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#(something in his neck temporarily dislocated)

ijumpbridges · 2 months

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SCP-106, 173 and 096. Platonic headcanons. Like, do they hug/cuddle (platonic)? Do they like each other? Do they try to escape together?

Platonic headcannos

Official first 2024 ask

Ft. 096, 106, 173

Scp 096:

A single mom who works two jobs 🎶

Basically you are blind, do you cant see his face, saving you from getting killed.

At first he was so anxious about you, you tried getting closer and he pushed you away.

This happen to many times, an even got to the point it almost got the researchers killed, forbidding you and him to be seen again.

Until one day the foundation was at a lockdown, he was outside in a corner and you were wondering around with no security, you were sobbing, feeling lost and scared, until you heard a strange and a familiar sob.

You started walking towards it calling its name, you knew it was 096. You got close enough to hear his sobs getting louder.

Unfortunately a 939 saw you and started sprinting towards you without you even knowing it.

You hear the voice, a familiar one, this was one of the guards who always stick to you, he was calling your name.

You turned looking at the direction of the voice, you reach your hand out, calling out for him in a false sense of hope into being him.

096 had stop crying when he heard the loud running, he looked up and a 939 made eye contact, triggering him.

096 starts running towards the 939 and kills it before it reaches you.

After 10 minutes of silence, you hear sobbing and you start moving to the sobbing of 096.

“Thank you” you said, touching his back in an attempt to comfort him, not sure if he understood what you were trying to do.

He calms down a little, meaning that it is working and you and him stayed together for the remaining of the breach.

Sometimes moving around other times staying in one place.

He made sure you were always safe and close to him, he allowed you to cling into on of his arms as you two walked away or stayed in case of any danger.

Escaping is not on the list, but sometimes it happens because of other people around.

He would attack and then pick you up to leave or something attack with you attached to him, making it very disturbing and almost a risky of you violently falling off.

Scp 106:

Definitely not cuddling this man, at all.

He us a bit playful though, he aducts you on purpose.

Mainly to piss the foundation off and to tease you.

His main way to get closer to you is to adduct you and throw you in new different places

Sometimes following you or being behind you.

He sometimes get adduct what he thinks its danger like other scps who chase you or staff.

He also takes and give you objects from you and other people.

As a experiment you give him random objects to which he will collect and keep around in his pocket dimesion.

You get to see them around when he adducts you and throws you in random places.

You once got inside of his pocket dimension this time the liquid going around went into your eyes burning your eyes and vision.

He showed up, almost making you fall, to which as a instinct you grabbed him, and he ended up pushing you away, falling out of his dimensions and appearing in the nursery.

You stayed there for a few days with temporarily blindness and other injuries too.

What you did know is that he was visiting you, he would pop in and out, he didn’t do anything, but he would just simply observe you and leave.

The next day a plushie was found, it had the same liquid from his pocket dimensions.

Escape? Hell yeah, hope in. Escaping or any attempts to escape the foundation its now an everyday routine.

Thats why they now shipping you away.

The old man, is still to this day in hopes on finding you around the facility.

He was not aware when you left.

Scp 173:

You had a weird power, you were flexible.

And so when you were introduced to him, he snapped your neck.

Of course you didn’t die, he dislocated it and you relocated it back.

It was fun to them and to you too.

After that, containment breaches started to happen, now the weird part it was that 173 would show up outside of your cell.

“Play”

That’s what you heard from the other side of the clear cristal as he looked at you and you looked back, you couldn’t open the door, but 173 was smart and opened.

After that you were hanging onto to while it went around the foundation (to which it was in full blown chaos) playing.

Cant cuddle but lets you be on top of him, it also takes you out for walks and attempts to escapes with you.

He uses his telepathy on you, to say words.

“Play” “Leave” “Open” “Close” “Help” “Go” “Key” “Door” “Neck” “No” “Hide”

The foundation does try to separate you, he becomes a bit hostile.

So, you two get to play for at least two times a month.

#scp x reader #scp 096 x reader #scp 106 x reader #scp 173 x reader

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mcclainwilla · 5 months

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Writing Fight Scenes Part 8 - Illegal Strikes

Sorry this took a while to get out, school has been kicking my ass (but what's new) and I couldn't think of a topic to tackle, until I had a vision in my grocery store parking lot. Up until this point, I've been talking about 'honorable' martial arts/fighting techniques. But what happens if your character is just a cunt?

I'm going to talk about types of illegal hits (learned from my time in martial arts/watching UFC fighting, not from my own exploits) and when/why your character would ever want to do such a sucky thing

TW: injury mention, death mention, brief eye horror mention.

Please tread carefully if you're sensitive to violence! I fully anticipate having a personal case of the heebie jeebies by the time I'm done writing this post

Types of Illegal Hits

When I was still actively practicing martial arts, my instructor would sing (to the tune of 'head, shoulders, knees and toes') "eyes, ears nose throat and groin, throat and groin" which, honestly, is most of what you need to know. But I'm going to expand on that a little bit

Back of the head

Specifically, the junction between your character's spine and your neck. If you poke around, you'll find a little divot there. That is where the brain stem is, which connects the spinal cord to the rest of the brain. As opposed to the rest of the head, especially the forehead/frontal bone, the back of the head is kinda squishy/not well-protected by the skull. This is a magnificent design flaw, because the brain stem controls most involuntary vital functions like breathing and heart rate, which means that a hit to the back of the head could send a character to meet their maker

Throat

Throat strikes can also be life-threatening because, as you might've guessed, it will impact a character's breathing (or, in the worst cases, the neck bones). The larynx is at the top of the throat column, whereas the trachea is at the bottom. Ultimately, the terminology doesn't matter too much, because both are very bad places for your character to be hit. The suprasternal notch, which is the divot between the collarbones, at the very base of the neck, is not a fun place to be hit, but it won't kill your character (Rio, one of my characters, motherfucker unlimited, hits one of his classmates here and nearly gets suspended)

Eyes

Explains itself. A character would probably want to use their thumbs

Ears

There are a couple here. Right behind the ears/corners of the jaw are some particularly nasty soft spots. I used to think it was the eustachian tubes, but I could be wrong, maybe it's actually the lymph nodes, or something else entirely. Either way, I was once hit here with an oven mitt that was tossed at my face, and it brought me to the ground

Also, there's something called a 'thunderclap' which is basically a character clapping their palms over an opponent's ears (less of a cupping/holding motion and more of a simultaneous smack). The sudden change in pressure will rupture their opponent's eardrums, which 1. Hurts like a bitch and 2. Will at least temporarily deafen them

Knees

This one is kinda tricky because some strikes aimed at the knees are okay (kicking out the backs of the knees isn't fun, but it won't ruin a character's year), and some are not. It's not cool to aim at the front and top of the knee, because that's how dislocations happen. Your character ought to stomp, rather than kick - gravity gives some assistance and even if the opponent bends their knee in preparation, it still has a good chance of breaking

Why would a character throw illegal hits?

Because, clearly, they can be pretty devastating. I'm not going to tell you that a character can't throw these kinds of hits during a sparring match, but they really shouldn't, unless you're trying to prove that they are a bitch (like my kid, Rio). That's because friendly/instructional sparring matches are defined by a sense of mutual respect and good sportsmanship - the goal is to improve the skills of one or both parties, not to maim. But, on the other hand, it could be a pretty powerful characterization moment if a character gets worked up and smashes their sparring partner's knee in. Any character who disregards combat etiquette, whether intentionally or impulsively, is bound to build a reputation for themselves both within the narrative and among the fandom

Primarily, however, these underhanded hits are best utilized in a self-defense scenario, especially when your character is otherwise at a steep physical disadvantage (shorter/lighter/weaker/etc.) It's also okay to pull these out during a serious, but more evenly-matched, fight between two characters. Just, again, remember that it's really not nice, and that the victim character would probably be well within their rights to seek revenge at the next available opportunity

#writing #writing advice #fight scene #wip #wip stuff #martial arts #willa mcclain #sorry this is so gross #tw injury #tw death #tw eye horror

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lemonlillybee · 2 years

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Sicktember Day 7: Backup

Sicktember Day 7

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41563788

Title: Backup

Prompt: A cry for attention

Fandom: Spider-Man (MCU)

Word Count: ~1600

A/N: First week of @sicktember down, can you believe it?? This one is a whumpy sickfic, warnings for injuries and I guess swearing?

Honestly, Peter knows better than to take on so many people all at once all by himself. But as he watches the group of criminals from his spot on a tree branch, his spidey-sense going haywire, he pushes that thought to the back of his mind. He’s been feeling unsettled all evening, and now that he’s followed his gut to this part of town he’s pretty sure he knows why. These guys are bad news. He’s also pretty sure if he catches them off guard and works quickly, he can have them webbed up in no time.

Probably.

Three or so hours into patrolling in the rain, Peter feels like a damn icicle, and even with the heater in his suit on full blast he’s shivering hard. He can barely feel his fingers and toes, his nose is running, and he’d give anything to be dry right now.

But first, he has to get the bad guys.

He swings down from the tree and lands in a puddle– the whole damn ground is a puddle at this point. The group of men have already disappeared down the alleyway between two buildings, so he follows quickly, slipping into the dark shadows and sticking close to the wall.

The first sign that something’s wrong is when the hair on the back of his neck stands up, like something’s approaching from behind, but when he spins around there’s nothing there. By then, it’s too late, and when he turns back around he’s slammed up against the brick wall by a force that’s stronger than he is.

“Who sent you? Why are you following us?” One of the men growls, and Peter laughs nervously when he realizes that none of them are actually physically holding him against the building.

“Wow, are you guys wizards?” He asks, his voice coming out embarrassingly shaky. He tries to free himself from the wall, but it takes all of his strength just to pull his arm forward a couple of inches, and by the time he’s able to even attempt to aim his web shooters the group has already closed in on him.

From there, it’s a blur of punches and kicks, with four or five sets of hands coming at him from all sides. One of them definitely has a knife, if the repeated stabbing pain in his side is anything to go by. He spots a man standing back several feet, the one pointing some kind of weapon at him that he’s never seen before, and gets the feeling he only has a limited amount of time to get the hell out of here before he’s done for.

Just as Peter finally pushes his arm forward enough to fire a web, something cracks down hard on his elbow, making him cry out in pain and his web to fly in the opposite direction. He cries out in pain, but it’s enough of a diversion to temporarily distract the man with the weapon. Peter takes the opportunity to shoot another web at his legs, pulling his feet out from under him, and once the weapon is aimed away from him he falls to the ground, no longer held by the invisible force.

He barely makes it up to the rooftop of a nearby building before he collapses on his back. It’s just his luck that the rain is picking up now. When he reaches up to pull off his mask, he realizes his left shoulder is dislocated. His right arm is probably broken, but he can barely feel it. The rain pelts his face and makes the gash on his forehead sting.

Sirens sound in the distance. Peter wills himself to get up, to at least follow the men with the freaky weapon he’d just narrowly escaped so he can get a location or some more information, something to make this not the absolute worst idea he’s ever had, but when he closes his eyes he can’t open them again and he lets himself surrender to the spinning, painful darkness.

–- 🕷–- –- 🕷–- –- 🕷–-

“Is there a reason you didn’t call for backup?”

Peter cracks open one eye, then closes it again with a hiss when a raindrop plops right in his eye.

“Fuck.”

“What is this, a cry for attention? Do I not give you enough attention?”

Peter groans. He feels like his entire body is on fire.

“You have a direct line, Peter. You literally just have to say out loud that you need backup, and boom. Help. Just like that. I thought you Zoomers were all about the technology, hm?”

Even though he feels like he’s about to pass out, Peter squints until he’s able to focus on Tony. Fuck, even his eyes feel hot.

“T’ny?”

Tony squats down next to him, his eyebrows scrunching like they do when he’s mad, but it’s not anger in his eyes.

It takes a minute for him to realize Tony is waiting for him to say something, but by then he can’t remember what he was even going to say. Instead, he groans again, wishing he could just be dry. Or not on fire. He feels a cool hand on his forehead and doesn’t even try to stifle the whimper that comes out.

“Jesus, kid. You’re burning up. Karen says you’re bleeding, a lot, and that you’ve been up here in the rain for an hour? On top of four hours of patrolling in the rain?”

“Hngh.”

“Yeah, exactly. So we’re gonna get going, and I’m going to need you to cooperate. Think you can do that for me?”

Peter tries to listen to what Tony is saying, but his ears are hot and he can’t stop shaking. He feels himself being lifted up and held against something cold and hard, and then they’re moving, wind and rain whipping against his face until the darkness washes over him again.

–- 🕷–- –- 🕷–- –- 🕷–-

When Peter wakes up, the all too familiar bright lights and smell of the med bay floods his senses. He’s shivering violently, his throat raw and his mouth dry, and when he tries to sit up his head throbs in protest.

“Try to stay still,” Tony murmurs, eyes fixed on Peter’s forehead. “I’m going to stitch this up.” He gently taps the space above his eyebrow, just under the wound there. Peter nods slightly, clenching his jaw as he tries to stop shivering. His face is hot. Tony reaches down to cup the side of his neck with his left hand, thumb moving absently up and down under his jaw in a comforting motion until he relaxes it.

Between the pounding in his temples and the fever coursing through his body, he barely feels Tony stitching him up. When he’s done, Peter lifts his head just enough to look down at the rest of his body. Tony has already set his broken arm, as well as patched up the stab wounds in his side, and Peter can see stitches on his shin and the back of his right hand.

Peter lets his head fall back on the bed and closes his eyes. He hears Tony moving around and almost lets himself drift off, but he’s so thirsty he can’t.

“Okay,” Tony says, and Peter cracks one eye open to look up at the older man. “Last thing we’ve got is your shoulder.”

Peter opens his mouth and tries to ask for water, but all that comes out is a raspy squeak of an exhale. He clears his throat and tries again. “Water?”

Tony nods, filling a paper cup at the sink and bringing it over. Peter lets Tony help him sit up just enough to take a few sips, and then he takes a washcloth off of his forehead that Peter hadn’t even realized was there. He changes it out for a fresh, cold cloth, and Peter shivers, sighing in relief at the cool touch.

“I’m so sorry,” Tony says, but before Peter can ask what for he feels intense, white hot pain in his left shoulder as Tony expertly pops it back into place.

“Fuck,” he croaks, squeezing his eyes shut. He lets out a shaky breath and licks his dry lips. “Fuck.”

A few minutes pass before Peter’s able to open his eyes again. He watches Tony finish cleaning up before he comes over, sitting down in a chair next to the bed. Tony brushes his hand through his curls, an unreadable expression on his face. “All patched up,” he says, lips pressed tightly together.

Peter is trying to think of where to start with his apology when Tony heaves a long sigh.

“I’m saving the big lecture for after you heal up. Luckily I won’t have to wait very long. I want you to rest up, okay? Bruce will be here to check you out in the morning.”

Peter nods, and before he can reply Tony stands and walks across the room, turning off the bright lights overhead. At first, Peter thinks he’s going to leave, and a pang of sadness hits him, bringing tears to his eyes embarrassingly fast. When Tony returns to his side a moment later with another paper cup of water and a thin blanket, he blinks hard, thankful for the darkness.

Peter gingerly lifts his arm to hold the cup, downing the water before slumping back against the bed. Tony pulls the blanket to his chest and rubs small circles on his chest when Peter shivers hard, suddenly feeling cold again.

“Sleep,” Tony whispers.

“Thank you,” Peter whispers back, and he falls asleep with Tony’s hand on his chest and the steady, calming sound of Tony’s heart beating next to his ear.

#sicktember #Sicktember 2022 #sickfic #sick peter parker #peter parker whump #injury #swearing #hurt peter parker #whump #irondad #spiderson #spiderman #mcu #fever

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lethargicsunlight · 3 years

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Part 1: Some Combat Training Katsuki Bakugo X Fem!Reader

HeLp

EDIT: Read part 2 here!

I’ve thought about this for like, a week?!

Some context here: I’m attempting to write a slow-burn multi-book fanfic, but I haven’t even reached current episodes/chapters for BNHA yet? SO, this is in outline stages right now. I’m really big on keeping things as canon as possible, so once I catch-up with everyone else on the series (or at least far enough to know wtf I’m writing about :D ) I can start actually finishing and editing chapters.

