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another-lost-mc · 8 months

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really im begging for a sirius degradation thirst with afab reader because damn that man is something else 😩😩

a/n: he is indeed a horrible man and I hate him (affectionately)

➤ intermission | sirius x reader

1.3k words | nsfw | afab!reader

cw: sirius is his own content warning. jealousy and possessive behaviour; degradation.

Hot puffs of air fan across the delicate skin of your neck when Sirius murmurs into your ear, his lips brushing against you just enough so that you shiver in his grasp. he leans in close when he wants to speak: the sound of his hips slapping against your ass and the vanity in his dressing room creaks under your palms as you brace yourself against each deep thrust drown out everything else.

There's a commotion outside as actors and stagehands rush to prepare for the play's second act, and any minute now they'll be announcing for attendees to return to their seats since the intermission is almost over. You won't be joining them, not yet—not while Sirius is fucking into you from behind like a beast in heat.

When intermission started earlier, he surprised you. You looked up from the program in your lap when you sensed someone standing beside you, and there he was in his tall, sweat-slicked glory. He hadn't even changed out of his costume, but simply removed the heavy ornamental robes so he would look less obvious mingling among the crowd. In the dim, shadowy light of the theatre, you could still see the flicker of vibrant green and icy-sharp blue in his expression. He barely spared a glance for Vega who sat in the seat next to you, your guest for tonight's play since Spica was called away on urgent business and you didn't want the extra ticket to go to waste.

Something about the arrangement irked him because the smile that curled Sirius' lips lacked the humor and warmth he normally showed you. "There's something backstage I'd like to show you, if you don't mind." You didn't hesitate to take his offered hand—you never have, and probably never will—and he practically pulled you out of your seat and through the auditorium and busting halls leading to the dressing area.

He said nothing when he led you to his private dressing room and closed the door behind him. He leaned back against the door, arms crossed behind his back, and the metallic click of the lock made you jump. His expression was softer now than it was before, but it was still unreadable. You fidgeted nervously with the sleeves of your dress, self-conscious under his inscrutable gaze.

"Don't do that," he admonished you quietly. He could see the self-doubt building around you like a fog. "You look lovely tonight." He stepped closer and brushed his fingers along the neckline of your dress, tracing over the exquisite embroidery. He smiled a little when you shivered until the gentle touch and he explored even more, gliding his hand over the heaving curve of your breasts and down further still. He followed the dip and slope of your tummy and waist until his fingers teased at the high slit that exposed your leg when you moved.

"It was a gift from my boyfriend," you teased softly, reaching out to tuck a wayward lock of hair behind his ear. "He has excellent taste."

He hummed and leaned forward, inching his fingers across the top of your thigh and between your legs. "But he's stuck on stage, starving for you, while your dear friend Vega gets to enjoy your delightful company." His fingers slide along the silky material of your panties, drawing a surprised gasp from your lips when he slid his fingers gently over the material and applying barely-there pressure to your clit.

The world spun and suddenly you were pushed forward against the dresser. You braced your hands on the tabletop while his hand continued exploring between your thighs, pushing harder against your underwear so that the slick starting to coat your folds made the thin fabric sticky and wet.

"I wonder if he thought of doing this to you every time he glanced over at your lap. I bet he got a nice view of your bare thigh and wondered if your skin is as soft as it looks," he whispered into your ear. The implication of his words burned your cheeks with shame, but you were distracted by long, nimble fingers sliding the damp fabric aside so he could trace circles around your entrance. "You'd have to be stupid not to notice the way he looks at you, my dear."

You gasped and bucked in his arms when two fingers buried themselves inside you. It didn't hurt—you were sopping wet and slippery for him—but you didn't realize how needy you were until you were suddenly full. "He's only a friend," you whimpered, grinding your hips down against his hand to encourage his fingers to go even deeper. "I wore this for you." You bit your lip and whined through your teeth when his fingers pulled out suddenly, leaving you empty and throbbing and desperately unsatisfied.

He moved behind you, his hands brushing against your back as he fumbled with his belt. There was a soft clink and a zip and then his cock slid down between your cheeks and through your messy folds. He thrust lazily between your thighs as he coated his cock with your slick and bumped the fat tip teasingly against you clit. He bunched your dress roughly around your hips and kissed your shoulder with a sigh. "Such beauty deserves a little appreciation, don't you think?" He buried his snarling groan into your neck when he plunged in deep with one sharp snap of his hips. "And who could possibly appreciate a little cock tease like you better than me?"

He fucked you with rough, erratic strokes. he didn't have the patience or time to draw this out for fun. This was a tease, a reminder, a claiming. He sucked little marks along the column of your neck with a grin, watching your eyes close and your head tip forward in the mirror's shaking reflection. He found the slit of your dress and rubbed against your clit with his forefinger, startling a broken moan from your lips when the sensitivity and pleasure took you by surprise. Your body fluttered around his cock when he teased you towards your release. His hips finally stuttered to a halt when he came moments later, groaning your name against your shoulder and filling you with cum.

You were both panting loudly in the otherwise quiet dressing room, and you heard the muffled announcement that the show would be recommencing shortly and that guests should return to their seats. Sirius had more than enough believable excuses for his sweaty hair and sloppy stage makeup; you had no reasonable explanation for your own well-fucked state.

"There's a washroom down the hall where you can clean up," he suggested, eyes glowing amber as he kissed your temple. He let the crumpled dress fall back into place and he stepped back to admire you. You were flushed and warm and glowing. He adjusted his pants after tucking his softening cock away. "I'll take you there and then you can go back to your seat for the rest of the play."

You took a hesitant step on still-trembling legs and leaned into him when he wrapped an arm around your waist to steady you. Your thighs were tacky from slick and cum soaking through your panties and dripping down your leg. You weren't sure perfume would be able to make the way you smelled now, musky with sweat and lingering notes of Sirius' cologne wafting around you like a cloud.

"Vega's going to guess what we were doing if I sit next to him like this," you whined with embarrassment when you dabbed at your warm cheeks with a cool cloth.

Sirius's smile turned cocky, and he looked far too pleased with himself when he glanced at you in the mirror and caught your bashful gaze with his. "Exactly."

#arcana twilight #arcana twilight sirius #artw sirius #arcana twilight sirius x reader #sirius x reader #arcana twilight smut #arcana twilight x reader #x reader #afab!reader

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samieree · 9 months

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Banished Heimdall x Reader (Goddess of Nature)

(Request from wattpad) The part where Kratos spared Heimdall. Well let's say he did spare him and he came back to Odin to report what happened but the gjallarhorn was stolen and Odin banished him to Midgard and did the same spell like Freya had. And for years being stuck in Midgard, there he meet the reader who is actually the Goddess/Mother Nature, melting the snows and creating flowers for the end of Fimbulwinter.

Several years have passed since Odin banished Heimdall to Midgard for losing the Gjallarhorn. But he still didn't accept this fact, and exile did not soften his character at all. The winter didn't help much either. Luckily it was finally coming to an end.

Heimdall was tired of wearing thick fur. He definitely preferred the climate in Asgard, his clothes and peace there. And now he had to take care of himself, and it was driving him crazy. Especially at the beginning, ugh... He doesn't even want to think about it. He shouldn't live in the past.

He was just coming back to his house, grumbling about how he hates this world and this winter better be over because... Okay, he doesn't know what he's going to do, but it better be the end of this cold weather. Though... Then he'd have to boat across Lake of Nine and row, so maybe the cold wasn't so bad after all...

"Stop!" He heard a scream but ignored it. He continued walking forward, still focused on complaining. At least until some vines suddenly sprouted from the ground in front of him. "Are you deaf?"

"Are you looking for trouble?" Irritated, he turned to the place where the voice came from and was clearly surprised.

You were standing a few feet in front of him. With a slight smile on your face, dressed in a fairly light outfit, considering the weather. But... The aura around you looked like spring. Your hands emanated pleasant magic, and the smile itself seemed to melt the snow that was no longer around you at all. Nature was beginning to come back to life, green grass sprouted from under the snow, and the scent of flowers slowly began to fill the air.

You've met each other before, when he happened to be on a mission in Midgard. And it seemed like your character has stayed the same ever since. And he won't admit it, but... The aura you spread around you calmed him down and warmed his heart.

"Be careful, don't step on my flowers." You said, drawing back the vines that were blocking his path. You just finished that meadow and it was about to get trampled by some bitter guy.

"Do you really think I care?" Okay, maybe not the usual bitter guy, because as he turned to walk away you saw his shining eyes. And you've only known one person with eyes like that - other than einherjers, but they've been gone for a while.

So it had to be Heimdall. Very dissatisfied with having to be where he is.

"Respect nature and it will respect you." You followed him, and with you spring aura, letting the world know that it's time to wake up from winter sleep.

"I don't need it. Go plant your flowers elsewhere."

"I seem to have planted quite a few around your house. I thought there were some people living there, otherwise I probably wouldn't be so nice." You said half-jokingly, clearing the snowdrifts from your path with one snap of your finger.

"You did- WHAT?! Who asked you for this?!"

"Do you have to ask for gifts?" You replied, tilting your head slightly and aligning your step with him. "I don't think that's what it's about..." You smiled and extended your hand towards him with a flower in your hand.

"I don't want any weeds." He took off his coat and draped it over his shoulder as it was actually starting to get warm.

You rolled your eyes at those words and ran in front of him, now walking backwards but facing him. You were still holding a beautiful flower in your hands, flower with large, white petals for now.

"Look." You ran your free hand over the flower and its petals began to change colour. In shades of pink, purple and blue. Its stem took on a white colour with golden accents. You smiled wider and extended your hand to him, offering this newly created plant. "Here, this is for you. It looks like you." Heimdall stopped suddenly, and so did you.

No one has ever been so insistent about giving him a gift. In general, no one ever even wanted to give him a gift... It was even... A nice feeling.

In order not to lose his image, he sighed a martyrdom before taking the plant from you, the petals of which matched the colours of his eyes. As he took the flower, your hands touched for a moment. Your skin was very smooth and radiated a warmth Heimdall didn't know, but he could tell with certainty that it was pleasant.

"And what am I supposed to do with it?" He asked, examining the plant carefully.

"Plant. Need help?" You asked as you started walking back towards Heimdall's house. "You could plant a vegetable garden. Oh, or orchard!" You smiled at that thought. Walking with him towards his house, you kept doing your job along the way, here and there stimulating more plants to grow.

"Do I look like a gardener to you?" He grunted, his eyes focused on the flower. This small gesture somehow warmed his heart, which was especially aching after the things that had happened to him.

"I'd help you." You suggested. "Of course, when I'm done with spring." You added, walking over to him.

You reached your hand towards his face, but he immediately pulled away. He knew what you wanted to do and he absolutely did not want to let it happen. I will look like an idiot. You froze with your hand next to his face.

"What a favour from Y/n, the great goddess of nature." He said it with a hint of mockery in his voice. "Why do you want to help me?"

"I have a soft spot for things that need fixing." You said honestly. He would know anyway if you lied.

"I'm not broken."

"Aren't you?"

Isn't he? He didn't know himself. And what does a not broken person look like? Behaves? Lives?

He was always lonely, even when he was surrounded by people. Even if he was in bed with someone, even if there was a family meeting. He always felt alone, as if no one cared about him, he meant nothing to anyone and the only value he had was what he was doing for his world. And now he didn't even have that. He lived from day to day, but he had no purpose. He just existed.

He sighed softly, then nodded slightly. After that small gesture, you gave him another warm smile and finally moved your hand. You touched his hair and tucked a flower like the one you gave him behind his ear.

"It suits you." You said, placing your hand on his cheek for a moment longer and it cost him all his stubbornness not to snuggle into it and it's warmth.

The warmth of sincere sympathy, caring, interest. Something he had never known, and it was an unfamiliar but pleasant feeling. And maybe, just maybe, he would like to experience it even more.

"Like a wreath suits a cow." He grunted, but there was no such obvious malice in his voice. "Can we go now or are you going to put so much weed in my hair that I'll never get it out?" Saying this, he started walking towards his house again and you followed him.

"I'll take them out, you don't have to worry." You said.

"Oh, and you think that I'm going to let you do that?"

"If you let me put a flower in your hair, you'll let me take it out." You answered with a wide smile, walking with him arm in arm and spreading your spring aura around you here and there.

Damn, she's right.

