusiastic staff to produce a youth phone-in show that launches in May. They are very excited that the Centre has just been nominated for this year’s One World Broadcasting Trust Special Award for Development Media. The team share an office in the Centre which they have proudly designated the ‘BBC Office’, even though they are not BBC staff. The only drawback to working in this beautifully airy, purpose-built broadcast centre is that we are shadowed by a massive transmitter mast in the car park that broadcasts the Centre’s radio station ‘FM 102’ to 60% of Cambodia’s population. Although the custom is to remove one’s shoes before entering the building, staff have to don flip-flops to use electrical equipment such as the photocopier, or risk electrocution from the mast’s 10kW electrical field (as I found out to my peril).

At lunchtime, almost everyone goes home for a two-hour siesta that offers slight relief from the constant 35-degree daytime heat. I take lunch at the real BBC office – a villa whose walled garden includes luscious banana and mango trees – with the handful of the thirty local staff who live too far away to return home. Malene, one of two BBC housekeepers, purchases our food from the plethora of nearby pavement snack stalls, according to our culinary preferences, at a cost of less than a dollar each. Dishes are always accompanied by boiled rice or noodles, though Malene once glowed with pride when she presented me with a plate of chips procured from who knows where.

After a productive afternoon working at the Women’s Media Centre, I walk home past a school when a girl, aged about eleven and dressed in regulation white blouse and navy skirt, rushes out of the school gates, runs across the road and, without a hint of self-consciousness, starts a conversation with me in perfect English. After a minute, she sees a motorbike taxi stop outside her school gates, bids me farewell, jumps on the back (side-saddle, as is customary for girls) and waves goodbye as she disappears down the street. She inspires confidence that the future of this country will be bright in her generation’s hands.

[First published in 'Ariel', 11 May 2004, p.3]

#BBC World Service Trust #Cambodia #community radio #Grant Goddard #local radio #radio #radio broadcasting #radio industry #radio sector #radio station

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quillsareswords · 3 years

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hi <3 so this is weirdly specific but could you do a scenario with vamp reader where one of the batfam gets kinds critically injured while on patrol in outer Gotham and they can't get back to the manor so Damian is like i know a place and then takes them to secret vamp gf's apartment???? ik it's really specific but i'd really love it :)

Darling you've read my mind. There are few things I live writing more than vampire reader fics

Damian Wayne x f!Reader

WARNINGS: blood, mild gore, impromptu surgery, utter lack of medical knowledge

PROMPT LIST and MASTER LIST in bio

Tim's bleeding out.

He's bleeding out in Jason's arms, and Robin isn't taking them to the Cave.

Red Hood's been growling and barking questions and curses and orders at the youngest man's back for seven minutes. He'll admit, reluctantly, that he's beginning to panic. Red Robin's got a bullet lodged between a rib and an organ, and a bullet hole shot clean through his side. There's a graze across one shoulder, but a stitch and an ace bandage could fix that easy.

They should be halfway to the Cave by now. They should've made a break for the abandoned Bat Mobile at the first opportunity they had. Unfortunately, they'd been boxed in. The only way out was to lose the crowd of pissed off dog-fighting assholes through a winding maze of alleyways that lead them away from the only mode of transportation within two miles.

Robin has some sense of direction. He knows something Hood doesn't. That much is obvious. He hasn't stopped to look around for three turns, despite knowing they've likely already lost the crowd. Still, he's not saying anything.

The most he gave Jason to go on was a winded, "pick up Drake, I know a place," and then he took off.

Red keeps mumbling. It's getting incoherent. It's strained, and he's trying not to let on how much it really hurts, even though everybody knows. They all know first hand.

Robin takes a sharp turn and skids to a stop at a door around the back of an apartment building. He's rushing with his keyring, the jingling of all the metal clinking splitting through the shadows left cast by the broken light above the door.

"Damian," Hood snarls. "Where are you taking us? He needs a doctor."

"We don't have time for a doctor," Robin bites back. The lock finally clicks and has to use his full weight to shove the steel slab open.

Hood doesn't have another choice, so he follows Robin up three flights of cement stairs, minding the distance between Red Robin's head and the half-rusted steel railing.

Robin stop abruptly and shoves through another door. He leads them down a hallway, with faded, flattened red carpet and doors with chipped wood. He stops again at the last door on the left, keys chiming in his hands again.

The moment it swings open, Robin grabs Redhood by his arm and pushes him inside first.

A stranger peers around the corner from the kitchen, one eyebrow raised.

Hood stares back. An apartment. This must be the wrong place. There's a civilian right there–

"What's–? Who's this? Is he bleeding? Is that your brother?" Your voice raises a little higher each question. Your half full glass teeters when you all but throw it back onto the counter to lunge around the wall. "Damian?"

The door slams behind Hood. He barely registers it, brain overloading with such a tower of information being dropped into his lap.

Robin steers around Hood, mask pulled clean from his face. "He's been shot twice, I need you to help me stitch the first one and remove the second bullet."

The shock is still gleaming in your eyes, but you spin around and sweep everything from the kitchen island. It all crashes to the floor, but you hardly seem to care as you turn to another cabinet and start pulling out first aid packs.

"Put him there," Damian instructs, pulling the green glove from his left hand first.

"What happened?" You demand, ripping the zipper across the first canvas bag.

"It was–" Damian's breath catches with his right glove halfway off, "We broke up a dogfight, they were not pleased."

Your gaze jumps from Tim as Hood lays him down to Damian. His hand is blooded, knuckles blooming dark purples and blues and ugly yellows around split skin.. "That looks nasty."

He stops for a spare moment, staring down at the throbbing appendage. "It is," he hums.

You sigh, digging through the red canvas pouch. "I'll start on him, you go get the ice pack." You take a carpet needle and a spool of stitches from the bag. You glance Hood up and down. "What about the other one? He hurt?"

"Todd's fine," Damian dismisses, waving his good hand in the same manner as he ducks behind you to get to the refrigerator.

"Hey, demon? You wanna, ya know? Explain?"

Damian glances over his shoulder as he reaches into the freezer drawer. "This is Y/N. Y/N, this is Jason Todd and Tim Drake."

You're already bent over Tim's left side with a pair of scissors. He's losing the most blood from the exit wound, so you're starting there. You glance up, just in time to watch Jason pull the helmet from his head. He looks angry. "I assumed. Anyway, the good news is, he doesn't smell like death and I'll be honest, I'm really wishing I hadn't skipped breakfast."

Damian still behind you, staring down at your hands as you cut away at Tim's uniform.

It's an odd comment to make. What does breakfast have to do with any of this? And what did you mean? Smell like death?

He finally has the time to get a good look at you. He doesn't know what he expects. The exhaustion of a nurse? The collectedness of an ex-medic? The focus of a doctor?

Whatever he expected, it wasn't the borderline glowing yellow he finds in your eyes or the restraint in your stare.

A vampire. Damian brought his bleeding brother to a vampire.

"Damian–"

Damian's already staring him down. "Do not. We'll discuss later."

He refocuses on you. You've got the bloodied alcohol wipe discarded beside Tim, and your hooking the needle through skin for the second time.

You're surprisingly quick about the stitches and the bandages, but Jason nearly faints when you round the island to his other wound, where the bullet is still lodged, and plunge your fingers straight into the weeping wound. Tim, on the other hand, does pass out.

It doesn't take more than an hour for you to get him all patched up. Then you help Jason get him into a guest bedroom and set him up in there after you've had Damian dose him with morphine.

Then you boss Damian into the living room to sit and doctor his hand. You'd tried to talk him into letting you do it, but you relented and settled for at least making him sit down.

You're fixing ramen noodles in the kitchen, Damian's sitting on the edge of your couch bent over his hand, and Jason is sitting stiffly in your armchair across the the coffee table.

He's been quiet for a long time. Damian obviously wasn't going to tell him anything until he decide it was a good time to pipe up, so Jason had done what he could given the situation; observe.

Your apartment was decently put together. Humble, lived it, unprepared for company. It's dim, with only a few lamps speckled through the rooms for light and the bulbs removed from the overheads.

He's most interested in Damian, though. Despite having a likely broken hand, he's more relaxed here than he is in some parts of the Manor. His body language reads comfort. He's not looking around every few minutes for any sign of danger, even though they'd all barely escaped a small angry mob ninety minutes ago.

"So," he huffs, leaning back into your chair. He spares you a glance. Your back is to them while you stir a pot. "You wanna clue me in or are we gonna keep loitering in this poor woman's home?"

You peer over your shoulder.

Damian sighs heavily.

"Your call," you chip in, digging around in a lower cabinet.

He throws a dirty look your way. "Thanks for the help."

He draws a deep breath, reclining against the back of the couch. "Firstly, all if this stays between us," he starts, gesturing to the whole apartment with his good hand. "Second, Y/N is a vampire, and if you so much as breathe disrespectfully–"

"Damian," you warn."

"–we'll have issues."

Jason blinks slowly. Clearly unimpressed. "Why do you care do much? And how'd you know she wouldn't eat Timmy alive?"

"She's my girlfriend."

He damn near falls out of the chair. "Your what?"

#damian wayne #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne x reader #jason todd #vampire #vampire!reader #yall gont understand how much i love it #call me cringy idc #im downbad for nice bloodsuckers

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juunnies · 3 years

Text

soulmates, i guess

PAIRING ▸ choi yeonjun x fem!reader

GENRES ▸ soulmate au, fluff, crack

WARNINGS ▸ profanity

SUMMARY ▸ when you first meet your soulmate, their first words to you are tattooed on your wrist. choi yeonjun’s first words to you are “ew, you stepped in dog shit,” and you beg the universe for a do-over because those are the words forever inked on your wrist.

PLAYLIST ▸ angel or devil by txt

WORD COUNT ▸ 2252 words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ hello this drabble was inspired by writing @soobmint‘s name on my wrist and panicking because it wouldn’t come off. also disclaimer: i like mint chocolate chip pls don’t come for me

THIS WAS, BY FAR, THE WORST MORNING IN THE HISTORY OF TERRIBLE MORNINGS.

It started with your alarm deciding not to go off after a long record of reliability. This led you to wake up thirty minutes later than usual, practically flying out of bed to get started with your day and get ready for school. Waking up late wasn’t the end of the world, but you were so frazzled that you ended up starting to shampoo your hair with a bottle of Nair.

On the bright side, you didn’t start massaging it into your scalp, but the ends of your hair were coming off as you desperately tried to wash it out. Needless to say, you started off the morning being a sobbing mess.

“Y/N, are you cutting your hair?” your best friend, Choi Soobin, asked over FaceTime. “Before school? This is a mistake. Please stop.”

“Soobin, I washed the ends of my hair with Nair,” you sobbed as you tried to even out your hair to cut it. “Why did you call me this early while I was having a breakdown?”

“Oh my god!” Soobin exclaimed at his own recollection. “Y/N, I just met my soulmate.”

“What?” you shrieked, cutting a lock of your hair off on accident.

Many people considered meeting your soulmate to be a monumental experience, one that would quite literally carry around for the rest of your life. The first words your soulmate said to you were to be tattooed on your wrist. Nothing on Earth could remove, conceal, or change it.

There were those who dreamt of their words being song lyrics or something romantic. You, on the other hand, wanted something simple but sentimental. You wanted for your mark to be able to tell a story, one that could be passed down to your children and grandchildren, one that could be told thousands of times and never grow old.

Soobin winced at the sight but continued, “I was getting coffee before school and the barista told me I had a cute smile, and then it was on my wrist!”

“Wait.” You paused, putting the scissors down. “What the fuck? That’s cute!”

“I know!” Soobin simpered. “Her name’s Alex and she’s really cute. We exchanged numbers and we’re going to meet up later when she’s done with classes.”

“Well, that’s nice.” You sniffed, horrified at the sight of your uneven hair. “Good thing I haven’t met my soulmate or he’d think I’m a mess.”

“You are a mess,” Soobin corrected.

“Shut up, Soobin.”

Your impromptu haircut was not going as planned. Whatever Flynn Ryder managed to do with a shard of glass to Rapunzel’s hair in that tower was absolute clickbait because you were struggling to make your hair look as good. Soobin glanced down at the screen, immediately looking away and disappearing from the frame whenever he saw your hair and started to laugh. You would glare at the screen every now and then because Soobin was being insufferable, but you still did your best to make your hair look less terrible. You made Soobin pinky swear that he would stop laughing at your haircut, but a pinky swear was sort of a big deal so he just hung up on you.

It wasn’t terrible. Sure, you weren’t exactly fitting current beauty standards, but something about your uneven, tapered haircut was somewhat endearing. Well, you were at least trying to convince yourself that it had its own charm. Thankfully, the cold weather offered the best excuse to cover it up with a beanie, so you didn’t have to go to your classes with your head lowered in shame.

You didn’t bother eating breakfast because you were already running late. Plus, you were counting on Soobin to pick something up for you, but you also weren’t sure if he remembered after meeting his soulmate for the first time.

You mulled over your best friend’s encounter, lost in your own head as you daydreamed of experiencing something as cute as that. Your head wasn’t often stuck in the clouds, but the one time it occurred happened to be the most earth-shattering moment of your life.

“Ew, you stepped in dog shit.”

First, you looked down to see that yes, you did indeed step in dog shit and you were seconds away from running back home and burning your shoe. Then, you whipped your head around to see the owner of the voice and wanted the ground to swallow you whole upon seeing how incredibly attractive he was. Then, you felt a tingly, burning sensation on your wrist and, low and behold, the icing on your Terrible Morning cake.

Ew, you stepped in dog shit, your newly-tattooed wrist read.

You looked at the guy in disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

The culprit of your ruined wrist raised a brow at you before he jolted, holding up his own wrist. He squinted his eyes and frowned at it before turning back to stare at you, jaw comically wide.

“You knew,” he started slowly, “you knew that I was your soulmate and you still put this on my wrist?”

You folded your arms across your chest, fixing a glare on him. “Oh, like what you said was any better?”

“You cussed at me! How am I supposed to go back home and tell my mom that my soulmate cussed at me?”

“Well, you did too!” you retaliated. “I don’t want to be reminded for the rest of my life that my soulmate met me when I stepped in dog shit!”

“Maybe that wouldn’t be an issue if you just watched where you were going.”

You never expected to argue with your soulmate before you even got to know his name, but here you were, acting like kindergarteners fighting for a chance on the swing. You didn’t even get the chance to fully appreciate his gorgeous features and think about how you totally scored because this man was relentless. But, honestly, you absolutely hated how you could clearly see why you two were meant to be soulmates; at this point, even Soobin would’ve given up on arguing with you, but this guy knew how to keep up with you.

You took a deep breath and looked him dead in the eye. “I’m returning you.”

“What?” he asked, puzzled beyond imagination.

“What’s your name?”

“Choi Yeonjun.”

“Choi Yeonjun, I, Y/N, am returning you to the universe,” you said. “I demand a new soulmate.”

Yeonjun looked rather offended by your remark. “I should be the one returning you.”

You grimaced and looked down at your wrist. “There has to be some way to get this shit off.”

“Oh, please.” Yeonjun scoffed. “You can’t even keep shit off your shoe.”

“Mom, how do I get rid of my soulmate?” you asked nonchalantly, walking back into your house with Choi Yeonjun at your heels.

“Y/N, don’t you have classes today? What are you—” Your mom froze upon seeing the ethereal boy next to you. “Oh my god.”

“Nice to meet you, Ma’am,” Yeonjun greeted in a sugary voice, eyes sparkling like he had just won the lottery. “My name’s Choi Yeonjun. I’m your daughter’s soulmate.”

You heard stories that when people met their soulmate, time slowed down when their eyes met, preserving the moment like an old photograph. You thought it would happen the second you saw Yeonjun, but you assumed you were too infuriated and overwhelmed by your rough morning. Right now, it felt like that pause in reality was happening. However, you weren’t the one experiencing it.

Your mother was.

“Mom,” you called out. “Mom, please stop staring at him.”

“I don’t blame her,” Yeonjun mumbled to you. “Have you seen me?”

You elbowed Yeonjun in the gut, earning a wince from him. This happened to snap your mother out of her daze, however, and she shot you a glare. She rushed over to see both you and your soulmate together, smiling ear-to-ear at the two of you

“Now, Y/N, don’t be so rude to your soulmate,” she scolded, reaching up to pinch Yeonjun’s soft cheek. “He’s so handsome! What do they feed you?”

“Protein,” Yeonjun answered cheerily, “and occasionally mint chocolate chip.”

Your mom’s smile slowly faded and she dropped her hand.

“Mom, this is serious,” you interjected. “We need to get our soulmate marks off.”

Your mom frowned. “Why would you do that?” she questioned, tone sharpening towards the end.

This was what you were dreading because you weren’t exactly comfortable letting your mom see you use profanity. It wasn’t something taboo in your household, but you always avoided it regardless. You sighed and held up your wrist for your mom to see. Yeonjun did the same, holding it next to yours so that she could see the pair together.

Your mom laughed.

“Okay, so my mom thinks this is ridiculous.”