Right now it’s.. it’s just a mess.

ANYWAYS, for the time being, I shall vent out some ideas for this fanfic or just other random drabble to keep my inspiration burning while I soak it all up. Might asks for requests or ideas or something.

This for instance.. Is essentially a drabble that builds some

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* c h e m i s t r y*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧between you and BoomBoom boy.

Warnings: FLUFF. I guess? I mean, can he really be 'fluff'y? Idk we'll see. Also, they're Third-Years in U.A. now, so aged-up just a bit.

Also, P.S.: I make it a point to leave out most descriptions of y/n. This way, whether its you or an OC, it's not as immersive-breaking. That said, I have taken liberties with their physique and personality based on certain events in their life. Y/n will also be smaller in stature (though I will not be specific about height) because of their specific combat abilities. (Think Inej from Six of Crows, if you will.)

Making a Part 2 because this evidently went on FOREVER.

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

You heard Bakugou close the gym door from behind you, but you don't bother to say 'thank you'. Moving to the back of the room, you grabbed a training dummy and began dragging it into the center; your eyes never even grazing him--you knew he was there.

Along the anatomy of the dummy, you had painted pressure points, nerves, and joints to assist in your specific method of combat. You swung the dummy around, the back facing you. The soft taps of your comrade's feet grew closer, and you trusted he was close enough to hear you.

"If you want to immobilize the arm temporarily, you'll need to strike here." You point to the green dot at the junction of the shoulder, only now glancing at him to make sure he was paying attention.

As if you had to. Of course he was.

You pull your hand back and position your fingers into a jabbing form, shifting your body to face him more. "Three fingers are all you need, but you can use the rest of your hand to reinforce it."

You wait for him to mimic his hand like yours. You crane your neck a bit, inspecting it, making sure all the bones and ligaments were aligned the way they needed to be. Your own hands lift, near touching his before;

"May I touch you?"

There's a hesitation before he answers, "Yeah," voice gruff but otherwise unemotional.

You give a hum in acknowledgement before you entrap Bakugou's wrist, lightly tracing the anatomy to make sure it was perfect; then pulling it towards the dummy and away--watching the muscles and tendons flex. He's a little stiff about it at first, but he allows it.

"There, keep the fingers bent and the wrist straight.." You twist his wrist slightly, tapping the front to show him how flat it was. "You're a lot stronger than I am; if you get this move down, you can probably dislocate someone's shoulder this way."

Now you look up to inspect his face. You'd been dreading it.

Much to your surprise.. he doesn't look all that bemused. Nor does he acknowledge your last comment, which you'd expected a 'of course I could' or at least a 'Heh.'

But he's stonefaced, staring at his hand. The moment begins to stretch on so you quickly continue before the mood shifted.

"Here," you step away, unzipping the jacket you'd worn over your work-out gear for the brisk walk to the gym. "The plastic doesn't do a good job for this, so I'll show you what you're aiming for." Turning so your back faced him, you feel down your opposite shoulder until your reach the juncture where the nerve and joint interacted. After finding it, you point it out for him.

"If you press pretty hard, you'll feel where it dips in."

He hesitates again.

What was with him?

Simultaneously...

He pulls the metal door to a close behind him, the sound of the latch echoing through the gym's concrete walls as he watches you moving across the main floor to grab a practice dummy.

This had seemed like such a good idea. Practical.

There was a new villain in Japan that had amassed a large following--not unlike the League. Their focus was on temporarily disabling quirks to take down big targets in coordinated attacks, and their targets were pro-heroes. They would lure them out with large-scale natural disasters, single them out, and take them down. Every hero, even the third-years of U.A., had begun practicing more simplistic combat techniques, in the event their quirks become useless.

And while he wasn't going to voice it, most of his combat training had always centered on his quirk. Learning any other kind of combat was a waste of time. Or, it had really seemed that way...

But you had changed his mind. Long before this new villain, and long before right now. Still, he'd left it to you--this was your thing, not his. He learned from watching you, but asking you to teach him was a step down he couldn't take.

And even now, he felt weak for doing it.

Snapping out of his thoughts, he hones in on you as this demonstration begins--but he doesn't want to look at your face. This was just for training. This was practical. Logical.

When it comes to the point of actually mimicking your movements though, he's sent off-balance again.

"May I touch you?"

What the fuck kind of question is that?

It almost comes out of his mouth, but its barred shut for some reason. "Yeah." He has to force it out, like he's choked.

He watches your hands deftly graze finger-tips around his hand and his wrist. It's all flesh contact, he didn't see a point in wearing gloves for this.

...But he begins to wish he had.

It'd been two years since he'd met you. You'd become a student by invitation from All Might and the Principle in tandem due to a drawn-out coup you'd lead against a major underground villain known as Head Honcho; of which, he and Deku as first-years had helped take down. You'd revealed yourself as the defector, and sacrificed yourself to Honcho's ultimate move in order to break his defenses. You really had not planned to live through all of that.

Little, strange, you.

And now as you barely touch him, it sends warm pulses up his arm and across his chest. In all those two years, you'd never done that. Never had the chance, he realizes, as the room slows down and he relives the moments with you over that duration.

He would find you sitting next to him in the Cafeteria. Find you--because you were silent when you sat down. Silent when you ate. When he would notice you, he'd make a big deal over it.

'What the hell twinkle-toes?! Do you really have to skulk around like that?'

He would find you next to him in the common room.

'What--why are you so silent all the time, you're so damn creepy!'

He found you next to him, when he woke up in that bar with the villains that'd kidnapped him. How had you ended up there?

He'd never been able to ask. It was an unspoken agreement between the two of you to never mention that event. So much had happened in such little time--

His arm is now free of your touch--you say something but he barely catches it. Right. Combat training. How could he forget?!

He glowers at his hand. What the fuck was he doing? Why wasn't he concentrating..

"Here," you're suddenly moving away and unzipping the jacket you wore.

What the--

"The plastic doesn't do a good job for this, so I'll show you what you're aiming for." You're saying, as the fabric slides down your arms. You grab the sleeves off your hips and tie them around your waist. It's nothing he hasn't seen before.

And it's everything he hasn't seen before.

The only skin showing was your shoulders and your mid-drift. Practical for work-outs, great for taking hits in training to build endurance, logical.. logical..

His mind blanks.

"If you press pretty hard, you'll feel where it dips in." You're pointing to a spot on your shoulder, but with your eyes not on him--he's taking the second to regain control over whatever the fuck it was he was going through.

He's not stupid.

He knows what hormones do. He knows what infatuation is, and lust, and all of that other shit--he knows because he avoids the hell out of it. Becoming the world's greatest hero doesn't allow any time for it. He can't afford even a moment of distraction.

It's your fault.. He reasons, gritting his teeth as he moves forward--determined to peel the feeling from his chest and blast it away. You did this. You weaseled your way into being close to me. You--!

Turning over your shoulder, you catch eyes with him.

He stops. The anger, the steel-like walls he'd just been building--they all suddenly just.. melt away. It's not how beautiful your eyes are. It's not the curious concern behind them. It's the truth.

You weren't offering to train him in some close, quirkless combat because he was weak. You weren't offering to train him as a chance to get 'comfy' with him, or warm his heart or whatever the girls in class chided him about. You were offering to train him because he was your partner. You wanted him to be on his top game in the field.

And for some reason... that made it worse!

#bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha #bakugo x female reader #katsuki x y/n #katsuki x you #bakugo x you #mha bakugo x reader #bnha drabble #self insert #bakugo x fem!reader

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snowe-zolynn-rogers · 4 years

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My Gruesome Thoughts

(a collection of more violent stories I’ve written based on intrusive thoughts I’ve had)

Series Summary: I've been having more and more violent intrusive thoughts so I thought that, while I'm researching these things to sate my inner Remus and it helps to talk about it, I'd write some of the thoughts out into stories as ficlets.

Pairings: Romantic Dukeceit (Janus x Remus)

Word Count: 676 Words

Summary: Remus has an intrusive thought that won't go away, Janus doesn't mind Remus trying it out on him. They're sides after all, they can't get too hurt, right?

Warnings: Dismemberment, Amputation, Violent Thoughts, Blood, Injury, Swearing, Gore, Body Horror, Dislocation, let me know if I should tag anything else.

Chapter 1: Dismemberment- Janus and Remus' Experiment

Janus rolled his eyes when Remus said it. He, of course, let the idiot sate himself with the intrusive thought that would nag the poor bastard. At least if Remus did it on him, there'd be no harm done and Janus didn't quite see a downside since he had five other arms if something went wrong. He'd just be in pain for a bit if Remus' healing didn't work.

Remus went to work on Janus' left lowest arm, numbing him up in the area it'd be temporarily disconnected, his elbow, and Janus couldn't help but find the pins and needles feeling funny.

Once he was numb, Remus giggled gleefully as he made a small cut in his elbow to test his numbness as Janus glanced at him, warning him of the blood possibly getting on his paperwork and to make sure he didn't get blood on the floor or his papers.

Remus huffed but snapped up a clear plastic spray shield around his numbed arm and a plastic tarp on the floor with towels nearby. He could still move his fingers. Odd.

He watched in fascination now as Remus watched his fingers move and he held them and kissed them. Janus smirked a bit and certainly didn't giggle himself at both the situation nor the Duke's mustache hair tickling his knuckles.

Remus then cut deeper into his elbow with that blade of his, digging against something and Janus grimaced just a little.

"More numb?" Remus asked.

"A little, that's a bone, Remus." Remus then injected more of that local anesthetic into his arm, higher up now and on the other side of his elbow.

Once those places went numb, Remus was right back at it, taking a moment to let Janus take a deep breath before he wrenched his lower arm from the upper. Janus was now watching with morbid fascination as he saw, but didn't feel, his bones be dislocated.

Remus then cut thought the rest of the muscle and skin until the arm was off. Huh. Weird. he could still feel it there, in two different ways. He could feel Remus holding his arm, but he could feel the missing limb in the space it once had been.

Maybe because he was a side, maybe because of some weird thing of Remus keeping his arm alive while he detached it, but he flexed the fingers and Remus yelped at it, dropping said arm on the floor.

"Hey! Don't drop that! That's my arm, you idiot!" Janus snapped.

"Oh hush, you startled me moving it!" Remus shoved his tongue out at him, picking it back up and holding his hand to his face, cupping the cheek. Janus smiled feeling the mustache hairs tickling his wrist and the warm feeling in his palm.

"You feel that?" Remus asked.

"Yeah, you're stupid mustache is tickling my wrist." Janus couldn't help but laugh when Remus began kissing his hand and wrist, the tickling hairs on the rat's upper lip were a torment but he loved Remus' mustache as did Remus.

Remus kissed his palm once more before putting the arm back and stitching it into place hands going over the wound and healing him right back, bone and all back in place, though with small stitches Remus began snipping and taking out for him while he giggled happily with entertainment.

"You should make Virgil into Sally from Nightmare Before Christmas, he'd love it." Janus offered.

"He'd never let me." Remus pouted, peppering his healing kisses on Janus' tiny stitch wounds and snapping away the setup and tarp he'd made earlier as well as clean himself off with the towels that were then snapped away.

"You clearly don't know his devotion to Sally." Janus joked, turning back to his paperwork and continuing while Remus continued to pepper kisses at his neck to bring him to bed.

It eventually worked and Janus fell asleep with all six arms tucked up between him and Remus, Remus taking extra care of his bottom left by holding it close out of harm's way.

#sanders sides #sympathetic deceit #deceit sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #virgil sanders #romantic dukeceit #dukeceit #snoweywrites #my gruesome thoughts #tw dismemberment #tw amputation #tw violent thoughts #tw blood #tw injury #tw cursing #tw gore #tw body horror #tw dislocation

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apricottie · 3 years

Text

dislocation

tw: vague mentions of sexy times. also vomit (not during the sexy times that would be like, really, really unsexy)

the night before the rebel attack, apricot watched the capitol like it was on fire already. apricot watched from a balcony that wasn't his, because his shitty apartment didn't have a balcony attached, he didn't belong there anyway, and he'd never been good at staying between four walls. he watched with a bottle of whiskey with an expensive name on it in his hand, and an expensive man by his side, who knew exactly why he was looking out over the city. neither of them addressed it.

maybe he wasn't supposed to be here, but the plot was already drawn out in dotted lines of skyscraper homes and never-fading neon signs. if apricot were to back out now, it wouldn't change the fact that the bathroom of the expensive hotel suite held a bathroom with a sink to wash the metaphorical blood away in. that the watch on his wrist that he checked the time on, like his time was precious, was one he'd stolen years ago, and that sealed his fate as much as anything.

apricot had always viewed life as an inevitable tragedy. he fell off a slide when he was eight, nobody was watching him. he scratched up his hipbone so badly that it left a permanent discolouration. it had been unpreventable; this was easier to accept than the notion someone could've been there for him. his life was a line of whatever what done to him, events that shaped him into the body he had now, one that he still didn't quite fit in. he didn't know what parts of him were who he was, and which parts were simply what had happened to him. it was easier to think they were one and the same, that he'd always end up like this. so he took another sip of his whiskey despite not being much of a drinker, stole the cigarette from the man at his side despite not being a smoker. apricot had long realised that this was an exchange, these trivial parts of himself he could throw at people as though he needed to be witnessed. look at me, said the young boy on the slide moments before he fell, now watch me go. he never actually knew whether he jumped or slipped, just that he fell.

so he was a rebel. this was as incidental as the slide. his position in any of this was performative passion at best, as it always had been. he'd been young before, that was always something to blame it on. he'd been younger when he first met the man who kissed his neck like he was a commodity. he'd been younger - if only a little - when he joined the rebels. this made it an inevitable fact of his past, whatever remained now was just aftershocks, like the tremor of the earth after a building's collapse. the rebels needed poison, and apricot knew a guy. the rebels needed him, and apricot didn't know why, but he wouldn't say no for any other reason than the lingering stubbornness on his tongue, so he said yes. call it growth, he'd learned to say yes. he said it a couple times over as the man tugged on his hoodie, this too was an exchange. it seemed too fitting to call him a rebel without a cause. maybe he'd ask the man to whisper his name as such, though. because the man called him sweetheart, had called him sweetheart every time apricot needed something stronger than whatever pills he normally carried and hadn't the means to pay upfront, and that didn't suit him at all.

he pulled off his hoodie and found the same skinny body underneath that had always resided there. apricot was nineteen and twenty-six. he still didn't recognise the pale lines that carved out his ribs. there was a scar on his wrist that he'd never studied, only vaguely remembered acquiring as another inevitability, a knife flicked into his wrist on a deal gone badly. there was this awkward mark under his nipple that he'd gained while drunk once, twenty and with nowhere to go, just a new him to figure out after he'd left himself behind in the places he ran from again and again. it was a tattoo gone wrong that he now played off as a birthmark. this too had to have been inevitable, not just a stupid mistake.

maybe this was a mistake.

apricot knew nothing better than to double down on those, just to solidify their existence. he was already on his knees by the time it occurred to him he wasn't a scared teenager anymore, that he could've paid half now and the rest later. he wasn't sure if that knowledge made it easier or harder to swallow. he swallowed anyway.

in the morning, he realised the bomb in the tower hadn't gone off. this was after he'd left poison in water pipes and left it behind him like it was in the past already. he looked out over whatever rubble he could see from a third-floor window in a building he shouldn't have been in, and saw cars drive into the tower lobby instead. apricot wondered if they, too, were doubling down on some mistakes. maybe it was a sign of misguided solidarity, more than anything he'd done for the rebels before, that apricot wandered to the tower as a response. that he slipped through back alleys until he found himself faced with the shards of the lobby and he snuck inside.

he didn't know what he was looking for, just what it had done to him. he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror after wandering some halls, found a cut under his eye he didn't remember getting, but sat on his cheek like a permanence now. maybe his body was all the things he couldn't be, stuck in time, place. there was a scar behind his ear from a time he got knocked into a wall, and apricot couldn't see it, but he knew it was there. he never knew what he was looking for, just what he left behind in search of it. the triplets, nico, sigma.