-> general masterlist -> God of War: Ragnarök masterlist

#heimdall #god of war heimdall #god of war ragnarok #gow heimdall #heimdall god of war #god of war #gow #heimdall gow #heimdall x reader

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slightlyhopefulromantic · 2 months

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i was gonna wait until i finished the bitd and deadlands line-ups before posting these, but i'm not gonna get those done before the final season starts, so might as well bite the bullet now XD woohoo, oxventure d&d designs! i'll go into further detail below the cut for all of my thoughts on these designs and reasoning for smaller details, but for now, just know that i will never draw a cape. i simply cannot do it. hoods and weird draped fabric or nothing XD

okay i put like. waaay too many thoughts into a lot of these small details so im gonna allow myself to geek out here X3 firstly - though they're way too small to read properly, i did the little symbol eye shines i used in my first art for them! dob gets music notes, prudence gets fire, corazón gets hearts, and merilwen gets flowers. i usually draw egbert's pupils pretty thin to resemble a reptile, so he just gets normal eye shines, but i probably could have given him some here... he would get suns if i thought of that

dob - muscular in a wiry and dehydrated way, lol, hence having a more defined stomach/hips despite not being as strong as prudence or egbert. he has sad/down-turned puppy dog eyes at all times because i think the big-eyed endearing look is fitting for him, though i do make them darker blue than his canonical baby blues because i just... like how dark blue eyes look, lol. i'm pretty sure he canonically has the stomach scar, and obviously his facial scar has always been there, but i gave him a couple other ones just to show that hes pretty reckless. and he gets freckles because even though they arent mentioned in the dragon dogma's video, i noticed luke added some and. i like freckles a lot

prudence - i've said this before, but i love the thought of pru getting muscular after the werebear bite <3 i just think she should be a little bit hench. as a treat. once again, the heavy stomach scarring comes from the dragon dogma's video, because i found their design choices in that really fun. i change prudence's outfit the most out of any of the characters, just because her canonical outfit confuses me. i'm really bad at understanding/drawing fantasy wear as is, but her fit... i'm lost entirely XD so i free-balled a bit. her inner sleeves that hook around her fingers are based on jane's various prudence looks, and then the looser outer sleeve is just because i love prudence with a dramatic sleeve. originally the colors were closer to her canon outfit, but it just looked messy without all the details of the original, and then i tried red like jane's prudence looks but it didn't contrast enough with her skin. so i restricted them to just deep purples and black with pops of gold and dark magenta!

corazón - what can i say besides. transgender. LMAO honestly though, besides adding the top surgery scars, i just really like his canon look. i simplified the details, obviously, but i really love his big coat and his tall boots and the earrings and the black-on-black-on-black of it all. i didn't particularly feel like drawing hats when i was doing this, lol, so i stuck with a red bandana instead. the beads that are strung from it are black, red, purple, green, and yellow to match their guild's canonical color associations/the colored name plates they get in later seasons :] because corazón is the sentimental sort, even when he won't say it. also he gets a little cateye for his eyeliner, i dunno if i've ever said why i do that before haha

egbert - egbert my dearly beloved. literally just his canon look except he has la vache mauve on his tunic instead of fire! and the nose spikes i give him, i guess, but i forget those aren't canon. i actually usually draw him in mike's egbert get up, with the black robes and the golden dragon sigil, but i kinda wanted to move away from that to lean more into the end of legacy of dragons, where egbert fully commits to never going back to the dragon d'or. also i just love drawing little cow heads <3 also! i like the idea that rather than typical scar tissue, dragonborns grow thicker scales over places where they've been injured. so the thicker patches of small scales on egbert's body are meant to be scars! including his kidney scar, lol. the larger scales and the ones on his face were always there though, that's just dragonborn biology baby

merilwen - if i said i based merilwen's body on cartoon bears, would you forgive me... i just think it's cute LOL tummy <3 for the final dragon dogma's video reference, that's where her freckles and tattoos come from. ellen was right, merilwen with floral tattoos fucking rules. who am i to deny it. as a hairy woman myself, i also like making merilwen a hairy woman. she's a hippie, she would NOT shave. i also really love the red earrings she wears in her canon art, so i tried to carry that through to some other small parts of my drawing for her, and landed on the bands she has on her pants as well as the odd feather for her arrows. fun archery fact, for those who may not know - in modern archery at least, you usually will have a differently colored feather (or for my arrows, rubber fins lol) that indicate how youre meant to string the arrow! so i took advantage of that to give merilwen some more red, hehe

#oxventure #dob the half orc bard #prudence the tiefling warlock #corazón de ballena #egbert the careless #merilwen the wood elf druid #I really wanted to post all the line ups at once but I have fallen ill XD #and I’m busy tomorrow. so drawing is not in the cards for a bit #I’ll try and finish those soon 👍

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izloveshorses · 9 months

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we're almost to the halfway mark, so i thought i'd share another progress update on this little (big) project!! (previous update)

i've almost finished drawing half of all the assets (according to my spreadsheet) and then we can start assembling them into a "book." the bulk of the assets are characters/costumes, but i've also completed several props and started working on some backgrounds as well. I need to decide how the book will be laid out before i make much more progress on those, though. i've been trying to hold off on finishing the principal cast because i think saving them for ~dessert~ will keep me motivated to power through the rest, but i'm so anxious to get to them because i want to play with them in photoshop and put them on their associated backgrounds like little paper dolls 🙈 so that's why ballet tuxedo!dmitry doesn't exist yet, and why i've yet to color the rest of anya's act ii wardrobe.

anyway. progress in my workflow is hardly ever linear, but you can kind of see how i approach the rendering process from these images, i hope. the drawing carries the weight of the image so that step always takes the longest, since getting the likeness, the proportions, the folds, and the expressions right is the most important. if any of that looks off no skillful painting or rendering can save it.

and then i always color skin first because everything else (clothes, hair) goes on top of skin. you can see the color palette i'm using is the same for almost all of them, though act ii requires a few more saturated hues than act i (bright blue, some reds, and green every once in a while). coloring the rest in doesn't usually take very long. once the flats are down i go in for a final pass, laying down those patterns and textures that always give me a hard time lol. and then i clean up and recolor the line work and mark it as done! since i'm working digital i use alpha lock and clipping masks for that.

director's cut commentary of each image included (under the cut bc this post is already so long):

anya's act ii lineup. her phtk outfit is the only one i've marked complete (the linework on the others is still black and need just a few more touchups). I've yet to lay in the flats for the maroon travel coat because i think the drawing needs more work. i might change a few things on big red, maybe her expression, but i haven't decided yet.

dmitry's act ii lineup (sans tuxedo). he just needs a final pass on the first two on the left, and then his finale look is finished, because it's the same from act i :)

vlad's act ii lineup. he's almost done, just needs a final pass on the finale and phtk outfits.

lily's act ii lineup. i'm going to redo the pattern on her neva club dress (linda cho i love u but god) but otherwise she's all finished.

the dowager's act ii lineup. she's done! :) maybe i'll find something to pick at later but rn i'm marking her done lol.

petersburg citizens from rumor! i think these guys are all done. there are more people i could include, but there isn't enough variation on the costumes to make it worth it imo.

neva club patrons. the only two marked complete are the two on the left, sergei the doorman/the male server and count leopold. i still need to find a good reference for the female server lol.

the press! just the men for now lol. i used the obc program as a reference for this one, so i'll get the two ladies in soon :)

the hussies! i've marked it complete, but. we'll see if there's more adjustments i can make.

there's still more i've completed that's not pictured, but i'll definitely share more soon. act i is nearly finished entirely, which is cool, and the only big ensemble sheet i've yet to make much progress on is everyone in phtk. i may end up just drawing one or two people from that and then copying them with different patterns because, honestly, the shape of the dresses and suits are all very similar. hopefully that won't be boring to look at lol.

if there's anything in particular you'd like to see/have any questions, or even suggestions, lmk!! and follow my 'anastasia illustrated guide' tag for more updates :)

#anastasia broadway #anastasia #fan art #my art #iz draws #anastasia illustrated guide #long post #wip

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barbarianbookhoe · 9 months

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Chapter 1

As the years passed, Y/N learned how to blend in with the workers of the club, trying her best to hide her need to shapeshift, keeping her gift to herself and her partner as they both climbed the rankings of the Dregs. (If you didn't count her brother, who seemed annoyed anytime he had to join her for their weekly training, and would rather eat his hair than admit he liked it.)

She didn't want to draw attention to her magic, especially in a place where people would kill for her head, if they knew how much she was worth. The arrest warrant came seven years later, while she was on a job and had to use her powers to help her friends escape the stadwatch.

She found out about the bounty while she was looking for a gift for her nephew's birthday, and as she rounded the corner, on the brick wall studded with multiple job requests and wanted papers, there was one, which stood out to her.

"Wanted dead or alive! Shapeshifter woman, aged 19, seen mostly around the East Stave and the Crow Club. Look for: burn scars on neck, green belt scarf. Reward: 100 000 kruge!"

Y/N stopped in her tracks as she read it, then let out a small laugh as she took off the paper and hid it in her coat's pocket. You're trying to find someone who changes looks faster, than you can blink. Ha! Idiots!

That green scarf she usually put around her waist, was one of the only things anyone gave her while she worked at the Crow Club. The boy was far more ruthless and cold than his age required, never laughing or smiling, or even seeming to enjoy anything. One day when Y/N was fourteen and came back from her first mission with the Dregs, all bruised and cut, the boy stood next to her and gave her that emerald green scarf. He told her that he noticed when she was stuffing it in her jacket, only for the scarf to fall out from her pocket while running, so he went back and retrieved it. When she asked why, the boy answered with something, that replayed in her mind for the next few days: "I saw how badly you wanted it. It was just a stupid piece of fabric, but it seemed you loved it. Yet, when you saw it fell on the ground you didn't stop to get it back. You ran with the others, and when you thought the danger was gone, you tried to go and find it. But when the stadwatch saw you, you dropped it, and ran again. You're a greedy person, but you didn't let greed take over your life. And that's something you won't see often in the Barrel." Suddenly the soft fabric felt heavy in Y/N's hands, as she slowly realized what he meant by his action and words. She decided she'd rather eat dirt, than lose the scarf that reminded her of him.

Y/N made her way to the West Stave, where she thought she might find something unique the little boy would definitely like. Her nephew was a curious kid, therefore anything that seemed new or foreign to him, he took interest in it, and played with it until he passed out. For a 2 year old he was quite full of energy, a trait that no side of his family had.

Y/N had been looking at multiple handmade toys, stuffed animals and even a kitchen supply stand. She started to forget what gift she wanted to give in the first place, when she came face to face with a stand that sold blankets, carpets, curtains and even tapestries. The woman who was shouting numerous prices about numerous fabrics, saw Y/N eyeing one of the blankets and quickly came over to her.

"Good morning! Can I help you with something Miss?" She asked on a cheerful voice.

"About that knitted blanket over there," she pointed at said item, just on top of the multiple piles. The woman held it up for Y/N to see it. "Do you sell smaller ones?"

"Yes. Do you want a knitted one?" The woman asked and Y/N nodded, before she reached into one of the piles and pulled out another knitted blanket. It was way smaller than the other ones, and some strands were hanging out of it, like it had been pulled by someone.

"Perfect," Y/N whispered as she took it in her hands to take a better look at it. The woman apologized for the state of it, offering to find one in a better condition, but Y/N just waved her off. "Don't worry about it, it's for a kid. He's going to rip it to shreds in a few days, anyway." She smiled at the woman and gave her the money, thanking her.

She folded the blanket and tugged it to her chest as she made her way towards her small shop. Her father teaching her the basics of making weapons came in handy, after she got a job offering at the Dregs' private gunsmith. After three years of kindness and a little forgery, she got to keep the place, the workshop basically becoming her second home. After a while, Y/N and Raffiel decided it would be more practical for her to buy the apartment above the workshop and live there, instead of walking back and forth between their aunt's house and the workplace two-three times a day, not to mention the visits she had to make to the Crow Club and the Slat, delivering the finished knives and guns.

She was about to open the front door of the shop, when she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. It felt like someone was watching her and she took a glance around the area, finding nothing. When she finally stepped inside the shop, she heard the faint sound of boots clicking and a very familiar voice whispering, "That was my foot!". Y/N put the blanket on the counter before going outside again, checking her surroundings. This time she saw the figure of a certain sharpshooter walking closer and greeting her with one of his famous smiles.

"Morning beautiful! How are you on this lovely day?" Jesper asked on a suspiciously giddy voice as he leaned on the wall next to Y/N. She just rolled her eyes as she let him inside the shop. "I gave you my address for emergencies only. What do you want now?"

"What? I can't visit one of my dearest friends to see how they're doing? You hurt me sweetheart," He said exaggerating almost every word, earning a knowing look from Y/N. Jesper took a sharp inhale before he spoke up. "I need a favor," Jesper began explaining his problem with his revolvers, how it happened, and how it was none of his fault, which Y/N knew was a big fat lie, but she listened to his reason anyway.

"So you want me to fix your revolvers by tonight?" Y/N asked and saw Jesper shift uncomfortably from one leg to another. "Look, I would've got here sooner if it weren't for Kaz, and his firm belief that my duty is to guard a door," he told her which made Y/N look at him with lifted eyebrows. "That's your job, Jesper," The boy shook his head at her words.

"No, no, no. My job is to shoot things and look good while doing it," He smiled and Y/N let out a quiet laugh as she shook her head. "How you managed to not die yet is beyond me." She let out a sigh as she motioned for Jesper to give her the guns. "Look, I never had to do anything with your guns, not even cleaning them, so I don't exactly know how they look when they're in pieces. I can't promise they'll be done by tonight, but I'll try what I can. I know how much they mean to you," she told him and saw the boy almost ready to say a prayer at her words. Jesper thanked her multiple times as she walked him to the door, so she could start working.

The workshop, along with her, was loyal to the Dregs, which meant she always started with their requests and orders. The orders usually consisted of simple knives and guns, all of which had no mark or sign as to where it came from, making them untraceable for anyone who found them. Then after lunch, she'd take a look at other orders, to keep up the image that the workshop belonged to no gang, inviting in more customers.

After the gunsmith's death, Y/N practically became her own boss in the shop, so her work hours were quite flexible. Some days she refused to even lift a finger after five bells in the afternoon, some weeks she didn't sleep for days, trying to get the orders done as soon as possible for the extra money.

This week was one of those weeks, and Y/N could already feel how exhausted she was going to be by this weekend, just by looking at the requested items the gang needed. She cursed them for not taking care of their weapons enough (not like Inej and Jesper did at least), as she got to work. She let her mind wander elsewhere as she grabbed a box and began gathering some weapons listed on one of the orders, to see how much she'll have to make. The morning turned into afternoon, and later into night, but Y/N only left the workshop for a very quick lunchtime at her brother's, to give her nephew his gift. (Which he started to chew not long after she gave it to him.)

Meanwhile, a few blocks away in a club filled with rich merchants, unlucky tourists and the smell of cheap alcohol, Kaz Brekker was scheming once again. After telling Jesper, Inej, Nina, Matthias and Wylan about the Ice Court job and the fact that Wylan's not only Van Eck's son but their demolition expert, they begin to argue. It only goes on for a few minutes before Kaz settles it in his usual way, making Matthias tell Wylan everything he knows about the Ice Court, so Wylan can draw a map for them. After they get it done, and Matthias reluctantly explains every detail of the security protocol, Kaz turns to their group.

"We're going to need weapons that are easy to hide, but no one's going to recognize. We'll need a gunsmith," he told them.

"There's at least a dozen gunsmiths in Ketterdam," Jesper said casually.