“I think I’ll agree with her because my wrist is turning red, Y/N.”

You were currently in your bathroom with Yeonjun, frantically scrubbing at his wrist and probably wasting the new soap you had just bought the week before. You hardly knew anything about this guy other than the fact that he had a short fuse but transformed into an angel in front of adults. Choi Yeonjun was a scam, and you did not want your life to become branded with him. What was the point of having a soulmate who didn’t like you, anyway?

Yeonjun scowled, pulling his hand away when he decided he had enough of trying to wash away the mark. “I can’t believe you’re making me skip classes for this. It’s not even working!”

You glared down at the tattoo with utmost ferocity. Maybe if you focused hard enough, you could will it away, but it clearly wasn’t working. It also didn’t help that Yeonjun snapped his fingers in front of your face to grab your attention.

“Washing it off and glaring at it doesn’t work,” you observed. “Maybe we should cut off our hands.”

“We are not doing that,” Yeonjun said. The corner of his lip twitched and he cornered you against the sink’s counter. The sudden motion caused you to back up, startled by his closeness. “Maybe you need to start accepting that we were destined to be.”

“I woke up late, washed my hair with Nair, had to cut it to my shoulders, stepped in dog shit, and met my soulmate doing so. Nothing about that screams destiny,” you deadpanned.

“You’d be surprised.”

Your breath hitched when he leaned in closer. The gaze in his eyes had darkened and he had you cornered as soon as he put his hands on either side of you. All you could do was stare at his plush lips and feathery lashes while he was closing in on you. The fire in your gut was curling with something fierce yet indescribable.

This could not be your first kiss. You didn’t want your soulmate to kiss you in your tiny bathroom with the faucet still running. Not only was that an uneventful kiss, but it wasn’t very environmentally conscious of you either.

So you did the one thing you could think of.

You headbutted Choi Yeonjun in the jaw.

Maybe you were a little too forceful than you had intended because your soulmate wobbled, held out a hand to grab you, and then toppled down with you. You were thankful that you could land on him instead of head-first onto the floor, but Yeonjun didn’t have it as easy as you. You shot up and looked over at him. He didn’t look responsive so you grabbed him and shook him by the shoulders.

“Yeonjun? Yeonjun, wake up,” you cried. “Oh my god, please don’t be dead.”

Fear shot up your spine.

You just killed your soulmate.

You were so grounded.

“How weak do you think I am?” Yeonjun muttered, voice pitched lower than usual. His eyes were still closed but they seemed to be closed out of annoyance rather than pain. “Do you really think falling down is going to kill me?”

Despite his brash tone, his arms were still secure around your waist. Your heart couldn’t help but flutter at the gesture. You had to give it to him; he was acting more like your soulmate than the bane of your existence. Maybe he wasn’t all as bad as you made him out to be, and maybe your first encounter wasn’t the most romantic thing in the world, but it was definitely a story.

You leaned over to kiss his cheek.

Yeonjun was caught by surprise. He opened his eyes, a slight tinge of red creeping up his neck. You decided to hold off on the teasing, though.

“I’ll accept it now,” you decided with a small smile. “But I just met you so don’t expect a kiss anytime soon.”

“Fine by me,” Yeonjun replied with a grin. “By the way…”

He reached up to remove your beanie, pushing it off your head carelessly. Your hands instinctively shot up to hide your hair but you stilled when Yeonjun ran a hand through your locks.

A grin spread on his lips. “I kind of have a thing for short hair.”

#txt scenarios #yeonjun fluff #yeonjun scenarios #txt fluff #yeonjun imagines #yeonjun oneshot #choi yeonjun oneshot #txt oneshots #choi yeonjun #yeonjun drabbles #txt drabbles #soulmate au #yeonjun fanfic #txt fanfic #txt imagines #txt #tomorrow x together #yeonjun blurbs #txt blurbs

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juminly · 2 years

Note

Helloooo :) How about Number 16 w/ Diluc, Kaeya or Arthur? (Strictly SFW tho please). Please and thank you and take all the time you need to write this!

A/N: I hope you enjoy this <3 Prompt: One person pouting, only to have it removed by a kiss from the other person. Arthur Conan Doyle - Ikémen Vampire

You were never like this, your face turned to the other side of the bed and giving Arthur your back as you settled in to sleep for the night, your husband having long days ahead of him and barely a few hours of sleep before he was due for his trip with Theodorus.

The thought of this impromptu trip had you feeling bitter, your jaw clenching lightly at how emotional you were feeling when you usually wouldn't be this way. It was as though you threw all reason out the window and all that remained inside you were a huge mess of heightened emotions and sensations that you could very much do without but this is how it was with you lately.

You didn't want to be one to complain, as much as you wanted to. Arthur had not only been the most understanding, loving and caring husband but he surpassed any expectations you might have had of what he was willing to do and what he was capable of doing considering your state. His past knowledge as a physician definitely was helpful but more so, it was his devoted heart of gold that came through and had you enveloped in the warmth of the affection and attention that you needed to feel any semblance of physical and emotional comfort.

As he slid under the plush covers of your bed, the mattress hadn't shifted not one bit, telling you that Arthur didn't make a single move... waiting for some sort of response or reaction from you. Yet, he got nothing from you, which chipped a tiny bite from his heart, as it did with your own. For once, you wanted to spare him from your raging emotions, especially when a potential of journey of inspiration was in store for your husband.

Why would you stand in the way of him thriving... just because you didn't want to part with him?

"My love?" He called out, Arthur unable to mask the sad tenor his softly spoken words, distraught that you still did not turn to look his way, how you refused to face him when the both of you were incapable of sleep without entangling your bodies with one another. Your husband was observant and intelligent enough to deduce why you acted the way you did, given also how random and sudden the trip with Theodorus was.

"Angel..." He brought his hand to the round bump of your tummy, rubbing on your skin gently, a telling gesture as to what he didn't have to point out. He didn't have to tell you that he had a reason for not being able to take you with him but it didn't make it any better.

"I know, Arthur..." You faltered hushedly, sighing softly as you placed your hand above his, lacing your fingers with his, giving it a tight squeeze as brief thoughts of how hard it was for your loving and clingy husband to leave not only you behind.

"Then please don't do this to me, love." He kissed the crook of your neck, his lips brushing against that sensitive spot that sent happy tingles straight to your heart, kissing you incessantly while you closed your eyes, taking in the love he always so abundantly bestowed upon you, so selflessly. "If you don't want me to go-" He murmured bleakly yet reverrently against your neck. "- I'll shatter the thought that of ever leaving you."

"I'm kicking you out of this damn mansion if you don't go." Despite how you were feeling, you were happy Arthur could travel for a change, also give him some much needed time to focus on his writing when he had abandoned, willingly, everything just to care for you.

"Then-" A light chuckle escaped him as your bottom lip jutted out into a cute pout, his arms winding around your waist as he inched his body closer to you, carefully holding you closer him him, his expressive sapphires never letting go of yours now that your gaze finally met his. "Let me give you a goodnight kiss so my heart can be at ease, love." He pleaded, prodding you by brushing his nose gently against yours and kissing the pout on your lips. A kiss that neither of you could rest without.

"You stole the kiss I was going to give you only till you came back. Give you a reason to come back even faster." You quipped playfully, Arthur huffed in amusement as he kissed you once again, your lips lingering softly against each other, relief surging in your body when Arthur embraced you so tenderly, pouring such pure love into every touch.

"I know you're going to miss me but it is nowhere near how much I'm going to miss you, my angel."

"Would you like to bet on it?" You teased, sounding exactly like him which drew up that resplendently heart-melting smile of Arthur's, his heart undeniably blooming with pride and giddiness, knowing that out of every other person that has existed and will ever exist, you were the chosen one for him and him, yours. And he could now sleep soundly, listening to the steady heartbeats, sounds that were most precious to his weak heart.

–♥– Hubby is here @theweebrises

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp arthur #ikevam arthur #ikemen vampire scenarios #ikemen vampire arthur #ikevamp #ikemen vampire fanfic #ikemen fanfiction #arthur conan doyle #kiss event #ikevamp fanfic #arthur fluff #ikevamp fandom #ikevamp fluff

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nurse-buckley · 3 years

Text

Muchas Manos En La Olla Echan El Guiso A Perder

Fandom: 9-1-1 Word Count: 1,676 Pairing: Buddie x Reader Warnings: mentions of blood and injury. Summary: Like the title says, ‘too many cooks spoil the broth.’ Tagslist: @firemedicdiaz @fireladybuckley @pupandangelscoffee @winterreader-nowwriter @dayrin085 Beta’d by the amazing @evanbuckos

“Thanks for letting me use your kitchen Eddie.” Your kitchen was being renovated, and when Athena and Bobby announced they were having a barbeque, you knew you couldn’t show up empty handed. Eddie was kind enough to offer up his oven for you, and invited you and Buck over to cook your respective dishes together.

You, Eddie, and Buck get to work, Eddie preparing the bread rolls for the oven and Buck chopping vegetables for the salad. The pie you offered to make for dessert had already been cooked and was cooling on the side, so you offer your services to help Eddie with the tortilla española he’d offered to make, recipe courtesy of his abuela.

You all fall into a comfortable rhythm, moving around each other in synchronicity as you prepare your plates for the barbeque. Eddie opens his phone, connecting it to his bluetooth speakers, wiggling his hips to the beat as he continues his prep. You let out a laugh watching his dance, gaining Buck’s attention.

The younger firefighter, upon seeing his friend, begins an impromptu food fight, grabbing a piece of tomato from his chopping board and throwing it in his direction. You shake your head, not wanting to be involved in their antics, dodging the piece of food as it flies passed you.

Choosing to ignore them for the time being, you grab the mandoline and begin slicing the potatoes for Eddie into thin discs. You don’t notice the piece of cucumber flying towards you from Eddie’s direction, your mind too focussed on thinly slicing the ingredient in front of you. The piece of food misses its target of Buck, instead hitting you. You flinch in retaliation to the object flying towards you, the potato slipping in your hands and your fingers slicing against the blade.

The laughing ceases, the two men not knowing what your reaction would be to being brought in to their antics. Your silence worries them as you pause chopping the vegetables, staring down at the chopping board. The cheerful music playing a stark contrast to the energy that now fills the room.

“Y/N?” Eddie asks.

You’re still frozen in place, staring down at the chopping board as you turn to him. It’s then he sees the blood flowing freely from your index and middle finger.

He drops what he’s doing, grabbing a clean cloth from the drawer and moving to your side immediately. “Buck, get the first aid kit, now!”

The younger firefighter sprints into action, running out of the kitchen to find the box of supplies he knew Eddie keeps in the bathroom cabinet.

“Shit, I am so sorry.”

He presses the rag firmly to your fingers, holding your hand above your heart to try and stem the bleeding. He chances a look, removing the cloth to see the damage, only being met with a fresh stream of blood that trickled down your arm.

Your face pales as you realise the magnitude of your injury, sucking in a breath, not sure if it’s from the shock of seeing the blood or the pain emanating from your fingers.

Eddie doesn’t miss your reaction, attempting to get your focus on him and away from your injury, “hey, keep your eyes on me, okay?”

You suck in a breath, the pain alone was enough to make you feel sick, but the sensation that made your stomach churn was the feel of the warm liquid soaking through the rag and down your fingers as Eddie held your hand in the air.

You chance a look, not being able to resist, attempting to see the damage you had caused to the digits. Eddie’s reflexes kick in as he sees your face pale and your eyes start to roll back. He uses his free hand to press you against the counter, pressing his body against you, sandwiching you between him and the counter in an attempt to keep you upright. “Easy, I got you.”

The jolting sensation of being pushed into the counter brings you back slightly. You still feel woozy, leaning into the man next to you for support. “Sorry,” you begin, “looks like tortilla española is off the menu.”

Eddie lets out a chuckle in disbelief at your apology, “doesn’t matter, what matters is getting those fingers seen to.”

Buck returns, his face conveying his worry upon seeing you so pale and unstable. He rushes to your side, placing the first aid kit on the counter next to you and helping Eddie keep you upright.

“Let’s get you laying down,” Buck takes your other side, taking the majority of your weight to allow Eddie to keep pressure on your wounds.

The two firefighters gently lay you on the floor, Buck cradling your head as they lower you down. The younger firefighter leaves your side momentarily, returning with a chair, and gently lifts your legs, elevating them in an attempt to stop you from going into shock.

The younger man looks towards Eddie, seeing he’s ready to take another look at your injuries and begin treating them. “Just keep looking at me alright,” Buck’s gaze never leaves you as he picks up your uninjured hand, squeezing it in his own.

You suck in a breath as you feel Eddie removing the cloth from your hand, keeping your focus on the other man. “How bad is it?”

“I don’t think you need the emergency room. I can treat it here if you want me to.”

You nod, regretting the decision immediately as the dizziness returns. “Yeah, please. I don’t want to go to the hospital.”

Buck gives your hand another reassuring squeeze, bringing your focus back in the moment. You allow yourself to relax slightly, feeling like a weight has been lifted knowing that you wouldn’t have a stranger looking after you.

After a few more minutes of pressure, Eddie was happy the bleeding had stopped enough for him to dress the wounds on your fingers. “You alright to sit up for me? It’ll be easier to patch you up at the table.”

Buck lets go of your hand momentarily, placing his hand around your shoulders, supporting you into a sitting position. His free hand comes to your uninjured hand, his fingers moving to the pulse point there. Once he’s happy you’re stable enough to move he nods to Eddie, the silent conversation between them signially their next move. The younger firefighter helps you to stand, all the while keeping a firm grip with an arm around your waist. The pair lead you to the table, sitting you down in the chair before Buck leaves to grab the first aid kit he’d left in the kitchen.

Buck passes the box to Eddie, opening it and unpacking the materials he needs. It looks more like the kit bags you stock on the firetruck than a family first aid box. You’d laugh were it not for the pain in your fingers throbbing in time with your pulse.

The medic begins pulling out plastic vials of saline, dressing packs, tegaderm and so on. By the time he’s finished gathering the supplies he needs, the table is covered in gauze, tape, and bandages.

Buck is at your other side, your hand in his, talking about anything to distract you. Eddie chips into the conversation between preparing his work surface. Your anxiety begins to rise as you see Eddie pulling on a pair of surgical gloves, announcing that he’s ready if you are.

Your anxiety doesn’t go unnoticed by the younger man, “just keep looking at me, okay?”

Eddie gently pulls your hand away from Buck’s grasp, checking under the rag, happy the bleeding has stopped. “We’ll go at your pace, if you need me to stop or feel like it’s getting too much, just say and we’ll take a break.”

You nod, smiling for the first time since your accident. You feel lucky to have them with you.

“I guess it's true what they say, muchas manos en la olla echan el guiso a perder.”

Buck frowns in confusion at Eddie’s statement, “what does that mean?”

You let out a scoff, shaking your head, “it means too many cooks spoil the broth. More like two idiots partaking in a food fight gets the innocent party injured...”

The pair apologise in unison, feeling incredibly guilty that their actions had caused this to happen to you.

Once confirming you’re ready, Eddie begins by opening one of the saline tubes, wetting a piece of gauze. He looks up to you for consent before he begins cleaning the wounds on your fingers. He gently rubs around the wounds, ensuring your fingers are clean before wiping the dried blood that had crusted on to your fingers and hand. Grabbing another piece of gauze, he gently dabs at the area, drying around the wounds. He applies the first dressing to each of your fingers, securing the adhesive around each finger before applying the additional bandages, securing them with tape.

Buck grabs the sling Eddie had laid out, gently holding your wrist as he places the sling over your chest. He gently places your arm back across your chest, tying the bandage around the back of your neck, successfully elevating your hand.

Buck glances at his watch, looking between you and Eddie, who is now busy cleaning up the wrappers from the table. “We can still make it if we leave now. You both still up for it?”

You glance at Eddie who shrugs, looking back at you for confirmation. “I’m up for it if you are.”

The pain is still throbbing in your fingers and you take a moment to think if you are up to facing other people. You decide you still want to go, knowing being with your friends, your work family, would be a better distraction than staying inside.

“Lets go,” you pause for a minute, thinking back to the mess in the kitchen, “we have the pie, but we might need to run by the store though, if we don’t want to turn up empty handed!”

#9-1-1 #911 #9-1-1 fanfiction #911 fanfiction #9-1-1 fanfic #911 fanfic #9-1-1 x reader #911 x reader #eddie diaz x reader #evan buckley x reader #buck x reader #buddie x reader #mine #my writing

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talkfastromance4 · 3 years

Text

when i’m dreaming--calum hood oneshot

yeah so i’m going through something so this is very, very self-indulgent.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: drinking linked a little with coping, going through a depressive low, best friend!calum

feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

***

Calum notices something is wrong the minute she steps outside. He was about to take a drink of his white claw, but his eyes went to her nails when she pulled Crystal in for a hug. She typically paints them to match her mood and today they’re opalescent pink, barely noticeable but still there. In plain sight but still visible while she secretly wants to be invisible.