he found sigma hidden under a table in a room off a temporarily-empty hallway. apricot would say sigma wasn't meant to be there, but apricot would think it a lie. maybe this was just another inescapable fact of life. people died plenty. apricot knew this ( he remembered a body staring up at him like he was something interesting ). he froze, and it didn't matter anymore. because now sigma knew, knew something at least, that apricot would've never told him. and apricot turned around as though he wasn't the cause of these things, if only he didn't witness them. as though he could leave sigma there now, when he'd spent five years desperate to not run away, just for once, just for something good. there was a ring on his finger and it didn't matter anymore. but as he passed the door's threshold, he found himself faced with some rebels he vaguely recognised. it would be a past catching up to him if he cared to remember, but he never quite did. they stood there and knew him too, thought him trustworthy if only because he'd staunchly stuck to whatever path he'd decided had been set out for him long ago. was there anyone in the room ??

he shook his head.

this wasn't a mistake. this was important, he shook his head. he was still a little drunk, his stomach filled with nothing but sickness and whatever reluctance had kept him from leaving before now. but he shook his head. at the rebels, at sigma, at whoever would see. at whoever would witness him as an instigator, not a casualty of whatever scenario he'd now found himself in. no, this room didn't need to be searched, broken down, torn to pieces. no, you should stay hidden under the desk for now ( apricot cast a glance back to sigma, thought he'd personally murder the man if he moved now ).

he shook his head, and he was uncertain whether that made him a bystander in disbelief, or a catalyst in the situation. he wanted to believe he was still a witness to inevitable tragedy, when in reality, maybe he was disrupting whatever this was supposed to be. either way, sigma stayed where he was. either way, sigma wasn't found by whatever rebels were looking for a fight in the rubble of the tower. either way, apricot not losing sigma now left the same taste in his mouth as losing sigma before had. like it was always going to end up like this. with ruins and apricot shaking his head once more, then running like his absence was a mercy he'd force upon people. another poison.

he went back to the man and the hotel suite. it was in a building that hadn't fallen and wasn't supposed to, and that seemed as good as anything. the man didn't ask him why he'd needed poison, like he hadn't before. the man didn't ask apricot why he downed a whole bottle of wine before declaring he wanted to be drunk and fucked until this whole rebel thing was over with ( because apricot was a pessimist. because a bomb was supposed to go off, but hadn't. because doubling down on mistakes never helped, it only made things that much worse ). the man didn't ask apricot why he tugged on the ring on his finger like he wasn't sure if he wanted it gone, or if it was the only thing he had that was worth holding onto. the man didn't ask apricot why he called him sig in a moment of breathlessness, nor did he question apricot running to the bathroom right after. maybe some things were just not meant to be discussed.

apricot threw up in the sink like he hadn't done so before. like violence wasn't this inevitable sickness that had sunken under his skin a long time before now, like he'd not given it a home in his veins because nothing else ever stayed. that wasn't something he could blame the rebels, the capitol, anyone else for. apricot held something worse than poison in his throat, it resembled his heartbeat. it wasn't something he could expunge from his body, even though he tried. he gagged and retched and his shoulders shook and he shouldn't have had this much to drink. there was this red spilling from him, and for a moment he wondered if it was blood. he realised it was the wine, and his concern shifted. he wondered if it would stain his teeth to spit the coloured acid up like this, if this was another self-induced tragedy.

the next time he gagged, he found himself empty. he was left with the taste of blood on his tongue regardless. he wished there was someone there to witness his destruction, he knew it was a shameful thought. he wondered if it would be meaningful if only he was seen before he imploded. but when bombs broke buildings, he knew the sentiment despite the tower still standing, bystanders were left with shards in their bodies they could pull out but never quite heal from. he almost called a number, any number, on his phone as he hunched over the sink. but his hands shook and apricot's destruction wasn't worthy of collateral.

when he threw his phone onto the floor -- right after he rinsed his mouth, and right before he left the bathroom entirely to fuck a man whose name he never remembered to try and get rid of a name he couldn't forget --, he wondered if he'd felt it vibrating in his hand a moment before. a phantom ring, maybe, like the one on his finger. someone calling him. here was the thing about a phone ringing, though: eventually, whoever rang would be sent through to voicemail. all apricot had to do was not pick up. so this, too, seemed inevitable.

maybe that was a mistake.

he left his phone to vibrate on the tiles. apricot slammed the door on his way out, and didn't look back.

#the real disclaimer is that i drunk wrote a good 3/4ths of this #self para #dislocation #tw: vomit #tw: nsfw??#interrupting ur fmks with this

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years

Text

A Yandere!Hawks/OC piece for the very lovely @beemmmv, as a continuation to this piece, and Miya’s initial abduction. I like experimenting as much as the next person, but it’s nice to go back to my kidnapping-based roots. If to /really/ see a Darling crack, however resilient they might try to be.

Word Count: 2.0k

TW: Non-Con, Overstimulation, Orgasm Denial, Oral Sex, and Kidnapping.

Miya was many things. She was smart, resourceful, and given enough time and blessed with enough patience, she’d like to think she could find her way out of whatever situation she was unlucky enough to find herself in. She hadn’t thought that would include a hostage scenerio in the basement of a Pro-Hero, and yet, she was confident she could work with that she had. Another trait to add to her extensive list - confidence.

Yes, she was a lot of things.

Miya was not, however, a quick learner.

Maybe it was the circumstance. Keigo was content to act as if nothing was wrong, and it wasn’t difficult to go along with him, not when everything she said was disregarded as quickly as the complaints of a stubborn child. He wanted to play the role of a caretaker, keep her fed and entertained until she came around to the idea of letting him continue to do so without complaint. It was hard to adjust when she wasn’t given an adjustment period, hard to change her habits and her instincts and everything in between.

If she was a quick learner, she might’ve noticed the way Keigo’s smile wavered the first time he caught her trying to pry off the cuff around her wrist, using brute strength to test its resolution. She might’ve paid more attention as he explained he’d let it slide, this time, but that he didn’t want to feel like he was keeping her hostage, rather than trying to think of a snarky remark just offensive enough to get under his skin, but not so mouthy as to end up gagged, again.

If she was a quick learner, she might’ve seen how quick Keigo was to grit his teeth and storm out of the room every time she mentioned what she’d do once she escaped. It was usually something obvious, like going to the police or reporting him to every newscaster she could find, and occasionally something more specific. Who she’d call first, what her landlord would think, little things. It always set Keigo off, though, and she caught on to that. When she wanted him gone, that was the tool she used.

If she was a quick learner, she might’ve done something different. Started counting how many times he mentioned punishments, bondage, discipline, or recognized how eager he was to inflict one of the threats she’d always deemed hollow. She might’ve kept track of his schedule, or planned more strategically, but she didn’t, and now, it was too late to try and fantasize about other realities wherein she might’ve been more careful. As soon as she heard the lock click, she knew she was done for.

There was no way to escape her guilt. Even if she managed to stand and flee, there was no way to hide the wallpaper she’d torn away from the basement wall, Keigo’s attempts at refurbishing the cellar moderately successful, at best. There was no way to hide the cracks in the now-bare cement wall, the sizable piece so nearly loose enough to dislocate, and in the blink of an eye, Keigo had seen it all. She stuttered out something incomprehensible only to be cut off halfway through an incoherent excuse, Keigo taking her by the collar and pulling Miya to her feet, barely giving her time to stand before dragging her towards the over-embellished queen-sized bed in the corner of the room, the only piece of furniture Keigo had put any effort into picking out. She had a sinking feeling she would find out why, soon enough.

Keigo wasn’t an especially strong man, not for a Hero, but he was still a Hero. Silently and swiftly, she was thrown onto the plush surface, her body hitting the mattress and bouncing twice before she settled onto her back. Miya made an effort to push herself up, but as soon as she could try, she was pushed back down, a hand around her throat and a Keigo’s legs on either side of her torso, his weight soon settled onto her thighs, pinning her underneath him. Red, fiery wings stretched out behind him, bristled and poised for attack, but there was no need for the looming threat. After the last time he was this close, she could barely breathe around him, much less fight back in any meaningful way.

“What were you trying to do?” He asked, his voice eerily calm, only betrayed by the fury in his eyes. She could hardly stand to met his stare, with how intent he was on burning through her. “Answer me. What were you planning to do?”

“I wanted to hit you!” His hold on her throat tightened, but only temporarily, loosening the moment her breath hitched. His glare sharpened, his lips curling upward into a snarl, and she took the sign to continue. “I-I was going to attack you. I needed something to hit you with. I’m sorry.”

Keigo shook his head, letting out a long, languid sigh, and pulled away, straightening his back to stare her down properly. She almost let herself relax, some deep, dark part of her mind doing its damnedest to convince the rest of it that he’d let her go, that he’d make another idle threat and demand to be coddled for the foreseeable future, but his hands only trailed down her chest, falling until they reached the hem of her shorts.

Her heart stopped when he undid the first button.

She was sure she’d died as soon as he’d made contact with the second.

“This is my fault,” He said, his voice low, measured. He shifted, slightly, as he pulled her shorts onto her thighs, then down her legs, discarding them completely in a series of labored movements. She shot up reflexively, reaching out to push him off of her, but a razor-sharp feather is quick to stop her, flying past her neck and cutting a thin, shallow line just below her jaw before embedding itself in the pillow next to her, halting Miya’s movement completely. She didn’t lie down, but she stopped, and that was good enough for Keigo, letting her watch as lowered himself down, moving between her legs and pecking at the junction of her hips and her thighs. “You don’t know any better. Bad little girls with no one to train ‘em right can’t be blamed for acting up. You don’t know who’s in charge, yet.”

Her panties are pulled down gracelessly, and for a second, all she felt was his hot breath against her bare cunt before something warm and wet slid against her clit, laving over the sensitive nub with as much care as such a neglectful guardian was capable of using. Miya shuddered, attempting to writhe as far from him as she could, but ever little tic and jerk only spurred him onward, small, electric shocks invading her system and shooting straight to her core. He was intense, moreso than the last time he’d felt the need to be ‘intimate’. The way he suckled on her clit, the feeling of the flat of his tongue pressed against her tight slit, all of it was focused, concentrated on drawing out a reaction and all-but shoving her towards a quickly approaching climax. Less aimed towards his own pleasure, and much more brutal when it came to provoking her’s. Forceful, even, although there were very few times when Keigo wasn’t.

“Things always have to be so violent with you, Princess,” He mumbled, the words stifled by his closeness. He was tentative, at first, the tip of his tongue dipping into her experimentally. She felt his grip on her waist tighten, his fingertips digging into her hips, pulling her closer as he began eating her out in earnest, the slimy organ beginning to curl inside of her and form a steady, stuttered rhythm. Miya felt her eyes roll back in her head, tears blurring what was left of her vision. All she could do was hope he didn’t notice, but judging from the way he drew back, taking a moment to scan over her, it was a wish that wouldn’t be realized any time soon. “Maybe you like it, though, maybe it’s a nice little adrenaline kick for my sweetheart. I’d hate to take that away from you, and I know how stubborn you are about giving these things up.”

Despite the hostility in his voice, all it took was another thrust of his tongue to have her toes curling, knees buckling as she came undone. But, just as she was about to reach her peak, Keigo pulled away, depriving her of any sensation beyond cold, sterile frenzy, a whine of frustration escaping her lips before she could attempt to stop it. She bucked towards his face, but she knew it was too late, that her nerves were fried and her orgasm was ruined, if the mix of sensations currently running through her body could even be recognized as one. Keigo didn’t seem to agree, though.

He’d always been tenacious, like that.

Her back arched as two fingers plunged into her entrance, dipping inside of her with one fluid, graceless motion. Keigo wasn’t gentle, she wasn’t sure why she expected him to be. He didn’t care that she was still sensitive, still buzzing from her last dissatisfying orgasm, only paying any mind to what made her teeth clench and her thoughts swirl in her head, the latter presenting itself in sputtered, garbled sentences, the kind that barely made it past her lips. “D-don’t, please,” She gasped, falling onto her back and making an effort to kick him away. “Takami, I don’t want to--”

“Takami,” He repeated, thoughtfully, a blur of red passing through her vision, a long primary feather coming to a stop just above her cunt, a knot of pure dread forming in the pit of her stomach as the appendage posed itself to Keigo’s contentment. It flicked over her clit at a clement tempo, the feeling soft and foreign, just barely there. It sped up, though, as Keigo began to scissor her open, soon solidifying and vibrating against her, forming a steady pulse in her core that only intensified the curl of Keigo’s fingers. “That’s new. Am I not a monster, today? Or how ‘bout ‘psycho’? Oh, what about villain, that’s been a popular one, lately.”

“Stop!” Another halfhearted kick, but Keigo only grunted, digging his nails into her hip and adding another digit, stretching her further and targeting that soft, spongey spot inside of her, the one he knew would bring her to tears. The pleasure was invasive, bordering on painful. She wanted it to stop, and yet, she knew she was going to cum. It was undeniable, whether or not she was willing to admit it. “I won’t, anymore, I promise, I won’t call you anything. Just please--”

Her voice cracked, fracturing into a broken moan as his fingers drummed inside of her. “Does it hurt, baby? Do you want it to end?” Miya nodded, desperately, and Keigo clicked his tongue, letting his free hand drift to her knee and pushing her legs apart as her thighs attempted to clench together. “Then maybe you understand a fraction of how much pain I’m in, right now. You should know what I want to hear, Miya. If you want me to stop, then give me what I want.”

She would’ve swallowed, coughed, done anything to interrupt the unrelenting dryness in her throat, but it was all she could to do whine and fist at the bedsheets, gritting her teeth. “I-I’m sorry,” She forced, her voice low and quiet and the best she was capable of, considering Keigo’s increasingly wild ministrations. “I’ll behave, I promise, I won’t--”

She didn’t get to finish. A climax rolled over her like an unwelcome, ice-cold wave, and Keigo was generous enough to let her ride it out, his digits only withdrawing once she’d gone limp, her eyes falling shut in exhaustion. Relief filled her, blissful, euphoric elation, but it only lasted for a moment. Just until the rustle of fabric and the distinct sound of a zipper coming undone could reach her ears, giving heart just enough time to twist in knots before Keigo spoke.

“I don’t believe you.”

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notquitecanon · 4 years

Note

hello! i hope you’re doing well and staying safe!! i was wondering if you could do a imagine/fic where y/n is also in the bau and gets hurt on the job, and spencer is super worried, protective and sweet when they finally find her? thank you so much!! i adore your work and honestly can’t wait to read loads more!! 🥺👉🏻👈🏻🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

This is way longer than I anticipated. Sorry I got a little carried away.

TW: uh, blood, guns, basically if you can’t watch criminal minds, don’t read this??

_____

Everything hurt as you started to come to, confused and out of it. Slowly, you remembered what happened, raising a shaky hand to find warm, sticky blood on your temple where you had been hit. It was hard to keep your eyes open, even the dim lighting of the basement was too much for your throbbing head. Nevertheless, you pried them open and looked around for anything you could use against your attacker- who, at this point, was undoubtedly the unsub.

“I knew filling in for JJ while she was on maternity leave might be a little more dangerous than teaching at the FBI academy, but I didn’t expect to get hit in the head just for showing my badge- I know I retired from the field early, but I used to get a lot farther before someone tried to hit me.” You thought, wincing as you tried to sit up- everything from the neck down was hurting, “What did he push me down the stairs too?”

Finally, you were able to push your self so you sat against the wall- which you tried to ignore the dark red smeared and splattered stains on- as you heard the unsub stomping around upstairs. If you strained you could barely hear him talking to himself, definitely delusional, those are the most dangerous types. Delusional or not, he knew you were FBI (and judging by the sun flitting in through the one, tiny window you’d only been out a couple hours) so it wouldn’t be long before people came looking for you.

Peeling off the blazer you had worn that day, you took a deep breath. You just had to stay alive until they found you.