"We need someone we can trust with this. Someone, who doesn't ask questions, someone who..." Kaz didn't finish his sentence as he stared into space, his mind moving a hundred miles per each second he stayed silent.

"Scheming face?" Jesper smirked at Inej as she looked back at him. "Definitely"

All of a sudden Kaz moved to the door as he called out for them. "I know who we need. Follow me," he said and walked out the door without looking at them.

They shared confused glances, before quickly going after him. The darkness of the night was in favor of them, for the citizens didn't take one glance at their strange group, led by none other than Dirtyhands himself.

When they reached a gunsmith's shop, Kaz didn't stop at the front door as expected, but instead went around the corner and walked to the backdoor. Jesper and Inej shared a curious look as Kaz picked the lock and went inside.

The lights in the workshop were turned off and the fireplace was dead too. The only thing that indicated someone was here, was the warmth that still radiated from the fireplace, and the half-done knife sitting on the working table. As they slowly glanced around the room, Jesper's brows furrowed.

"Wait, this place seems awfully familiar," he whispered, looking at Inej next to him, but she just shrugged her shoulders.

"They must've went upstairs, come on," Kaz whispered firmly and made his way to the staircase that was hidden behind the wall, next to the fireplace. Not knowing what else to do, the others followed him.

"Looks like no one's here, so why are why whispering?" Nina asked and Kaz harshly shushed her, which made her open her mouth in surprise. Before she could respond, Jesper put his hand on her mouth, muffling her words. She looked at him with raised brows but Jesper just shook his head. Don't piss him off right now, his eyes said and Nina huffed, but stayed silent.

Kaz knocked on the door twice, but he was met with silence. He knocked again, this time using a pattern that made the other five person behind him look at each other with even more confusion than before. When there was still no answer, he grabbed the lockpicks from his pocket and just as he put them in the lock, the door flew open, revealing a woman in dirty clothes, numerous knifes and tools attached to her belt, with a rifle pointing at Kaz's head.

"You're not supposed to be here Brekker," she said calmly, slightly lowering the rifle to his throat as he smirked.

"I have a job for you, Orlova." Kaz said on a sweet voice, but his gentle voice went unnoticed, because the five members behind him were too surprised to notice. Wylan, Nina and Matthias was surprised to see a woman in general, Inej and Jesper was surprised that it was Y/N, their most trusted friend.

Y/N tilted her head slightly to the side as she spoke. "What's the prize?"

"Four million kruge. And the bounty gone from your head."

#grishaverse #shadow and bone #shadow and bone fanfiction #six of crows #kaz brekker #kaz brekker fanfic #kaz brekker x fem!reader #kaz brekker x reader #nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov x reader #leigh bardugo #kaz brekker x y/n #jesper fahey #inej ghafa #nina zenik #matthias helvar #wylan van eck #ice court heist

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thelampisaflashlight · 9 months

Text

Everything Goes On Pt. 6

[Ritual night preparations. Not suitable for younger audiences. Previous part here.] Below the cut.

The shift in the air is palpable as the raging sun of summer draws ever closer to the cloudy gloom of fall.

Not yet here, though already on the minds of so many.

Mountain can feel the shift in his bones, bonded to the Earth as he is, but as he looks to the heavens, he cannot but feel a great sense of unease.

The sky is overcast, heavy storm clouds move at a snail's pace overhead.

An ill omen for a night already destined to be touched by the light of a rare blue moon.

Worse yet...

Mountain watches as the siblings gather for mass, their usual uniforms or casual clothes cast aside in favor of the traditional robes of their forbearers.

...there is to be a summoning tonight.

Turning his gaze to the lake, barely a puddle in his vision, he can already see the groundskeepers placing the lanterns to mark the path to the sunken chapel.

Three ghouls stand guard as they work, wearing the silver masks of a now bygone era, sentinels sent by Sister Imperator to ensure no ill business takes place on this most sacred of occasions.

The guards eye him from a distance, one of them, a smaller, slighter figure than the rest, swishes their tail -a threatening crackle of green energy sparking from the spade- at him irritably, and all Mountain can do is hold up his hands and return to his own duties to show he isn't a threat.

"Everyone's so worked up today..." Swiss comments, striding out of the courtyard holding a rake and a compost bag full of dead leaves, "What do I do with these, big guy?"

Mountain gestures towards a small pile between the greenhouses.

"It's because of the summoning tonight."

"I almost forgot about that." Swiss hums, tossing the bag, "I guess since Sunny's summoning was the only one I've ever gone to, I didn't think, ya know, it was a big deal?"

"Sunny's summoning was kind of an outlier, since it was not safe for the clergy to attend en masse." Mountain says, "Tonight's summoning is also special, because we not only have to contend with the weather, but the moon as well... Papa has already ordered several members of the clergy into seclusion to avoid, uh, unwanted side effects."

"What's the moon got to do with it?" Swiss asks, coming back to stand beside Mountain, looking out over the valley.

"You can't feel it?" Mountain questions, placing a hand over the middle of his chest, "Here?"

"Nope, aside from how warm your hand is." Swiss shakes his head, "I mean, I am half human, so it's probably another one of those things that doesn't affect me the same way it does you guys."

"I suppose so." Mountain nods, "But, to explain it a bit, the moon tugs."

"Tugs?"

"It pulls at us like the tides. Water ghouls are especially effected by it, hence why they make themselves scarce during the full moon, as do members of the clergy afflicted with moon based curses such as lycanthropy." he says, "Hence why Rain isn't able to attend the summoning tonight."

"Cause he'll go feral or something?" Swiss asks.

Mountain thinks back to earlier this morning when he'd encountered the ghoul in question rolling around in a pile of spilled laundry when he came to retrieve his clothes from the dryer, thoroughly out of his gourd, tail slapping on the ground like a pleased puppy.

"...Yes... feral..."

Swiss blinks at him.

"What about Dew? Since he's a hybrid?"

"Dew has a remarkably firm grasp on his water side, so he'll still be in attendance." Mountain says, "He'd likely have to attend in some capacity regardless though."

"Why's that?"

Mountain stares down at Swiss.

"What? What, is there something on my face?" the multi-ghoul questions, patting his cheeks.

"...You really don't know?"

"Know what??"

"Satanas... Well, I won't ruin the surprise."

"Ugh, these robes are so fucking heavy..." Dew grimaces, readjusting his vestments for a third time, "This is such a pain in the ass..."

"You do not get to complain." Copia sighs, coating his face in powder, "Mine are twice as heavy, and I don't have any of your unnatural ghoulish strength to help carry the weight."

Dew's tail swishes trapped between two layers of fabric.

"If I knew becoming a bishop would mean wearing so much clothing, I wouldn't have studied so hard."

"You had your entire deaconship and stint as a priest to consider that, now didn't you?" Copia points out, "Having to dress the part of your role only happens once in a..."

"Don't."

"Once in a blue moon." he chuckles, eliciting a groan from the already agitated ghoul, "Ah, lighten up, once the ceremony is over, you can go back to wearing what you want or nothing at all. Hell, you could even strip naked as soon as the rites are done, but, for now, you need to look presentable for the clergy."

"Half the siblings have seen my bare ass-"

"Sister will be in attendance tonight." Copia says, eyeing him from the mirror, laughing once more seeing the ghoul's conflicted expression.

"-which I will keep covered at all times this evening."

"Very good."

Copia stands back to admire his handiwork, checking his make-up for imperfections, "...Ghoul?"

"Yes, Papa?"

"I've been meaning to ask... How have you been since your packmates' departures?"

Dew clicks his tongue.

"I miss Sunny, it was fun having her around while it lasted." he says, "But I know you're not really asking about her."

"Things are still... complicated." he continues, "But Aether is the furthest thing from my mind tonight."

"That is... good." Copia says, "There's a high likelihood that something may go array during tonight's ritual, so I need you focused to ensure that if things do get out of hand, we can put a stop to it as quickly as possible."

"Yes, Papa."

Cirrus sits in her room getting ready for the evening, she doesn't really need to get too dressed up for the event, after all she'll be sitting amongst the siblings along with the rest of the ghouls.

...Save for Cumulus and Dewdrop that is.

And maybe that's why she's putting the extra effort in to look nice even though it will be impossible to really pick her out of the crowd, it's more so for after the rites are spoken.

After Cumulus is freed of her obligations as a sister of sin and they can fuck off while the actual summoning takes place to have a little fun.

At least, that had been the plan...

"Since Aether left, I have to stay as a witness." the smaller ghoulette had informed Cirrus earlier during breakfast, "You know how it is..."

"I don't, actually." Cirrus had grumbled around her pancakes, "You don't tell me anything about your duties as a sister, or why it's so different from being, I dunno, like the rest of us."

"I have though, Cir, I explained what my role is when I took my oath." Cumulus had frowned, patting her hand, "This is one of my duties as a sister, to attend these summonings and bless the new ghouls in the name of the lord below."

"Yeah, but why does it have to be you?" Cirrus groused, letting her fork drop onto her plate.

"I was requested personally, and you have to understand what an honor it is to be chosen for something like this..." Cumulus said, "I'll be standing beside Papa..."

"We hang out with Copia all the time, Lus, it's not that special."

"...Well it is to me." Cumulus whispered, "Plus, Dew could use the support right now. You know him and Aeth-"

"Oh, so it was Dew who asked." she'd scoffed, "Of course it was."

"Cir... what's that supposed to mean?"

"Ever since Aether left, you've been babying Dew." Cirrus hissed, "You even disagreed with me when I said our relationship wasn't like theirs, but it's not. You and I have been together since the pit, those two were just fucking around the way humans do, it wasn't even serious!"

"Wasn't even... Cir, they were engaged!"

"Engaged, but not bonded!"

"Cir..."

Cirrus looks at herself in the small vanity atop her dresser and frowns.

"It's not the same." she tells herself, "Our relationship isn't..."

"Dew could use the support right now."

Cirrus grabs her mascara and uncaps it.

"I hope he fucking trips and falls in his stupid robes tonight..."

#lamp writes #nameless ghouls #dewdrop ghoul #mountain ghoul #swiss ghoul #cumulus ghoulette #cirrus ghoulette #copia #papa emeritus iv #ghost band #the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost band fanfic

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laurel-finch · 4 days

Text

'I Don't Bite' S1.Ch17: Monster

Summary: Suspicions come to a head... Referenced Episodes: S1 E20 "Dead Man's Blood" CW: Gore. John Winchester (again). Word Count: 6810 Recommended Song: Animal -- Def Leppard Previous Chapter -- Masterlist -- Next Chapter

"Are you sure about this?" I questioned Dean as I wrapped my weapons bag around my waist. "I mean, surely there's a better way to do this than use you as bait?"

Dean laughed and smirked as he rummaged in the trunk of the Impala for his weapons. "What, you don't think I can handle it?"

"Of course, I think you can!" I retorted, ceasing my fumbling to glare at him. "I'm just worried."

Dean stopped his movements and paused. His eyes flitted up to meet mine, full of subdued surprise. "Why would you be worried?"

I frowned at him and leaned against the Impala. "I've just... got a weird feeling," I mused, twirling a strand of hair between my fingertips. "Like something bad is going to happen."

Dean chuckled and closed the trunk of the Impala, leaning against it next to me. "That's normal for a hunt like this," he teased. I rolled my eyes – of course being nervous was normal, but this… I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach like something was approaching and fast. Something dark, on the edge of the reason. I pulled my coat tighter to me and shivered, snuggling into it. Dean placed a comforting hand on my shoulder, gazing at me with evident worry.

"Everything's going to be fine," he assured with an affectionate squeeze to my shoulder. "You don't need to worry about a thing- I've got it covered," he continued with a confident smirk. I huffed in disagreement.

"I'm always going to worry about you, Dean," I chided. He quirked an eyebrow. "Both you and Sam. And John too," I added hurriedly, despite the man’s growing distrust for me – I felt the way his gaze lingered coldly when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. "The three of you... you're family. Even if John doesn't trust me much."

"He trusts you," he spoke, removing his hand from my shoulder. "More than he trusts most hunters at least. Maybe it's because he knew your uncle." Dean sighed and ran his hand through his short hair, staring off into the tree line. "I was going through my dad's journal recently. Apparently, he went on a few hunts with your uncle."

I nodded slowly and drew the heavy coat tighter around me. "Yeah, he told me about that," I mumbled. "It was years ago though. He didn't even know he was dead," I whispered out, eyes falling to the gravel beneath my feet.

"It was a wraith, right?" Dean asked softly. I nodded and shoved my hands deep into the pockets of my jeans. "Have you ever thought about...?"

"Getting revenge?" I asked. Dean remained silent, his silence confirming my question. I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. If I had the opportunity I'd tear that wraith to shreds. But... I don't know if I could do what John does. I don’t think I would be as… mentally clear as him." I chose my words carefully, not wanting to rudely pick at the bond Dean and his father shared. I turned my head to face Dean, his eyes gazing distantly down the road.

We sat in silence for what felt like hours when in reality it was maybe two, or three minutes. Finally, Dean pushed away from the Impala and stood to his full height, stretching a bit. "Guess you should go meet up with Sam and dad, huh?" he asked and turned his rather tired green eyes on mine. "You remember the plan right?"

I nodded and cast my eyes to the ground. Dean swallowed dryly and nodded. He opened his mouth to speak, likely to send me on my way, but I cut him off. I spun and tugged him by the collar of his leather jacket. He stumbled forward, not expecting the motion, and stopped within a few inches of my face, a surprised and dazed look in his eyes.

"Promise me you won't get hurt," I pled, drawing him ever so slightly closer. "Promise," I demanded softly, glaring intently at him. He blinked once, twice, then nodded slowly, swallowing nervously.

I held him there for a few more moments, my eyes washing over his face, taking in his features. His spectacularly green eyes, his abundant freckles, that confident smirk that could make could make any woman swoon, his lips-

I shoved him away, a bit rougher than intended, and cast my eyes once more to the ground. I tucked a rogue strand of hair behind my ear and glared up at him. "Stay safe," I ordered quietly and spun on my heel, marching away from him and up the hill to where I knew Sam and John were waiting for me.