She smiles and cracks jokes with everyone she says hello to then when she steps in front of Calum, he sees the sadness in her eyes. They’ve been best friends for awhile now, they’ve shared secrets, stories of first loves and heartaches, their fears, their wildest dreams. But there was always something she kept hidden, tucked away in a box welded shut.

“Hey bud,” she sighs.

“Hey short stuff,” he grins playfully pulling her in for a hug. Her arms wrap around him and he makes sure to give her an extra tight squeeze.

“I’m not that short,” she grumbles in his chest.

“You’re shorter than me,” he reminds rubbing her shoulder with his thumb. Although her arms are loose around him he can feel the tension in her shoulders that she’s carrying.

“Stop hogging her! I haven’t seen her in weeks!” Ashton exclaims and Calum pulls away.

He knows it was too soon to break the hug but to keep up with her own façade he doubts anyone else sees, he does it.

“Hey, you’re the one who disappeared into the desert for all those weeks,” she jokes rising on her toes to loop her arms around Ashton’s neck.

He gives her a big bear hug that lifts her a few inches off the ground, Calum sees her nails digging into her arm as she squeezes him.

“Had to recenter myself, you should try it sometime,” Ashton teases right back. As if she was shocked, she removes herself from the hug then accepts a bottle of Mike’s from Luke.

“I can take something stronger than this, Hemmings,” she takes a large chug regardless.

“Yeah? Like tequila? I got some limes,” he jerks his thumb behind him towards the drink table.

“I said stronger not deadly. You know I can’t handle tequila,” she scrunches her nose.

Everyone else laughs but alarms are going off in Calum’s head.

“Yeah, the floor of my Tesla doesn’t like tequila either,” Michael chimes in with a tray of shots.

“I told you to pull over,” she shrugs lifting up a shot. She takes a whiff and nods in approval at his selected alcohol choice.

“I was going 75 on the freeway!”

“And that’s why I threw up. Ready?” she lifts her glass.

Calum meets her eyes as over the hands of their friends as Ashton gives an impromptu speech about friendship and long rides. He wasn’t really paying attention because when their eyes locked, he saw the panic, he saw the fear of whatever was going on in her head.

The next time he sees her is at the movies. Her eyes are darker along with her nails that are now a hunter’s green; camouflaged but still visible. While they’re waiting in line for snacks, he lifts her hand in his and runs his thumb over the color.

“This is a pretty color, I’ve never seen it on you before,” he says.

“Yeah, um…wanted to try something different,” she shrugs. “Do you want the blue icee?”

“Is that even a question?” he raises a brow, and she laughs.

Once they’re settled in the seats the previews start. Calum opens up the bags of sweet and sour treats while she opens the boxes of milk duds. The large bowl of popcorn (with extra butter) is settled between them, long red straws sticking out of their frozen drinks.

Throughout the whole movie, it’s an action romantic comedy, Calum keeps glancing at her. He watches her fingers disappear in the popcorn bowl, her hunter’s green nails appearing black in the dark theater. Calum’s seen enough movies to know this moment is foreshadowing the darkness she’s slipping into. He’s preparing himself for the fall but he’s not entirely sure she is.

Two weeks have gone by and he hasn’t seen her since the movie. Their schedules didn’t align so he decided to surprise her with takeout from her favorite Asian restaurant and chocolate cake from her favorite bakery.

When he opens the door, he hears Friends playing on her tv and he finds her horizontal on the couch. The hood of her sweatshirt is over her head, her arms wrapped around her torso, her black nails clutching the fabric.

Calum braces himself for what he’s walking into, sets the food on her counter and crouches in front of her. He pulls her hoodie back a little so he can see her face a bit better, her eyes are distant and staring off behind him.

“Hey,” he says softly then touches her hand. It’s very cold. “Y/N.”

Upon hearing her name does she finally look at him. Her eyes have filled and spilled with her tears in a matter of seconds. He links her fingers through his.

“Hi,” she mouths, her voice barely registering.

“Is this about…him?” he asks delicately.

About a year ago he chipped away at the welding on the box. He knows it involves a guy. He knows it’s about bad timing. He knows it’s about deep emotions.

She nods and the tears erupt more. She buries her face in her hands then adds another layer by hiding in the pillow.

“Nope, nope, hey,” he tugs on her arms. She’s pliant and allows him to drag her in a sitting position. He takes the place where her head was then brings her onto his lap. “I’ve got you, I’m right here.” He murmurs and pulls her hoodie down so he can rub at her hair.

She sobs loudly into his neck. Calum holds her as tight as he can, murmuring comforting words in her ear. Her sobs would subside, but he wouldn’t let go until she did. She’s very good at keeping her emotions at bay and even better at keeping people further away from her harbor. She doesn’t ask for help often, she doesn’t open up too much and when she does it’s always the footnoted version.

Three episodes of Friends later, her hold lessens, she gives a big sniff and peels herself away from Calum. He uses the sleeves of his shirt to wipe at her tears and nose.

“Have you eaten?” he asks, and she shakes her head. “I brought food. I’ll heat it up for you.”

She nods and falls back onto the couch. He rubs her knee then heads into the kitchen. When the food is prepared on plates he brings it to her and she takes it, scarfing down the first few bites heartily.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she finally speaks when her plate is empty.

“I know,” he nods looking over at her until she meets his brown eyes. “It’s okay.”

Calum ends up staying the night, his mind reeling from what the history is with this mystery guy. His thoughts get away from him as he stares at the ceiling above the couch. Was he some celebrity that kept her under the radar and broke her heart repeatedly? A Prince from some far-off country that got her hopes up and crushed them again and again?

He’s tossing and turning until he hears the shower turn on. Sad songs play over and over on her speakers, her voice singing along with the yearning words. Ghostin’ by Ariana and When the Party’s Over by Billie replay one after another.

She’s really hurting.

Calum bounds off the couch and opens the bathroom door.

“Y/N?” he makes sure his voice is a little louder than the music.

A sniff. “Yeah?” her voice is thick.

“Just want you to know I’m here,” he shuts the door and sits next to the shower.

His heart aches when he hears her crying again, the vocals echo and bounce off the tiles. Her sadness fills the room just as it’s filled in the hidden box of the guy who’s making her feel this way.

Four more repeats go by and the shower is finally shut off. Calum scrambles off the floor, sees her tug the towel from the door of the shower. Her shadow figure wraps it around herself and she opens the door. Her skin is red from the hot water, as are her eyes and cheeks from crying more tears. He grabs another towel and helps dry her hair while she stands there avoiding her reflection in the mirror.

“It’s been five years, why do I still feel like this?” she asks quietly.

“It hurts the most when it meant something.”

He left the bathroom after he dried and brushed her hair then waited for her in her bedroom. There’s pictures on her desk from high school. Her and some guy at prom. Her and the same guy a little bit older posing in a selfie on a couch, drunken smiles on their faces. Her and the same guy a little older again posed outside.

This must be from that box. She’s cracked it open and Calum is staring at some of the pieces that have broken her wholly.

“His name’s Henry,” she explains suddenly behind him.

Calum turns to her voice. The drastic change from the happy girl in the photos to the sad girl before him startles him. He remains silent to let her speak or to go into silence again. She moves onto her bed, sitting in the center and tucks her legs against her chest.

“We never dated. But we were always…together. Together in the physical sense for four years,” she continues. Calum joins her cautiously on the bed and listens. “Back and forth always. After every relationship we fell back into each other. He’s the longest relationship I’ve had, and it wasn’t even a real one.

“We cared about each other, and…I think he loved me. Time wasn’t on our side. It was too much or too little, I don’t know,” she shrugs. “Just when I think I’ve let go; I dream of him. Then he’s on my mind for days. And now this time…” she shakes her head and Calum pulls her against him. “I went on socials and I found out that he um…he’s a dad now. And I feel so stupid because that could have been me if we kept what we had. I feel stupid because a part of me wanted it to be me.”

Calum doesn’t fully understand the ins and outs of their relationship, but four years of physical affection and a rock to lean on, that’s a lot of history. He also doesn’t fully understand how this guy didn’t make it official with Y/N. She’s the perfect best friend with a big heart.

Calum wishes he knew her in school because he would have been the one to take her to prom. He would have been the one take her to movies and dinners and surprise her with flowers. He would have made it official rather than keep her guessing.

“I’m really going through it and I don’t know how to get out,” she whispers sadly.

“I think…” Calum heaves a big sigh and kisses her wet head. “I think you’re just cracking the surface of breaking free. I can tell he meant a lot to you and you meant a lot to him. Even if he never said it, you’ll always be a part of him just like he’ll be a part of you. Someone that important won’t just poof away.”

“But I want him to, it hurts.”

“I know it does, sweetheart. I’ll help you in any way I can, okay?”

“You’re so understanding and you’re so good, but I don’t want to cry over another guy when you’re here.”

“That’s what best friends do.”

She turns her head and gazes up at him. He notices the storm in her eyes aren’t as dark, her lips are chapped from the cracking of memories she spilled out.

“Calum, you’re more than my best friend.”

He hears a deeper truth in her statement, and it causes his breathing to quicken. The subtle yet very noticeable flick of her eyes to his lips causes him to react. He gives her a quick peck, but that smallest touch sent an enormous shock through his system.

They settle against her pillows, the kiss wasn’t awkward, but it filled them both with questions. Questions that will be answered at a different time because right now he wants to hear this most vulnerable part of her life. She takes his hand in hers first and plays with his fingers while she talks.

He makes comments and asks questions to try and understand a bit more. Calum kisses her head when her voice starts to shake. Hours go by and the sky starts to lighten, birds are awakening.

“Hey,” she says right as he’s about to fall asleep. They talked all night, but she quieted down about twenty minutes.

“Hm?” he opens his eyes.

“We match.”

He looks down at their intertwined fingers when she taps on his nail. His polish is chipped away from chewing on a hangnail then smiles at the black color. He lifts their hands and kisses their knuckles.

“I feel what you feel.”

“What exactly do you feel?”

“I felt you slipping. I can sense your emotions when no one else can, and I guess I painted my nails subconsciously because I didn’t want you to be alone in the dark,” he explains. She’s quiet for a moment and he thinks she really fell asleep this time.

“Thank you. I don’t think I’ll be this bad again.”

“If you are, I’ll be here. I’ll always be here.”

“Cal?”

“Hmm?” he sighs. It’s getting harder to keep his eyes open, but he doesn’t want her to stop talking. He doesn’t want her out of his arms.

“When I’m dreaming tonight it will be of you.”

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#best friend!cal #calum hood oneshot #calum hood angst #calum fluff #calum hood fluff #calum 5sos writing #calum 5sos #5sos writing #calum hood 5sos #calum fic #calum hood fic

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ahh-fxck · 3 years

Text

Here is my gift for @mossymel for @thewitchersecretsanta 2020 gift exchange! I hope you like it!!

Title: Heat and a Healer

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Geralt x Female!Reader

Cross-posted to Ao3

Geralt is injured in a hunt to save your village. You find him in the snow and bring him inside to keep him from dying.

The courtyard is muddy and cold, the air in front of your face misting with every breath. It is crisp with a light dusting of snow that crunches under your feet. Pale fingers of dawn light are creeping over the rooftops as you go about your morning chores. As you round the corner of your barn to break the water on the livestock trough you let out a startled gasp.

The water on one end is already broken and there is a strange brown mare contentedly drinking from it. It takes you a moment to realize that her rider is there as well; He is barely visible at first, huddled in a snow-encrusted cloak at the base of the trough. When he hears your gasp he jerks, as if he hadn’t meant to fall asleep and is slightly startled to find that he had.

The movement draws a thin, reedy noise of pain from him. Milky white hair spills from the cloak, and you see a flash of silver around his neck. With a start, you realize that you’ve seen this horse before. The road to the south has been terrorized by a griffin and no trade has gotten through in months; Everyone’s larders are bare and tempers in town have been growing short. The Witcher riding into town a week before had been a welcome sight.

It’s a relief to see him back again, but your heart plunges as you take in the state of him. You kneel to inspect him, frowning at what you see. His lips are blue with cold and his face is streaked with dried gore of some sort. When he opens his eyes you can see they are a startling shade of gold, like a cat’s. They are hazy with pain and exhaustion.

“Witcher?” You say, beginning to brush the snow off of him. “Oh Melitele, look at the state of you! Can you walk? Quick, let’s get you inside.” You bend to help him as he struggles painfully to his feet. The clothing all down one side of him is stiff under your hand and his armor is ominously tattered.

“My horse,” he croaks through dry lips.

“I’ll see to her once I have you settled,” you promise. “You need heat and a healer first, Witcher. She’ll keep.” He is too weak to do more than nod, allowing you to guide his stumbling steps across the courtyard. You hurry him into the kitchen and ease him down on the floor in front of the roaring fire.

He goes down with a grateful groan, settling in a sodden heap on the well-swept floor. As quickly as you can, you pull the sleeping mat you use for guests out of the crowded storage room. Next, you bring a pile of blankets and set them aside. Then you hurriedly help him remove his wet clothes before the chill can set any worse. As the full extent of his injuries is revealed, you can feel your blood running cold. He is gouged and bruised all over one side, still slowly leaking blood from ugly wounds in his flank. Every movement, every breath, pulls at them and causes his face to flicker with pain.

As soon as he is tucked under the blankets near the fire you race out of the house, battering at the healer’s door until she shuffles out to greet you. Her eyes widen as you breathlessly tell her what happened. In short order, she is dressed and hurrying after you. The crunching of your footsteps on the empty streets is loud in the hush of dawn.

You spend the rest of the morning running at the healer’s beck and call, boiling water and making simple herbal preparations at her instruction. During a lull, you slip out to tend the animals and stable the Witcher’s horse. The mare is stroppy and irritable, but you’ve known your share of horses and you aren’t impressed. Far more impressive is the griffin’s head dangling from the far side of her saddle, where you hadn’t been able to see it before. A rush of relief goes through you; the alderman will be pleased to see that, by the gods.

Before long, the horse is clean and dry, munching on her feed. The same cannot be said for her rider. The sun is well in the sky by the time the healer straightens from her work, and even then he looks gaunt and pale. He lies on the floor sleeping soundly as she cleans up and prepares a basket of supplies for you. She explains each item as she puts it in the basket, then instructs you to let him rest. As she leaves, she squeezes your shoulder silently. You and she both know without speaking that keeping the Witcher alive is the right thing to do.

Not long after that, the alderman comes to call, no doubt notified by the healer. Bodily blocking him from entering your home and seeing the state the Witcher is in, you insist on walking the alderman over to the griffin’s head yourself. He eyes it skeptically, hemming and hawing about whether or not the Witcher has earned the full price.

Your eyes flash with fire. Your alderman is a fool and a scoundrel, else you’d expect him to have some compassion for the man who nearly died to save his bloody town. You tell him that and a fair few other things besides, letting him have the sharp side of your tongue. There are few women he’ll take this treatment from, but as the best baker in town, you happen to be one of them. By the time you threaten to refuse baking his daughter’s wedding cake, the alderman buckles, handing over a far fatter sack of coin than he’d intended to.

Pleased, you hand him the griffin’s head to dispose of and march him off of your property. Then you return to the kitchen with the Witcher’s coin. He wakes when you come through the door, eyes bright with fever and exhaustion. When you toss him the bag of coins he catches it though, and his crooked smile lights his face handsomely.

Over the following days, he slumbers in front of your hearth as he heals. At first, he is too exhausted to do much but wake occasionally to eat and use the privy. Though your larder is as bare as anyone else’s in town, you feed him as if he were your own. With gentle hands you tend to his wounds, cleaning them, spreading salve on them, and finally wrapping them with clean bandages. You can see sometimes in unguarded moments how much he likes your touch. His face relaxes and sometimes you can even see the brief flicker of a smile. He is handsome when he smiles.

You find yourself enjoying the time you spend at his bedside, treasuring the little flashes more than you'd expected to. It turns out under the grime he's gorgeous. Wide golden eyes, a square jaw, a cupid's bow lip, and that's only his face. Each of his long limbs is cabled with heavy muscle, and his skin is almost as milky as his hair. It gives him a very striking appearance, and you frequently find yourself struggling not to stare as you change his bandages.

He becomes more alert as he heals. At first, all he does is silently watch you from the floor, golden eyes following you about the room. You don’t mind, filling the air with friendly talk as your hands work. You tell him stories about your childhood, your family, sharing the little memories held in chipped teacups and lovingly crafted decorations.

In his turn, he tells you little things as well. You learn that his name is Geralt and that he’s trying to get north before the snows close the mountain roads entirely. You also learn that he loves baked apples and that he adores his horse. They’re small things, but they put you at your ease, making him seem less remote and strange.

Though he heals quicker than any man has a right to, it is still days before he can limp around your house on his own power. He moves first from the sleeping mat to the chair near the fire, where he listens to you talk while you work. Although supplies are scarce you ply him with tea and treats from your bakery as you work. It gives you joy to feed him nice things after everything he's been through. The kindness and the treats both seem to confuse him, but he devours the pastries without complaint as he listens to you talk. Before long he is alert enough to mend his tattered clothing and armor as he sits there in the corner, his big hands working skillfully.