_______

Meanwhile at the local police station:

Spencer tiredly popped his neck before taking a sip of his coffee (the station hadn’t had Tea and he needed the caffeine), relishing the short mental break before he went back to the board. Morgan was with Lewis going over the latest autopsy results while Rossi interviewed a couple of parents in one of the station’s waiting areas- so the conference room they had taken over was unusually quiet. Not that the genius minded. Those meticulous eyes raked over the map where he’d originally designed the geographic profile, but they’d exhausted every possibility in the area. He glanced over his shoulder at the fresh map where he had been trying to come up with another one, but something didn’t feel right. He knew the original geographic profile was right, they just had to be missing something.

In his peripheral, he saw Hotch slip into the room with a folder in his hand- like Reid, his mind was stuck on something too- a missing person's case. The only person in the whole town who fit their profile went missing five years ago at fifteen. They’d already interviewed the man’s parents, who just explained that he was a troubled individual and slipped away in the night. That didn’t sit well with Hotch, so he sent you back to their house to ask some follow-up questions since they hadn’t been answering their phone- he just forgot to tell Spencer.

Spencer hummed in acknowledgment of his arrival, and Hotch gave him a nod, not even looking up. The doctor tapped a finger on the map of the suburban town they were in, sighing “I feel like we’re missing the one piece of information we need to solve this case.”

“Isn’t that how it always goes, though?” Rossi teased lightly as he sauntered in, the three agents could hear the latest victim’s mother sobbing as she left the precinct. They all grimaced but carried on.

“Yes, but I agree. We’re definitely missing something.” Hotch agreed as Morgan and Lewis rushed into the conference room.

“You’ll never guess what we just found.” Lewis announced as she pulled two evidance bags out of her coat pocket, tossing one to Hotch who shared with Rossi and one to Spencer. The clear bags both contained a stained scrap of paper, but the writing was clear.

“I’m Still Here.” Reid read aloud, throwing Morgan a questioning look.

“These were hidden in the last two victims throats, the ME is reexamining the other victims as we speak.” Morgan clarified, “We only found this because a different ME examined the lastest body.”

Hotch frowned, remember the lackluster medical examiner they first encountered. As the team threw around ideas about this new find, Spencer looked around the room realizing a voice was missing.

“Hey, has anyone seen (Y/N)? I haven’t seen her since she left to revisit the dumpsites.” He asked, not paying attention to Morgan’s teasing. (You and Spencer had been dating for months before you got asked to temporarily join the team, and the team had only found out about it recently. Hotch agreed to let you stay, since your work with them was only temporary and JJ would be back in two weeks anyway.)

Hotch glanced at him, furrowing his eyebrows, “After she did that, I asked her to follow up with the Greys since she was already on that side of town.”

Spencer turned his head to gaze out of the large window at the setting sun, Hotch seemed to follow his line of thought, “That was hours ago, has anyone heard from her?”

The air in the room turned tense as everyone drew up blank, everyone in the room could see the lines of worry and stress tension rapidly appearing in the youngest team member as he left the room. Minutes later, he came back looking even worse, “Guys, her phone is going straight to ‘caller unavailable’”

Hotch pressed a button on the conference rooms phone, near immediately Spencer’s claims were confirmed with a monotonous, “I’m sorry the number you're attempting to reach is unavailable please try again at a later date.”

Morgan was quick to do something similar, switching to speaker as the line connected this time to a bright, cheery voice as Spencer began nervously picking at his fingernails, foot-tapping as she greeted them, “Hello, crime fighters, what can I do for you!”

“Baby girl, we need a location on (Y/N)’s cell phone.” Morgan was quick to cut to the chase, negating their usual banter. Even over the phone, Spencer could feel the hacker’s mood change only confirmed by the immediate clicking of keys followed by muttering.

“Oh, ok, oh no, that’s never good.” She whispered as she worked, “Oh! oh...”

“What is it?” Spencer pressed immediately, almost tripping over a chair leg as if getting closer to the phone would give him answers faster. Rossi tried to comfort him with a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but Reid didn’t even notice it.

“That last transmitted location was 5 hours ago.” She informed them, “Address is on your phones.”

Spencer did the mental math in a fraction of a second, five hours ago was around noon. You’d been missing since noon and he’d just found out? A flash of frustration went through the doctor before melting into an even greater sense of worry- a lot could happen in five hours.

His genius brain was working so fast in a downward spiral of all the terrible possibilities that could happen that he almost didn’t hear Hotch announce, “That’s Mason Grey’s parent’s house, she was there to ask some follow-up questions.”

“The kid that went missing?” Rossi asked as the missing piece clicked in Spencer’s brain.

“I’m still here! What if Mason Grey didn’t go missing, but his parents just hid him. He was showing early symptoms of mental problems, and we’ve seen it before.” Spencer almost shouted. Garcia was still on the line, and announced, “And, the house is in the middle of the kill zone”

“Neither one of the Grey’s showed up to their jobs today or yesterday. That’s not a good sign is it.”

“That kind of isolation could drive someone crazy, especially if they were already mentally ill,” Lewis added. Spencer had already made up his mind, and every minute that they weren’t on their way to you was slowly driving him crazy.

Hotch only thought about it for another minute, “Vests on, we’re leaving in five minutes.”

Spencer was in the car in two.

__________

You could barely see the sun setting through the tiny basement window, but it didn’t bode well as it was your only source of light. Your attempts to explore hadn’t been very fruitful, as once you finally managed to stand up you were made painfully aware that your knee was dislocated. Nevertheless, with a huff you resigned yourself to limp around.

Fruitful or not, you made some discoveries. First, you found the remained peices of your destroyed phone- considering it was in four large pieces you didn’t even attempt to turn it on. Next, you discovered the tiny window was sealed shut so you couldn’t even attempt an escape. Lastly, you found a locked room in corner of the room with an all too familiar rotting smell seeping from under the door. That must be the Grey’s you decided solemnly. The door itself was old and rickety-splintering in some places, even with bad leg you figured you could probably get it open. I could probably use my shoulder and ram it down, bodies or not, there might be a window in there that isn’t sealed.

“Get away from there!”

A shout startled you, and instinctively you ripped your hand off the doorknob you were jiggling. You didn’t have to turn around to know he had a gun, you heard the safety click off. Holding your hands up, you were quiet. With these types of unsubs, it was best to let him call the shots.

“T-turn around.” He demanded so you did, slowly. Greeted with the face you’d only briefly seen earlier before he’d hit you over the head with a bottle. The same face from the missing posters Hotch had shown you. This had to be Mason Grey, the missing teenager from five years ago- he’d be something like 20 years old now. He was using both hands to point a gun-your gun- at you, hands shaking as he glared at you.

Softly speaking, you rose your eyebrows, “Are you Mason?”

He didn’t answer, using the gun to motion you to kneel down. You were already at a disadvantage, and you didn’t like the added weakness of being on the ground.

“You’re FBI.” It was a statement not a question, but you nodded anyway.

“Yes, I am, and my team knows I’m here. If they get here and you’re pointing a gun at me, I promise you, it won’t end well for you.” You informed him, voice stern but not malicious. It was a fact, not a threat.

“What if you’re dead when you get here?” That wasn’t a threat either, a genuine question. Somehow, that was scarier.

“Well, since your parents are behind that door and they’ll connect you to at least five victims? It still won’t end well for you.” You calmly informed him as he moved one of his hands to nibble on his dirty fingernails. His forehead was sweating, eyes darting around, and hair greasy. He was scared.

“You were never missing were you?” You asked quietly, voice soft and sympathetic. His head shook.

“Did your parents make you stay down here?”

This time he nodded, lip wobbling as he took a sharp, deep breath, “I was different and they didn’t want people to know, so they made me stay down here. If I tried to leave, they’d lock me in there. Once they figured out I was leaving at night to go see my girlfriend, they tried to lock me up again. So I locked them in there, to see how bad it was.”

His girlfriend? Mason Grey’s real girlfriend died shortly after he went missing, maybe he saw all his victims as her? But you couldn’t worry about that, towards the end of his explanation his voice turned angry, erratic.

“If the FBI comes here. They’ll lock me up too. You’re gonna lock me up! I DON’T WANT TO BE LOCKED UP AGAIN.” He was yelling, inching closer to you and jabbing the gun towards you. He was distracted, so he didn’t hear the sirens approaching. But you did.

I just have to hold on a little longer.

“Mason, I don’t want to lock you up. If you put the gun down, I can help you. I’ll tell my friends what happened to you and that you cooperated and didn’t hurt me-” You tried promising him, but you were cut off by the sound of squealing breaks in front of the house. Your eyes flicked to the tiny window, it was dusk which allowed you to see red and blue flashing lights.

“Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!” He bellowed, for a moment he clawed both hands into his short greasy hair. Nervously, you strained to hear stomping feet above you. Then you heard the basement door open, and at the top of the stairs, you could see those unmistakeable converse paired with Morgan shouting behind him.

“Mason Grey, FBI.”

Spencer was here. You thought, sighing in relief, but it didn’t last long. You could see their feet, but not them so they definitely couldn’t see you- couldn’t see the gun. A moment too late, you saw Mason erratically wave the gun towards them, towards Spence.

“NO!” You shrieked, jumping up and grabbing his arm as you tackled him. The noise and pain came at the exact moment you hit the ground with him, almost immediately rolling off of him and grasping at the warm, wet, extremely painful wound on your stomach as your eyes screwed shut.

“(Y/N)!” You heard distantly as you tried to bring yourself back to reality, “We need an ambulance!”

You cracked your eyes open to Spencer crouched over you, eyes filled with worry as you brushed the hair off your forehead, behind him Morgan was shoving Mason up the basement stairs, probably rougher than he had to.

Breathing heavily, one of your hands pawed at the source of pain but Spencer instead took it in his, “You’re gonna be ok, you’re going to be just fine.”

You barely nodded, trying to slow your breathing as the genius grabbed the blazer you had discarded earlier. Balling it up, he pressed against the wound to stop the bleeding. You cried out in pain at the sudden pressure reflexively squeezing his hand, Spencer winced, “I know, I know, I’m so sorry, (Y/N).”

Everything was hazy after that, you honestly didn’t remember much, just flashes of his face, the EMT’s, him kissing your forehead begging you to stay awake, until finally you were allowed to slip off into a dreamless sleep.

_________

Spencer was sitting in the waiting room, hands still bloody as they clasped tightly. To the untrained eye, it would look like he was praying, but really he was mentally recounting everything he could have done different. I could of asked where she was earlier, I could have snuck behind him instead of letting Morgan announce us, I could of gone with her to the dumpsites so I would have been with her when Hotch asked her to go to the Grey’s home. I could of asked her not to take the job with the BAU. Derek was sitting across from him, watching him carefully and sympathetically. He was the one who had to physically hold him back from following the doctors into the surgery area, besides a whispered apology the younger agent hadn’t said anything to him since the doors closed.

Spencer had ridden in the ambulance with you, while Derek and Hotch took an SUV behind. Rossi and Tara stuck around the Grey house to finish up the case and were still there.

Derek watched as Spencer’s knee bounced faster than he thought was possible, the kid’s fingernails were nubs from being bitten, and Spencer had bitten his lip so much that it had started to bleed. The older agent wanted to comfort him, but didn’t know how. “Kid-”

He started, but was quickly cut off by Hotch striding back into the waiting room- he had left earlier to demand information, “She’s out of surgery. The doctor said that even though it hit an artery, the bullet missed all her organs. She’s going to be fine.”

Derek had never seen Spencer look so relieved, he practically melted back into his chair before bowing his head. Hotch continued, “They’re getting her settled into a room, but I asked them to come get you when she’s allowed, visitors.”

Spencer just nodded allowing his eyes to close as Hotch turned to Morgan, “I’ll call Lewis and Rossi if you’ll tell Garcia.”

Morgan chuckled before agreeing, but all Spencer could think about was that you were going to be ok.

______

Two hours later, Spencer was sitting beside your bed while you dozed- he’d been informed that you would wake up soon and decided that he wouldn’t move until you did. After the team had all come and checked on you (Spencer might be in love with you, but they were all worried as well), Derek had driven Lewis to your hotel to gather your belongings. Rossi and Hotch periodically checked on him but gave him some privacy by waiting in a lounge down the hall.

Absentmindedly thumbing through a well-loved copy of War and Peace (the Russian Translation mind you), in two hours he could have read the book four times over if was actually focussed on it, but he was still struggling through the first half of the book. Every time you so much as sniffed in your sleep, the book was discarded not to mention that he was so caught in thought he wasn’t reading anywhere near his usual 20,000 words per minute. Sighing, he moved his eyes back to the top of the page, forcing his eyes to read the lines he’d long since memorized and mentally translate them to English.

“You look like shit, honey.”

War and Peace clattered to the floor as his head snapped up to meet your eyes. You hadn’t moved much, but he was the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes. Still a little fuzzy from the anesthesia, you just watched him read trying to ignore how tired and anxious he looked.

Without thinking you trying to sit up, but both the pain and the man next to were quick to convince you to lay back again. Spencer’s touch was gentle (it always was, but more so than usual), like you’d break if he used to much force. That was going to get annoying quickly, but you’d enjoy the doting for the moment.

“H-How long have you been awake?” He asked as he sat back down, scooting the chair so close to the bed that his long legs had his knees pressed to the underside of the bed. You smiled softly.

“Not long, I just opened my eyes and you were muttering Russian under your breath. You only read aloud like that when you're worried.” You answered, smile turning sassy as you played with his fingers- something that always calmed him down. He managed the slightest chuckle.

“Well, when my girlfriend has a GSW, a concussion, and bruised ribs, I get a little anxious.” He nodded, watching your hand in his.

“Don’t forget the dislocated knee,” Hotch announced from the door, getting yours and his attention. Hotch, Tara, Rossi, and Derek (who was holding Garcia up on facetime) were waiting in the hall. You nodded in stride.

“Oh, can’t forget about that. Is that all? Nothing much to worry about then.” You halfway shrugged, but threw a glance to Spencer and squeezed his hand as if to silently promise him, I’m ok.

He just smiled, raising your hand to his lips to press a sweet kiss to your knuckle. Your cheeks reddened, Spencer had never been one for PDA especially in front of the team, so he must have been really worried.

“Derek Morgan, if you don’t hand me to (Y/N) right now, I’m going to scream!” Garcia demanded, bringing your attention back to the team waiting in the door. You sent Spencer another smile before receiving the phone and tuckering in for a long, classic, Garcia ‘i was so worried’ speech.

_______

After an hour of visiting with the team, Hotch decided it was time to let you get your rest. Derek ruffled your hair and teased you on his way out, while Tara only told you to feel better soon (you weren’t offended, Tara seemed lovely, you just weren’t near as close to her yet). As they filed out, Hotch poked his head back in the room.

“We’re needed back at Quantico, but you won’t be cleared for air travel for some time. I contacted JJ, and she’s ready to come in. Once you’re discharged from the hospital, you’ll have to drive back. Reid, if you want it, you’ve already been approved some days off if you’d like to stay here as well.” He paused to smile, “Thanks again for everything you’ve done for the BAU. It’s been a pleasure working with you, but I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around.”

This time, Spencer’s cheeks turned red as he nodded, only blushing more when Rossi winked as he left, throwing a last remark over his shoulder, “Feel free to take the scenic route, lovebirds.”

With the rest of the team gone, it was quiet, but you didn’t mind. The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a bit until Spencer spoke back up, “As much as I loved having you at the BAU, it’ll be nice to not be so worried about you all the time.”

“Yeah, there’s only room for one person getting shot at in this relationship, besides I miss my students.” You giggled, leaning back against the criminally uncomfortable pillows, “Just keep in mind that I feel that worried about you all the time.”

You hummed as he pressed another sweet kiss to your forehead before spouting off a long winded mathematical statistic about getting shot. You half-listened, but the complex math was going over your head, so instead, you just thought about having to go back to your old job. You’d miss the BAU, but you had plenty of stories to tell your students.

Scooting over as far as you could, you patted the newly empty space beside you. Spencer looked skeptical, afraid to hurt you, so you used a tiny bit of guilt-tripping with puppy dog eyes and a quiet, “I’ve been shot and I just want to be near you.”