Once I was out of view I stopped and placed my head in my hands and listened to my hammering heart, beating so wildly that I was worried it would beat out of my chest. I dragged my hands down my face and scowled down at my feet, kicking aside a stray rock.

What was I doing?

I huffed and pulled my coat tighter, shielding me from the chilly night air, and stalked up the hill.

As suspected, Sam and John were waiting for me at the crest of the hill, a crossbow across each of their laps. From this elevation, we could easily see the road and the Impala, but they were not within earshot. At that moment, I was thankful for my enhanced hearing.

I sat beside Sam and stared down the hill, my chin resting in my palm. Sam elbowed me in the arm gently, drawing my attention. I turned to face his hazel eyes. "What took you so long?" he asked.

I shook my head and turned back to the road. "Nothing," I mumbled out and watched the rainy highway, waiting for any signs of vampires. I hoped to God that my scent wouldn't draw them away from Dean and up the hill. I had no doubt that my scent could easily overpower the Winchesters. However, there was a chance it would be drowned out – it was three humans against one skinwalker, after all.

The minutes ticked by and I picked at my nails aimlessly as we waited.

I perked up as I heard footsteps at the base of the hill, a much lighter pair than Dean's. "Look alive boys," I whispered to the father and son duo. "We've got company."

A female vampire rounded that car, probably meant to be a distraction. She sidled up to Dean ominously and spoke to him. I couldn’t hear her words from such a distance. My skin crawled as I glowered at her, tightening my grip on my machete. I was no good with a crossbow, but at least I could bust some heads with a knife.

Dean turned his head towards her and gave her a once over, his expression stalwart. She grinned at him and Dean chuckled, pulling his hands from his pockets. He replied to something she said with a cocky smirk-

The vampire chuckled breathily and backhanded him across the face, sending Dean stumbling to the side. I snarled and Sam held out an arm, stopping me from tumbling down the hill.

The vampire woman reached down and gripped Dean's face in her hand. Somehow, she managed to lift him off his feet, holding him suspended in the air as he thrashed in her grip. He grabbed her wrist and attempted to push her away. I glared as he pulled him closer and spoke softly to him.

And then she kissed him.

I felt like my blood was boiling, and I couldn't hold back the feral snarl that escaped from my lips. A jolt of electricity went down my spine, stemming from the base of my neck. Caeden was worried. I breathed deeply and shut my eyes, willing my heart rate to settle. The crackling feeling of electricity continued, mixing with the feeling of my boiling blood.

I felt like I was burning alive.

Dean spat as the woman pulled away from him, still keeping him suspended high in the air. He licked his lips in disgust and glared at her with revulsion. His leg flailed out in a harsh kick to her stomach. Her grip on his throat slipped.

"Now," John whispered, pulling back his bow string and knocking an arrow. Sam followed suit. The youngest Winchester let his arrow fly, and it hit its mark, burying itself in the chest of the second vampire.

That was good enough for me. I charged down the hill, a machete held at the ready. I heard the twang of John's bow as the arrow flew and embedded itself in the chest of the female. She gasped and glanced down at her chest.

"Dammit," she whispered and raised a shaky hand to touch the arrow tip.

I cascaded down the hill and tumbled into Dead, pushing him away from the downed vamp. "Are there any more of them?" I hissed at him. He shook his head and eyed the hillside where his brother and father were following my tracks.

John stumbled to a halt beside the female vampire, who still looked stricken at the arrow through her chest. I glared ferociously at her, putting myself between her and Dean. Her nostrils flared and she grimaced before glancing between the four of us. "Barely even stings," she said, hunched over slightly.

"Give it time sweetheart," John said with a confident grin. "That arrow's soaked in dead man's blood. It's like poison to you isn't it?" The vamp's eyes went wide and she swayed slightly. Her eyes traced back to mine with a heated glare. She inhaled deeply, wrinkled her nose in disgust, and then collapsed sideways into John's waiting arms.

"Load her up," he ordered, passing her off to Sam.

Dean pushed past me to grab the legs of the female and followed Sam down the road to where John's pickup was hidden. The brother’s worked to carry the vampire up the hill and into the woods. Dean dropped her legs unceremoniously to the ground while Sam carefully lowered her torso to the dirt.

I turned slowly at the sound of John's heavy boots snapping twigs beneath his feet. "Toss this on the fire," he called, tossing a small bag to the boys. Dean caught it one-handed and dropped it into the flame without question. "Saffron, skunk's cabbage, and trillium. It'll block our scent and hers until we're ready."

Dean coughed and sputtered, taking a step back from the fair and waving a hand in front of his face. "Stuff stinks!" he exclaimed as he moved to stand beside Sam.

"That's the idea," John said with a hearty chuckle. "Dust your clothes with the ashes, and you stand a chance of not being detected." I glanced towards the fire to see that it hadn't produced enough ashes yet to mask all of us. I motioned for Sam and Dean to go first – I was more concerned for their safety than I was for mine.

"You're sure they'll come after her?" Sam asked, patting ashes onto his clothes. He seemed to actually have confidence in his father now. I wondered what changed.

"Yeah. Vampires mate for life. She means more to the leader than the gun." John nudged the woman, and thankfully she didn't stir. "But the blood sickness is going to wear off soon, so you don't have a lot of time."

"A half-hour outta do it," Sam grumbled. John nodded and padded over to his sons, standing beside the fire.

"And then I want you two out of here as fast as you can," he ordered. You two, I thought. Not three. I clutched the edges of my coat, digging my nails into the plush fabric.

"Dad, you can't take care of all of them by yourself," Dean protested, placing a hand on his father's shoulder.

John shook his head. "I'll have her, and the Colt."

"But after. We're gonna meet up, right? Use the gun together. Right?" Sam asked. John fell silent, his eyes taking in the flames. The orange glow washed over his features, turning his silver hair golden.

"You're leaving again, aren't you?" Sam continued, balling his hands into tight fists. "You still wanna go after the demon alone. You know, I don't get you," he spat, taking a few angered steps towards his father. "You can't treat us like this."

"Like what?" John spoke furiously, taking a step closer to Sam, practically nose to nose.

"Like children," Sam spat. "You're treating us like children."

"You are my children. I'm trying to keep you safe," John hissed, glaring up at his taller son.

Dean cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention to him. He took a step forward and spoke. "With all due respect, dad," he said slowly, "that's a bunch of crap."

My eyes went wide and I dropped the edge of my coat, eyes flitting between Dean and his father. I was getting used to Sam talking back to his father, but Dean? That was something else. I turned away from the conflict and lingered at the edge of the clearing beside my pick-up truck, parked neatly beside John’s, not wanting to get caught up in family drama more than necessary.

"You know what Sammy and I have been hunting. Hell, you sent us on a few hunting trips yourself. You can't be that worried about keeping us safe," he continued. I crossed my arms tightly over my chest, watching the display. Truthfully, I sided with the boys. John had no right to be ordering them around like this.

"It's not the same thing, Dean," John retorted, stepping away from Sam.

"Then what is it? Why do you want us out of the big fight?" Dean challenged, placing his hands on his hips in defiance.

"This demon? It's a bad son of a bitch. I can't make the same moves if I'm worried about keeping you alive-"

"You mean you can't be as reckless," Dean countered coldly. John fell silent and stared down at his oldest son before finally averting his eyes.

"Look... I don't expect to make it out of this fight in one piece. Your mother's death ... almost killed me. I can't watch my children die too. I won't," John muttered out, just barely loud enough for his sons to hear.

I couldn't help but flush. I felt like I shouldn't be here like this was something private and sacred to the Winchester family.

Dean took a few slow steps towards his father, looking worried. "What happens if you die? Dad, what happens if you die, and we coulda done something about it? You know I've been thinking. I... think maybe Sammy's right about this one. We should do this together." Sam nodded along with his words. "We're stronger as a family, Dad. We just are. You know it."

John fell silent again, his brown eyes flashing between his two sons, deep in thought. Finally, he turned away from them and spoke gruffly, "We're running out of time. You do your job and you get out of the area. That's an order."

Sam's fists curled once more and he stormed towards the fire, turning his back on his father. Dean stared in shock and then turned and moved to stand beside Sam.

I folded my arms tighter and leaned against the hood of my pickup, parked beside John's. I wrapped myself tighter in my coat, thinking. John had just enough stupidity and carelessness to sacrifice himself when there were other options, that was for sure. I was beginning to see where the boys got their recklessness from.

I flinched at the sound of my name rolling off of John’s tongue. I looked up to meet his brown eyes with furrowed brows. He nodded towards the trees, gesturing for me to follow, and then turned and began walking. My heart sank.

I glanced once towards the boys whose backs were to me and then pushed off my truck and followed, jogging to catch up with John.

We walked until the abandoned campsite was out of sight, a lingering trail of smoke above the treetops being the only indication it was there. After several minutes of walking, John stopped, his back still to me and his hands buried in his jacket pockets.

"You know," he began slowly. "I did some digging on you." He turned slowly to face me, a deep-set scowl masking the tired wrinkles on his face. He took a slow, threatening step forward and stopped. "There's no record of your uncle’s sister ever being pregnant. No hospital visits, no letters or phone calls. Nothing."

I shrugged and blinked slowly at him. "Guess she was good at covering her tracks," I offered and pursed my lips. "Hunters are pretty good at that. You would know that, John."

He held my gaze for a long moment before pulling his hands out of his pockets and reaching one towards his belt. His hand rested on his hip just in front of the glint of metal that signaled some weapon. "It's not just that," he continued. "I found something else pretty interesting. He never confirmed her death, either. There's no death certificate, no obituary, no record of a burial. Nothing other than his word. Now, I know some hunter’s try to leave things ambiguous – legal records and all, but-"

"Your point?" I interrupted, earning a harsh glare. I crossed my arms defiantly over my chest. Don't say it... don't say it...

"I don't think she died on that hunt."

Fuck.

He fell silent for a moment with his back to me. I picked at the sleeve of my coat and watched him intently. He cocked his head to the side as if waiting for a response. When none came, he finally spoke again. “Where did you say the boys picked you up? Alabama, a few months back?”

I nodded cautiously.

He sighed dramatically. “You know, I’m the one that sent them on that hunt – gave them the coordinates and everything. I went after what I thought was a skinwalker in New Mexico a few years back, never did find it. That case I sent them on was eerily similar.”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” I defended. “Never seen a skinwalker in my life. Hell, I hardly hunted at all until I met your boys. Besides, skinwalkers are extinct. Everyone knows that.”

“Thought the same thing about vampires too until a few days ago.”

I tensed.

John took several slow steps forward until he was within inches of my face. I wrinkled my nose at the stench of cigarettes on his breath. "Your story doesn't add up," he growled lowly. He leaned forward, his mouth beside my ear. "I don't think you are who you say you are," he hissed.

I swallowed dryly.

John leaned back and glared heatedly, nearly black eyes raking angrily over my face. "So here's what's going to happen," he snapped. "When this case is over, you're going to leave. You're going to delete my sons' numbers. You're never going to contact them again. You're going to forget they ever existed, and they're going to do the same," he spoke softly, his tone icy and threatening.

I glowered at him and leaned forward defiantly. "Or what?" I spat.

"Or I put a bullet between your eyes," he growled firmly. "You're lucky that's not my first action. Whether I like it or not, my boys are fond of you. I'd rather not have to explain to them why their friend has a bullet in her skull."

I glared, holding his gaze for several agonizing moments before dropping my gaze. Getting shot would only make this worse – a normal bullet wouldn't kill me. My secret would be out, and everything would be so much worse.

"When this case is over, you're going to disappear into whatever hole you crawled out of," he ordered. And with that he pushed past me, shoving my shoulder harshly and sending me stumbling to the side.

I shuddered, my shoulders shaking uncontrollably as the pattering sound of his footsteps faded into the distance. I clenched my fists tightly, my muscles shaking from keeping them tense for so long.

"Asshole..." I whispered, running a hand across my cheek and finding it to be wet. I looked at my hand in surprise. Tears?

I choked back a sob.

Definitely tears.

I couldn't just leave the Winchesters, they were my family by now and some of my closest friends. I cared for them just as much as I cared for my pack. I cared for them more than I cared for myself.

On the other hand, I couldn't stay. That would generate more problems, for myself and the boys. I had no fear for any normal bullet, but if this trade-off went well and John really did manage to get the Colt from these vampires... then he really could kill me, and I had no doubt he would try.

It was all just a huge mess.

I sobbed as tears rolled down my cheeks, my nose becoming stuffy. I hiccuped and wiped the tears from my face, tears rolling from my fingertips and down my wrists. There was no way this day could possibly get worse.

And yet that sinking, foreboding feeling remained in the pit of my stomach.

I heard Dean's voice call my name from the woods, his voice full of concern. "You ready to go!?" he called out. I gasped a few times and wiped my tears on the sleeve of my coat – Dean's old coat, the Daeva claw marks exposing my back to the chilly air. I nodded as my breathing steadied, forgetting that he couldn't see me.

Ready as I can be ...

—

I followed the roaring Impala in my old beater, speeding down the highway and around sharp turns as my life depended on it. Truthfully, the lives of others depended on it. It was raining now, the water pounding against the windshield and my squeaky wiper blades struggling to clear the water enough for me to see clearly.

The Impala's tail lights flared, signaling that they were turning. I recognized it – we were close to the nest. I gripped the wheel and spun the truck hard, the rusted metal frame groaning in protest as it lurched down the dirt road.

The barn rose into view and I slammed on the breaks, grabbing my machete from the passenger's seat before I had even parked the truck. By now I was angry. I hated the way John spoke to me, made me feel replaceable. I knew it was just his flimsy attempt at control, but it made my skin itch.

I growled in rage and spun the blade in my hand, tightening my grip on the handle. There was one vampire blocking the entrance to the barn, his back to me.

He didn't even have time to fully turn towards me before I swung my blade, his head lolling to the side and hitting the ground with a dull thud. A spray of blood splashed across the cheeks as his body fell.