On the day that the caravans finally arrive in town, he has made it as far as the yard. He is slowly moving through forms with his massive steel sword, limbering his healing body. A clamor arises all through the town as a horn sounds. By the time the first wagon is through the outer gate, half of the town has surged out to greet them.

At the sound of the ruckus, the Witcher’s head comes up. Yours does as well, and you race to the gate. When you realize that the caravans have arrived at last, you let out a joyous whoop, dancing around your courtyard. You catch Geralt up before you can even think about it, so overcome with excitement that you plant a huge kiss right on his lips.

“The caravans! We’re saved! Oh, we’re going to have such a feast tonight, just you wait!”

It’s only then that you see how wide-eyed he is, looking between your hands fisted in his shirt and your lips. You drop his shirt with a start, worried that you’ve caused him offense, but as you back away he breaks into a slow smile. The corners of his golden eyes crinkle handsomely, and you feel your heart trip over itself.

Cheeks heating, you look over your shoulder and then back at him. He’s still smiling. You smile back, giving him a thoughtful look, then tap him gently on his chest. “You just wait here. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail! Then you’ll see why they call me the best baker in town!” Without waiting for him to reply, you race off to get ready for the impromptu market already forming in the town square.

You walk back to your house sometime later with your cart and donkey in tow. The cart is practically overflowing with supplies, and your heart is glowing as you pull it up in the courtyard and begin to unload it. All your worries about the winter’s food have been wiped away, and you are in a very merry mood indeed.

The kitchen is rich with the smells of good food and mead that evening, and it’s already groaning under the weight of all the treats you’ve baked for the next day. Geralt sits on a stool at your kitchen table. He munches pastries and chops herbs for you while you cook and sing. You catch him smiling to himself as you overflow with happiness. It’s the nicest meal you’ve been able to make in months, and it’s a joy to share the bounty with the man who’d made it possible.

When dinner is cooked and dessert is cooling, you sit down to dine with him. For once he’s able to eat his fill. Even though he puts away a truly surprising amount of food, there is still enough for leftovers. It’s satisfying to see him warm and contented at last, his belly full and his pale complexion flushed with drink. He’d come into your home so gaunt and pale, but now…

You realize you’re staring a little when he smiles at you over his cup of mead. You break away, flustered. When you look back at him, though, there is a little gleam in your eye. You rise from the table and go to where the honey cakes are cooling on the counter. You retrieve some sugared rose petals from a jar, which you arrange on two of the cakes. Then you dress them with cream and a little rose syrup. It runs and gathers prettily at the bottom of each bowl.

You make eye contact with him as you offer him his little bowl, a smile playing about your lips. He looks at the bowl, then at you, his pupils dilating subtly with interest. A slow smile breaks out across his face and he carefully takes the bowl from you, letting his fingers linger against yours as he does. A little shock of delight goes up your arm, and your eyes twinkle. You sit across from him to savor the sweetness of your dessert. As sweet as the honey cakes and cream are, still sweeter is the way he can’t seem to stop watching you, his gaze lingering on you as he licks delicious crumbs off of his spoon.

When he sets his empty bowl aside and rises from the table to go to bed, it feels as natural as breathing to stand with him. Your own bowl is left empty and forgotten on the table. You step closer to him and he brightens with interest, head cocking to the side. Emboldened by the mead and the desire waking in those lovely amber eyes, you lean up and capture his lips in a kiss. He sighs hungrily as you do, drawing you wordlessly closer.

His broad chest is warm and firm under your hands, and his lips taste of roses and honey. You hum happily as he brings his hands to your hips, drawing you firmly against him. Parting your lips, you wind your arms around his neck as he slips his tongue into your mouth. His breath hitches as you lean up to meet him, your clever tongue twining with his.

The kiss is heady and hot, leaving you wanting more when he draws back for air. He swirls his fingers up the back of your clothing, a playfully sensual gesture, and you smile. Your hands trace down his flanks, feeling the firm muscles flex beneath. His beautiful eyes are alight with desire, watching your every movement, wanting more but not daring to take it.

Then you lean up, inviting him in for another kiss. He gives a little shiver, rumbling a low noise of approval. The kiss is deeper this time, slower and more sensual. You take your time with each other, fingers gently tracing the edges of clothing, plucking at laces without pulling. The only sound is the crackling of the fire in the hearth. Heat pools between your thighs and you sigh, rocking idly against him. You can feel him stir in his trousers where his hips are pressed against you and you rock more firmly, finding yourself suddenly dizzy with desire. He hitches in another breath, then growls oh so softly against your lips. He rolls against you and you can feel his cock hardening, pressing against you. You let out a little moan, fingers pulling at his laces in earnest now.

A flurry of clothing is left in a trail leading to your bedroom door. Geralt walks you back until your bare thighs are pressing against your bed, kissing you hungrily. You wiggle your way up onto the bed, giggling as he snuffles at your neck between kisses to take in your scent. He helps to lift you onto the bed, big hands squeezing your thighs as he settles between them. Making low noises of pleasure he mouthes his way to your breasts. His tongue is velvety-hot, and you give a low little cry as it flicks across your nipple.

He savors your belly and your thighs in the same way, hungry and eager, like he hasn't been with a woman in far too long. When his lips finally brush the soft thatch of hair between your thighs you can’t help but groan, watching him from beneath lowered lashes. He teases at you gently, eyes alight as he takes in every little reaction. When he finally bends to trace the tip of his tongue up your inner lips they are sensitive and slick, causing you to whimper and shiver. You wind your fingers in his hair as he sets to work, savoring the warmth of his tongue.

A look of bliss suffuses his golden eyes as he laps at your dewy cunt, his pale lashes fluttering against his cheeks. You tremble with delight, your soft cries filling the room. When he slips gentle fingers inside of you and flutters them just so, a swell of pleasure breaks over you. You cry out as you buck against him. A low rumble emerges from somewhere deep in his chest, an intent look coming into his eye as he redoubles his efforts. His clever tongue circles and dances, bringing the pleasure to a fever pitch, working you until you are coming harder than you thought possible. He withdraws only when you have fallen back to the bed panting, your thighs trembling with the aftershocks.

You run your fingers through his hair as you quiver, savoring the glow that suffuses you. He hums and smiles, nuzzling you. His eyes flutter half-shut as he lets you stroke his hair and face, enjoying the affection. After a lazy moment, you draw him up onto the bed with you. He goes willingly, pulling you down on top of him with a wolfish smile. From the way he moves you can tell he is still stiff and sore, but the bandages are gone. Though you worry about hurting him, he doesn’t seem to care. His smile broadens as you lower yourself to rest across his hips, your lower lips kissing the base of his cock with wet heat.

That grin wipes all your worries out of your mind, replacing it with a sudden rush of desire. His hands guide your hips to start moving, encouraging you to take your pleasure. You smile wickedly, placing your hands on his broad chest as you start to rub your clit against his throbbing cock. He moans softly, his hands sliding up your flanks as his amber eyes trace the beautiful curves of your body. He begins to tease at your nipples, his eyes sparkling with enjoyment at the sounds he draws from you. His touch on them is surprisingly delicate, sending exquisite little shocks of pleasure down to your cunt.

Before long you are rocking hungrily against him, your composure unraveling by the second. He moans and shivers beneath you, arching. The feeling of his thighs tensing sends a shock of heat through you, hunger for more. With a twist of your hips you rise, using a quick hand to position his cock at your entrance. His eyes fly open as you groan happily, circling your hips on the blunt head just barely pressing into your wet heat. He looks at you with wide eyes, breath hitching as you twist your hips again. You lock eyes with him as you sink slowly down, savoring his guttural moan when he bottoms out inside you.

His gold eyes are hazy with need as you begin to rock on top of him. He matches your tempo carefully, watching you with a now-familiar intent expression coming across his face. Without a word he presses a hand against your abdomen, pushing you until you are leaning back with your hands on his thighs. He shifts his angle and you let out a sharp gasp of pleasure, the change allowing him to hit your spot with every thrust.

You cry out as he grins breathlessly and begins to fuck you in earnest. He is surprisingly vocal as he does so, making up for days of silence with murmurs and growls of pleasure. When he brings his thumb to your clit you can’t help but join him, your shaking cries punctuated by every thrust.

He fucks you with care and precision, one hand on your hip, the other working your clit until you come with a ragged yowl. Your muscles clench tight around him and a sharp groan punches out of him as his hips stutter, losing rhythm. Grabbing your hips, he only lasts for a few more short, sharp thrusts before he is spilling inside of you and crying out, his body arching beneath you. His head tosses, white hair scattering across the pillow as he holds you close against him.

In the thundering silence that follows you collapse against him, laying your head on his shoulder. Both of you go limp, too exhausted at first to crawl under the blankets. You lay there listening to the crackle of the fire in the kitchen, the occasional creaking of your old home, and a soft hissing noise that you can’t place at first. He looks to the window and your eyes follow. You see thick white flurries of snow, and once you see them you realize that the hissing is the sound of them being blown against the windowpane.

The first blizzard of winter has come.

You turn back and eye each other thoughtfully, then smile and settle into the blankets. Until the snows clear, what else is there to do but enjoy one another?

And you do, all winter long.

#the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fanfic #geralt x reader #the witcher fic #thewitchersecretsanta

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thicctails · 3 years

Text

Summer of Whump Days 17 + 24 [Shackled and Stitches]

NEW CHARACTER APPROACHING

Omega was awake, but everything was fuzzy. She was lying on a padded surface, blurry brightness surrounding her. She can hear people talking, something about her burns. She thinks she hears them say that they’re healing nicely, but she can’t be sure. Their voices are muffled, muted by some drug they’ve probably put in her system. She knows that she should be concerned, afraid even. But the numbness is so nice, so she doesn’t fight it. She feels no pain, something that has been so rare in her life.

She felt pain on Kamino, when the scientists would take samples of her skin and muscle and spinal fluid. She felt pain when she was recovering from her near drowning experience, when her shredded ankle had been stitched back together at the medical centre. She felt pain when the landslide had left her and Tech bruised and battered and bleeding. She felt pain when Wrecker’s chip activated, chasing her through the rust-covered hallways and down into that metal hell.

But right now? Now there was only fuzzy lights and muted voices. There was the cool, padded material beneath her, not quite the floor, not quite a bed. She is cold, but she can’t say anything. So she waits, feeling herself breathe. She waits, because she can do nothing else.

She waits…

Omega blinks, groaning as she comes to. The world is no longer muddled, and the clarity hits her like a slap to the face. Something is nudging her face, soft at first, until she feels the cold shock of metal against her cheek. She starts a bit, rubbing the grit out of her eyes. Smooth white fills her vision, and she shifts her and, reaching out to pet the amphibian she now knows is in front of her. Her hand brushes that cold metal again, and Omega opens her eyes fully.

Pillow is there, staring at her with his soft, violet eyes. A band of metal is snapped around his snout, keeping him from opening his mouth. Omega gasped, and she tries to reach up and try and remove the restraint. However, she finds that her wrists are bound, the sturdy metal keeping her hands together. She moved them, testing to see how much wiggle room she has. The cuffs aren’t made for children, so they’re looser than they should be, but not loose enough for her to slip out of.

“Where are we, boy?” She asked, sitting up.

The room was one that she had seen before, but had never actually been to.

“I… I dreamed of this place.” She breathed, confusion rippling through her. Was that normal? Was it the Force?

Pillow crooned, lifting his mouth open as much as he can as he curls around her. She leaned against him, sinking into his soft belly. Her torso is bandaged well, and although her back is definitely still hurting, it’s less than what it has been.

“Oh Pillow,” She sighed, “we’re really in it this time.”

He snorts in agreement.

She sits forward when a door whooshes open. Two troopers step into the room, and she’s only a bit surprised to see Crosshair coming in after them.

“Finally awake, are you?” Crosshair says, no emotion in his voice. “I’m not surprised you took so long to awaken. Wrecker doesn’t know his own strength, I’m afraid.”

Omega glowers at him. He’s trying to get under her skin, and she hates that it’s working.

“That wasn’t his fault. Just like it isn’t your fault that you’re acting like this.” She says, and she means it, even if he is being a jerk right now.

“Keep believing that. See how far it gets you.” Is his reply.

“What should we do with her, sir?” One of the trooper asks. Omega jolts back in shock. That is not the voice of a clone. Anything these men do, they’re doing of their own free will.

“Take her to the examination room. She has enhancements that the Empire is interested in.” Crosshair says. “Careful, though. We don’t know the extent of her abilities.”

“She doesn’t look that threatening.” The other trooper remarks. Crosshair looks like he wants to shoot the man, but he simply nods towards Omega.

“Fine. You retrieve her then.” He says, stepping back.

The trooper does as he’s told, approaching Omega without fear. “Alright kid, up!”

Omega does not move. Instead, she focuses on the man in front of her. She feels that power form in her palms, feels it ignite in her blood. She opens her hands as much as she can, feeling that invisible grip. She flicks her hand up, sending the trooper up into the air.

He yelps, a high pitch noise that has her smirking a bit. The power feels easier to control, and for that she is grateful. The trooper still on the ground steps back, either in fear or surprise, while Crosshair just arches his brows.

“I did warn you, trooper.” He said, looking up at the flailing man.

“Grrah! Let me GO!” The trooper yells, gripping his blaster. Before Omega can react, he throws it at her, the weapon striking the right side of her face.

She yips in pain, dropping the man and moving her bound hands up to cover her eye. The trooper radiates anger, but before he can do anything else, Crosshair has struck him on the back of the neck. The blow sends him to the floor, kneeling in pain.

“We have orders to make sure she recovers, not to harm her more!” He snarls. “She is very important to the future of the Empire, and that means that she is far less expendable than you.”

The trooper coughs as he stands, backing away from the intimidating clone. He spins and corners the trooper that was wise enough to stay back.

“You. Go fetch a first aid kit and an ice pack. I’ll try and fix this mess before the Emperor has our heads.” He hisses, before rounding on his victim once again. “And you. Get out of my sight before I decide your life isn’t worth sparing.”

The two scramble out of the room, terrified for their lives. Crosshair sneers, before turning to look back at Omega. Tears are coming out of the eye that she isn’t squeezing shut, and she looks unsure as Crosshair approaches.

“Remove your hands.” He commands, and she listens, too hurt and tired to try anything.

Her eye is already swelling shut, the skin above her eye split and bleeding. The whole area is becoming red, and he frowns.

“You’ll need a bit more than ice, maybe stitches…” He mutters, reaching out to examine the wound. Omega looks at him in surprise. Crosshair seems… almost soft in the way he gently brushes aside her hair. For a moment, she thinks she might see a glimmer of light return to his eyes. Is his chip…?

Without warning, a blur of white smashed against the side of Crosshair’s head. The clone went sprawling, grunting in pain. Omega gasps, just now feeling the rumbling growl that is coming from Pillow.

“Pillow!” She scolds, looking at the amphibian in shock. “He was trying to help!”

Pillow merely growled louder, smacking his tail against the floor. He curls tighter around Omega, shielding her with his body. Crosshair had been entirely too close for his liking, especially when he was touching his hurt friend.

Crosshair got back up, wincing as he rubbed at the side of his head.

“Can you control that thing?” He hissed, clearly in pain.

“Not really.” Omega admits sheepishly. “He does what he wants. But if you ask nicely, he might listen.”

Crosshair glared at her and Pillow, before sighing in resignation.

“May I please patch her up so her cut doesn’t get infected?” He growls.

Pillow stares at him in resentment, but slowly releases Omega from his protective hold. Crosshair kneels down, turning his head to look over his shoulder as the trooper he sent away returns with the first aid kit. He takes it, and the trooper backs away when Pillow’s tail raises off the ground again.

Crosshair, to his credit, makes for a fairly good impromptu medic. He makes sure the cut is cleaned and numbed before he starts to stitch the gash closed. Omega’s tears have dried by the time he’s done plastering a bandage on the wound, and she touches it tentatively when he steps back.

“There. That should stop any infection from starting.” He said, producing a toothpick from a pocket. Omega smiled at him.

“Thanks, Crosshair!” She chirps.

“Whatever.” He said, leaving the room.

Omega smile dropped. While Crosshair wasn’t lively or very friendly, he had been company. Now, she was alone with Pillow again, and she found herself leaning against him.

“I know you don’t like him, Pillow, but try not to attack him when he’s trying to help, okay?” She said, rubbing Pillow’s head with her cheek. Pillow honked softly, rubbing against her.

“Good boy.” She chuckled, closing her eyes.

The next time the door opens, Crosshair isn’t there. Four troopers are here now, and one of them is holding something. Something that is actually someone.

It’s a boy, wild eyed and kicking. He looks like he’s only a bit older than her, and his emotions hit her like a solid wall. He is terrified, and she can feel that he has been wounded by a deep loss. The troopers threw him into the room, and he ended up landing near Omega. The room door slammed shut, the troopers leaving without an explanation.