Reluctantly, he climbed into the tiny bed beside you after slipping out of his shoes. You giggled at the sight of his mismatched socks as he gingerly settled in beside you. He tensed as you moved to lay in the crook of his shoulder but having you so close, he couldn’t help just relax. His long arms reached over and picked his book back up, and as he started to read again he absentmindedly played with the ends of your hair.

“So, what do you think, wanna take the scenic route with me? We just might get lost.” You smiled up at him after his arm finally, tentatively wrapped around you. First, he glanced at your hand, which had reached up to mess with his fingers and then to meet your eyes.

“Is that a promise?” He asked, taking your hand in his, “Because I kind of like the sound of that.”

“Spencer, I’ll always get lost with you.” You promised, deciding against your better judgment to stretch up to kiss him. You didn’t make it all the way to his lips, so you settled on his jaw before he fussed over you to lay back down.

“Well, now that that’s settled.” You whispered voice strained at the light pain in your abdomen after you settled back into a comfortable position beside him and closing your eyes. “Read to me?”

“Always.”

#spencer reid x reader

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forestwater87 · 4 years

Link

Listen, just because this fandom is temporarily dead doesn’t mean my love for Gwenvid is.

Mega thanks to @gwenvidweek for making this happen! We love you, mods!

Gwenvid Week, Day 1: Before Camp/After Camp

David’s always had a soft spot for rituals. They remind him of his mom, of camp -- of all the things that feel like home. They center him, clear his mind, get him ready for the challenges ahead.

He carefully dots the exclamation mark in the sand and takes a step back, tossing his writing stick to the side and putting his hands on his hips. The words written on the shore are a little crooked, the D a little crooked from when a sudden bird call startled him, but as he kicks off his boots (carefully rolling up his socks and smushing them into the toes to keep them from getting sandy) his chest is warm and light.

And lucky for him, because the lake is so cold he nearly jumps out of his skin. Clenching his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering, he forces himself to wade out to his waist, and turns back to survey his handiwork. With the frigid water of Lake Lilac leaving his legs numb, the cool breeze making the trees rustle and the air smell like pine needles, and the sun already scorching everything it touches as it climbs into the sky, he reads back the words in the sand, letting his gaze move slow and deliberately over each swoop and wobbly line and tracing their mirror in the calm surface of the lake like sacred runes.

Campe diem. The words that make the summer begin.

Or . . . not quite.

“David!”

The voice makes him jump, but a second later he smiles. “Good morning, Gwen!” he calls, splashing back to shore and subtly kicking away the letters. “It’s nice to see you up so early on such an important day!”

His co-counselor doesn’t look like it’s nice to be up, but aside from a baleful glare she shoots at the sunrise she doesn’t respond. She’s still groggy, dressed in her pajamas with her hair a messy tangle of knots that blend the two tones into a single warm burgundy. The sun makes her glow where it hits her face, warm and lit from the inside like a jack-o-lantern . . . only that sounds a lot less pretty than he intended, so he’s relieved that’s one of the thoughts he didn’t share out loud.

David wonders if people enjoy looking at their best friends this much, or if it means something potentially dangerous. The way he always does when this question occurs, he quickly banishes it from his mind. “How are you settling in?” he asks, fully aware of the answer. They share a cabin, after all, and Gwen’s spent enough years at Camp Campbell to have the routine down to a science; within minutes of hopping off the bus QM rented for the summer, she’s mostly unpacked, changed into her counselors’ uniform, and begun a critical sweep of the camp’s supplies and paperwork.

She makes a noncommittal noise, rubbing the sleep from one eye with the heel of her hand and trying to shield herself from the sun with the other. “Are you ready? The stores are gonna be full of families getting shit for the summer -- it’ll be like Black Friday, so we’ve gotta be in and out as soon as the Tradin’ Post opens unless you’re prepared to deck some soccer moms.”

He resists the urge to smile; she might not believe in the power of the beginning-of-summer rituals, but this optimistic plan for their camping supply trip is as much a staple of every summer as David’s sand writing. “Sounds like a swell plan, Gwen.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she mutters, but he catches a half-smile before she turns her back on the lake. “Come on, get dressed and meet me in the Mess Hall. I’ll start inventory.” As he falls into step beside her, she glances over at him, raising her eyebrows. “Morning swim?”

He shrugs, turning to survey the empty campground. “Basically!”

“Sure. Seems like something you’d do.” She dismisses him with a wave of her hand, already fixated on the task at hand. “Just hurry up so we can get out of here. If you think you’re gonna make me do all the hard jobs by myself, I’ve got a guitar with your face written all over it.”

David laughs before he can stop himself. “There it is,” he murmurs, causing her to glance over curiously.

“Huh?”

“Nothing! I’ll meet you in the kitchen. Might as well start by seeing what food we have, right?” As he ducks into the counselor’s cabin, he catches a glimpse of her hair, glinting like copper in the early-morning light, and his heart lifts.

There it is.

Writing the camp’s motto in the sand and water is important to him, a silly little consecration ritual that marks the line between his life outside of Camp Campbell and the endless, magical months of summer. He’s done it ever since he was a junior counselor; it feels like staking a claim on the only perfect place that’s ever existed, like writing his name on the heart of the earth. Even if he technically owns the camp now -- something that felt too bizarre and wonderful to make sense last summer and if anything is only more strange after an entire year -- no amount of signatures or invoices capture the simple power of the words “campe diem” on Lake Lilac.

But for David, the summer doesn’t really begin until Gwen tells him she needs him. Never in those exact words, of course . . . but he’s gotten pretty good at reading between her lines, and she’s never exactly been subtle.

He tightens his bandanna around his neck, smiling at his reflection. Get out there and help your CBFL, David. Campe diem.

The wheels that help spring become summer begin turning.

---

“Okay.” Gwen groans, rolling her shoulders; there are some ominous pops and cracks, but she doesn’t look like she’s dislocated anything so David assumes everything’s fine. “I’ll “Okay. This is okay.” Gwen runs a hand through her hair, grimacing as her fingers get caught in tangles. She’s still in her pajamas, a smear of dirt along her thigh from crawling around the supply shed, but she’s so single-minded David isn’t sure she’s even aware of what she’s wearing. (He makes a quick mental note to remind her to change before they leave, because when she gets hyperfocused like this, it’s easy to see her blasting down the shelves of the Sleepy Peak Tradin’ Post in bare feet and oversized paisley boxer shorts.) “We can’t afford literally anything we need. Just like every summer. This is gonna be a disaster, but that’s okay.”

He puts his hand on her shoulder, figuring now isn’t a good time for a hug. “It’ll be fine,” he tries. He scans over their shopping list and tries to imagine a way they can stretch their budget to cover it all; then he remembers that he doesn’t know what their budget is, because Gwen takes care of that, and feels a faint spike of panic jam itself between his ribs. “Let’s ask Mr. Campbell if --”

“Don’t even think about it, kiddo. The government already cleaned me out.” Mr. Campbell slouches into the room, tugging at the trapdoor in the Mess Hall ceiling that leads to the attic. “Those brothers found every last hiding place I had. Apparently it’s being used to repay my ‘debts to society,’ if you can believe it.”

“I can,” Gwen mutters, gaze darting around the Mess Hall as though hoping a sign saying “Free Money Here” will appear out of the blue. She hurries into the back room, where they’ve managed to convert a closet into something resembling an office.

David’s distracted by something else, though. “Brothers?” he repeats, hurrying to help Mr. Campbell lower the spring-down ladder from the ceiling.

“Yeah, those suits from Washington. You’ve met them a hundred times -- sunglasses, terrible fashion sense. The secret agent guys.”

“Um, sir --” he’s not supposed to call Mr. Campbell “sir” anymore, since he’s technically the boss now, but it’s a surprisingly tough habit to kick, “-- if you mean Agent and Agent Miller . . . they’re not brothers.”

He frowns down at David, frozen halfway up to the attic like he’s scaling a mountain. “Of course they are! Or are you going to tell me it’s a coincidence that they have the same last name?”

David shrugs awkwardly, kind of wishing he hadn’t said anything. “They’re married, sir.”

“Really?” His brows furrow. “And that’s legal here now?” David nods. “Go figure. Well, good for them.”

Gwen bursts back into the Mess Hall with a scrap of paper, snatching her phone off one of the tables. “Agent Miller?” she says after a moment, and her tone abruptly melts into honey. “It’s Gwen Santos! You know, from Camp Campbell? Yeah, it’s great to hear from you, too! How’s the weather over there?”

The rattling sound of the ladder being drawn back up into the attic startles David, making him jump and glance away from the conversation. He frowns up at the closed trapdoor -- he’s pretty sure Mr. Campbell is telling the truth about his stashes of money, but it’d be nice if he at least tried to help -- then crosses over to the safe in the corner. (It’s empty, of course, but he wants to feel like he’s doing something useful.)

Meanwhile, Gwen’s voice still sounds like it’s made of spun sugar: “Things are wonderful over here! We’re taking good care of everything. Actually, that’s part of why I was calling . . . I noticed Ered’s coming back this summer?” A moment of silence, then a bubbly laugh. “Well, we’re certainly excited to have her here! The thing is . . .”

A few minutes later she ends the call, immediately jumping into the air and spiking her phone into the couch. “That’s how it’s done!” she crows, dancing in a circle. “I -- am -- the -- best!” Each word is punctuated by punching the air, and then she twirls around again.

Her eyes land on David as she finishes spinning. It’s like a bucket of water was dumped on her head -- her shoulders slump, her arms fall to her sides, and it even seems like the brilliant violet of her eyes turns duller.

“Oh. Hey, David.”

He forces a smile, rising to his feet and wincing as his knees crack. “That sounds like good news!” he says, wondering if there’s a way to tell her he doesn’t mind seeing her happy without it making everything awkward and weird.

She brightens a bit, rescuing her phone from where it lodged itself between the couch cushions. “Yeah. Turns out the Millers are really happy with you for taking care of Campbell all year. They’re Venmo-ing the camp some cash. Probably not enough for most of the stuff we need, but we can cut it down to the essentials.”

“That’s amazing!” He doesn’t entirely know what she accomplished, but it sounds encouraging. “Gwen, you’re incredible!”

She shrugs, her cheeks flushing pink. “Whatever,” she mumbles, then raises her voice almost to a shout. “It’s crazy what great things can happen when you’re not breaking the law all the time!”

Mr. Campbell’s voice is muffled by the closed door: “Give it a rest, Gina!”

Gwen rolls her eyes, but her attempt to look annoyed is dampened slightly by the smile that keeps tugging at the corner of her mouth. “What a dick. Come on, David, let’s get out of here.”

When she emerges from the cabin, dressed like a Camp Campbell counselor for the first time this summer, he looks up from his phone with a smile. “Campe diem, Gwen!” he says, giving her the Camp Campbell salute. Her response is just to shake her head, which is about all he expected. “You look great!”

She gives him a strange look as she slides into the driver’s side of the campmobile. “I look like this all the time, David.”

And she looks great all the time, but he knows better than to say that out loud. “Camp Campbell has a Venmo?” he asks instead (he looked it up while she was getting changed).

“Yes, Brother David. It’s one of those boring grown-up things I did while you were playing in the dirt last summer. No need to thank me.”

Well, she said he doesn’t need to thank her, so he chooses not to. That’s just the kind of thing Gwen does, after all, and once again he wonders how they’d get by if she was able to find a better job.

We’d figure it out, he tells himself, looking out the window as the camp falls behind them. But not this summer.

He has one more year of grace, anyway.

She’s here, and he might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

---

Even though Gwen says she doesn’t have any rituals, there are a few things that they have to do every summer, the day before all the campers arrive. Inventory coupled with a panicked last-minute shopping trip is one of them. Listening to strange music at earth-shaking volumes on the drive to and from town is another.

“Yeah, girl, it's true, I'm into you, but these benzos, they got me feeling loose --”

David’s tempted to cover his ears -- it cannot be good for his eardrums; he didn’t even know the volume knob went this high! -- but if he does that, he might block out Gwen’s voice. There are very few situations where she’s willing to sing with an audience, and the car ride into town is one of those rare occasions.

He sits back, watching her shimmy her shoulders in time to the music, painting the air with the hand not on the steering wheel in strange gestures that are half conducting and half gang signs --

“Why don't you come through, before I Goku -- fuck this white pill and go super xan!”

-- and decides, like he does every year, that this is worth the risk of moderate hearing loss.

As they pull up in front of the store (despite Gwen’s dire warnings, the street is as empty always), she switches the music off. David tries to convince himself the ringing in his ears is all in his head, and that he isn’t going to suddenly wake up deaf. He mostly succeeds.

“Okay, David.” Gwen stops directly in front of him, putting her hands on his shoulders. It suddenly feels like there’s a snake constricting around his chest, and his next breath stutters and doesn’t seem to pull in enough air. She doesn’t notice, narrowing her eyes at him as though he was one of their poorly-behaved campers. “We have a list.” She waves it between their faces for emphasis.

He swallows, nodding. “We do.”

“We’re sticking to the list.”

David nods, resisting the urge to laugh. “Of course we are,” he says; he hadn’t intended for his remark to sound sarcastic but can’t be entirely disappointed that it does.

“We’re not buying anything unless it’s on this list, got it?”

“Got it, Gwen!”

“Good.” She takes a step back and punches his arm lightly. “Let’s go, CBFL.”

As he follows her into the store, he couldn’t keep from smiling if he tried.

---

“Wasn’t that fun?”

Gwen groans, shoving the last of the bags into the car (David reminds himself yet again to put his reusable shopping bags in the campmobile so they don’t spend another summer gathering dust under his bed) and slamming the door shut. “Swear to god I’m gonna get a leash for you,” she grumbles, putting her forehead on the steering wheel for a moment before starting the car. “I’ll order one from a kink website or something and you’ll only have yourself to blame.”

He doesn’t roll his eyes, but it’s a close thing. “I don’t think that’s necessary . . .”

“Oh, yeah?” She lifts her head to give him a sideways glare. “How many knives did we buy?”

“Two.”

“And how many knives were on the list?”

Okay, she’s made her point. “But Gwen, one of them is specially engineered for whittling!” He digs through the bags until he recovers it, holding it up to her. “I’ve always wanted to try whittling!”

“‘Specially engineered’ is a bullshit term used to sell stuff to idiots, David. And the other one . . .”

“Is . . . well . . .” Okay, so he doesn’t have an exact use for it yet. But he likes being prepared, and it’s important to have tools on-hand. “The box says you could shave with it! Isn’t that cool?”

She taps on the steering wheel impatiently. “Are you planning on shaving with it?” she asks, deadpan.

“No.” But he could.

Gwen snorts, starting the car. “Well, you’re gonna have to explain to the campers why we’re using the same old watered-down paint as last year.” She pulls an imitation of him that’s disturbingly accurate. “‘Golly gee, sorry about that, kids! But look at this cool knife I got instead!’”

That hardly seems fair, but he doesn’t have a good comeback. Knives aren’t cheap, it’s true, and he hates the thought that the camp will suffer because of him. “I mean, when you put it like that . . .” he mutters, looking out the window to avoid her accusing gaze.

There’s a moment of silence. Then her arm lands heavily around his shoulders, pulling him into a sudden half-hug. By the time he’s registered what’s happening, she’s taken her arm back and gently shoved him back to his side of the car. “It’s fine, David,” she says with a sigh, her face slightly pink. “I didn’t have to buy Nights with the Wolf Queen, either.”

He doesn’t point out that a grocery-store paperback is hardly as much of an expense as two wilderness knives, mostly because he doesn’t want her to realize it herself. So he takes the olive branch and smiles at her before reaching to the dashboard and turning the music back on.

Noise explodes through the car, making both of them jump even though they knew it was going to happen. Gwen’s surprise immediately dissolves into delight, and even though she doesn’t thank him outright, she bobs her head and drums on the steering wheel to the beat, and that feels like thanks enough.

“Robbing banks, knock it off! Not saying thanks, knock it off!”

David perks up, tilting his head to hear better (not that he needs to, since the music is currently drilling its way into his skull). “Hey, I like this one!” he says. Why didn’t they start with this song?