I reached for the barn doors and shoved them open, a flash of lightning illuminating the dull quarters.

I heard Dean shout from behind me, two pairs of feet thundering towards me. I spun to face them, a ferocious glare imprinted on my features that I knew wouldn't be leaving anytime soon.

"Get the humans out," I snapped. "Quickly, before more of them come back." I gestured towards the inside of the barn as if to say 'get going'. Dean cast me one last befuddled look before chasing Sam down the long hallway that led to the hostages.

The rain was pouring by this point, matting thin strands of hair to my face and obscuring my vision. It nearly washed away the scent of vampires, masking it with the smell of dew and wet earth.

A roaring noise came from the highway and I squinted in the darkness. Two bright white lights came tearing around the corner at an astounding speed, showing no sign of stopping. My eyes widened at the massive truck sped up, the driver flooring the accelerator and colliding with...

My truck.

"Son of a bitch!" I screamed and raced forward as three vampires exited the now crumbled truck. My shabby, rust-covered mess of a vehicle was thrown haphazardly on its side, caked in mud. The frame was crumpled, as though it had caved in on itself.

A vampire lunged for me, sharp-nailed fingertips groping at my jacket sleeve. I screamed and rage and tossed the blade into my opposite hand slamming the hilt down onto the monster's elbow joint. The vampire released its grip automatically. I snapped my arm upward, the butt of the blade connecting with the vampire's jaw and sending it sprawling backward.

Dean charged toward me with a shout of my name. I could practically feel his feet pounding into the wet earth behind me. I held up a hand to him, my blade held high before me in my other hand to ward off the bloodsuckers.

"Get the humans out of here, Dean!" I screamed my voice hardly a whisper over the raging storm. It almost seemed a miracle that he had heard me. "Get in the car and drive! Go help John!"

Dean faltered and screamed something into the pouring rain, something that not even my hyper-sensitive ears could pick up.

" Go!" I screamed and swiped at a vampire that had charged forward, cutting through its cheek, a spray of blood hitting my hand.

Moments later, the Impala roared to life, barely audible over the pouring rain. From the corners of my blurred vision, I saw the taillights disappearing into the distance, leaving me alone with the bloodsuckers.

I snarled at the vampires, my own teeth sharpening. My instincts were buzzing with the sense of danger, burning tingles crawling down my spine with each slogging step I took in the mud.

The thought of fleeing was scrapped the moment a vampire pounced, colliding with my chest and throwing me onto my back, sending my machete tumbling. Its second set of teeth descended in a flash and just as quickly it lunged for my throat. I threw an arm up, my forearm pressing into its neck and pushing it away as firmly as I could.

The vampire rolled to the side and hooked its claws into my arm, dragging it away from my body. I screamed and rolled to the side, kicking out. My foot connected with its ribs, the air escaping its lungs. My injured ankle protested at the impact.

Another gripped my leg, wrenching it away from its companion and yanking it from my body to the point where I thought they would drag it from the socket. I screamed in pain and fumbled for the machete only inches from my fingertips. The third stepped on my hand, crushing my wrist beneath its foot. I screamed and fought to free myself.

A shiver ran up my spine and my skull pounded, a foreign sensation rippling up my spine. I thrashed against my aggressors, my back arching off the ground in anger. Electricity ran from the base of my neck and to seemingly every point of my body. The tips of my fingers and toes twinged from the electrical shock.

Caeden.

He felt absolutely terrified, and at that moment I could almost see him, doubled over and clutching the edge of the dining table in pain, blue eyes blazing.

I roared and arched from the dirt, thrashing in their grip. A stinging sensation met my ankle, just above where Caeden had shredded the skin. The vampire lurched back, my blood running down its lips and leaving burning red trails. It dropped my leg and scrambled at its mouth, the skin blistering.

I reached over to the vampire who held my other arm and grabbed it by the jaw, smashing its face down into the harsh dirt, satisfied with the crunch I heard beneath my palm. I rolled and dashed to my feet, arms held high in defense.

The blistered vamp lunged, its teeth glistening red with my blood. The blood seemed to sizzle on its teeth, burning its lips and tongue. Monster blood. Not as appetizing as human blood, clearly. I punched, my tightly curled fist connecting with its jaw and sending it sprawling.

My blood was burning, hotter than it had ever felt before. It felt as though there were white-hot tendrils of energy coursing through my veins, burning my skin from the inside out, burning anything it touched. I lunged towards another vamp, tackling it to the ground. It landed with a loud thump beside my machete. My fingers curled around the wet handle and pressed into the vampire's throat. My blade sunk in, blood spilling from the wound. I snarled and pushed down with all my weight, cutting through the monster's throat.

A force tugged me off before I could finish the job. I snarled and spun, my blade colliding with the collar bone of another. I gripped its shoulder and yanked my blade out before bringing it down again, cutting clean through tendons and bones.

"What the hell are you!?" it screamed over the pouring rain, thunder blasting in the background. I grinned. What a sight it must have been, with molten eyes and blood-stained features.

"I'm a skinwalker," I snarled, fangs growing into my grin.

And suddenly, I had paws.

Black fur tore out of my skin, the clothes I had previously been wearing sinking into my flesh like a second skin. My bones cracked, snapping and breaking, rearranging into new shapes and immediately healing. I laughed, my laughter fading into howls of delight.

I was shifting.

I stood on my hind paws, towering over the vampire, and lunged, my paws connecting with its shoulder and knocking it over backward. My teeth latched onto its throat and I shook my great, furred head, shredding the tendons and then going back for more. After mere seconds, its neck was nothing more than a ragged stump, its head bloodied and laying nearby.

I wheeled on the final vamp, its neck bleeding and blood flowing down its throat. It gurgled and turned from me, sprinting in the opposite direction. I howled with joy and gave chase, tackling it to the ground in only a few steps, its neck between my jaws. In only a few seconds, its head was gone, joining the pile of others.

I sprung to my paws and trotted in a wide circle. It had been months since I had shifted, and even before I hadn't felt this much control and comfort. My skin burned with uncontrollable heat, and my blood pounded and thrummed in my veins, a mixture of intense heat and electricity.

I was whole again.

I tore off down the road, leaving the wreckage of my pickup behind. It was one of my last ties to my uncle, but now was not the time to mourn. I pounded down the road and yipped at the feeling of my paws barely hitting the asphalt road, the wind tearing through my fur. I stretched out my limbs, extending them to their full length, the muscles stressing and straining under the force of my sprinting.

It was an incredible feeling. And better yet, the rain was letting up, the moon's light becoming visible through the dense clouds.

My jaunt was ended all too quickly by the stench of vampires flooding my senses. I howled, the sound shaking the trees as the pads of my paws beat down on the road, drawing me ever closer to the monsters, to my boys.

The lights of the cars came into view, my golden eyes slipping over the scene before me as I sprinted ever closer. My eyes latched on a figure clutching another tightly to its body. Sam, I realized. The leader of the vamps was holding him tightly, an arm around his neck and heatedly glaring at Dean with a vicious look in his dark eyes.

I lowered my head and stretched my limbs further than I ever thought was possible, covering the distance in a few short leaps. I snarled and barrelled into the vampire before he could even blink, sending him and Sam sprawling across the wet pavement.

Sam tumbled to the side and the vampire reached for him, his fingers slipping against Sam's coat. I snarled and snapped at the vampire's hand, grinding my teeth into the freezing flesh and crushing the bones. The vampire howled in pain as blood filled my mouth. I spat it out onto the road, grimacing at the abhorrent flavor.

I lept back and grabbed Sam's shirt collar tightly in my mouth, dragging him towards Dean. Dean clutched his brother tightly, helping his brother to his feet as I spun on the vampire, fangs bared and covered in blood.

"You need to get out of here!" Dean shouted, shoving my shoulder. He hardly had to bend down to do so. I snarled and snapped at his hand, which he quickly withdrew. "Dad's got the gun!"

I don't care.

John could shoot me if he wanted, but I wasn't going to let anything touch the brothers. I took one step forward, planting my feet and snarling at the vampire as he stood on shaky feet.

"A skinwalker, huh?" the vampire confirmed, rubbing his bruised jaw with his good hand. "Thought you bastards were extinct."

"Luther!" the female from earlier called out. "Luther, baby, let's go!" Luther's eyes flickered between his mate and me, a scowl set on his face. His eyes flickered up to Dean and he rolled his shoulders, looking ready to charge.

"You people," he hissed. "Why can't you just leave us alone!? We have just as much a right to live as you do!"

A shuffling from behind Luther drew my attention and my ears flattened to my skull, lips drawn back.

"I don't think so," John uttered, Colt held high.

And then he fired.

It was like fireworks. The skin around the entry wound seemed to bubble and then disintegrate, a blue glow emanating from the hole. Luther's mate screamed from behind me, but I was too transfixed to care.

I had seen this before.

Luther slumped to his knees, his skeleton flickering like fire under his skin. He dropped to one hand, struggling to stay upright. Then, his face hit the ground, and with a resounding snap, his body exploded with light. I was still blinking away spots when the light fully disappeared.

My jaw slackened in shock, golden eyes wide. That glow... that was familiar. Where had I seen it? An engine roared to life somewhere in the distance, screams of protest and wails of despair fading into the background of the now gentle pitter-pattering of rain.

I wracked my brain for any memory that could indicate why I recognized that glow. Suddenly, one was thrust into the forefront of my mind. A skinwalker, with a hunter standing above him and a revolver aimed at his skull. A memory that wasn't mine.

The sound of a gun cocking drew my attention and I looked up to find the end of the Colt aimed between my eyes. I followed the length of the gun, up the arm of the wielder, to the wild eyes of John Winchester.

"Dad, stop!" Dean shouted and rushed in front of his father, shoving the Colt to the side. "Dad put the gun down!"

"Move, Dean!" John screamed back, fighting with his son to release his grip on the gun. "Get out of the fucking way!" he screamed and brought his free hand up to strike Dean, throwing him to the ground. Dean hit the dirt with a heavy thump and scrambled to his feet, clutching his cheek.

I snarled, my ears flattening against my skull. John swung the gun back towards me, his eyes raged filled and almost inhuman. "She's a monster, Dean! She lied to us!"

"No!" Sam shouted, moving to stand in front of his father, blocking his line of sight. "No, she lied to you!"

John's eyes flashed between his youngest and me, stalwart features morphing into absolute rage, a detestable grimace rising on his lips. "You knew!?" John screamed. "You knew, and you didn't tell me!?"

"We've known since day one!" Sam shouted, shoving his father backward slightly. John shouted in anger and shoved Sam away, pushing him to the side and aiming once more at my head. His finger rested on the trigger, and I heard the first half click, signaling he was ready to fire.

I shut my eyes.

I heard another click and expected to feel pain, to see light escaping from my body, to collapse into the expectant and waiting arms of death. Instead, I felt nothing other than the cool breeze raking through my fur and the pounding of my heart, beating wildly in my chest.

I opened my eyes.

John still held the gun to my head, though his eyes were elsewhere, turned to a familiar figure to his side. Dean.

"Put the gun down, dad," Dean ordered, his finger resting on the trigger of his own silver pistol, the gun aimed for his father's temple. My eyes went wide. John didn't move, simply staring at Dean in shock. "I said put the gun down!" he shouted, his hand visibly shaking. Silence hung in the air, thick enough to suffocate.

"You won't shoot me," John whispered, his brown eyes boring into Dean's green ones.

"You wanna test that theory?" Dean questioned, gripping the gun tighter. Tears welled up in his eyes and he took a deep breath, the air rattling in his lungs. "Put the gun down, dad. Now." The two glared silently at one another, gauging the other's resolve.

To my shock... John complied.

He lowered the gun to his side, his eyes never leaving Dean's. Hurt swam in his dark eyes, hurt and unfulfilled wrath. Slowly, he bent down to place the Colt on the ground. I blinked once, twice, and gazed up at Dean with wide eyes.

"She saved Sam, dad," Dean spoke. "More than once. And me. And you." Dean paused and blinked slowly. "She's not a monster."

Not a monster.

I inhaled deeply and felt my fur recede, the bones snapping and rearranging into their normal shape. I stood shakily on two legs, the boiling sensation quelling until I felt almost normal again.

John was silent, his eyes never leaving Dean's. Sam padded softly around his father and picked the Colt up from where it rested at John's feet. Dean lowered his gun.

Dean swallowed dryly and placed his gun back into his holster. John's eyes panned to mine as they faded back to their usual color, dull in comparison to the brilliant gold they once held. His eyes scanned my figure before settling once more on my eyes.

"Not a monster, huh?" he asked. "We'll see." And with that, he stormed past me and headed for his truck without another word.

I sighed in relief and placed my hands on my knees. I gagged, my stomach threatening to spill its contents. Never had I been so close to death.

"You alright?" Sam whispered, placing a gentle hand on my back. I nodded and wiped my mouth, waiting for my stomach to settle.

"Yeah," I mumbled. "Yeah, I'm fine." I placed a hand on Sam's shoulder as he helped to pull me up to my full height. My hands shook with increasing intensity, but I couldn't help but laugh. I threw my head back and laughed until I felt my ribs were going to break. The brothers looked appalled, their eyes wide with shock.

"Why the hell are you laughing?" Dean demanded, placing a hand on my back to steady me. "You could have died!"

"But I didn't!" I cheered, throwing my arms high in the air in excitement. "I didn't die!" I laughed again and collapsed into Dean, wrapping my arms around his neck in a tight hug and giggling softly. He gently placed his hands on my waist, glancing quizzically at Sam. "Thank you," I whispered. "For defending me."

Dean chuckled and wrapped his arms around my waist, finally hugging back. "Anytime, sweetheart." I hummed in delight and buried my face in his neck, exhaustion barreling into me like a racehorse. After what felt like days, I pulled away from him and stood shakily on my own two feet, unaided.

I sighed and grinned up at the night sky, the moon apparent and the clouds had nearly entirely dissipated. The sky was dappled with brightly glowing stars that seemed to smile down on me, rejoicing in the fact that I was alive.