Omega stared at the boy, unsure of what to do. He panted heavily, his eyes closed as tears streamed down his cheeks. His auburn hair was matted to his skin with sweat. He radiated pain and sadness, and she felt her own heart break as she felt his sorrow. On instinct, she reached out to him, using the Force to connect with him. He startled upon feeling her presence, his sobs hitching in his throat when he turned to look at her.

His eyes were a bright, vibrant green. They reminded her of a thriving forest. He sniffed, tears spilling down his pale, spotted cheeks. She’d never seen a human with spots before! They reminded her a little of faraway stars.

“Wh- wha?” He choked, blinking back his tears.

“Are you okay?” Omega asked, scooting closer to him.

The boy retreated back into himself. “N-no. No I-I-I’m not.” He sniffed again, looking at her in confusion. “I don- I don’t recognize you. Were you not raised at the temple?”

“Temple?” She questioned.

“The Jedi Temple? That’s where most- most padawans are- were raised.” He corrects himself, looking down at the floor.

“Oh,” She shakes her head, “I’m not a padawan. I’ve never been to any temple either.”

“You’re not?” The boy raises his head at that. “B-but, you have a really strong Force signature. Everyone I knew who had a Force signature like that was either training to be a Jedi, or already were a Jedi.”

“I was made to be like this.” Omega explained. “I’m a clone.”

“Clone?!” He shrieks, scurrying back. “S-s-stay away from me!”

“Wait! I’m not like the others! I don’t have a chip!” She raises her hands as best she can, trying to show that she wasn’t a threat.

“Liar!” He snarled, backing up to the other end of the room. “You’ll try to kill me as soon as I take my eyes off you!”

Omega stared at him, annoyed. She was not a liar! She held up her hands again, pulling at the restraints.

“I’m not going to do anything, stupid!” She snapped. “I’m a prisoner here, same as you.”

The boy stared at her, distrust clear in his red-rimmed eyes. She dropped her anger, remembering that he had clearly just been through something traumatizing.

“I’m sorry.” She sighed. “You’re not stupid. If I was a padawan, I wouldn’t trust a clone either.”

She gives him her best smile, trying to clear the air. “My name’s Omega. What’s yours?”

She shivers a bit when she feels him searching her emotions with the Force. She’s done it to others, but it feels strange to have it done to herself. After a minute of quiet, he seems to find whatever he was looking for, and his green eyes soften.

“Cal.” He croaks, “Cal Kestis.”

“Cal.” She tried out the name. It rolls off her tongue naturally, and she finds that she likes the way it sounds. “I like it. Cal Kestis, the boy with the starry cheeks.”

He laughs a bit at that. It’s a watery, broken sound, but it’s a laugh.

“T-they’re called freckles.” He says, moving back over towards her.

“I think they look like stars. They’re cute.” She says, turning to look at Pillow. She misses the slight blush that tints Cal’s cheeks. “Right, Pillow?”

Pillow honks, and Omega nods. “See? Pillow agrees.”

“Pillow?” Cal questions, looking at the pale animal.

“He used to be a lot smaller and squishier.” She explains.

“Hi Pillow.” Cal waves as best he can, and Pillow seems to consider the new arrival for a moment, before rubbing his head against the boy’s face.

“He likes you!” Omega laughed as Pillow shoved his head under Cal’s arms, demanding skritches. The padawan obliged as best he could, scratching the space between Pillow’s eyes.

“He’s heavy, but nice.” Cal said softly.

“Yeah, Pillow is the best.” Omega agreed. She moved to brush a strand of hair out of her face, and winced when she accidentally touched her swollen eye.

“Hey, is your eye okay? It looks pretty sore.” Cal asked, frowning.

“It’ll-” She flashed back to her dream. The vision in her right eye was very poor, and there was someone next to her. Another true prediction. “It’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.”

Suddenly, a low growl sounded out. Omega shot a look at Pillow, but the cuddly creature merely blinked at her. Cal flushed pink again, and this time, Omega did see.

“Sorry, I think that’s me. I’m pretty hungry.” He admitted.

At the word “hungry”, Omega’s own stomach made itself known. She frowned and looked at the door.

“Me too. They haven’t fed us yet.” She sighed. “I hope they don’t refuse to feed us because I used the Force on that trooper.”

“You did that?” Cal said, a look of awe on his face. “I was too scared to even think about attacking them.”

“That was probably a smart move. Crosshair might have hurt you if you did.” Omega said.

“Crosshair?” Cal questioned.

“He’s an enhanced clone. There was a group of them, and when the order went out, most of theirs didn’t activate. He was the exception, up until a few days ago.” She said.

“The order?”

“Nala Se didn’t want me to know, but I overheard her talking about it one day. They sent out an order that activated inhibitor chips that were put inside the heads of every clone. That’s what made them go all… murdery.”

Cal looked stricken at that, and he touched a wound on the side of his head that Omega hadn’t previously seen. It looked like a blaster burn.

“They- they didn’t want to betray us?” He asked, his voice broken.

“No. They’re stuck inside their own heads, they know what they’re doing but they can’t make it stop.” She said sadly, remembering how broken Wrecker had been.

“We thought… I didn’t know- oh Maker we killed them!” He sobbed, pressing his wrists into his eyes as he started to cry again. His emotions, wild and unfiltered, struck Omega like a spear to the chest, and she shared his guilt and agony.

She leaned against him, unable to open her arms and offer a hug. He curled into her, sobbing into her shoulder. Even Pillow seemed to be struck by the sudden surge of emotion, and a few tears slipped down his cheek as he curled around the two kids, holding them as they cried for every poor soul that had been lost to that accursed order.

#star wars the bad batch #the bad batch #cal ketsis #omega bad batch #crosshairs bad batch #star wars #summerofwhump #summerofwhump[17]#summerofwhump[24]#we doin two #i stan cal

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sparxwrites · 3 years

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replayed tales from the borderlands this week, for Reasons, and... well, one, i’d forgotten how damn good it was (and how damn full of whump it was), but two...

there’s that bit of like. “lost time”, right? where rhys rips out his implants, and then all the explanation we get - when the last time we saw him, he was passed out and bleeding, down an eye and an arm, with a giant bloody hole in his head and skull - is “oh i went to that atlas facility, holed up there for a bit, and fixed myself up”. which. cool! okay! but you have a gaping hole in your head that is presumably drilled through the skull down to your brain! and also you just full on ripped out cybernetics that were clearly wired into your actual flesh. like... that arm comes away with a spray of blood. he’s screaming the whole time he’s yanking those yards of cabling out of his eye.

so. rhys wakes up, post-cybernetics removal. woozy from bloodloss, injured from the crash, further injured from his impromptu self-surgery. apparently gets up, and just like... drags himself to the atlas base, perhaps via stealing some kind of transport that survived the helios crash.

at which point, upon arriving at the atlas base (or pretty soon after), he presumably just fucking collapses for several days with fever and infection, because. giant hole in head. ripped-up arm socket. you get the idea.

now, in my save file, rhys keeps the little eye chip with jack in it. and i’m just imagining, out of- stupidity? sentimentality? a weird kind of empathy? sheer desperation? that upon arriving at the atlas base, he has just enough coherence for just long enough to dump jack into a computer. not a computer connected to anything, mind, or with the capability to connect to anything. just a screen and a camera, really, so jack can speak and see out of it.

and the first thing jack sees is rhys, pale everywhere except the high splotches of fever-colour on his face, exhausted, blood-crusted, the hole where he ripped his port out inflamed and bloody, oozing, just swaying on his feet. rasps out, “you- behave. or, or i’ll-” before he just full on collapses.

jack has several days of watching the only person who might possibly free him lying feverish and insensate on the floor, and spends it alternately belittling him and cajoling him into Not Fucking Dying because god, rhysie, it’s gonna get real boring here without you.

the rest of this little fill-in-the-gaps story is the world’s weirdest hurt-comfort dynamic with rhys sick and injured and in pain, healing very very slowly, trying to rebuild his cybernetics from scratch.

and jack, who is in what should be the caretaker role of this dynamic, but he’s a) not actually capable of touching or doing anything, other than talking and watching, and b) jack has never taken care of anyone in his life ever, and does not intend to start now with this annoying little moron who crashed his space station. but also, is desperately afraid of being left alone by rhys, or ignored, or switched off again, and so does kind of end up alternating between being an absolute bastard, and playing nice, and panicking badly whenever rhys has a particularly bout of infection or an accident with his inventing or whatever.

i just really, really want like. a 100k enemies-to-fellow-bastards fic that’s not actually about jack getting any nicer, or about rhys becoming evil or anything, but is just about this weird awkward lonely cohabitation between this guy who has lost everything, who is hurt and broken down and full of guilt for all the people’s he’s killed, who is desperately trying to put himself back together but is neither a doctor nor an engineer when he really needs both of those things. and an evil ai who is (reluctantly, deeply against his will) coming to care for rhys in his own super twisted and asshole-ish kinda way. like the world’s snippiest, most fucked up domestic cohabitation fic, with lots of shouting arguments, lots of sickfic/whump, some angst and trauma, maybe an injury acquired during attempted cybernetic repairs or two...........

i absolutely Do Not want to write this, but damn do i want to read it.

#tales from the borderlands #tftbl #rhys the company man #handsome jack #whump #sparx chats #if anyone knows any fics like this PLEASE rec them to me #or just any good tftbl whump tbh #the fandom is... tragically fluffy. for reasons i have never quite understood.

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mamabearcatfanfics · 3 years

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Dani updates something. The world must be truly coming to an end. Read below or here on AO3

Like most great wars, it was started by something small.

Kagome picked up her laptop from where it had been sitting on the coffee table and carried it into her bedroom, rubbing her eyes tiredly. Perhaps it hadn’t been a good idea to invite Inuyasha over for movie and pizza, but when she’d texted him earlier in the day and heard about his crap day at work, she’d extended an impromptu invite. Sango hadn’t minded, and it had been fun, even if he did spend most of the night using her laptop to debunk theories in the spy thriller they’d watched.

When he’d first arrived, he’d been his usual grumpy self, but by the end of the movie, he was in an excellent mood. It was nice to see him happy, although she wasn’t exactly sure what had caused the change in attitude. The pizza had probably helped. She’d never seen anyone consume pizza like Inuyasha could. It worried her sometimes, the types of food he ate, even though he argued that an inuhanyou’s metabolism was very different to a human’s and you couldn’t compare the two.

Anyway, it didn’t matter. If her friend was happy, then so was she. He had such a nice smile, and she tried to do her best to help it come out at every opportunity. They were just friends, she knew that, but his smile was just… it gave her butterflies.

Calling out a sleepy goodnight to Sango, she wandered into her bedroom yawning, wishing she could flop straight onto the bed and close her eyes. But unfortunately, she still had the proposed media releases for the Starlight Foundation’s upcoming fundraiser event to read through before a breakfast meeting tomorrow. She knew if she’d stayed to go over them at work she’d have to walk home from the train station in the dark, so she’d emailed them to her personal laptop before she’d left for the day.

Slipping into her comfy pj’s and snuggling under the covers, she opened up her laptop, then blinked slowly, her head tilting slightly as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing.

Everything was upside down.

Her whole screen was the opposite of how it should look. She exited out of her email program, noting with apprehension that her desktop was also upside down, then opened it up again. Still upside down. Crap! Was this a virus? She’d let the virus protection on her laptop lapse because she’d had to buy a new dress to wear to the fundraising ball, and she’d seen the perfect dress and there’d been a sale, and she had to get the extra money from somewhere. What if it the virus somehow got back to her work computer? Shit, shit, shit!

Quickly googling ‘everything on my computer screen is upside down’, and tilting the screen and her head so she could read the upside down words, she breathed a sigh of relief when she worked out it was an easy fix. Using the Ctrl, Alt and arrow keys she quickly set it to rights, sending up a silent thank you prayer to the IT gods, with a promise that she would update her virus protection asap. She wasn’t sure how her screen had got that way, but right now she was too tired to care.

The next evening, when she sat down with Sango to watch the latest episode of Masterchef, the tv remote refused to work. With their cider going warm and the avocado dip congealing on the cheese platter they’d prepared, they both tried to get the remote to work, giving it a tap and shake to no avail.

After repeated attempts at removing the batteries and rotating them, while Sango went through the junk drawer in the kitchen in a fruitless search for new batteries, Kagome finally noticed the tiny scrap of black tape over the sensor on the remote.

She removed it, and the remote worked again. She looked suspiciously at Sango, narrowing her eyes. She smelled a prank. But Sango loved watching Masterchef as much as she did, and was complaining bitterly about them missing a souffle failure. Masterchef was one of the highlights of their week. Nope, it wasn’t Sango. But someone was definitely having fun at their expense.

Two nights later, when she bit into an Oreo from her secret treat stash in her bedside drawer, and found the sweet creamy filling had been replaced with toothpaste, she knew there was a prank war going on. And as far as she knew, there was only one person who knew about her secret stash, because he’d busted her one night stuffing her face when he’d popped his head in her room to say good night.

Inuyasha.

He’d had time to do all these things on their movie night. He’d used her laptop. He’d had access to the remote. And now that she thought about it, there’d been that suspicious amount of time he’d spent in the bathroom, which neither of them had questioned because he’d muttered a warning about steering clear of the bathroom for a while to give the air a chance to clear. But that would have enabled him access to both the bathroom and her bedroom while her and Sango were engrossed in the movie. No wonder he’d been so cheerful that evening when he left. Inuyasha had pranked her.

But what he didn’t know, was that Kagome was a seasoned campaigner when it came to prank wars. Her and Souta had it down to a fine art, coming up with bigger and better pranks all the time, to the point that one year her mother hand banned them totally, because things were getting out of hand.

The corners of her mouth turned up in a sinister smile, and she let out a chuckle worthy of a cartoon villain. Alright. If he wanted a war, he’d get one.

It was on, like Donkey Kong.

Inuyasha sighed moodily. It wasn’t that he disliked his job necessarily, it was just a job, and it paid the bills, and gave him enough time off to do all the other things he enjoyed doing. But on days like today, when the shop was empty as a tomb, and his phone battery had gone flat, he was ready to expire from boredom. He was just toying with the idea of using a charging cable from the one’s in stock, when a familiar scent drifted across his senses as the shop bell rang.

“How’s my favourite hanyou doing?” Kagome grinned, watching his ears perk up as she walked in.

“I’m fucking bored to tears”, he said, standing up from where he’d been slumped against the counter. He glanced at the clock on the wall, then looked back at her with concern. “Hey. Aren’t you home from work a little early? You’re not sick are ya?”

“No, no, I’m going to work from home this afternoon, seeing I’ve been going into the office so early this week”, Kagome answered breezily. “I just popped in to bring you something.”

“Huh?”

“I tried out a new recipe for chocolate chip cookies, and I know how much you like them, so I saved some for you. That should make your afternoon more interesting.”

Inuyasha sniffed the tupperware container she handed over appreciatively. Kagome was a good cook, and even though the plastic blocked most of the smell, he could tell they would be tasty, because everything Kagome made was delicious. And chocolate chip cookies were his favourites. Fucking sweet!

“Thanks Kagome! You’re the best, you know that?”

His conscience twitched slightly as he thought about the toothpaste oreo’s he’d hidden in her drawer. He’d had a crap day that day, and playing those little pranks on her had cheered him up immensely. He’d often played pranks on his half brother Sesshoumaru back when he’d come to visit Dad during school holidays, to see if he could budge the stick that the older youkai seemed to have permanently wedged up his arse. The oreo trick had been one of his favourites. But here she was baking for him. Maybe she hadn’t found them yet. Perhaps he could replace them with a whole new packet before she ate one, seeing she’d bought him these. He grinned at her.

“You wanna stay and eat some with me Kittycat?”

“I’m afraid I can’t”, Kagome said with a sorrowful expression. “Lots to do. But I’m sure you’ll enjoy them!” With a cheery wave, she walked out of the door.

Inuyasha smiled, looking down at the container in his hands. She’d put a post it note on the lid, with ‘For Inuyasha’ written in curly swoopy cursive. She was a good friend, had fit into his life so completely that he didn’t know what he’d do if she suddenly disappeared. He was so glad he’d helped her that day she’d walked in to the shop with her bad cold.

Taking off the lid and not even pausing to take a sniff, he picked up one of the delectable looking cookies and stuffed the whole thing in his mouth, chewing appreciatively, until a distinctive taste hit his tongue. He nearly spat the contents of his mouth out on the floor, but ended up swallowing the mouthful with distaste, knowing he’d be the one that would have to clean up the mess. Those weren’t chocolate chips…

Fucking raisins!

The wench knew he hated them. What the fuck? Who would replace innocent chocolate chips with fucking raisins, the worlds most vile dried fruit – that was… was evil!

The post-it note fluttered off the lid, and he noticed a smiley face drawn on the back with some more of Kagome’s swirling cursive.

‘That’s payback for the Oreos dog boy! ❤ K.’

He snorted, about to tip the cookies in the bin, then deciding to put them aside to give to Myoga. The old man had taste in his arse, he’d probably love them, especially if he told him Kagome made them. But Kagome. What was he going to do about sweet little innocent Kagome? It looked like he’d finally found a worthy adversary.