Gwen glances at him for a second before returning her eyes to the road, clearly trying not to smile. “Would it even matter if I tell you this is sarcastic?”

It wouldn’t, and they both know it.

---

David takes a step back, holding up his phone and fiddling with the zoom. This is another important part of beginning the season; the supply room will never be this full or tidy for the rest of the summer, and their hard work deserves to be documented before it all gets undone. “Looks perfect!”

So perfect, in fact, that it needs to be uploaded to Instagram. Right now!

“Yeah?” Gwen huffs, slumping against a pile of unmade tents nearly as tall as they are. She must’ve dragged it out of the shed while he was sharing his photo. “I’m so glad you’re doing the important stuff while I slack off.”

If that’s sarcasm, he chooses to ignore it. “Don’t say that! You’ve done a great job today!” She groans loudly -- so it was sarcasm, good to know -- but takes the other end of the tarp holding all the tents and helps him drag it out to the field. The sun hovers just above the trees, golden-yellow and almost thick enough to touch, and his stomach grumbles as they survey the campgrounds. “Do you want to have dinner first, or . . .”

“Fuck that.” She grabs a tent and slings it over her shoulder. Her face and neck glisten with sweat, and she impatiently brushes the strands of hair that’ve escaped her ponytail out of her face. She looks unkempt and beautiful, like a lumberjack, or a viking. “If I sit down, I won’t be able to get back up. Let’s just finish this shit.”

Her language leaves a little to be desired, but her logic is sound. The tents are meant to be put up by and for children, so they aren’t too difficult to set up, but most of them have taken damage between the last summer and storage, so the process keeps stalling to fix broken rods and quick-sew patches over holes in the fabric (David’s job, mostly; Gwen isn’t much of a seamstress). The air is a gloomy indigo by the time they finish, cooling down just enough to make their sweat-damp clothes miserable. “Why don’t you take the first shower?” he offers as they walk back. “I’ll start dinner.”

“My hero,” she quips, veering off toward the counselors’ cabin. David shrugs off his discomfort and exhaustion, forcing a skip into his step as he heads into the Mess Hall.

This is their final ritual before the campers arrive tomorrow, and he wants everything to be perfect.

---

“Hmm?” He cups his free hand around his ear, gently twirling his stick over the fire. As much as he wants to look over at Gwen, he has to keep his attention on roasting his hot dog. The last thing he wants is to deal with another exploded dinner. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

She snorts and throws a marshmallow at his head. “Oh, fuck off.”

“No, I’m just not sure I heard you correctly! Because it sounded like maybe you were saying you were wrong about something --”

“Very cute,” she mutters, rolling her eyes.

“-- and that, consequently, I was right!” He grins at her, removing his (cooked to perfection) hot dog from the fire and transferring it to a bun.

“Sounds like you’re saying you wanna be hit in the face with a flaming hot dog, Greenwood.”

He leans forward and gently takes the stick from her hand, saving her food from its fiery doom. “I just think it’s swell that you’re willing to admit when you’re wrong, Gwen.”

“Give that back! It’s not done cooking.”

“It’s overcooking!”

“And that’s how I like it!” She snatches back her stick and holds it to the center of the flames, shooting him a defiant glare. A moment later there’s a loud pop; they throw themselves to the ground to avoid the burning shrapnel of the exploded hot dog, which light up the air like fireworks before sizzling harmlessly out in the dirt.

They both sit up, brushing themselves off, and take their seats around the campfire again. David waits a minute before saying, “This might be another good opportunity to practice owning up to your mistakes.”

She shoves his shoulder, laughing. “Let’s see you do it better.”

He does, knowing and not caring that she’s gotten him to do all the work for her. The fire is a lovely contrast to the chilly night, and he feels warm and glowing all over.

After dinner they crowd themselves into one of the campers’ tents, rolling out sleeping bags on the floor next to the child-sized cots. Gwen sprawls out across hers, stretching like a cat. “Hell of a last supper.”

He knows what she means, but he isn’t comfortable sharing her dread over three months of meals cooked by the Quartermaster. At least, not out loud. Instead he crawls back outside, recovering the two steaming mugs he pilfered from the Mess Hall and bringing them into the tent. “Here you go!”

She sits up and takes the hot chocolate, curling both hands around it despite the heat. “Well, since I’m apparently on a roll here,” she says, taking a sip and sighing happily, “I guess I have to admit that this is a really good way to start the summer.”

David quickly takes a drink as well, hiding his smile behind the mug. “So I was right about that as well?”

“Okay, don’t milk it,” she snaps, but there’s no real malice in her voice. She leans back against one of the cots, wincing at the screech of metal shifting, and tilts her head up to the ceiling, as though she can see through the fabric to the stars beyond. “I had a lot of fun today,” she says after a moment. Setting her drink to the side, she tugs the elastic out of her ponytail; in the white light of their lantern, with her hair falling in loose, fluffy waves down to her shoulders, she looks soft and almost ethereal, like a princess in a fairy tale. “Thanks, David.”

She meets his eyes, the light turning them a silvery lavender, and looking at her is suddenly too much so he turns his attention to his drink. “No problem, CBFL,” he says, taking a deep breath and wishing his heart wasn’t beating so fast. He opens his mouth to say something else but it turns out there’s nothing else he has to say so he shuts it again, feeling stupid.

For a few minutes they’re quiet, drinking their hot chocolate in companionable silence. At least, David hopes it’s companionable -- he’s not exactly sure how to measure companionableness, but it seems friendly enough so he’s going to do his best not to overthink it. That’s what Gwen would tell him, he knows, and she has a degree in psychology so she definitely knows what she’s talking about more than he does.

Thank goodness he’s not talking out loud; it’s embarrassing enough that he’s babbling in his own mind . . . oh no, what if he has been talking out loud this entire time? What has he said?!

“David?” His gaze snaps up to her, but she doesn’t look annoyed or creeped out so he probably hasn’t been saying anything too weird, at least, and probably hasn’t been talking out loud at all so that’s good but her expression is alarmingly serious and she hasn’t said anything else and it’s been at least ten seconds that they’ve just been looking at each other but he’s not sure what she wants so -- “Let me know if I’m reading this wrong.”

“Reading?” he manages weakly. He feels strangely disconnected from his body as he watches her set her mug aside and cross the small space to kneel in front of him. Her hand alights on his shoulder, fluttery and weightless as a hummingbird, and she seems a little close and a lot beautiful and if he’s not extremely careful she’s going to figure out all the things he’s put so much work into not letting her figure out -- try not to feel at all, but it’s hard to keep his composure and not look at her mouth when it’s so close and there’s no camp activities or pre-camp activities or post-camp activities to distract them both with, just quiet and breathing and soft white lantern light and her hand on his shoulder, and he’s always considered himself able to multitask pretty well but this feels like too much so he squeezes his eyes shut . . .

The kiss takes him entirely by surprise. One moment he’s bracing himself for a confrontation, questions he doesn’t know how to answer, and the next moment is filled with Gwen -- her lips soft and slightly chapped against his and her fingers tightening on his shoulder and the coconutty smell of her shampoo all around him and he’s a little worried that he’s having a heart attack but gosh, jeez, fuck it, he kisses her back.

And she doesn’t shove him away or demand to know what in the name of fun he thinks he’s doing; she lets out a weak little huff of air that lands somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, her mouth opens just slightly, and she shifts forward, her arms twining over his shoulders. One hand slides into his hair, the gentle scrape of her fingernails shivering from his scalp down his spine, and it occurs to him that he can touch her as well, that he’s not only apparently allowed but actually probably should. Slowly, both so she has plenty of him to stop him and in a futile attempt to stop his fingers from shaking, he lifts his hand to her neck, gingerly cupping around the base of her head and running his thumb along the space behind her ear. She gasps against his lips, but she doesn’t pull away so he assumes it’s a good gasp and repeats the motion, and when her tongue flicks against his bottom lip like a question he opens his mouth, because he’s never been very good at saying no to her for anything and he sure as sugar has no intention of starting now.

David’s not sure how much time passes before she pulls back, but even though he feels cold and bereft everywhere they’re no longer touching it’s probably for the best, because he doesn’t realize how lightheaded he is until he opens his eyes and has to wait for the world to shudder into place. She sits on her heels, biting her lower lip; he lets his hand fall away from her, and in a second they’re disconnected, apart.

“Well.” She chuckles weakly, tucking her hair behind her ears. “That was . . .”

A mistake, his brain finishes, and his stomach drops in miserable anticipation.

In fact, he’s so prepared for those devastating words that he almost misses what she actually says: “unexpected, huh?”

It takes him a moment to register that, to recalibrate, so his response is a bit too late, just a little bit awkward: “I -- definitely didn’t see it coming.”

“That’s because your eyes were closed,” she says with a grimace, like she regrets the lame joke even before she’s finished saying it; but it melts so seamlessly into a smile, small and self-conscious and unexpected and perfect, that he forgets what words are, let alone that he’s supposed to say some to continue the conversation.

With a nervous glance at him, Gwen scuttles back to her side of the tent, picking up her mug of hot chocolate.

“Sorry, was that totally inappropriate?” she asks, responding before he can. “I mean, of course it was, you’re technically my boss, I don’t know what -- I just thought I was -- there were some signals -- weren’t there? Was that . . . okay?”

The enormous stupidity of the question finally surprises him into speaking. “Okay? That was . . .” the best thing that’s ever happened in my life. “Very. Okay -- it was completely okay. Better than okay, it was . . . you know, good. Nice. I’m going to stop talking now.”

Her smile widens, visible even as she covers her mouth with one hand. “Really?” she says, suddenly like she’s blurting it out. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He’s so sure that he shuffles forward on his knees, most likely looking like a total idiot, until he’s in front of her again. He doesn’t have the courage to kiss her so he takes one of her hands, turning it over and examining how beautiful it is, how lovely it looks contrasted with his pale fingers. He strokes the backs of her knuckles, marveling at how soft her skin is even after a day of hard work, and tries to remember how to breathe.

Gwen puts her other hand under his chin, forcing him to look up, and kisses him again.

It’s a bit less gentle than the first time, both her mouth and her fingers hot and insistent as they press against him, and he loses his balance, falling onto his back with a small yelp of surprise. She follows him down without breaking the kiss, lowering herself to her elbows and covering his body with hers. He’s distantly aware of a dull ceramic clunk, but he doesn’t really take notice of what it means until a few moments later, when something lukewarm and wet seeps into the hem of his pajama pants.

“Shit!” She rolls off of him, righting the mug of no-longer-hot chocolate and scrambling for the napkins left over from dinner. “Fuck, it’s everywhere.”

He tugs her sleeping bag away from the spill, but it’s already soaked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to knock it over!”

She shakes her head, sitting back and surveying the damage. “No, I think I did it. It’s fine, the dirt’ll soak it up. But it’s gonna bring ants, so we’re going to have to give this tent to the campers we hate the most. I vote Max.”

“Gwen!” He can’t quite make that sound as disapproving as he should. He scoops up the wet napkins and drags her wet sleeping bag outside. “I’ll go put this in the wash right now.”

She glances at her watch, then back up at him. “It’s almost midnight, David. I’m not staying up until that’s clean, it’ll take all night.”

He knows she’s right -- the machine they rely on for the camp’s laundry is the same one they’ve had since he was a junior counselor, and runs extremely slowly -- and disappointment makes his shoulders slump. “We can sleep in the cabin, then. That’s no problem.”

When he returns from the laundry, yawning, Gwen isn’t in the counselors’ cabin like he expected. She’s not by the dying embers of the campfire, or in the tent. The sleeping bag, it turns out, isn’t in there either, nor are the lantern and the mugs of hot chocolate. He opens his mouth to whisper-call her name (it’s spooky with the fire out) --

“David!”

He jumps, covering his mouth to muffle a noise that was definitely not a scream, and turns to see Gwen leaning out of one of the other campers’ tents, half-hidden by shadows. She gestures him over and disappears back into the tent.

Shaking off his alarm, he ducks inside to see Gwen bundled up in the sleeping bag on the ground, with the other supplies well out of reach. “Oh,” he says, not sure exactly what he’s looking at. “Um, should I . . . sleep on one of the cots?” It’d be uncomfortable, but he’d rather shiver through a night curled up on a too-small bed than go back to the cabin alone.

She rolls her eyes at him and wriggles to the side, unzipping the bag halfway. “Get in before you let all the warm out.”

Oh. His face flushes hot and he has to look down at his feet for a moment to compose himself.

Well, he’s hardly going to refuse, is he?

It’s a bit of a close fit, but he manages to slide in alongside her. She turns onto her side, slinging one arm over his waist and resting her cheek on his shoulder. “Is this okay?” she mumbles, already sounding like she’s halfway to falling asleep.

He has to swallow twice before he can answer. “Y-yes. This is fine.” He can already tell that it’ll get unbearably warm soon -- Gwen’s pressed against his side and radiating heat like a furnace -- but her weight on his chest is solid and comforting and he knows he won’t be moving an inch until the sun rises, not unless she tells him to.

She’s quiet for long enough that he thinks she’s fallen asleep.

“Sorry.”

It’s so soft he freezes in the darkness, trying to figure out if that was his imagination or not. When she lifts her head, nothing more than a black vaguely-Gwen-shaped blob, he recovers and says, “Why?”

“I know this whole pre-summer hot chocolate thing is really important to you. It kinda sucks that I ruined it.”

“You didn’t ruin anything!” He sits up on his elbows, tentatively reaching out to stroke her hair. His fingertips brush against her forehead and she ducks slightly, letting him pet her hair without poking an eye out. “I know it hasn’t exactly started yet,” he says, flopping back down so she can rest her head on his shoulder again, “but I think this might be the best summer ever.”

“You say that every summer.”

He smiles up at nothing. “And I mean it every summer.”

There’s silence for a moment, then he feels her press a light kiss against his neck. “Call me optimistic, but you might be onto something this year, anyway.”

“Wow,” he says, blowing out a huff of air. “Admitting I’m right three times in one day. I hope it doesn’t keep up like this or I’ll get a swelled head!”

He doesn’t have to see her face to know she’s glaring at him, and that small knowledge makes him indescribably happy. “No danger of that happening.”

“I know.” It’s one of his favorite things about her.

Her breathing evens out as she falls asleep, soft and slightly nasal. It’s another sound he associates with his time spent at Camp Campbell, although never so close, never with her hair tickling his cheek and her hand splayed over his heart like she’s protecting it. He’s used to letting her breathing lull him to sleep from across the room -- but he thinks he could get used to this, if he has the chance.

(He’d like the chance to get used to this.)

David closes his eyes and enjoys the last moments of peace they have, before the kids arrive and the camp explodes into a delightful frenzy of sound and chaos.

Let the summer begin.

#campcamp #camp camp roosterteeth #gwenvid #cc david #cc gwen #gwenvidweek #gwenvidweek2020 #forestwriting

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howtodrawyourdragon · 4 years

Text

Nothing Like Bonding During A Storm

Summary: In a modern world, Toothless has trouble adjusting to the surface world. Fortunately, he knows he can always count on Hiccup, even when nature's extremes bring down her wrath on the world.

Rating: General

Characters: Hiccup, Toothless

Words: 3 075

Author’s Notes:

That moment when you finish and post a one-shot about an AU that's been developing since February before finishing the actual main fic.

Anyway, I've been watching a lot of videos on YouTube about tornadoes and I find them very fascinating to look at. I often find myself wondering "how do people deal with possible natural disasters in a world that has ended" and this came to mind.

This is basically just dipping my toe in a concept with countless of possibilities and I will probably return to it later to explore it some more.

I have barely slept the past two days, I hope it doesn't show in this one-shot. It doesn't feel as exciting as I want it to be.

Also, hopefully I can finally get the main fic over and done with instead of daydreaming about it. I literally have another finished one-shot of this AU that I haven't posted yet.

Constructive criticism is appreciated.

Enjoy!

Ao3

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Hiccup muses that today is simply the culmination of his hubris. His natural and unrestrained curiosity, his want to travel, his workaholic tendencies, having a best bud for a dragon who would love to explore this new surface world with him... All of this was bound to come back to bite him in the ass someday and today is that day.