Not a monster.

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural x reader #fluff #angst #slow burn #cross posted on ao3 #cross posted on wattpad #monster reader #Monster #original characters #original monster characters #x reader #female reader

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sleepypotatostudio · 6 months

Text

Well, I got a bit carried away with this one... (つ ͡ꈍ ͜ʖ̫ ͡ꈍ )

I've heard a picture is worth a thousand words, so I wrote a short passage of the scene I had in mind while drawing this.

Also on AO3 + Wattpad

word count: 1,003

Genre: hurt/comfort

Warnings: violence, injury, blood, you get the picture (lol sorry)

I hope you enjoy <3

Although the estranged world of Demos had slowly grown on Alaris, the place that lay dormant below still induced a sense of dread. The infested tunnels, a living tomb of otherworldly creation. Damp and suffocating as the walls undulate around, leaving the sensation of spindly tendrils beneath the skin as the stagnant heat drapes over the environment. A place she rarely dared step foot herself, but with him she found herself a touch more courageous.

With Umbra she wasn't alone, the connection they shared was dissimilar from the other frames she’d piloted. For his mind lies at the surface of his being and not ensnared within the infested consciousness. Moving without aid, pulling her back from her missteps with a guiding hand. A companion in her regularly programmed solitude, there even when the fear reared its crippling head and accepting of the scars that define them. Like shattered seriglass imbued with restorative veins of gold, perfectly imperfect.

Not unlike the quirky place around them, with its ever-mutating splendor. Viborent in alarm for your impending peril, an ever-expanding labyrinth of dead ends. Where one must always remain vigilant, turn away for even a moment and the world keeps churning around. Beings manifest within the hollow walls and strike without mercy.

Something felt before it's seen.

Like an edge piercing the dulled rumbling of Umbra's restless mind, a silent cry across the rift that tethered them to one another. He turns to catch sight of the vile beast that's struck her, an overgrown tumor of meat and teeth that's emitting a sickly green glow. Alaris staggers backward as the putrid haze envelops her, a visceral cloud of living spores that's coated her lungs. Leaving her momentarily defenseless to the onslaught of infestation if not for her sentry wolf.

In an instant, the hostiles are eviscerated in a wisp of inky smoke, left in pieces scattered in every which direction; His divine blade making quick work of whatever unfortunate being dared to stand in its path. But his attention is trained elsewhere, a crumpled mass on the ground before him, and all he can see is red. Different from the writhing flesh of their surroundings, the red of Alaris’s blood, a fading warmth as life slips from the gash in her side. He kneels before her to press a guarded hand against the matted remains of her tunic, desperate to staunch the bleeding.

“I’m okay,” she tries to reassure his tilted gaze but the words come out as a distorted rasp. Coughing violently as a pained look consumes her features, composure siphoning away. Instead attempting an optimistic smile but it comes off overtly strained as her brows knit together, creases of sharp anxiety set between them. She reaches a small hand out to him but it lacks the strength to maintain grip, instead slipping down his face before going slack at her side. Looking up at him but with a dewy gaze already half empty and wishing nothing more than to be pulled back by the void’s song, but with the viral decay snarling and twisting around them, her mind's eye is clouded.

The link wavers.

Umbra’s giving her that hard stare, mutual understanding that she should retreat but she won't. Doesn't want to leave him here alone, for abandoning him in this wretched place is more than she can bear. Her fogged recollection is left pondering why they had come here in the first place. In hindsight, anything seemed minuscule to merit such a fate as this, but the thought fizzles out. Jarred back into focus by the gurgled chorus of snarls echoing down the corridor, an ominous reminder of their current plight.

Alaris turns back to him, looking for some sort of reassurance in his gaze but finds his attention also trained down the far passage, tensely awaiting the next confrontation. Her heart all but drops into the pit of her stomach as Umbra's grip leaves her to redraw his Nikana. More than certain he's about to jolt from her side to eradicate the oncoming enemies, but he doesn't. Instead sinking the blade into the fleshy ground before them. Conjuring up an ark of swords that cast forth and through the frenzied infested, lancing them into the cavernous walls.

Their wretched shrieks of agony echo down the passageway before reciprocating back with sharp refrain, a call for reinforcements. His hand returns to her side as she stiffens back a pained whine at the contact. Venting her growing frustration, Alaris grasps out with a strained hand. But without the conduit of her amp to filter the attack, it erupts from her palm untamed in shards of raw energy. Strong enough to maim but lacking enough malice to stagger the reinforced mutations slowly encroaching on them.

The appendage drops once more as her breath slows to a shallow murmur. Leaning against Umbra to feel the low rumble that's begun rapidly building in his chest. The offendingly loud howl he produces sends out a wave of pressure across the surrounding area, stunning the near-constant onslaught. Keeping the hostile beings at bay, if just for the moment, and blanketing Alaris’s nerves in unexpected solace.

His grasp wavers, glancing down at her weakened form with that sharp gaze of his. A wordless plea, a clear opening for her to leave before things take an uglier turn. Her features soften, eyes basked in familiar clarity before the air begins to crackle with charged static. The space before him shifts, warping around before she's lost to sight, here and not in the blink of an eye. And although he knows Alaris now lies in the safety of her transference chair, it never gets any less jarring. Watching powerless as she evaporates in a twinkling array of sparks, the void granting her safe passage. Melting away the pesky wounds as her corporeal timepiece rewinds, a gift and curse all at once. She would be okay, for he could still feel her caress in the back of his mind.

The link is stable.

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ashy-necro · 5 months

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Tigerpaw x Rusty

Growling Tigerpaw launched himself at Thistleclaw. But his mentor easily threw him onto the ground and pinned him.

"You are such a useless fighter! I swear, I should just kill you now." Thistleclaw spat, raking his claws against Tigerpaw's face.

Wincing Tigerpaw trembled as he felt blood run down his face. This is usually how training sessions with Thistleclaw go. It seems that Thistleclaw must hate him because his mentor abuses him so often.

But Thistleclaw says he's doing this so Tigerpaw won't be like his father, Pinestar, and run off to be a kitty-pet.

Pinestar used to be a respectful leader, but soon after Leopardfoot gave birth to his kits, he left to go become a kitty-pet, leaving his mate, Tigerpaw's two siblings named Mistlekit and Nightkit, behind.

As soon as his father left, Tigerpaw's life began to rapidly change. His siblings were very sick and soon died. His mother, Leopardfoot, was heartbroken because of this. She couldn't take care of him because of how depressed she was. Even now, she's still distant.

Thistleclaw is the only father figure Tigerpaw has, and he's far from the best. Tigerpaw is sure that he doesn't even care about him.

Tigerpaw also has no friends. The only cat he ever interacts with is Thistleclaw, and Tigerpaw is sick and tired of spending time with the mean gray tom. But he has no other choice.

"Don't kill me!" Tigerpaw pleaded. "I'll become a better fighter."

However, Thistleclaw didn't look convinced. He dragged his claws around Tigerpaw's eyes, not drawing blood but just teasing him.

"I don't know. You are pretty weak. I think you might as well become a kitty-pet. You are certainly a horrible thunderclan apprentice." Thistleclaw laughed.

"No, I'll never become a kitty-pet! I'll shred any kitty-pet I see!" Tigerpaw growled.

The tabby tom knows that he's bluffing, of course. Tigerpaw hates fighting, and that's another reason Thistleclaw hates him.

Intrest gleamed in Thistleclaw's green eyes.

"Hm. Will you actually do that?"

"O-Of course…" Tigerpaw lied once more.

"Well, then I have a challenge for you. Go into the two-leg place and kill a kitty-pet. Then bring me proof that you did it." Thistleclaw ordered.

Tigerpaw gulped. Even though he is bulky and seemingly strong, he doesn't want to fight anyone. Even a kitty-pet. But Tigerpaw knows that he shouldn't tell Thistleclaw if he wants to live.

"Do you want me to drag a kitty-pet's corpse over here to prove I did?" Tigerpaw asked. That seems complicated.

Thistleclaw snorted. "Of course not, you idiot. Just bring me the kitty-pet's fur or something like that. If you don't return with that, you might as well become a kitty-pet or I'll just kill you."

"I promise I'll kill one," Tigerpaw promised. "Just get off me."

Getting off of him Thistleclaw let out a growl.

"Don't come back soon," Thistleclaw said, padding back to the Thunderclan camp.

Once his mentor was gone, Tigerpaw then headed over to the two-leg place. Maybe Tigerpaw should just become a kitty-pet. That way, he wouldn't get hurt by Thistleclaw anymore.

But Tigerpaw knows that he wouldn't be happy in a two-leg because he would be locked up constantly, and he wouldn't want any two-leg touching him. Besides, he doesn't want to be like his father.

As Tigerpaw walked past two-leg nests, he was looking for cats to kill. Even though Tigerpaw knows he can't kill a cat, he couldn't just steal a kitty-pet's furball. Soon, Tigerpaw spotted a kitty-pet outside their two-leg nest.

He has a pretty flame-colored coat with gleaming emerald eyes and a collar of the same shade. He was also fairly chunky, but Tigerpaw couldn't help but find him hot.

Tigerpaw ended up staring at the cat, whom he assumed was a tom, for a while.

The kitty-pet noticed this and jumped over the fence, facing Tigerpaw.

"Hey, I haven't seen you around here. Are you a new arrival? You are kind of cute. I could show you around my nest if you want." He then added: "My name is Rusty. What's yours?"

Tigerpaw struggled to listen to all the questions. Normally, no cat talks to him in a non-threatening way. Let alone call him cute.

"No, I'm not a kitty-pet. I live in the wild. My name is Tigerpaw." Tigerpaw answered.

"Hey, you are hurt." Rusty suddenly realized this. "Come into my housefolk's yard. I'll get you some cobwebs."

Tigerpaw was hesitant about going into a two-leg "yard," as Rusty called it. But Rusty wants to help him, so Tigerpaw can't just refuse his offer.

"Alright…"

Rusty then leaped over the fence, and Tigerpaw followed. The orange tom then went over to a log and pulled out some cobwebs. He then plastered them on Tigerpaw's face.

"It's much better now. Thank you." Tigerpaw muttered. At least he wasn't bleeding any more.

"No problem. How did you get hurt? You are also a thunderclan cat, right?" Rusty asked.

"My mentor." Tigerpaw then answered Rusty's other question before he could ask him anything else. "Yes, I'm a thunderclan cat. How did you know that, and how do you have any knowledge of herbs?

"Well, my father spent some time with forest cats. He was even friends with one for a while. He taught me and my siblings everything he knew." Rusty answered. "Your mentor is your trainer, right? Why would your trainer hurt you so badly?"

Thistleclaw has hurt Tigerpaw; it was worse before, and he always gets away with it using various excuses.

Tigerpaw was a little hesitant to tell Firepaw about Thistleclaw. Because he knows he's going to have a meltdown, and he doesn't want to chase off the first cat that has shown him attention.

"His name is Thistleclaw. He hurts me often. If you want me to tell you about him, we're most likely going to be here all day, and I'll probably start sobbing." Tigerpaw admitted.

"Well, I don't care how long we have to be here, and if you cry, I'll comfort you," Rusty promised.

Tigerpaw was surprised that Rusty wanted him to keep talking. He really wants to get his anger out. So he has no problem telling Rusty what's on his mind, if he doesn't mind.

"Alright, listen closely…"

Tigerpaw then told Rusty about his family background. He told him about his dead siblings, his father leaving him, and how his mother was too sad to take care of him. He then told Rusty about how Thistleclaw constantly abuses him and how he has no friends.

As he spoke, the tabby tom started to cry. But Rusty comforted him, and he stopped.

"I'm so sorry that happened to you. You could live with me and my housefolk. Thistleclaw won't hurt you then." Rusty offered, nuzzling him.

Tigerpaw couldn't believe how kind and welcoming Rusty was. It seems that Tigerpaw may finally have a friend. Tigerpaw has thought about becoming a kitty-pet before. But he isn't sure that he wants to do that.

Sure, he would be free from Thistleclaw, but Tigerpaw doesn't want two-legs touching him, nor does he want to be locked up in their nests constantly. He wants to be free in the wild!

"Thank you, but I want to stay in Thunderclan. Maybe Thistleclaw will get nicer." Tigerpaw said, dipping his head.

Rusty didn't look convinced, and he opened his mouth to argue. But he quickly closed them.

"Alright. I don't know whether this will help or not, but I'm pretty sure I know where your father is. He lives a few nests down, and he's named Pine now. He was my father's friend." Rusty told him honestly.

Tigerpaw's mind raced. He could meet his father. The cat he heard so much about but hadn't seen in a while Even if Tigerpaw wants to meet Pine again, he knows that he can't right now.

Pine left his siblings to die, and he left Leopardfoot depressed. Tigerpaw can't forgive him, at least not yet.

"I can't face him after what he has done to me. I need to recover still. Maybe I'll meet him again sometime, though." Tigerpaw replied.

Rusty nodded. "I understand. I can take you there some other time." Rusty then hesitated. "Can you meet me here again? Maybe in a week? I really like talking to you."

Tigerpaw let out a purr. Even if Rusty is a kitty-pet Tigerpaw enjoys spending time with him as well.

"I'll gladly meet you in a week." Tigerpaw purred.

"Great!" Rusty replied, nuzzling him.

Tigerpaw then remembered something and shuffled his paws.

"Can I have some of your fur? It's a strange request. I know. But my mentor, Thistleclaw, thinks I'm killing a kitty-pet so I need some sort of proof." Tigerpaw asked awkwardly.

"Sure." Rusty laughed. "I have plenty of fur to go around."

Once Tigerpaw grabbed a mouthful of Rusty's fur, he said goodbye and padded away. As he headed back to the Thunderclan camp, Tigerpaw couldn't help but smile. He can't wait to meet Rusty again.