It had been two weeks since she’d given Inuyasha the cookies, and there had been no retaliation. She sniggered, remembering his face when she’d asked him how he’d liked his cookies – the rolled eyes, the huff of irritation. Sweet manna to her soul. But then he hadn’t done anything about it. Frankly Kagome was a little disappointed. It was a shame, because she’d really enjoyed baking the biscuits for him and imagining his face when he bit into one, but she guessed that not everyone liked pranks. The Oreo incident had probably been a one off.

She flicked on the lamp next to the sofa, ready to sit down and enjoy her book and her cocoa with the last of the tiny little marshmallows, and shrieked, slopping the hot liquid down her pyjama shirt. Sango came running.

“Kagome, are you okay?!”

“Cockroach!”, she shrieked, pointing at the lamp, ready to hurl her book at it. The shadow of the insect was clearly visible on the inside of the lamp shade. “Quick Sango, get the bug spray!”

“On it!” Sango hollered, running into the kitchen, clearly ready to unload half the can on the offending interloper. Kagome kept her eye locked on the insect, wanting to be ready in case it flew towards her, holding up her book like a shield. The insect was still. Very still. So still in fact she bravely moved closer to take a better look.

She pulled the cut out picture of a giant cockroach from the inside of the lamp and held it up for Sango’s inspection as she approached with a jumbo sized can of spray. Sango looked incredulously at the paper insect, and then back at Kagome, who was looking at the cut out with a strange expression of glee.

“Inuyasha?” asked Sango hesitantly, unsure exactly what was going on, but making an informed guess.

“Yup!” replied Kagome happily, popping the ‘p’ with relish. Looked like Inuyasha was playing a long game. She could do that.

They were strolling along the High Line, or rather Kagome was strolling, and Inuyasha was following along reluctantly. It was only the promise of beer and a burger at the end of this outing that had made him go along.

“Isn’t it lovely here?”

“Kagome, it’s a bridge. With plants on it. And tourists.”

“But it’s so nice! Isn’t it amazing? All these green things growing in the middle of the city.” She twirled around with her arms out wide, nearly taking out some backpackers, then grabbed his hand, dragging him over to a small garden filled with purple daisies.

“Can we take a selfie here together? Please?” She pulled her phone out of her pocket, and then pouted dramatically. “Aw, I’m all out of battery.”

She looked up at Inuyasha and gave him a sweet smile, and he rolled his eyes, shoving his hand in his jeans pocket to pluck out his phone.

“Fine, use mine”, he drawled, unlocking his phone and handing it over to her. “But don’t go filling it up with cutesy photos, alright?” He didn’t mind really though. Kagome was always taking photos of them together on her phone, and he didn’t have any on his. It might be nice to have at least one of them together.

Kagome smiled up at him, and they did the usual shuffle so they would both fit in the confines of the screen – her standing on tiptoes, and him curving his body downwards.

“Say cheese!”

He grinned automatically, his lopsided smile revealing one fang, his cheek resting on the top of Kagome’s head. She’d told him she was using a new shampoo, one that didn’t smell quite as much, after reading up on different scents that bothered youkai, and he appreciated the fact that she’d done something like that for him. He sighed, breathing in her sweet smell, which blocked out the usual stench of the city.

“Thank you” said Kagome softly, mindful of how close she was to his ears. She kissed his cheek gently, and he couldn’t help the sappy grin that crossed his face. “I’m just gonna message the photo to my phone, okay? That way we’ve both got a copy.”

“Uh sure.”

He straightened up, feeling his heart beating a little faster for some reason. He obviously needed to get to the gym more often if walking along a bridge and dodging tourists got his heart rate up.

She handed him back his phone and then tugged on his hand. He slipped his phone back into his pocket.

“C’mon! I promised I’d buy you a beer and a burger. There’s a pub just under the bridge that’s meant to be awesome. I was reading reviews about it last night.”

He smiled fondly at her, taking in her wide grin and the spring sunshine bouncing off her dark hair. Such a bubbly person. He honestly didn’t know what Kagome saw in him. But he was very glad that she liked hanging out.

He had such a fun afternoon talking, laughing, eating, then walking her back to her apartment, that he realised he’d never looked at the photo she’d taken. He pulled his phone from his pocket and unlocked it, then snorted when he looked at his screen. He didn’t know how she’d done it, but somehow, she’d changed every single app icon to different pictures of kittens. Nice one. His lips curled into a smile, already planning on what he could do to get her back.

He flicked open his photo app and stared at the photo of them together, standing in the sunlight surrounded by purple daisies in the middle of a bustling city, the wind blowing their hair so the white and black intermingled. He saved it as his lock screen.

Kagome hated dusting. But she loved knick nacks, so dusting was a necessity. She just couldn’t bear to throw things away, and kept all sorts of little mementoes that wouldn’t mean anything to other people, but meant a lot to her. Spraying a little bit more polish on the rag, she ran it over the shelves of the bookcase in the hallway, picking up a photo frame absentmindedly so she could dust underneath. And then she double blinked.

Taking a closer look at the photo, she snorted with laughter. It was a photo of the four of them, one someone had taken when they’d won the pub trivia championship.

She didn’t know how he’d done it, or when, but somehow Inuyasha had used a photo editing program to replace all their faces, hers, Sango’s, Miroku’s and his own, with the features of Nicholas Cage. Not entirely original, but funny all the same.

She turned the frame over to find the original photo stuck to the back. Miroku had his arm carelessly around Sango’s shoulders and Sango was blushing – no doubt Miroku had just whispered something perverted in her ear.

She was standing next to Sango, and Inuyasha was standing directly behind her, bending down so his chin rested on the top of her head. It made her smile, the way he draped himself on her for photos – it was often the only way they both fit, because he was so much taller than her.

He was so amazing, he took her breath away sometimes, just like he had that first time in the store. It was like he didn’t know how beautiful he was. She turned the photo around again, giggling at how ridiculous they all looked. She had to hand it to him, that was tricky. Time to up her game.

Inuyasha was pulling his boots on when there was a knock on his front door, but it was expected. He’d ordered a box of Krispy Kreme’s to bring to Miroku’s regular card night, and it had arrived right on time. Salted Double Caramel Crunch. He always ordered a box, knowing the girls liked them, and having a not so secret love of them himself. Kagome was always at him to eat healthier, worried about all the salty and sugary foods he enjoyed eating, but he was half youkai – his metabolism could handle nearly anything.

Carrying the box carefully, he walked the two blocks to Miroku’s house, a tiny bit late because he’d had to wait for the delivery, but it wasn’t like anyone would care. They were already there, Miroku shuffling the cards, Sango sipping a beer, and Kagome sitting on the sofa, her eyes lighting up when he walked in the door. Sometimes she was so fucking cute, he couldn’t stand it.

He plonked the box down on the centre of the table, and walked across to Miroku’s fridge, opening the door to snag himself a beer.

Sango opened the box eagerly, and then laughed uproariously.

“Are you on a health kick Inuyasha?” she sniggered.

“Huh?”

Opening up the sides of the box, she revealed carrot, celery and cucumber sticks, along with a plastic container of hummus.

“What the fuck?!”

Kagome came to stand behind him. “Oh, good boy! You finally listened to me about eating healthier foods. You’re gonna feel so much better!” she said, patting him on the shoulder.

Inuyasha turned his head, raising an eyebrow.

“Really Kagome? Kidnapping innocent donuts?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”, Kagome said, her expression all wide eyed and innocent. “Bu-ut if you wanted a donut as a little treat for being a good boy, after you’ve eaten some healthy veggies of course, there’s a plate of Salted Double Caramel Crunch ones in the kitchen. I know they’re your favourites.”

Kagome was tired. So tired. It had been a hectic week at work in the lead up to the fundraising ball, and all she wanted to do was curl up on the sofa with a nice cup of sleepy tea before heading off to bed. She opened the cupboard to reach in for her favourite mug, but her hand clutched on empty air.

Huffing impatiently, she stood up on tiptoe, unable to quite see onto the shelf. Sango was taller than her, and sometimes she pushed the mugs back too far in the cupboard for her to reach. But her hand still grasped at nothing. Were they all in the dishwasher?

She opened up the dishwasher, but it was empty. Sighing impatiently, she went into the hall cupboard to fetch the little step stool she used to reach the higher shelves, but it wasn’t there. Or in the bathroom.

Smelling a rat, or rather a dog, she walked slowly back into the kitchen, her eyes roving around for anything amiss. And then she noticed them. Every single mug, cup and glass was placed on top of the cupboards, way out of her reach. Kagome frowned.

This… this one hurt a little. Inuyasha knew she was sensitive about her height. At 5’2” she was the shortest person in her family, with even Souta towering over her now, and her height was a family joke.

When they first met, Inuyasha used to tease her about it all the time too, but he didn’t any more, knowing that it upset her. The only thing that had stuck was her nickname, Kittycat, which she didn’t mind so much, she kind of liked the way he said it. But…

She sighed, climbing up onto the bench top and balancing on her tippy toes, one arm stretched up to reach for a mug, the other windmilling frantically as she almost lost her balance. This game. It didn’t feel quite as much fun anymore.

Inuyasha sipped his beer silently, sitting alone in their regular booth at the pub. Miroku had tried to engage him in conversation, but had eventually given up when every answer was a surly one syllable reply, and had gone over to the pool table to join a game.

They were waiting for the girls to arrive for their regular pub trivia night, but his heart wasn’t really in it tonight. He was annoyed at Kagome. She’d called him a ‘good boy’. Offered him a treat, like a dog. In front of other people. And it rankled, especially since she was usually the one who would defend him when others poked fun at his ears or his inuyoukai heritage. Somehow it hurt ten times worse coming from her, because it was unexpected. She did call him dog boy sometimes, but that hit different, because it was a nickname, a term of endearment. Being called a ‘good boy’ felt derogatory.

Maybe it had been petty, putting all the things up out of her reach, especially when he knew she was sensitive about her height, but he’d felt like being fucking petty. This game they were playing wasn’t as much fun as it had been.

His ear twitched as he heard the raised voices of Sango and Kagome over the general noise. Sango was disagreeing with her over something, asking her if it really was a good idea, and Kagome was shushing her, moving through the crowd towards them. She seemed a little off balance somehow, like she was walking differently, leaning slightly to one side.

As soon as he got closer he saw why. Her arm was in a sling.

The mugs. The fucking mugs. He’d put them all up out of her reach and hidden her step ladder under her bed. And of course because she was the clumsiest woman on this side of the planet, she’d managed to hurt herself. And it was all his fault. Fucking shit. He was the worst person alive.

Gulping, he pushed himself out of the booth, moving over towards them. Sango was still glowering at her, probably telling her it was a bad idea to be out at a pub when she was injured. And she was right. Maybe he should take her home. He couldn’t see a cast, so maybe her arm wasn’t broken. But even if it was just sprained, that was bad enough, because he knew it was coming up to the busiest time of year for her at work.

When he got closer, Sango greeted him shortly and then moved off to find Miroku. She obviously was angry at him, because she should be. Because he was a shit friend, who’d done something to someone who he cared about very much.

“Kagome…”

“Hey Inuyasha”, she said, looking downwards, her voice dejected, her arm cradled against her side carefully in the sling. “How are you?”

Unable to stop himself, he wrapped his arms around her carefully, like she was made of glass, avoiding her injured arm. She was so tiny, so fragile. So breakable.

“Kittycat, I’m so sorry. I just didn’t think.” He stroked her hair gently, running his clawed fingers through her dark curls. “Does it hurt too much? Have you had it x-rayed? If you want, I can take tomorrow off and take you to out patients. What ever you need, okay? I’m such a shit, I can’t believe I-“

Kagome cleared her throat. “Inuyasha?”

“Do you need to sit down?”

“No, I’m fine. I’m okay, really.” He watched as she pulled her arm out of the sling, and he flinched, his own hands moving reflexively, ready to steady her. “I really am fine. I almost fell, but then I didn’t. I didn’t get hurt. This is just to… to prank…um, gotcha?” she gulped as the concerned expression on Inuyasha’s face turned to ire.

He blinked at her, stony faced, then marched out of the pub, uncaring about Kagome calling after him.

He marched down the street, anger fueling his long strides, uncaring that Kagome’s voice was getting further and further away. He could hear her running to try and keep up, and he was bitterly amused about her tiny little human legs not being long or strong enough, until he heard her misstep and almost fall. Fuck. If she really did fall, which was totally a possibility because she was the biggest klutz on both sides of the planet…

He turned and marched back towards her, then waited, his arms crossed. She ran up to him, panting, leaning over to catch her breath.

“That wasn’t fucking funny Kagome.”

“I’m sorry”, she gasped. “I should have listened to Sango. She said it was too much. I was just annoyed about you putting everything up so high. And when I almost fell it gave me the idea.” She sighed. “But you’re right, it wasn’t funny.”

“Damn right it wasn’t!” he snarled. “I thought you were injured, and you know I’d never do anything to deliberately hurt you. Between this and the ‘good dog’ comment, I’m fucking-“

“What! I’d never-“

“It was implied. I was a ‘good boy’, who could have a ‘treat’? And then I suppose when you faked an injury you thought the good dog would whine about it and look after you? What did you do, read up on Inu youkai protective instincts or something? I bet you had a good laugh about it, huh?” He huffed out a heavy breath. “I don’t like this game we're playing anymore Kagome.”

“Inuyasha, I never meant it that way. I was teasing, but I’d never…” She was openly crying now, hugging her arms around herself. “Please, I’m so sorry. Please.”

She looked so pitiful that he relented, wrapping his arm around her shaking shoulders.

“I’m still annoyed Kagome”, he sighed. “But it’ll be okay so stop crying. No more pranks, okay?”

“No more”, she sobbed, pushing her face into his side. “I promise.”

Seeing a bench close by, he tugged her hand over to sit down beside him, patting her on the shoulder as she continued to cry.

“Hey c’mon now. Stop crying. I said it would be okay.”

“I really am sorry”, she sniffled. “I guess I don’t know when to stop. Maybe that was why Mama banned me and Souta from pranking each other.”

“You used to prank your brother? Hey, me too.” He rubbed her shoulder as she leaned into him. “Not all of them were bad. Look see, I still got kittens on my phone.” Kagome smiled, her cheeks wet with tears, and pulled out her own phone.

"Look, our lock screens match", she said softly, showing him the photo of them both standing in the sunshine surrounded by purple daisies. She wiped away her tears, taking a deep breath.

“I put the Nicholas Cage trivia team photo on the fridge so Sango and I can see it all the time”, she said shyly. “It makes me laugh. Are you gonna tell me how you did it?”

“Nope, I’ll take my secrets to the grave”, he grinned, then sighed. She still smelt like guilt and sadness. “C’mon Kagome. Cheer up.”

“Inuyasha, please believe me when I say that when I said ‘good boy’ I didn’t mean it the way you thought I did”, she hiccuped, looking at him intently. “I promise. I just didn’t think. I promise I won’t call you that again. And if I ever say anything that hurts your feelings like that, please tell me.”

“Okay. And I promise I won’t hide your things up high again. That was kinda mean too.”

“Okay. Are we good now?”

“We’re good.”

Kagome reached out her arms and hugged him around the waist. “Good. Because I hate fighting with you.”

He squeezed her back affectionately, then pulled her to her feet. “You ready to go kick some trivia butt Kittycat?”

“You bet.”

"Oh, and you need to make some more raisin cookies for Myoga. The old coot hasn't stopped raving about them."

#mamabearcat fanfics #first impressions #inukag fanfic

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jack-is-lost · 3 years

Text

PATCHES & PINS (CH 1)

A/N: This story revolves around a transgender, female to male, original character. LGBTQ+ topics are a given within this story. Gender and body dysphoria will come up as well since he is not out to his family — only close friends. If you dislike such a story premise please understand you do not have to interact with it at all. Leaving hate comments will be removed. Of course, constructive feedback is always welcomed.

Pairing: Eventually Marko x OTMC

Story is still in progress and updates will be slow

Eventually it will be posted on A03 once I’m a few chapters in

Currently on Chapter one | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 coming soon

Chapter one

My life, for the most part, has always been unusual — a little different. Despite having parents that looked like any successful mom and dad ought to, and an older brother willing to stick up for me, things just didn't go according to plan.

You see, my mother was excited to have a daughter finally. Someone to doll up and buy dresses for, maybe even enroll in a dance class. A stark difference to her firstborn, Tyler, who was all about karate lessons and throwing the ball with dad. Which eventually evolved to working on cars as he grew older. Our mother wanted somebody to share girly interests with, understandably. And, for a while, she was able to have it. The baby pictures are proof of that. Yet, as I grew older and became more aware of what I liked, the fewer things seemed cookie-cutter-perfect for my family.

"Are you not taking your bag to school, Jacklynn?" The mentioned item was nowhere in sight as the youngest of her children poured coffee — the action resembling someone needing every drop left in the pot as if to survive.