Flying way, way out West in the hopes of finding more human settlements that wished to regain contact with others, Hiccup and Toothless find themselves far away from home.

Though his father was initially against it, his plan on returning the vast network of communication that mankind once had before it was taken from them turned out to be a fruitful one and that is the only reason why Stoick ever agreed on letting Hiccup stray even farther away from home.

He still isn't quite so keen on letting his son out of his sight, even after all these years.

So far this country has been just as empty as he already figured it would be before they left Berk. It's been days since he and Toothless arrived and they have yet to find a single remaining human settlement.

Plenty of birds, critters, and other local wildlife, but no humans.

Not that they have managed to explore much. They have found an abandoned town close to a beach and spend a little while combing through it, but once it became clear that it was empty, they moved on.

But finding no human life on this mission to do just that will have to wait. There is a matter far, far more urgent that needed their attention.

High up in the sky, Toothless rumbles his concern to his Rider. Hiccup is already looking in the same direction he is, the map in his hands temporarily forgotten.

"I know, Bud. I'm keeping an eye on it, too." He tells him and it's as if the dragon understands, relaxing just a tad bit with the knowledge that Hiccup is aware of it, too.

In and around the Northern island of Berk, extreme weather isn't something Hiccup is unfamiliar with. The Winters could get so cold, especially during the weeks that he and his people nicknamed "Devastating Winter". A fitting name for the below-freezing temperatures and the blizzards that buried their houses annually.

Many people from different countries have called them stupid for continuing to live here, but then, they are descendants of the Vikings that once lived there. So maybe their problem isn't so much stupidity as it is pure stubbornness.

And with climate changing, though it has most likely slowed down since the year everything went wrong, the temperatures during Winter are even colder than they used to be when Hiccup was a child. And the Summers so much warmer.

On the North Sea, you can expect the occasional waterspout as well. But so long as it didn't come on land, it wasn't too much of a threat, not too much. For the island's inhabitants, that is.

But the clouds Hiccup and Toothless see swirling are a little too threatening for their comfort.

They are dark, appearing to be stacked on top of one another to create an uneven tower as wide as it is tall with a thick saucer-like shape at the base. The clouds that make up each level appear restless, opposite from their usually fluffy nature.

Above them and the flying duo lies a dark, ominous blanket that stretches for miles. There is a strong wind, conflicting up and downdrafts fighting for dominance, and they make the clouds and column dance and swirl. There is a downpour of rain and hail beneath as well. It makes the area underneath it seem foggy.

Their appearance makes Hiccup's heart swell in awe-inspiring trepidation and he has to swallow as his mouth feels dry. Meanwhile, Toothless looks on in fear.

He still hasn't had much experience with the surface's weather. The sight of this dark sky makes him feel like his heart is about to burst right out of his chest.

Hiccup hasn't forgotten, of course. He knows his Bud is completely inexperienced and relies on his Rider to know what is best.

Thankfully, always having been quite fascinated by things that could potentially kill him ever since he was young, Hiccup has done his fair share of research on certain weather phenomena. Much like Fishlegs and his interest in geology and mineralogy.

What Hiccup is staring at right now, it could possibly be called a mesocyclone.

There is a supercell inside that thing and the winds around them are getting harder to fight.

Lightning weaves its way through the clouds for miles. There are multiple strikes and they follow each other closely, speaking volumes of the storm's electrical strength. The thunder is a good indication of how close Dragon and Rider are, too. It is deafening.

Mindful of the metal holding Toothless' prosthetic together, Hiccup decides it is wise to land.

Folding the map in his hands up and pulling his backpack to his front to stuff it away, Hiccup then continues to look at the world below them.

There is plenty of space to land, lots of open fields for miles around them. But with how close those clouds are, Hiccup would feel better if there is a shelter or something they can hide in. Preferably a storm shelter just in case that supercell had a particular surprise in store for them today.

"Down there, Bud! Let's land and see if we can ride it out there." Hiccup tells his Night Fury when he spots two buildings on the ground with a fence all around the perimeter. An abandoned machine stands in the middle of an overgrown cornfield. It looks to be a farm.

Right at that moment, the downpour catches up and soaks them both in seconds and the winds grow even fiercer. Quickly after, hail that grows to be almost the size of the palm of his hand.

Toothless lets out a panicked yell, startled by the sudden shower.

"I know, Bud, I know! Set down near that farmhouse! Those wooden houses over there!" His Rider points them out to him and he folds his wings for a quick dive. While holding onto the saddle, Hiccup attempts to shield his dragon's eyes from the hail.

They land on the dirt road before the home that is swiftly becoming muddy beneath their feet. Toothless wastes little time to jump underneath the roofed porch, escaping the rainfall. Hiccup dismounts, pats his dragon on the neck, and goes to work on finding that storm shelter.

Sunlight teases them from the edges of the miles of clouds, but it is much too risky to try and escape this storm. Not with the speeds at which this supercell is traveling and certainly not with winds so strong possibly dislocating wings as wide as Toothless'.

Leaving the restless dragon on the porch, Hiccup runs down the steps and back out into the downpour, his prosthetic slipping in the mud. His hair and his clothes already stick to his skin.

One look told him the entrance to their salvation wasn't there under the porch. But on farmland miles away from the nearest city and closest hospital and with weather like this not being completely uncommon, there has to be shelter around here somewhere

Running around to the side of the house, it isn't long before Hiccup finds a set of slanted metal doors leading to a concrete room underneath the home where the basement should be. Approaching it and finding it without a padlock, Hiccup opens both doors and finds a stone stairway down into darkness. It's a storm shelter.

The hinges of the two doors rattle slightly with the wind and that worries him, but this place will have to do. No use taking to the skies now.

Something spooks Toothless and he calls out to his Rider. In the rain, thunder, and the hail, Hiccup can only just hear him and he turns around, shielding himself from the large chunks of frozen water, to find a sight that makes him stumble. His eyes would've widened in wonder if the rain didn't make it too difficult to see.

At the base of the mesocyclone, the rapidly whirling clouds have formed a greyish funnel-like shape that reaches for the earth. Witnessing the birth of what could possibly turn into a tornado, one of nature's most dangerous phenomena, is truly astonishing and Hiccup can hardly put his feelings into words. Such a library of languages at his disposal and not one word can describe them.

It is fast, too, much faster than he previously anticipated, and the girth is quickly gaining width as well.

But enough staring in wonder at nature's lethal beauty, Hiccup can tell that Toothless worries. That Night Fury has never seen anything like this before and is rightfully freaking out.

But what he can't tell and Hiccup can, is that the swirling of dirt and debris on the ground means that the tornado has already touched down and the funnel simply needs to follow to make its conception complete.

Hiccup also realizes, much too his growing discomfort, that it is much closer than he originally thought.

"Come on, Bud!" Toothless doesn't need to be told twice and he comes with a leap. Looking down into the shelter, he gives Hiccup a skeptical look.

"Hey, I may be an idiot, but humans know how to build things." Hiccup tells him, shouts at him over the growing noise all around them, though he worries whether his dragon will actually fit.

"This will keep us safe, Bud, trust me." He places a hand on Toothless' head, scratches him behind his earfin. The rain is pouring, the hail is falling, and his heart pumps blood through his veins with great speed, but Hiccup still smiles as if aerial wrath isn't about to descend upon them.

Where he gets that kind of bravery, Toothless honestly doesn't know.

Reassured by his Rider's calm demeanor, Toothless finds it in himself to descend into the near pitch-black shelter. The pouring rain stops for him.

Toothless fits and Hiccup feels comforted by this. It is without a doubt not spacious down there, but at least they won't have to face a storm that size.

Speaking of which, he turns to face the monstrous clouds behind him and his breath is taken away.

There is something gorgeous about the display he sees before him.

The funnel now connects the earth and the sky. The clouds are dark, but still, the tornado contrasts greatly against the grey background. The rain doesn't hide its deadly beauty and its enormous size makes him feels insignificant and small. More so than even Toothless had upon their first meeting.

If he'd been born and raised in this country, he probably would've become a storm chaser, of that Hiccup is sure. If life hadn't been turned upside down on a global scale.

Sounding almost like a human groaning in annoyance, Toothless briefly leaves the shelter to grab Hiccup by the shirt and pull him down the stairs.

"Yep! I'm coming! I'm coming!" Snapping out of the trance that will probably kill him someday, Hiccup follows.

Why must the human be so attracted to things that are lethal him? Are all humans like this or just his? He knows Astrid is a lot more careful than Hiccup.

"Toothless, can you find the light switch? I've shown you what they look like, right?" Hiccup asks as he struggles to close the metal doors. The wind has picked up and dirt is starting to fly up outside. The neglected fields are being flattened and by now the rotting fence in view is knocked down. Debris is approaching and before long the tornado itself will be there.

Two trees are uprooted just as Hiccup manages to hold them close and he fights the urge to figure out the EF ranking of this specimen.

The light flickers on and Hiccup finds the latch to keep the entrance closed. Once again he is grabbed by the back of his shirt and he lets Toothless pull him further down. He is in a hurry to get Hiccup with him.

There are many dusty shelves down here, but besides cobwebs and the occasional spider, they are already empty. Plundered empty, most likely. Or the family that lived here, took everything and left. Either way, there isn't much room for something the size of a Night Fury.

Toothless lies curled up with Hiccup in the middle and still he can only move so much.

The roaring of the storm outside grows and grows and the doors aren't quite enough to keep it out. The house above them begins to creak and groan as the unforgiving winds beat it mercilessly.

Despite his size and his lethal nature, Toothless shrinks underneath the unfamiliar noise that sounds so much louder in his sensitive ears. He's never been through a storm this size before. And while Hiccup hasn't either, he at least knows and understands what is currently raging right above them, tearing apart everything in its path.

"Shh, it's okay." Hiccup kneels beside him, pulse just slowing down.

The dragon's instincts are screaming at him to get out and flee, his fear is almost suffocating. All that grounds him now is his human's presence. In the still short time that they've known each other, Hiccup has already proven himself to be far braver than Toothless can ever call himself, though his Rider would disagree. He trusts his judgment.

The house above them gives in beneath the endless abuse and is loudly ripped from its foundation. It is proof of the twister's power.

The dragon yells in Hiccup's face as if he even needs to be told and the human pulls his head onto his lap and embraces it.

He can't imagine how scary this must be for him. Before the surface world, Toothless didn't even know what rain was. So extreme weather like this was like a nightmare come to life.

Wrapping his forelegs around his Rider, Toothless finds solace with him.

The two don't know which is louder. The thunder booming above them or the roaring of the twister that, by all likelihood, is leveling everything above them.

Hiccup attempts to cover his Bud's ears. His own eardrums feel like they are about to burst.

This couldn't have lasted for more then a couple of seconds with the wind speeds this storm travels with, maybe a minute or two at most, but it felt like an eternity. Toothless' grip on his Rider tightens.

And then it passes.

The roaring leaves them, the explosive thundering moves on. Gradually, careful silence returns.

Their ears continue to drum for a little while longer.

Toothless moves to look up to Hiccup to see what the knowledgeable human thinks, but Hiccup shakes his head and pulls him back down.

They wait for at least an hour just to be sure.

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Toothless is close to napping when his Rider moves. Letting go, he raises his head to watch Hiccup rise awkwardly on his prosthetic.

He doesn't say a word as he climbs the stairs and out of Toothless' sight. The grating noise of metal sliding against metal reaches his ears and light comes shining down into the shelter.

Hiccup returns soon after with a smile.

"Come on out, Bud. It's safe now." He tells him and Toothless once again doesn't need to be told twice.

The air outside is relieving and welcomes the dragon as he ascends the stairs and exits the shelter. It is humid and a little chilly. Toothless takes a deep sniff and still smells the rain.

The tornado is gone and the wind has calmed. The once quaint farmland, though abandoned, is in ruins all around them. The long grass of the fields and the weeds lie flat against the ground, there is corn all around them, and trees are torn in two or entirely uprooted. Half of the barn has collapsed, but the house has been mostly leveled. Nearby lie the crushed remains of a metal contraption that humans call a car.

Turning his head, in the far distance, Toothless spots the dark tower and lightning is still striking. The thunder isn't as loud now.

But Hiccup isn't looking at the carnage. Hands on his hips, he is staring up at the sky.

Coming to stand next to him, Toothless follows his example.

The clouds above them, now tinted a lovely orange, are strangely shaped now. There is an entire blanket of them separating the earth and the sky above it. There are rows and rows of fluffy pouches that reflects the light of the sun beautifully.

He can see why Hiccup would smile at the sight. And in an area as abandoned as this, no human or dragon life was lost that they know of, so they can only bask in the moment.

"Glad we got that tornado warning, huh, Bud? The movies never said that we still needed to deal with natural disasters. Ah well, the joys of a post-apocalyptic world, I guess." Toothless doesn't know what his Rider is talking about, probably something he used to know from the time before their worlds met.

Hiccup kicks a nearby wooden board away and removes his backpack to check its contents. There are some things in there that can't get wet. Fortunately, it is a good backpack and everything inside it is still dry. He briefly ponders his raincoat, but leaves it. His plaid shirt and the one beneath it are already wet, no use pulling it out now.

But they were lucky, that is for sure. They are probably bruised, to be sure, but that the hail didn't hit them in the head, or the eyes in Toothless' case, is nothing short of a miracle. And to come upon this abandoned land with a storm shelter when they needed it most... If people still lived here then he and Toothless would have been forced to brave the storm.

Though they can still see flashes of lightning in the clouds in the far distance, the storm is dying. And with the sun setting in the horizon, Hiccup figures it is probably wise to find a nice spot to spend the night. Somewhere far away, where he would be certain they will be safe.

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dontasktheradiodemon · 3 years

Text

Hangout - 11/24

Click the read more if you want to see @hiss-and-vinegar and Alastor have some extremely affectionate, tender, cuddly, and emotionally supportive best friend fluff.

And also to see a snake and a deer violently wrestling in the hotel lobby.

And make fun of each other’s French accents.

Alastor

Room set up, booze supplied and food as well presented as Alastor could manage on such short notice—maybe he should start keeping some hors d'oeuvres on hand in the ice box for times like this, Sir Pentious rarely seems to *schedule* his visits—and now to wait in the lobby for Sir Pentious's arrival.

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious? Scheduling his visits?? But then what of the element of SURPRISE that he enjoyed so much? It was one of the few ways he could add a bit of rebellion to his daily life. *Spontaneity!* Inconveniencing those around him just because he could! Anyway, it had worked out well last time, so the serpent hadn't any intention of changing his way of doing things.

The doors open up, and basking in the orange and reddish hues of Hell's bleak skies was none other than the snake demon himself. He held a cane in his right hand, leaning upon it as he slithered into the Hotel properly, through the entranceway, and towards the Concierge where he could see Alastor standing there. He stops, moving his head to the side to see if there was anything behind the Radio Demon--looked clear enough.

Alastor

Alastor looks up as soon as the door opens. "Ah! Right on time!" He heads toward Sir Pentious, closing the distance between them. "So, my friend, shall we?"

It certainly is clear enough. He's out in the open and completely defenseless.

Sir Pentious

You know how cats do that thing where their pupils enlarge? It shouldn't be possible for him, but it was known to happen. Sir Pentious lowered his body, just somewhat, and wriggled in place. His grin widened considerably, and it seemed as though his fangs had *lengthened* as well. The hat is getting into it, too, the both of them matching the crazed expression.

Alastor

That gives him pause. He stops several feet shorter than he'd planned. "You're looking a little more maniacal than usual," he says warily. "Scheming something new?"

He's about to get attacked, isn't he.

Sir Pentious

Do you know how fast a Cobra's strike is, Alastor?

In the time that you might have stopped to ponder that, Sir Pentious *lunges* for him, intent on TACKLING him and rolling across the floor. BOOSH--

Alastor

Fast enough that Alastor doesn't have time to avoid it—but he grapples Sir Pentious before they've hit the ground, getting one arm around the back of his neck and the other hooked under his armpit to keep him locked in place and unable to use that arm.