#Tigerfire #proficwarriorcats #Warrior Cats #Firestar #Tigerstar #Thistleclaw #Warrior Cats au #Firetiger #My writing

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yandere-to-express · 8 months

Text

The wrong cranium

Gender neutral

Part 4

"He won't eat pickles," the harried mother said, one hand carrying a baby and the other feeding french fries to the bigger child, one by one, the grease coating all five fingers, bringing a dull, worn shine to the wrinkling skin, the blood-red lacquered nails. Her claws embedded into the crispy yellow sticks, she carried the great haul en-mass into the maw of the child, which opened languorously to accept the filial offering.

You could not avert your gaze from the repulsive sight. Your hands, which are holding a palm-sized notepad and a cheap dollar store pen, had gone stiff, shaking, holding back violent urges you had never felt before.

"I understand," you murmur robotically, letting yourself cling to the walls of your skin. Your hand writes down something. "I will bring a replacement."

"Wonderful," the mother praises. "What a good employee. Did you hear that, Tom? Don't cry anymore."

The child's eyes are hazy, his face slack except for the mouth. Tear tracks are lining his cheeks, but they have already gone dry and salty. You note, with a shiver going through you, that there is mucus leaking out of his nostrils, which means there will be used napkins left on the table. Please, put it in the plate. Put it in the plate. Put it in the plate, with the other messes.

"Sure thing," you talk aloud, not addressing anyone.

Absentminded, you make your way back to the kitchen. The line cook, Hannah, takes one look at you and grabs your notepad, skimming the orders and doing her work without a word of complaint or a whisper of friendliness. The notepad is stuffed back in your hands, and you're left to stand alone on the door threshold. The skin all over you has pebbled in aggression, the feeling astringent against your psyche.

You un-tense your shoulders, swallowing it down. How long has it been? All day, all you could do was watch the outside wistfully, tracking the shades of blue behind clouds drifting in and out. Darker and deeper it went, but never dark enough, never changing hue to the lovely orange that awaited the end of day. Your uniform has grown damp and saggy around your figure too. As a sweat drop drips down your temple, you notice the rigid curve of your spine, vertebrae packed tightly together.

No wonder. You feel smaller. The work has worn you down in more ways than one. You look down at your hands— and see your wrist bones, jutting out. Your veins are swollen under your skin, and when you turn them over, you can watch the visible proof of your pulse, desperate with each pump, blue and green intertwined.

Thump.

You trace it down your inner arm, dipping into your elbow. It jumps inside your bicep, like the whimper of a wound.

Thump.

Inside your neck, it climbs to your skull. You tilt your head back, unblinking, staring at the tiled ceiling and the sharp fluorescent light overhead, staring back at you. Dark flowers bloom in your vision.

…Thump.

Your neck cracks, bringing relief. You inhale, but the process is chopped. It clings to your throat before surrendering, disappearing into your lungs; you feel its function distinctly with every motion. Your chest rises almost exaggeratedly, and caves in with equal fanfare through every breath. Mechanical. A step in the algorithm.

It's a slow coming realization, impeded by exhaustion: there's no instinct to your body. It moves, it acts, but it doesn't know. It obeys you. But it doesn't obey as it has done for the past decades you've had it. It obeys because it's yours, because you know it should do certain processes in the background of your daily life. It's pure, unknowing, a blank slate of renewal and reduction both.

"It's not empty," you whisper. "I'm not empty. I'm okay."

A clatter draws your attention away. In the other room, TK is helping Hannah prepare orders, which reminds you of the hours and hours left of your shift. You hurry over to help them and deliver the dishes to their respective buyers, taking payments and receiving new orders. Cleaning abandoned tables.

In one, you stop in your tracks.

The slimy napkin you dreaded to death is sitting alone in the middle of the table. You can feel the disgusting paws of the sullen child all over it, soaked into the very air it is surrounded by.

Utilizing a second napkin, you pick it up. Drop it in the plate. Done, you tell yourself, wishing away the trembling. It's over.

You go back to the kitchen. You carry perhaps a dozen plates in one weak hand, though it doesn't quiver— it doesn't have the energy to. They're put beside the sink, just like every other dish that's passed into your hands. Without hesitation (but with a certain resignation) you start washing. Rinse, soap up, scrub, rinse. Metal wool, sometimes. Extra soap for grease. Twist furiously inside the mouths of cups, then let the frothing tap water outpour down the rims, bathing your hands dull beige.

As the water keeps running, you look at the vortex above the drain and exhale.

Chest caves in, rises back up.

It's dark inside. You can see the hint of dark, murky green, laden with moss or something worse that you cannot imagine, but you don't look away.

It's so… unending. You visualize a round, wide-open mouth in its place, and think of the amount gulped down its gullet. You cannot calculate it (too tired, too uninterested) but it makes you freeze and stare a little more intently. How parched, how hungry would you need to be, to consume so wholeheartedly?

You move the cup aside to see it more clearly. The drain keeps working, and the water keeps going, and the smell of wet metal wafts over to you. The vortex, over time, loses its color, then its lines…

Then its sound.

The drain is dark and quiet. There's no telling what lies inside it, but you know. You don't need to see to know, bu̟t̰ ̫y͙o͍̼u̻̪ ̠g̤a͎z̡e into its dept̶h̸s̶,̷ ̴d̸o̶w̵n̷,̴ ̵d̶o̷w̴n̶ ̵t̶h̴e̷ ̷p̶i̵p̴e̴,̸ ̶a̶n̸d̸ ̷s̵q̴u̸i̷s̴h̶̢͍e̶͚ḑ̸ ̷̳i̸̭̱n̴̦͍s̸̫̞i̵͚̠d̶̢ę̷ͅ ̴̣t̵̗̰h̶͔ę̸ ̸̩ț̷̘i̷̩g̷̪͉h̷͎t̵͎ ̶̖t̶͚̣u̴̢n̶̻ͅn̴͓e̵͖l̷̠̬s̷̢ ̶͜a̶̟ṋ̸̪d̴̘͓ ̷̖l̶̖̼a̴̺b̴͈̖y̷̥͙r̷̮̙i̶̙̼n̵̬̦t̵͉h̶̻̞i̶̫ṇ̴̱e̴̫ ̵͎̻n̶̮ḛ̸t̷̗̣w̸̠o̴͓r̷͓k̷͇ ̷̼̩o̵̢ͅf̴͇͜ ̸̡n̶͉o̴̡̞t̶̢̖h̵̥̝i̵̗n̸͍g̵̣̹n̸̫e̸͈͇s̴̯s̶̟̲,̴̼ ̶̲y̶̥o̴͉̫u̷̖̼ ̸͚f̶̖̩e̴ͅe̵̠̜l̷̤̹ ̴̰i̵̯t̵̮ ̴̧͎p̵̱u̴͉l̵͎̥s̴̨͍̖͉̤i̸̞̞ͅn̵̞̤g̸̖̘,̴̪̱̭̝ ̴͖c̶̮͔͕͜o̴̘̰̳̖n̸͔s̵̺̳t̷̗̩r̷̲̭̖͜i̵̩̜̯c̴̡̡̣̪ͅt̴̡͍͇ͅį̵̹͓̙n̶͇̼͎g̴̤̥̠̬.̸͚̘͎̤̼ ̸͖̦͔̗D̵̨̡̼̳r̷͕̗̣͖̜a̵̜̼g̶͙͍̫̤g̴̠̣̲ͅi̶̤̯̝̭͜n̵̨̬̠g̷̨̢͈͔̭ ̵̹̬̩̤̮d̵̡͍̺ͅͅȩ̷̳̣e̷̡̞̩p̴̝̲̳̪e̸̡̳r̴̖̯ͅ,̵̫̘̤̩ ̴̙̞͖̣̝f̶̢̡̼̼͇e̵̙͕̝̤e̷̗͈͕͍ḑ̶̜̭̝̮i̷̼͉̜̪ṉ̵͚ģ̶͍̼ ̴̱̟͙o̴̫n̵͚͉ ̸̡̦͉y̷̯o̶̢͕̣̲u̶̟͓—̷̢

01101000 01110101 01101110 01100111 01100101 01110010 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01100001 00100000 01110011 01110100 01100001 01110100 01100101 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101110 01110100 01100001 01101001 01101110 01110011 00100000 01101001 01101110 00100000 01101001 01110100 00100000 01101001 01101110 01100110 01101001 01101110 01101001 01110100 01100101 01110011

||SAVE//:01100110 01100101 01100001 01110010||

You stumble back with a desperate, raspy inhale, your chest rising and stuttering in motion. Curled inward, you watch the running sink, the shards of a broken cup crunching beneath your feet.

Some animals eat their prey whole, don't they?

You shudder, sinking to your knees, uncaring for the shattered ceramic. The sharpness sinks into your skin, but doesn't break. Like how play-dough cannot be hurt, because it's not meant to be. You repeatedly and rapidly attempt to restart your breathing process, but something is not responding. The respiratory structures and organs below your neck aren't working.

There's no air. Why are you so calm?

You try to wheeze for a breath. It doesn't work. If anything, it's complicating your work. You try harder. It resists harder. You cannot breathe, you cannot breathe— you drag your hands along the floor where you're lying on your knees, thinking you could crawl away to safety.

"Hey."

You hear a voice, saying your name. It puts a new knot in your throat.

"Are you there? I heard—"

The door opens to let in TK, their eyes searching and worried. When they spot you, they are quick to run to your side.

"Oh my God," they whisper, horrified. Their hands hover for a moment, snapping left and right like they can't decide what to do, and then settle behind you, clutching your shoulder and rubbing your back. "Hey—" Your name, spilling so easily out of their lips. "Come on, calm down, it's okay. You're okay. I— Follow my breathing, okay?"

You stare at them with dead eyes, and unwilling flesh. Nevertheless, they narrow their eyes determination, and begin making their chest move. It rises, rib cage flaring, diaphragm flattening, blood rushing, and you try to follow the rhythm.

A wheeze of air passes through.

"That's it," TK encourages, voice alike a sob, as if mirroring your utter anguish. "The muscles tighten, air comes in… And they soften, air goes out."

Their chest falls back, pulse calming down. You can hear it moving inside them, the friction of bone and ligaments, and the relief of air, blooming into blood.

Your lungs let go. Air passes through, out, and when you breathe next, it goes in as it's supposed to, without error or stubbornness.

TK relaxes. "Yeah. Just like that. You're a natural, aren't you? Passed with flying colors." There's a placid, but worn lull in the atmosphere. "Are you okay?"

Are you ever? You manage a small nod, not trusting your voice— to not crackle or to not burst into wails, no idea which. You've never felt such a wild, discomfiting mix of emotions before; things that have no right lingering close had suddenly tangled together, all without your consciousness noticing.

You imagined that this is how a newborn baby, just out of the womb, would feel. Overwhelmed. Frightened. Lonely, yet not. Out of control, but simultaneously in control for the first time of its existence.

You settled on 'overwhelmed.'

"Good," TK replied, rubbing your back a bit more. "Wait, let me get you some water—"

They stood up to get it, carefully side-stepping the ceramic shards. You should probably ask them not to, but you couldn't even muster the strength to lift your head, so you couldn't protest when TK held the cup tilted for you, matching the flow to the speed of your gulps.

"Dehydration worsens everything," they said. "I remember my mom nagging me about it. She never let me leave the house without drinking a tall glass of water, and the habit stuck. Once I got into college and had my first taste of freedom, I decided I'd cut myself some slack and relax on routine."

"Didn't work?"

TK snorted. "Nope."

They took the cup and washed it at the sink. You remembered that your job won't wait for you, and the customers won't either, so you attempt to stand up… only to flinch away at the sound of clattering shards, falling from your limbs.

TK turns to look at you, but you can only stare at the debris and your unscathed arms. The fragments aren't safe— their edges are sharp, glinting like chef's knives spread out before stove fire, but despite this, as you turn your forearms over and back, you can only see unmarred flesh, without any scarring visible.

What the fuck happened to me, you think.

You were fine this morning. There was no complicated existence to panic about. While you sat beside Peter and talked about nothing, everything felt as pleasant as can be. And here you were now, frozen in fear. Unable to finish even one waiter shift because you were too busy stressing about a defective body.

"Hey," TK calls out to you, "I think you should clock out now."

"Huh?" You can't. The shift's not over yet. And in the game, wasn't today exceptionally busy? You couldn't leave TK to handle it alone— well, technically you could, but you'd feel guilty. You don't want to get used to someone picking up the slack for you, because there was a very real chance that you'd snowball down that rabbit hole.

"Thanks, TK, but I don't wanna push my luck today," you said, kneeling down, and started to collect the shards by the handful. If they didn't hurt you, why not use it to your advantage?

"Jesus— don't just scoop them up! Use a broom at least, what if you get hurt?"

"It's fine, they aren't sharp."

TK didn't seem convinced, but let you clean the mess anyway, taking over dish washing duty instead. You were grateful for that. You didn't know what looking at the drain again would do, and you intended to avoid that fate for as long as you could. Collecting all the fragments on your apron, you dropped them into the trash bin and swept the remaining dust off, rushing out to collect orders and clean tables.

All day, you slaved away in the restaurant; cleaning, serving, dealing with idiots. While you worked, you did your best to hold yourself together, to keep your pieces in one place until the time when you could fall apart, a shattered body all over the couch.

Your lifeline, as it were, was the promise of a nice night out. As you mopped the floor tiles, tidied tables, and topped up coffees along the counter row, your mind went out to the fantasy of a quiet, chilly night, the smell of earth and grass under an empty space. Maybe after the date, Peter could take you to the park? You resolved to ask him about it… once he came back.

You checked the hour: four thirty. Fifteen minutes left until your shift ends. When was he going to arrive? At the very end? That would be incredibly suspicious, and for his sake, you prayed to a higher power that he'd refrain. You didn't mind, per se, but you were the type to just blurt things out without care for propriety, and the more obvious Peter got, the more effort required to keep your fucking mouth shut and not give it away.

Sighing, you threw away an abandoned receipt into the trashcan below the register, and wondered whether it was worth it to keep quiet. He'd catch on eventually, and you'd have to talk.