"It's the last day," came the grumbling response after a long, soothing sip. "I doubt most kids will even be showing up."

"Yeah, about that," Tyler, the oldest, spoke around a bite of toast. "Can't I be a minority and just stay home?"

"No, you only have one day left, guys." She smiled at her two kids. A graduate who had already filled out college applications, and is ready to further his engineering career. The other, soon-to-be senior, that seemed to have no real drive in anything but drawing and reading — and staying up too late apparently.

"Seriously," she spoke up again as they sighed in unison, deflating with their last hope crushed. "You two will survive."

Tyler nudged his sister, who leaned across the counter, jostling the coffee dangerously enough to receive a seething glare. "Want me to take you?"

It wasn't like Tyler to offer that too often, "Sure."

They both pulled away from the kitchen and made their way to the door, hollering goodbyes as Tyler grabbed the keys — the other sibling still nursing the coffee.

"Don't stay out too late!" Their mom called back, knowing full well she wouldn't see her kids after school. It seemed the closer summer drew in — the fewer tests to study for and homework to do, the more they came home later.

Tyler stepped into the car, unlocking the passenger door as he slid inside his cherry baby — A beaming red, 1983 Audi Sport Quattro, followed by his sister plopping down less elegantly. He glanced at her while starting the car.

"Talk to me, Jay." It was the last day, after all. Weren't kids supposed to be excited about that? "What's bouncing 'round that head of yours." He barely received any notion his sister was listening till she drew out a long sigh, head hitting the back of the seat.

"I don't know, man." It was drawn out, tired. "Didn't get much sleep, I guess."

Tyler nodded while giving the steering wheel a turn, making his way down the road. The school building wasn't very far when on wheels, and he pulled into a parking lot marginally less filled than it ought to be.

As his sister made to get out, he placed a hand on her shoulder, their eyes meeting as she paused halfway out the door. "Ever need to get a chip off your shoulder come talk to me, okay?" Her eyes rolled to the side, and Tyler gave her a little reassuring squeeze, "I'm serious. What are big —"

"— bro's for? I know, I know."

Tyler chuckled as he released her shoulder, "Good. Now," he slammed the door shut and leaned over the roof, "Go sleep in class or something." That at least drew a chuckle out of his sister as she turned away from the car.

The last day of school went how one could expect it to go. Some teachers put on movies and had extra treats for their students. Others went over lessons in the last semester, hoping it would stick to impressionable minds before three months of freedom — minds that were only thinking about freedom and not math.

It was by mid-day when a note made its way into Jay's locker. In gruff, almost unreadable handwriting, it merely said, 'Meet us by the big tree'. Jay instantly knew who it was from and folded the paper up.

A long night was probably ahead.

When the final bell rang, Jay had to wipe the drool off an impromptu pillow-desk before heading out and down the hall. Many of the kids loudly boasted about their summer plans while cleaning out lockers, jostling each other, and hurrying outside. Jay maneuvered around the hoard and quickly escaped out a side entrance, locker already empty since lunch.

It didn't take long to walk a block to the park, down a jogging trail, before splitting off into a cluster of trees. There, in the center of it, laid a large trunk of a dead tree. Upon it splayed out a makeshift map, bags, and — unsurprisingly, two brothers.

"Finally," Grumbled Edgar while raising his head, a red marker still poised over the map. "Where's Sam?"

Jay stared, unaware that Sam was supposed to tag along for the stroll after school let out. "Was I meant to wait for him or?"

"Forget it," came the short grunt, and Edgar was back to the more important matter at hand as Alan turned around to face Jay.

"I'm sure he'll show up. He's got the same note as you," he started to unravel what appeared to be a chaotic ball of cord in his hands. "Oh, hey—" he stopped as a thought struck him, "—Still a no go on the knife?"

Oh, not this again.

Jay leaned against the bare trunk, arms crossed and brow lifted. "Alan, we've been through this. Keep me on the books, but hand me a knife, and someone will lose a finger."

Of course, no one knew if Jay meant their fingers or not, and that was on purpose.

"Maybe some training will help," Edgar spoke up again, pausing on circling locations. "You need to prepare yourself for—"

"— the unexpected. I get it, Ed." Jay cut him off while peering closer to get a look at the map.

"Edgar," he corrected with a tired mutter despite it being useless. They've known each other for an entire year now. One would think it wouldn't matter at this point.

Jay tapped a finger on the closest circled spot, the cemetery. "Thought you marked this off?"

"One can never be certain," He nodded to his own words of wisdom. "It is a common ground for the dead."

"I'd say," Jay suppressed a snort, "It is where the deceased go to be laid into the ground."

Rustling noises announced Sam’s arrival as he pushed through, almost smacking himself in the face with a thin branch. His strained voice drew attention to him. “Guys,” he dusted a leaf off his overly styled coat, “We really need to find a better spot to meet.”

Jay lazily offered a salute wave, “Hey to you too, Sammy.”

“I’m serious,” Sam huffed while taking up a spot near Alan, hands shoved into his pockets. “What about the shop? Y’know, with school now over and stuff?”

Edgar grunted in thought. “Yeah, that ought to be doable.”

“Your grandpa still against us being at the house?” Alan spoke up.

Sam gave a partial shrug. “Sort of,” he eyed the map, then glanced at Jay, who returned the unspoken question with a tired look. Sam returned to explaining when Edgar motioned for him to continue. “You guys can visit, as you have, but you can’t — you know —” he shuffled his hands for the right phrasing, “— bring hunting business there.”

Jay had never actually been to Sam’s place, but the stories shared made it sound like a lot of stuff went down there — destroying property kind of stuff. So Jay could understand what the man was trying to avoid. The Frog Brothers being walking time bombs of destruction, after all.

“The cemetery again?” Sam squawked at noticing it. “I am not doing that again.” The sound of Jay snickering redirected Sam’s defiant stare. “Make Jay do it this time.”

“Wait, wha—”

“—He doesn’t have the qualification for it, Sam.” Edgar cut in before an argument could occur. This only made Sam huff, arms crossed and brows furrowed.

“So? I didn’t either last year.”

Alan stopped weaving the cord at this point, placing it down on the dead trunk. “Jay needs the experience. It could be good for him.” He simply spoke, agreeing with Sam.

“Hey, Jay’s right here,” he had pointedly avoided parading around Santa Carla for a whole damn year. Sure, his knowledge of supernatural things is what drew the Frog Brothers to him in the first place — and the free charge of ordering books at their shop kept Jay in the circle, but he was a good year older than them and didn’t feel like playing make-believe.

Sam smirked in the way that screamed challenging, “C’mon, Jay, or are you scared of the dark?”

Jay narrowed his eyes, “I know what you are doing.”

“Then prove me wrong,” Sam continued.

“No.”

Despite that, Jay found himself amongst the dead at one in the damn morning. It was eerie, the cemetery, sitting in absolute silence and blanketed by a coat of darkness. The only noise now filtering through was shoes scrapping against the ground and low grumbles around him, voices hushed as not to alert anybody — or anything. Even their flashlights were ordered to stay off unless it called for it, as directed by Edgar.

“Exactly what should we be expecting to find here?” Jay spoke up quietly while trailing behind the two brothers, hands stuffed into his jacket. It was chilly tonight.

“Any signs of the undead.” Edgar simply said without much explanation, to which Alan filled in.

“Disturbed graves, tombs broke, drag marks.” he ticked off like a list.

“Ah,” Jay deadpanned. “So zombies?” the brothers turned to him, the moonlight hitting their frames but leaving their faces shadowed. “What?”

“Could be vampires too.” Edgar simply grunted. “Fresh ones crawling out of their dirt bed.” Alan nodded along with his brother, and Jay sighed.

“Sure, yeah. That too,” It wasn’t like anything of the sort actually existed, but Jay would humor the guys. They put up with his oddities, after all, so he could continue to do the same for them.

“Didn’t any of your books mention that?” Edgar continued while turning around, walking along a worn-out path again, and avoiding stepping on actual graves.

“A little,” Jay admitted as they continued on their trek.

A majority of Jay’s supernatural books were all about how one became something, the signs, and lore behind creatures — not exactly if they crawl out of graves or not. It made sense, though, if considering how people feared vampires in the past. How they would stake and behead someone during burial just in case their loved one decided to raise again.

Same could be said about leaving a bell.

Alan suddenly crouched down near the edge of a grave. “Look,” his flashlight clicked on to bask the empty hole in light. Edgar followed promptly as Jay stared at the two figures eyeing an obvious dug hole for a burial happening soon.

“It might be a sign.” Edgar rubbed a finger over the crumbling edges, dirt smearing and falling back inside the pit.

“Or,” Jay leaned over them to get an exact look at the perfect outline, “It is the groundskeeper getting ready for a funeral. There’s not even a casket down there.” Jay simply summarized before leaning back.

Alan clicked off the light and stood, “He’s right, Edgar. It is too perfect.”

“Hey!” the voice resonated out, cutting the muffled talking off as a beam of light frantically flailed in their directions. “What are you kids doing?!”

Without a shared word between the three, just mere glances at one another, they quickly split. Or at least Jay tried to do just that, but the brush of Edgar flying past him in a rush entirely threw him off balance. It wasn’t until tailbone smashed into dirt that Jay even figured out what happened.

“Fuck…” he muttered, then covered his mouth as the light grew brighter over the grave from above, rushing footfalls growing closer before fading away in the direction the brothers ran. Once it was clear, the curse slipped again with more fever.

Jay eased to his feet and stared above his head, the wall towering almost a foot over him. “They truly mean six-feet-under,” he muttered while raising a hand to the ledge, just able to cup fingers over the lip, only to stumble back as it gave away.

The recent rainfall was not making it easy.

Again Jay tried to grab, shoes scraping along the wall in an attempt to gain some height — thinking if he just rushed up the wall it would give him enough momentum, only to fall back against the adjacent wall.

“Shit — fuck,” Jay didn’t even care if his voice traveled that time. He was stuck in a damn grave, after all! Screw it!

“Need a lift?” came a voice from above, and Jay shot his gaze upward to see a hand reaching down toward him. The moonlight didn’t offer much else to see but light curls and the frame of a coat.

Even if it were the security guard, Jay knew this would be his best bet. It wasn’t like waiting till daylight to be discovered was an option. It would not help much in regards to needing to be home before Jay’s parents could find out he even snuck out.

He reached for the hand, feeling leather against palm and uncovered fingers wrap around his wrist. It took only one good heave, shoes against the wall and other hand clinging to the edge, to be entirely pulled out. Despite mud caking Jay from front to back, he could even feel it in his shoes; it felt good to be back on the surface. It wasn’t like he had a fear of enclosed places, but it still sucked regardless.

“Thanks,” he looked over at the stranger, still only catching the slightest glimpse of a smirk within the darkness. It was hard to make out any features, and the way the guy stood didn’t help anything.

“Were you takin’ a dirt bath?” he joked inquisitively, and Jay chuckled under his breath.

“No, not exactly.” Who would want to do that in a cemetery anyway?

The beam of a flashlight washed over them again as rustling sounds drew near, and Jay stepped away from the pre-dug grave. Definitely not wanting to repeat that incident all over.

“Looks like we should start running,” spoke up the other guy, head turned away from Jay to peer toward the security guard.

What was once hidden was now lit up like a spotlight. A smooth curved jawline, willowed eyes bright with brown, and curly dirty blond hair glowed on display for a split moment. Until the flashlight jostled by the running security guard fanned over the area. And Jay would be lying if he said he didn’t stare.

“Avoid any more holes, yeah?” he easily teased before seemingly stepping in a direction with no real speed.

Jay floundered for a moment before taking off after him. “Wait.” Jay didn’t know the grounds that well, and the two idiots that did had left him.

The guy laughed while reaching behind him, grabbing Jay’s wrist again with no problem, then started to run as the worn-out guard hollered something. He seemed to avoid any lifted tombstones, flower arrangements, and small fences like it were daytime. All while Jay tried his best not to stumble, gaze more on the ground than anywhere else.

When they neared the exit gate, chained to prevent people at such odd hours to visit, he let Jay’s arm go and placed both palms out while crouching down. Jay didn’t have to ask and quickly stepped into the waiting hands. He felt the guided push upward as his own hands grabbed for purchase, trying to avoid being nicked by the gothic-style fence. Yet, as Jay’s leg swung over, his pants snagged and ripped — the gravity of his body spilling over the other side holding little resistance.

Surprisingly Jay landed on his feet, if not a little wobbly, and quickly looked through the fence to see the guy still standing there undeterred. “You coming?”

“Don’t worry about me,” he simply said. Jay wanted to comment, but the sight of the guard pushing past the nearest tombstones shut him up. “Go.” he laughed again — actually laughed as if nonplussed by the whole thing. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep him distracted.” Then he turned around and fanned his arms out as if directing air traffic before darting down the side of the fence.

And that was the last Jay saw of the guy before quickly hiding behind the bushes lining outside of the cemetery, not wanting to be seen as the flashlight shown in his direction.

The walk home was slow as he picked flakes of mud off his jeans. Jay could feel the dry mess on his face and in his hair. A shower was needed as well as a talk with the Frog Brothers tomorrow. No way were they getting off free from abandoning him in the damn graveyard! Even as he climbed back through the bedroom window, Jay was envisioning how he’d throttle them. It wasn’t until he was in the shower, scrubbing extra hard to clean the grime off, that his thought wavered to the stranger.

“Why was he even there?”

#My writing #the lost boys #fanfiction #LGBTQ+ story #transgender fanfiction #Marko x OTMC #patches & pins

18 notes · View notes

skybiome · 3 years

Text

And when the sun comes up, you’ll find a brand new god.

Chapter 5

Beginning | Previous | Next

ao3

tw: none

Techno and Phil worked together over the next few days to clean and preserve all of the venison. Phil seemed to have more experience with this, so Techno followed his lead. Techno was cutting the remaining meat from the bones and while Phil started a fire in their impromptu smoking pit. The skin has all been removed in the days prior.

Between just the two of them, a fair amount of the meat would go to waste, so they had to work quickly to preserve it. Inside, the hearth was burning low and drying thin cut pieces into jerky.

The temperature outside had been dropping over the days since their hunt. Phil had given Techno a winter coat from somewhere. Lined with some sort of soft animal fur, Techno barely noticed the cold.

Techno walked over to where his companion was poking at the smoking wood chips.

“Phil.”

“Hm?” The winged god looked up at him.

Techno fisted his hands in the pockets of the coat to keep himself from fidgeting. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Phil’s eyes widened in mild surprise. “Oh, alright then.” He didn’t sound upset. “We’ll finish this today then, and we can make you a good meal tonight before you hit the road.”

Techno nodded and walked away without another word. The anxious energy under his skin didn’t settle Phil’s acknowledgement. The feeling of being tethering to something was insurmountably foreign. He couldn't wait to get away from Phil, but at the same time, he would miss the man deeply. It had been millenia since Techno had let himself get this close to someone.

Better to drain the wound now than let it sit and fester.

But that would be an issue for tomorrow Techno.

He got to work harvesting the garden they’d planted a few days ago, washing the dirt off the produce in the stone-bottomed brook. Once the meat was settled to preserve both inside and out of the inn, Phil disappeared to somewhere. Techno assumed he’d be back before long.

So he did that hard work first, using a shovel Phil had provided to dig up the root vegetables out of the cold ground. He also gathered other fruits and vegetables from the trellises. Once that was done, he picked them up and set them on one of the tables inside the inn.

And then he didn’t know what to do.

Techno had never had free time. He was always preoccupied with keeping on the move or hunting down the next monster he’d taken a bounty on. Even here, Phil normally had a task for him to do. Whenever all the chores for the day were over, it was already night time. Not knowing what else to do, Techno started running laps around the inn, falling into the steady rhythm of the motions.

After a few laps he expanded his loop to include the other buildings surrounding the central well. And then to just running around all of the structures in the village. Never once did he see another person or even any lights on. Just perfectly tended gardens, even in the almost freezing weather.

Eventually, the monster hunter slowed down and approached one of the still houses. He knocked on the back door. No response. He tried the handle, and Techno was a little surprised when it opened with no resistance.

Inside sat a picturesque little home. Well made cupboards and countertops were spotless. An unlit tallow candle sat in the middle of a table. Techno took a closer look, and saw that the wick was pristine. It had never been lit. The table surface was unmarred, not showing any signs of being used as a board for cutting food or even any marks of a child playing with their first dagger.

Techno left, and checked the next house. And the next. And the next.

Every house was empty. Each one had a slightly different layout, but it was always unmarked countertops and empty cupboards. He doubted that these houses had ever been lived in. They were just part of the setting of the fictional town Phil had created.

He stopped checking the houses and went back to running circles around the empty village, leaving him along with his thoughts.

Phil didn’t seem malicious. Over the two weeks he’d known the deity, he’d never shown any ill intent. The outburst during the hunt was the first time he’d heard Phil even raise his voice. The god wasn’t gaining anything from spending time with Techno, but he also wasn’t trying to get anything out of the interaction. The cursed man couldn’t figure out what the god’s game was.

He was pulled out of his own head by the sound of Phil yelling his name. Cutting through the dirt paths, Techno made a bee-line towards the inn. Phil was standing outside the building, hands cupped around his mouth trying to project his voice. His wings were fluffed up and slightly spread slightly, like he was anxious and ready to take off at a moment’s notice. His voice was laced with worry.

Once he saw the monster hunter approaching, his wings laid flat and folded nearly behind his back. The line of tension eased out of his shoulders and the slightly frantic expression eased from his face.

“There you are.”

The ‘where’d you go?’ was left unspoken.

Techno nodded, and put his hands in the pockets of his new coat. “You left and I got bored, so I went on a run.” Techno one hand out and made a circular motion in the air, gesturing at the town around them. “Just around the outside of the village.”

Phil nodded, “Alright, I was worried that you had left.”

Techno shrugged. “I don’t know if I can leave, Wilbur may be keeping me here.”

The winged man stiffened slightly at the wandering implication of Techno’s words. He tried to brush it off, and replied, “I don’t think so, I’m fairly certain you can leave whenever you want.”

So he could leave right now if he wanted to. Phil would protest, but he wouldn’t be able to stop the monster hunter. Techno filed that away for later. Then he walked past Phil and turned the handle of the inn door. Holding the entrance open, he looked back at his friend, and asked, “You coming?”

When Phil didn’t spring into action, he added, “I don’t know how to cook, so I hope you do.”

With that, Techno turned away from Phil and walked farther into the building, leaving the door open behind him. A smile stumbled onto the god’s face. He walked inside and closed the door behind him, accepting Techno’s unspoken ask for help.

---

In the monster hunter’s humble opinion, Phil was a pretty good cook. The finished jerky and smoked meat was stored in cloth bags that Phil had pulled from somewhere, and the rest of the deer was slowly being cooked over the lower fire. Techno had been eating well for the last few weeks and he couldn’t wait to dig in when it was ready.

The cursed man had been put in charge with the rest of the meal preparation (with Phil helping if he needed it). Several spuds were slowly cooking in a pan off to the side of the stone hearth along with several herbs Phil had thrown in.

A few other additions that wouldn’t take as long to cook rested on the countertop. Some apples and nuts to be roasted, and mixed vegetables that could be cooked in oil. A loaf of bread was rising on the other side of the warm kitchen.

It was more food than Techno had seen in a long time, and definitely more than he and Phil could eat before it goes bad.

“What are we going to do with all this?” The man motioned to consumables strewn about the room.

“Hm?” Phil looked up from the book he was reading. He tilted his head to the side, asking for Techno to elaborate.

“There’s no way we can eat this all before it goes bad.”

The winged man nodded, and closed his book so he could fully focus on his companion, keeping one finger in the page he was on. “I invited some friends to help finish off the food. That’s where I was earlier” Techno opened his mouth to say something, but Phil kept talking. “They’re coming over later tonight, after you’d normally be asleep, so you don’t have to interact with them if you don’t want to.”

Techno nodded. He didn’t quite know how to feel about Phil picking up on his social anxiety that easily, but the gesture was kind enough.

The rest of the afternoon passed slowly. It was the first day since Techno had arrived that he wasn’t doing anything from dawn to dusk. It didn’t seem like Phil was speeding up the day too much. Techno could actually track the motion of the sun via the sparse rays coming through the canopy and windows. It was nice.

He’d been reading a book the winged god had given him out in the main room. The god in question had pulled him back into the kitchen with the setting of the sun. Together, they finished preparing the rest of the food and assembled a feast in the main room of the inn.

All of the food he’d eaten over the past few weeks had been amazing. This was the best so far. He didn’t manage to eat much, appetite soured by the fact that he’d promised himself he would leave tomorrow.

About the time he started to slow down, Phil glanced towards the door of the inn, and announced, “Our guests will probably be here soon. They’re kinda loud, so you can go to your room if you want. I’ll make sure they leave you alone.”

Techno nodded and slid off of the stool, taking it as Phil’s polite way of telling him to scram. He took the book Phil’d given with him, though. And true to his friend’s word, around ten minutes later, several voices entered the inn. Through the walls, Techno couldn’t parse them well enough to tell how many people there were. At least six, mostly likely more. One of them sounded like Wilbur.

Yeah, Techno wasn’t going back out there. Accepting his fate for the night, the monster hunter stripped off his outer layer of clothes and climbed into bed. He closed his eyes and let sleep easily take him.

Half an hour later, he threw the covers off and swung his legs over the side of the mattress. He couldn’t sleep and Techno had no idea why. The people in the inn weren’t being too loud. He could barely hear them despite the thin walls of the inn. Phil’s laughter made it into his room occasionally, and Techno felt something in his gut curl every time he heard it. He wasn’t looking forward to having to leave in the morning.

A thought lanced through the monster hunter’s head. He didn’t have to leave in the morning. There was a window in his room. Techno could leave right now, without having to face Phil. Before he knew it, his heavy coat was back on, and his window was open.

The cold wind stole the man’s breath, making Techno take pause. But only for a moment.

He hefted himself up and out of the window sill. He didn’t want to look Phil in the eyes before leaving, so clearly the solution was to avoid Phil altogether.

Frozen grass crunched under his boots. Techno hadn’t noticed that it was snowing, but a thin layer of white coated the ground. Blades of grass and leaves were poking up through the powder.

He walked around the exterior of the building until he was standing in front of the inn. Through the windows, Techno could see about a dozen people socializing. The inn looked alive for the very first time.

Turning on his heel, Techno marched away from the illuminated structure. He'd seen a road leading out of town while running earlier. That's probably the road he's supposed was supposed to go. The monster hunter took a few steps past the wall in the direction of the road out of town. Then he reversed his path and went down the dirt path that had first brought him into town.

It was well into the night when he arrived back at the statue that had first greeted him. Techno's eyes pick up the details of the sculpture with no problems, even in the low light. There was no mistaking it. The facial features of the statue may be missing, but it still was the exact height and build as the man he'd been living with for the last three weeks.

Techno ran his hand over the bottom of the statue, clearing the snow and knowing that a plaque was hidden underneath. He pulled his hand away, and felt something stutter in his chest.

The words were different.

PHILZA, GOD OF SURVIVAL AND SOLITUDE PATRON OF THE ENDANGERED AND LONESOME PROTECTOR OF HIS FAMILY AND THE ONES HE LOVES

Something sad curled in his chest at the confirmation that Phil was really a god. It almost felt like a betrayal, enough though he knew it was coming.

Techno lowered himself onto the snowy ground. He closed his eyes. His fingers dug into his pants as the snow melted and the cold water bit into his legs. Eventually the chill made its way through his heavy coat.

Techno only opened his eyes when he could see light through the closed lids. Sunlight danced across the icy ground, shooting daggers into the cursed man’s eyes. He stumbled to his feet, shaking the gathered snow from his hood and shoulders. A good few inches, too.

The statue and it's broken pieces were also dusted with snow. No more grass was poking up through drifts. Techno turned around to look at the trail that had brought him here. The footpath was buried under the snow. For a moment, he didn’t know how he was going to find his way back to the village.

Something moved into Techno’s line of sight, and it took him a moment to register what it was. The white wolf blended into the powder almost perfectly. It blinked at Techno, then turned and trotted away. The cursed man followed.

The canine kept a steady pace in front of Techno. Occasionally, its fur camouflages it perfectly, and it would disappear from Techno’s sight. He was, eventually, less following the wolf, and more following the footprints it left behind.

After a while, the wolf stopped and sat down, pointing its nose at something. Techno shook his head and let his eyes refocus. The wolf glanced at him. When Techno met its eyes, it turned its attention back to the building in front of them.

A sign over the door, proudly read The Core Inn . Unlike every other time Techno had seen the building, not a single light was on inside. He turned away to look at the other buildings. Besides Techno and the wolf’s foot prints, the snow cover was pristine. Taking a moment to realign his internal compass, he headed towards the road that led out of town.

Three steps into the journey, a weight pressed against his side. Techno stumbled at the pressure, but caught himself, realizing that the wolf that had been leading him, was now walking alongside him. Hesitantly, he set his hand on the animal’s head.

The wolf pushed against Techno’s hand, and pressed harder into the man’s side. Techno took that as permission and shoved his hand through the wolf’s fur and into the warm undercoat. He may be impervious to frostbite, but cold was still cold.

He started walking again, carding his hand through the canine’s fur. It was nice to have something else grounding him in the blank surroundings. In the real world, Techno would normally have bird song or even just the wind in the trees to fill his ears. Over the weeks, Phil had become the background noise, either with his voice or the motion of his clothes.

The snow crunched softly under foot as they traveled. The massive trees thinned from towering conifers to rolling woods of deciduous. What immediately caught Techno’s attention was that the wind was back. Birds and animal tracks were numerous, criss-crossing the snowy landscape. When they stumbled upon a crossroads, Techno took note of the messy wagon tracks in the resting snow.

Compared to the premade tracks that had covered the ground in the village, these looked incredibly natural. A sign post sat across the road. Techno approached and read it, wolf still glued to his side. A place named Aria was to the left, and Mount Lacerta was to the right. It didn’t mention the path he’d arrived from.

Techno turned around. His footsteps and any indication that he’d followed a premade path to his current location was gone. He turned back around, and the sign post had vanished as well.

“Huh,” Techno said. He turned to look at his furry companion. “Where do you think we should go?”

The wolf blinked, and started walking towards the left. Techno followed. After a few steps, the canine stopped and looked back at the man. He stopped as well, waiting for the wolf to continue leading. The animal looked back at Techno and whined.

When Techno didn’t move, the wolf turned around. It walked until it was once again glued to his side. Pushing against the monster hunter’s leg, the canine took a step. It looked up at Techno, and took another step forward.

Techno got the message. They walked alongside each other for hours, basking in the cold beauty.

Eventually, the wolf’s steps stuttered for a moment. Then it took off like a shot.

The cursed man watched it’s white coat shrink into the distance, content that it was leaving him. To Techno’s surprise, the wolf stopped about thirty feet away. The canine spun in a circle in the snow. Then it planted its rear end in the snow and let out a piercing howl.

The cry scared birds out of the surrounding trees. The wolf lowered its head, and although it was too far away to hear the panting, Techno could see its tongue lolling out of its mouth.

Something bubbled in his throat. He was surprised when a barking laugh escaped. His chest felt warm despite the cold. Another laugh emitted from Techno as he sprinted after the animal. The wolf let out another howl, turned, and ran from the man, egging him to chase.

Techno did so willingly. He almost couldn't remember the last time he’d felt this elated. Snow clung to his feet, but the monster hunter didn’t notice. Instead, he looked up to the cloud coated sky and let loose his own howl. The wolf up ahead returned the call.

Back and forth, the two echoed as they ran. Sometimes it was a whoop or holler from Techno, and a bark or yip from the canine. As they ran, the energy they carried only grew, until they were both high on euphoria.

Before he knew it, the snow was gone from around Techno’s feet. The wolf led him down the hard packed dirt road for hours at a sprint. It was nearly sun down when the animal broke from the path. It veered into the trees to the left of the road. Techno followed with zero hesitation.

A small campsite was set up just out of sight of the road. Techno came to a halt by the edge. It was a tent with a small circle of stones set up next to it. The wolf was looking around, tapping its feet and whining slightly.

A stick snapped in the trees. Both Techno and the wolf’s heads snapped towards the sound. In an instant, the canine had dove through the bush between them and the source of the noise.

The cursed man heard the sound of someone yelling in surprise and being knocked to the ground. Techno pushed through the brush to follow. He found the wolf practically laying on top of someone, licking at his face. His green and white bucket hat had been knocked to the floor and large black wings moved in the dirt and plant cover as Philza tried to shove the canine off his chest.

The god managed to roll onto his side, pushing the animal off him. Sitting upright, he ran his hands through its thick coat, cooing and praising it.

“Gods, you’re such a good boy.” Philza said through laughter. “Thank you for leading him here.”

The wolf licked his face one more time before settling its head on the god’s lap.

Turning his attention to Techno, Philza smiled, and explained, “I sent him to come get you.” He ran his head between the ears on the wolf. “It’s hard to navigate in the snow, and I didn’t want you to get lost.”

He chucked. “I know you’d be okay, but it was just for my own peace of mind.”

Techno swallowed dryly. He couldn’t think of anything, so he just nodded.

Philza stood up, pushing the animal off his lap, and brushed off the front of his robe. He was covered in bits of dead leaves and small sticks were on the ground around him. The god leaned over, picked back up the pieces of tinder he’d dropped.

With his arms full of dry material, the winged deity turned to Techno. He jerked his head towards the campsite, motioning for the cursed man to come with him. They maneuvered back through the hedge. The wolf seemed elated, dancing around their legs and nearly tripping them several times. Philza chuckled at its antics. He set his gatherings down beside the unlit fire pit.

The god lowered himself onto the hard ground with a sigh, wings half unfurled behind him to keep the feathers from bending on the ground. Techno hesitated for a second, and then sat beside him. The wolf did its best to lay on top of both of them, head in Philza’s lap and back end on Techno. Its white tail was slowly turning brown from thumping against the ground.

Philza laughed again. “Get off me you big lug.” He pushed the animal off his lap again. “Go cuddle Techno, I need to start the fire.”

The wolf whined, but sulked over and dropped its head into Techno’s lap. Despite its grumpy demeanor, its tail was still thumping against the dirt.

The god gave the canine a fond look. He pulled a flint and steel out of his robe, and started on the process of lighting a flame.

Techno knew how to start a fire with flint and steel, but he hadn’t done it in decades. Normally he just ate food cold or didn’t eat at all.

The entire scene was almost too domestic for Techno. Something curled in his gut as the sparks illuminated Philza’s hands and face. The sun had dipped below the tree line and the golden light made Techno yearn for the slow and warm days in the inn.

He ran his fingers through the wolf’s fur in order to do something with his hands. After a few dozen attempts, a small flame started in the god’s cupped hands. Slowly, he added pieces of tinder until it was strong enough to survive on its own. He put a few bigger pieces of wood on top of the fire for it to destroy when it grew big enough.

Philza turned his attention back to Techno. “Do you want something to eat? You didn’t take any when you left.”

His tone wasn’t accusatory, but Techno still felt like he was being scolded for something. He nodded, saying, “Sure, I can eat.”

The god nodded. Leaning over, Philza stuck his head inside of the tent. A second later, he emerged with a bag in hand. He rooted around inside for a moment. He pulled out the cloth bag that they’d put the smoked meat inside of yesterday.

He handed it to Techno, saying, “here.” The cursed man extracted a hand from where it had been scratching the wolf’s ear to grab the sack. The canine lifted its head to sniff at the bag. Techno thought it was going to try and take it, but it lowered its head back onto his lap without protest.

Philza pulled one more thing out of the bag before setting it aside. He unwrapped the remaining pieces of the bread loaf they’d made two days ago. The god must have hid it from his guests, otherwise it would be gone by now. He set the clothes it had been wrapped in over the bag, and tore two pieces off the loaf. Philza wrapped the rest of the bread back up and set it in bag.

Techno followed the deity’s example. He pulled a few pieces of jerky out of the bag, and handed them to his companion. The cursed man offered a bit to the wolf. It sniffed the meat for a moment, but laid its head back against the man’s chest. Techno shrugged, but closed the sack up and handed it to Philza, exchanging it for one of the pieces of bread.

They warmed their meals against the steadily growing fire. By the time they were finished eating, the sun had fully set. The wolf was dozing in Techno’s lap, and he was half convinced to join it. He was emotionally drained from the excitement of running, and from his running anxieties about Philza being upset that he’d left in the middle of the night. The god had hardly mentioned Techno’s flight at all, only expressing seemingly mild disappointment that Techno hadn’t taken food with him.

Techno shook his head, seemingly shaking his brain back into working order. He cautiously worked his way out from under the predator on his lap and stood up. Philza’s eyes followed him.

“I think I’m gonna go now. I’ve wasted enough time.”

Techno started towards the road, mentally promising that he wouldn’t stop walking, no matter what Philza said to stop him.

“You could stay here tonight.”

The monster hunter paused his stride. He could hear the deity standing up behind him.

“The tent is big enough for two people.”

Techno took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

“Alright. Tonight only,” he lied to himself. “Then I need to keep moving.”

“Alright,” the deity echoed. Techno could imagine the deity nodding at his back.

That's how he found himself, pressed up against the back of a sleeping deity half an hour later. He could feel Philza slowly moving against his spine with every breath. The god was laying on top of one on his wings in a position that couldn’t have been comfortable, but the deity sure sounded fast asleep.

Techno was curled up inside of a bedroll. Philza just had a blanket since his wings wouldn’t fit in a bedroll. The wolf was lying half on Techno’s legs, half under Philza’s wing. The weight of the canine and the subtle noises from the both the wolf and god soon lulled Techno to sleep.

#philza #technoblade #my writing #when the sun comes up au #this brings the posted stuff to just under 20k pog #sorry for the long as hell break #ill try to not let it happen again

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