That's what's scaring you, isn't it?

"Alright," came TK's voice, "out with it. What's up?"

"What's up… with me?"

"Yeah." Obviously, was what followed naturally, but you had learnt that TK had a modicum of tact, so of course they would leave it out. "You've been working here for weeks now, but never have I ever seen you sigh in all our time together— not even when the boss threatened to sack us without severance pay."

Okay, scary. Original Y/N was double scary. Props to whoever they were. "It's… kinda complicated, and I don't think I can explain it without sounding like a maniac."

They grinned. "A dash of intrigue? No prob. Just know that you can tell me any time, any day, alright?"

You seriously didn't deserve this person's kindness. You just didn't. This was such a fact that it didn't even make your heart twinge. When it all crashed down and your life was in shambles, you would have to send them some sort of consolation gift, to thank them for their care.

"Thanks, TK. I wish I could tell you."

"Glad to hear that. By the way, could you check in with Hannah? I think she needs a line chef in the kitchen— I'll handle the customers."

They glance out the window panes, squinting behind their glasses. "Oh, geez. Guess who's knocking on our door? The evening rush."

You turn to look, only to freeze at the sight of a familiar silhouette, barely visible behind the reflection. Same height, same shirt, same gangly limbs, and when you shifted for a better view, you were able to glimpse the face under the hood: a pair of wide-open, bright blue eyes, and a smile curving horrifically.

Yup. That's him.

"Is it me, or… is that guy looking in?" TK asked, discomfited.

"Lookin' in, sorry. That's, uh, my boyfriend."

"Your—" Their head span around in a perfect hundred-eighty degree to goggle at you. "Your— what? This guy? Your—"

They looked back, as though checking whether or not they were hallucinating the creep factor, but no, TK, you thought, that's one-hundred percent natural. All bio creep. No preservatives or artificial coloring added, honest-to-god, bona-fide creep. I'm so fucking sorry to subject you to this.

"Your boyfriend," they said.

"Yeah."

"Just so we're clear, it's not the eighty-year-old man leaning on the cane, but the two-meter tree branch with fangs, right?"

"You're absolutely correct."

TK stared at you speechlessly, mouth moving without words, and you let your vision zoom out into distant lands, resolutely watching the yellow leak stain on the ceiling. Please, end the conversation. Right now.

"You know what," TK said at last. "This is not my problem… If he turns out to be a serial killer, let me know and I'll call the police for you."

"TK, please stop talking. I'm dying."

"You will once he drags you into an alleyway."

You know what they say: first impressions last forever. In Peter's case, it seems he's ardently devoted to push this rule to its worst potential, constantly disturbing the peace in hopes on garnering even the slightest bit of distrust. Why was he watching you creepily at the diner when he could just hang out by your apartment window? That was perfectly private! This is public!

You caught his gaze through the glass, and waved at him. Despite his eerie appearance, Peter broke into an angelic smile, with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, and waved back. Seeing as you were paying attention, he began mouthing words: Hello. Something that looked like 'darling'. I'm here, followed by a pointed finger at his feet. Then, lifting his wrist and putting his index finger on it, miming a wristwatch. Okay?

Ah, was he trying to hurry you up? Was that a guilt-trip thing, or just an innocent 'Is your shift over?' You'll never know because you'll never ask, and even if you asked, he'd obviously answer with the latter just to gain brownie points. This wasn't the right time to be honest yet. For neither of you.

Before you could get tangled up in unnecessary thoughts, you sent him a thumbs-up and went back into the kitchens. Hannah did need help— there were simply too many orders at once, and Stephan just wasn't good enough of a multi-tasker to handle the extra load. You helped until the workload went back to normal, then clocked out, waving bye to TK as you went back to the entrance.

While you were gone, the sky had darkened, rain clouds gathering above to drizzle drop by drop. When you stepped a foot outside, you were immediately caught in a pair of arms, warmth swallowing you up.

"I missed you all day," your stalker whined, covering the top of your head with his chin. "How was it? Did you get fired?"

You relaxed into the heat, the embrace, releasing a frigid breath. Your head was silent for the first time since this morning, unburdened by worries or distractions. No clutter to push out… Nothing to sigh about.

Just Peter's scent, and his hug, and his excited, pleasant voice.

"Darling?" he asked concernedly. "Was it bad?"

You wrapped your arms around him in return. Mustering the energy to speak was impossible, so you sank further into the comfort, not even feeling the rain soaking your jacket.

"Heh, not that I'm not enjoying this… but are you okay? Do you need— Do we have to reschedule? I don't mind. We definitely can. Anything you want, okay? Just, will you please talk to me?" He sounded a bit shaky. "It's… ha ha, just, it's weird to not hear you when I chatter. You know?"

You force yourself to speak. "It was—"

s̨̺͇̝o̺̱̣ą̡̪͇͇p̨̥̹͎̹̳ ̨͓͕͜u͙̣̫p̥͍̻͙̠,͎ ̢̨̤̙̹͓s̝̼̝̲͜c̡͎̭̭͚r̡͎̗̞͙̥u̺b̧̢͙̬̠͜ ̪͚E̻̞͈̫̦͇X̙̦͓̱͙T̙͓̮R̙Ạ̭ ̧͓̩S̲̗̟͎͎Ǫ͇̲̲͖A̦͕͕͇P̗͇͜ ̘̝͖͇̞f̧͚̥̹o̖͔͈r̙͉̤̪ ͍G̟̺͖R̨͉̤̠̫͓E̲͚E̲̥E̟̯̹E͕̻͙̼̟ḚA̰̮̘͉͈̼S͙̞̳E̬̻ ̢̬͚̼̗̱01101111 01101100 01100100 00100000 01101110 01100101 01110111 01110011r͎̬̭ͅo̼̘̩̯ͅụn̗̱̹̝͈d̩,̨̪̦̭̝͕ ̧̤̜̱ͅw̡͈͖̬̙͕i̱͇d̨̠̯̙͍e̙-̰̳ọ̺̩͍͕̝p̦̦̘̙ȩ͍̹̳n̩͎ ̤͓͍m̢̡͚̣̫͍o̫̰u͙͚̞t̢̜͎̮ḩ̡̜ ͓̝̥̲F̙̘͇̠E̥̪̳͕E̤̲̫̗̯D̫͜ ͍̣M͔̩E̹͕̭ ̳T͍̗̜Ḥ͓͕̭ͅȨ̗̠ ͙W̻͈O̧R̨̙̱̥L̢̨̨̯͜D̥̲ ̞̤̖D̡̗͈̻ ̧̢͓̘D̹̗ ͍̫̙̮̝̬D̫̗͉͚͉ ͉̯̣̠̙T̨̪̮̙H̡̢͇̭͖̦E̘̲͖̜ ̦T͖̗̮H̺E̩̪̳ ̲̻͇̳͖̣T̲͖̞̺͈ͅH̦̠E̗̳ ̩͔̫̞͜I̯̙͓I͙͖̤̬I̧̬̲̱͕͕I̜I̧͕̭͚̭̳I̥I̬̝I͙̦̭̫̝͎I̡̘I̞̺͎̦̬I͎̻̻I̢̢̱̲̹I̡͎̘̰I̤̥I̻̺̞̖̖

d̷̢̢̟̏̂a̶̛̬̘͊͒̾ŗ̵̣̯͇̽͐͊̑k̷̤͎͙͙̎͑̑̌ ̶̻̞̞̻̏͊͑̏d̷̳͉̱̯̽́̆ạ̸̥͙̔͂̊̾r̷͇̿́k̶̥̼̲̐́̈̏ ̵̗̪̯̪̎͆d̴͍̤̞̓a̷̰̟͚͛̊͐r̶͇̋̈́͒k̸̺̻̰͎͆̿̄͠ ̸̡̹̊̀̾͗a̴͈͉̱̻̎̀d̵̝͈̄́̓ã̵̲̩͖r̵̪̞̗̓k̵̗̊͗̀̍ ̷̛̪̖͔̗͒̌ď̵͓̊̅̈́ǟ̴̡̜̈k̶̨̘͚̈̀́ȓ̴͓̽͑k̶̳̺̙̈́̐͛k̶̖͐ ̵̡̪̄͒́̄d̴͍̥́́ȃ̷̺ȓ̶̗k̶͎͊ ̴̯͕̀͑͠k̸͈̝̗̎̑̏f̷̠̳̭͉̍̒̀k̷̛͔̓̾k̵̞̃͋͝k̸̞̎̋k̸̝̀͛̓̕ ̶̟͚̩̈̀̇̀ḍ̸̙̫̣̋̕a̴̲̦͓͒r̵͙͑̂͗k̶̨̻̽̃ ̷̓͜d̶̢͍̳̔͌ã̴̧̬̠͖̉̈k̸̖̞̾͊̇͝r̵̲͔̼͝ ̷̘͚̀̒̿̕k̴̰͈͠d̴̜̭͇̙̐̂͋ã̵̤͔ṙ̷̯̭͂k̶͍̇̑̅̒ ̶̠̥̮̓͘d̵͈̖̃́̏̄á̷̳͔̲̏̈́̚r̶̦̋k̴̨͛ ̴͍͉̄̓d̴̯̓a̵̯̓͋̿ͅr̸̦̻̟̖̄̅̈́̄k̷̲̓̆ ̴̤̤̅d̴̢̖̀̀ͅã̷̡ͅk̷̢̢̥̬̒̿̆̽r̸̥̘͌̀͑͜ ̷̻̔͝W̴͙̱̬̮͒͋̏͝W̷̘͎͠W̸̖̺̃͌̇Ẅ̶̪͙͉́̈́́W̷̔́͋̀̀̈́̔͂̔̂̄̚͝͝͝W̵̍̓͛̂̒͘͠W̸͑̽̃̐̓̒̈́W̷͊̋͑̽̌̈̈́̀͗͊̈́̇́͘͠W̶̆̎̐̊̎́̈́̌̋̀̕̚W̵͌͆̃́̅̇͐̎̑͐͘Ŵ̸̛̀̈̈́͆̈́̎̆̒̀W̶̊̏̒̋̏̐̌̈́́̚W̸̉̋̅͑͆̍͘Ẁ̴͛̂͗̓͆̐͑͌͐͒̕W̶͝ and at the bottom of the drain, you stood, awaiting y̤̏̓̐̕̚͠o̘͆͝ú̢̞͚̲͈̟̲̅̾̄̓r͍̟̝̐̾̃ͅs̢͍̤͂́͝ḙ̰̆̓̿̾̕͝l̛̟͕̬̯̬̲͇̩f̩̻͚̫̽ in your own stomach /// when will you S̸̛̥T̵͖̚O̴̯͌P̸̪̅ ̸̫̀S̸͈͗T̵̲͆Ȯ̴̜P̶̪̑ ̷̲̐S̸̠͊T̷̖̊Õ̷̬P̷̤̉?̴͎͋ ̵̱̉?̸̳̎?̴̖́ fear consumes you, pushes you down its gullet, and you stand here wondering when did you die? M̸E̵E̴E̷E̶E̶ 01100100 01101111 01101110 00100111 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01101001 01101110 01101011 E̵E̴E̸E̷E̶E̸E̶E̸E̸E̶E̵E̶E̶—

"—fine," you answer. You were stopped from lingering on it. You recognize it now. "I missed you too. All day."

"You did?" Peter asked. "Really? Missed me? When, how did that happen?"

"Do you want me to describe it like, a case report? Like an interrogation tape? 'Where were you last night, what was your purpose' style?"

"Why not?"

Well, there was it: why not? Maybe it'd make him happy.

"The first time," you started, burying your face into his shoulder. "I was taking orders, and this middle-aged lady came in and tried to ask for a second order on the house because she dropped the first one on the pavement. But in a really polite, aggravating way. You know how some rude people act well-mannered? I wanted to punt her into the curb."

"And then you thought about me?"

"Yeah. I wished you were there so I could get you a second order on my paycheck."

"…You mean, you weren't thinking of me because you wanted someone more reasonable, but because… actually, I don't know. Why did you think that?"

"Well," you murmured, "obviously, because I like you."

Suddenly craving contact, you removed your tired arms from around his waist and put them over his shoulders, around his neck. You had to stand on your tip-toes for that, but somehow, the position wasn't as taxing as it was in your before-life.

Luckily, Peter was there to support you. He crouched a little to reach your legs, then hauled you up under your thighs, carrying you on one bicep with no visible strain.

...Woah.

You were abruptly eye to eye with him— and better, you were privy to the tender little flush on his face, close enough to savor the sight without shame.

"So you'd— put up with me being an asshole just cause you… like me."

You averted your eyes. This closeness seemed to be a two-way street, unfortunately. "Not exactly 'put up with'. I imagined you there and thought, even if you were being a jerk, I'd give you a meal cause you'd look cute eating it."

Was that weird? Double standards existed for everyone--- people would have different thresholds for different people, right? You weren't abnormal in that regard. Were it anyone else, you'd be insulted, exasperated, impatient— with him, your priorities lay somewhere else. You'd have rather died than compensate that customer, but somehow, the image of him stuffing his face full warmed you head to toe.

Your mind flashed back to your dinner date last night. The glow of Peter's round cheeks, the happy sigh of relieved hunger, his languorous, steady heartbeat as it pulsed under your touch. A healthy, full heart. Flowing blood.

Uh, you thought, embarrassed for no reason. Let's not linger.

"You know what," you said. "This is mortifying. Let's talk about something else."

He made a cute little snort, then laughed with bared teeth, molars glinting in the street light. You could barely suppress the urge to smash your mouths together. How dare he smile like that? How dare he make you so happy, with only the movement of his face? You released the want through your breath, let it dissipate.

"Let's go to the van," Peter suggested. Without waiting for a reply, he started carrying you across the crosswalk, one hand gently braced on your hip.

"Peter? Peter! Oh God, I can walk, I can walk I can walk I can walk— let me down, people are gonna look!!"

He paid no heed to your desperate wails, merrily making his way down the road. What an asshole, what a bastard. Your heart was so warm, so squished, so warm.

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