"You telegraph your attacks." He's half growling, half hissing with exertion. "Saw it coming. Now *you're* trapped with *me.*"

Says the man pinned flat on his back, scrabbling to get his legs around Sir Pentious's waist, no idea how to pin fifteen feet of snake without cheating by pulling out the tentacles.

Sir Pentious

"HA!!" He CACKLES, face mere INCHES from Alastor's--although with the way his neck is, it can be very far away. But he's choosing not to do that right now. "I CHOSE TO TELEGRAPH THAT ONE! FOR I WANTED TO SSEEE WHAT YOU WOULD--NGH--DO!" He says, flicking his tongue as he attempts to. Move his stuck arm,

"YOU ARE sssssssSTRONGER THAN YOU LOOK, ACTUALLY-- BUT!!! I!!! AM *MUCH HEAVIER.*" Time to. Raise himself up. C: How do you pile drive a man who is clinging to you???

"DO YOU BEG FOR MERCY, ALASSSSSTOR!?"

Alastor

You don't, that's how! "The bigger they are, the harder they fall!" He takes advantage of the temporarily reduced weight to twist to the side, squirm butt first sideways out from under Sir Pentious, and attempt to climb up onto Sir Pentious's back without letting go of his neck. "Mercy? From you? I'd be *insulted!*"

Sir Pentious

AHKKJDFJKJSHDFK! He's being CLIMBED!!! His eyes go all CRAZY--and he SCRAMBLES, trying to reach back to claw at him!!! All of his eyes are looking at Alastor, but alas, eyes on their won can't do much. He TURNS around, left, then RIGHT--DAMMIT!! Scrabble scrabble,

"WELL, *GOOD* BECAUSE I DO NOT--NGHGHRGH-- I DO NOT KEEP *PRISONERSSSS!*"

Alastor

Alastor laughs wildly—claw away, he has a pain tolerance somewhere halfway between "professional masochist" and "dead horse."

Unfortunately, while he's got a good grip, he can't DO much from right here. He could hypothetically strangle Sir Pentious until he passes out—but then he'd be passed out. All the tricks he knows to disable someone's legs are dependent upon them having legs. He gets one leg around Sir Pentious's hips and tries to slide the other one down lower to try to restrict the top of Sir Pentious's tail—yeah no, no, that's not going to do anything.

He can at least catch one wrist and... pin it behind Sir Pentious's back with his body? Yeah! Fifty percent less clawing.

Sir Pentious

............ That's it.

That's it! You know what he's going to do? He's going to LIE DOWN. Quite suddenly. Onto his back. THWUMP. And you know what he's going to do after that? Put his entire massive tail on top of himself. Get CRUSHED, you GRINNING DEERMAN.

Alastor

Why are they falling. Did he win—?

Oh. Shit.

The impact knocks the breath out of him with a loud crackle like the sound of thunder distorting a station's broadcast. For a split second, he's stunned—but he shakes it off when he feels Sir Pentious's back pressing harder against him as he prepares to pull up his frankly enormous tail. Oh no—

He attempts to squirm out of the way while the only thing he has to worry about is the weight of Sir Pentious's relatively slender torso, even relinquishing his headlock so he can push with both arms. He *nearly* gets free—except for one leg still pinned beneath. *Ow.*

He flings an arm and his other leg on top of Sir Pentious, trying to pin his tail in place against his torso while he's nearly doubled over like this. An alligator can bite hard enough to pierce steel but once its mouth is shut it can be kept shut with duct tape; maybe, Alastor thinks hopefully, trying to hold a snake doubled up like this is the same.

Sir Pentious

HA HA! Now, he had the Radio Demon exactly where he w---- What. What was this slithery man doing? Attempting to crawl out from under him? It wouldn't work, you can't get out of this one... His tail was going to come down, and that was going to be that! Crushed under the weight of SIR PEN--

Alastor had was apparently trying to pin his tail to his body to keep him from... what exactly??? Sir Pentious' eyes widened, a goofy amount as he turned his head to look at the impressive flexibility of a man who very much did not have as many joints as he did. "ALASSSTOR." He bares his fangs, quite psychotically.

"I AM MUCH MORE *FLEXIBLE* THAN YOU ARE!"

With a CACKLE, he wriggles the non-pinned portion of his tail upwards--if he had to crush Alastor beneath him in multiple ways, then so be it!!! No mercy? No insults, then!

He brings his tail down upon the both of them, like dropping the world's heaviest spaghetti onto a plate. SLAM!

Alastor

Yipe. He presses hard against Sir Pentious's side—like someone clinging to a friend during a jump scare at a haunted house—in the unconscious hope that the blow will come down less heavily if Sir Pentious has to slam himself just as hard.

If it helps, it's hard to tell. It knocks the air out of him again. *Wheeze.* He's not going to be able to take many more blows like that—it's a miracle that one didn't dislocate something—he's *got* to escape, but how—?

Sir Pentious has his entire tail in the air. Which is no fun for Alastor's pinned leg, but it means that Sir Pentious is only making contact with the ground along his back, the rest of him balanced precariously atop. Alastor considers this a split second; then unhooks the arm and leg he's been using to pin part of Sir Pentious's tail and *shoves,* trying to force him to roll over and fall onto his side so Alastor can free his pinned leg and squirm away.

Sir Pentious

The clinging gets loud purring out of Sir Pentious--but suddenly being SHOVED does end the entirety of that. You're right, the bigger they are, the harder they do fall! He goes briefly googly eyed as he topples over onto his side. His head whips around to watch the now free deerman--

"CAN'T GO FAR ON THOSE LEGSSSSSS OF YOURSSS ALASSSTOR!" But he doesn't give chase, instead rolling over again so he can lie on his front, his elbows propping up his head as he presses his hands to his cheeks, wiggling his tail with sadistic glee. "NO HUNTSSS TODAY, I'M AFRAID, NOT FROM THIS APEX PREDATOR!"

Alastor

He laughs triumphantly. Free! He back rolls away to get a little distance between himself and Sir Pentious, then gets to his feet!

And immediately falls on his butt again. With the tail of his coat flipped up and over his head from the back roll. The leg that was pinned to the floor is numb—it's only just starting to painfully tingle along his thigh where the blood flow was cut off.

He flips his coattail off his face, peers at his leg as he gives it an experimental wiggle, and says, "We'll call it a draw."

Sir Pentious

"*HEE HEE HEE!*"

Oh, look at Penny. He looks absolutely **tickled** with himself. He's hissing out laughter between his teeth, ssss ssss ssss!

Alastor

Oh. Hold on, Alastor's a little lightheaded suddenly. It's probably from that thwacking he took and definitely not anything else. Don't look at him, he's not staring at Sir Pentious, YOU'RE staring.

Wheezing with laughter between pants of exertion, he scoots up to Sir Pentious's side again. "I'm not used to fighting snakes!" He leans on an elbow. "I think I need more practice—but I didn't do bad, you have to admit that."

Sir Pentious

~~I am looking disrespectfully.~~ Sir Pentious turns to look at him, gesturing with his index claw to Alastor's face, then gesturing to the rest of him, "YES, YOU DID DO *RATHER* WELL! I HONESTLY DO NOT WRESTLE OFTEN! NO ONE TO DO IT WITH, AND IT ISN'T EXACTLY A *GENTLEMANLY* ACTIVITY. WHY, THE LASSST PERSON I WRESTLED WITH WAS THE LADY CENTIV. OH, WE BIT THE, AHEM, *SHIT* OUT OF EACH OTHER. IT WASSSS ONE OF MY FIRSSST ENCOUNTERSSS SSSINCE JOINING THAT WEBBED SSSITE."

Sir Pentious wiggles his fingers, "I AM MOSSSTLY SURPRISED YOU DID NOT SSSNAP IN TWO! YOU ARE MUCH SSSSTRONGER THAN YOU LOOK, I BELIEVE I SAID."

Alastor

"Biting's legal?! You mean I could have just—got my jaws around your neck when you were trying to flatten me with your tail, and that would have been it?" He'd considered it for a moment, while pressed up to Sir Pentious's side (listening to him purr), before electing to escape. An indignant harrumph. "The next time you launch a surprise attack, give me the rules of combat first."

Sir Pentious

He's BEAMING from ear to ear--well. He doesn't have any ears, but you know.

"I COULD HAVE BITTEN YOU, AS WELL, BUT THEN YOU'D BE LIGHTHEADED FROM BLOODLOSS BEFORE WE EVEN GOT OUT DRINK ON, MY GOOD MAN." Wiggly fingers!!!

Alastor

~~From snake headboob to snake headboob.~~ "So is the plan to wait until I'm drunk and then bite?" With mock offense, "When my senses will be fuzzy and I can't enjoy it properly?"

Sir Pentious

He just LAUGHS, and SLAPS Alastor on the back.

"YOU *FREAK*, I CAN'T GET ENOUGH OF YOU! CANNIBAL COLONY, INDEED. BUT NO-- I'M NOT BITING YOU TONIGHT, UNLESS YOUR FOOD AND DRINK ARE NOT UP TO PAR!!!" He wiggles his tongue.

Alastor

He beams as he's slapped on the back like he just received high praise. Why yes. He is a freak. He can't get enough of you either. He's not staring at the tongue, YOU'RE staring— "No promises on the food, I had to make do with what was already in the hotel!" He gets to his feet, favoring his non-tingly leg, and offers a hand to Sir Pentious. "You can tell me whether it passes muster."

Sir Pentious

He takes the hand, but he ends up just getting himself back up--if he'd pulled on Al, he'd likely have just pulled him straight down. Heavy. Sir Pentious adjusts his bowtie, tilting his head somewhat upward like a certain <:chungo:738987082118201486> smug animal, "WELL, WELL, IT CANNOT BE HELPED. IN ALL HONESSSSTY, I CAME TO GET HAMMERED WITH MY BESSST MATE."

With a movement of his arms, he gestures towards the stairs, "LEAD ON, CHUM."

Alastor

"You're helping." He flings an arm around Sir Pentious's shoulders and leans on him to get the weight off his still-tingly leg. "I feel like I've just been injured in the trenches." He conjures up an old marching song to the rhythm of his walking and sings along to it, "*Pack up your troubles in your old kit-bag, and smile, smile, smile~!*"

Sir Pentious

He lowers his hood a bit more to avoid smacking the deerman in his face. Again. For the upteenth time--he doesn't know the number, but he sure will chuckle along. "OH, THAT'SSS RIGHT, YOU WERE IN ONE OF THE WARSSS, WEREN'T YOU? I COULD HAVE SSSSWORN YOU MENTIONED THAT." Sure, he'll help you, but he has to lower himself a great deal--he's longer now than he used to be! "YOU MIGHT AS WELL SIT ON MY TAIL, I'LL TAKE YOU UP... BUT I DON'T KNOW WHICH ROOM YOU'VE DESIGNATED."

Alastor

"I was in the *great* one, in fact! It didn't feel too great from the front, but they didn't poll the troops before naming it."

He snorts at the offer. "And me without my cowboy hat. I'd look ridiculous, perched on you with my feet pulled up." But he glances back at the length of Sir Pentious's tail consideringly. Looking ridiculous isn't an automatic dealbreaker.

But he shakes his head. "No, no! I'd rather keep malingering from up here." He resumes humming cheerily. The poor soldier, wounded in action.

Sir Pentious

"YOU COULD ALWAYS RIDE SIDE-SADDLE, BUT IN MY OPINION, YOU ALWAYS LOOK RIDICULOUS." Prrr prrr. He looks so pleased with himself. "THE *GREAT* WAR... I DO NOT ENVY THAT, NOT IN THE LEASSSST." A chuckle, "AS MUCH AS I ENJOY CHAOS AND BLOODSHED, I'D MUCH RATHER NOT BE ON THE FRONT LINESSSS. NOT MY EXPERTISE!"

Alastor

He unconsciously llllleans a little more to feel the purring against his side. Good vibrations.

"It's not mine either." He grimaces. "But! Who wants to talk about the war! It was already old news a hundred years ago!" He points the direction to turn at the top of the stairs.

Sir Pentious

He's tempted to just LIFT Alastor up, but he's tired after their rough housing. Yes, that was the reason. Turning...

"TRUE ENOUGH. WHY, I DIED ABOUT FORTY YEARS BEFORE IT, GIVE OR TAKE! NO NEED TO THINK ABOUT IT, BUT SSSTILL. HOW INTERESSSTING IT WOULD HAVE BEEN IF I HAD BEEN ABLE TO TRAVEL TO AMERICA, LIKE I HAD EVENTUALLY PLANNED. HAD I NOT DIED SSSO SSSUDDENLY, I WONDER IF WE WOULD HAVE MET SSSOMEHOW."

... A pause, "OH. RIGHT. WRONG VERSION! HA." He clears his throat, *where's the booze.*

Alastor

*Wrong version.* The same thought had hit him a moment faster than Sir Pentious, as he talked about never having been to America—when the version Alastor had known had had, as far as historians could work out, his entire career in the States.

He squeezes Sir Pentious's shoulders a little and plays along with the What If scenario. "I was born a couple decades after you died. By the time I would have been old enough to appreciate a meeting, you'd probably be well into retirement!" He laughs. "My molher told me that when she was a child, when you—*our* you, rather—were targeting American port cities, her family was making plans to migrate en masse inland to somewhere you wouldn't consider strategically valuable enough to hit—maybe join the Oklahoma land rushes, it was relatively close and they knew several other Black families going. But then you died and they stuck around in New Orleans."

He points at a door, here it is. "So, if you *had* come to America after '88—my mother might have ended up in Oklahoma while my father stayed in Louisiana and poor little Alastor would never have been born!"

Sir Pentious

He respects being humored without Alastor drawing too much attention to it. He listened with intent, trying to imagine the chaos his doppelganger sowed upon the port cities. A contented Cobra sigh, raspy and terrifying.

"*POOR* LITTLE ALASTOR! WHAT A SSSENTENCE THAT ISSS. YESSS, TOO RIGHT, I AM *MUCH* OLDER THAN YOU, CHUM. NOT THAT THAT KIND OF THING MATTERSSSS *HERE.* I'M OLDER THAN YOUR RAG-TAG POSSE PUT TOGETHER!" A chuckle.

He'll offer his arm for the Radio Demon, assuming his leg isn't back to its functional self, "YOU KNOW, MY FATHER WAS AMERICAN. FROM TENNESSEE. HE CAME OVER OUR WAYS ABOUT..." Hmm. Face of strained thought, "WELL, I'D SSSAY FIVE YEARS BEFORE HE MET MY MOTHER. HE CAME LOOKING FOR WORK, AND TO GET AWAY FROM THE *TENSIONS* IN THE SSSTATESSS, I IMAGINE. HE NEVER REALLY TALKED MUCH ABOUT HIMSELF, NOT TO ME."

Alastor

He's about to argue—Rosie's probably older than Sir Pentious several times over—but then he realizes that the "rag-tag posse" Sir Pentious is referring to is probably the hotel crew. "Ha! I don't know, Husk and I put together might have you beat, he's older than he looks."

His leg's just about back in working order, but that's not going to stop him from taking the offered arm. "Really! Half American, are you! I never would have guessed. I've never been to Tennessee—but I always meant to go, I had a pen pal in Memphis, brilliant occultist." He opens the door, tada. It's set up exactly the same as the last room they hung out in, booze and food waiting over on the expected table.

Sir Pentious

Oh excellent. He grins, showing off those sharp yellow teeth of his again, and pats his coat down. Good, good, he still has a few cigarettes on hand.

In Sir Pentious slithers, heading to the table immediately to claim dibs on a bottle of bourbon. He almost *nuzzles* it, it's been a while since he drank enough to get silly!

"YESS, HALF AMERICAN. I GENERALLY KEEP IT ON THE DOWNLOW, SSSINCE I BARELY KNOW MUCH ABOUT YOUR COUNTRY... OTHER THAN IT BEING LOUD ENOUGH TO HEAR ACROSS THE OCEAN, HA!"

Alastor

And here Alastor had expected him to go for brandy again.

"Ha! Guilty as charged and proud of it!" He unbuttons his coat and shrugs it off before he sits, asking, "You don't mind, do you? Maybe *you* can't sweat, but I can and I just wrestled an anaconda."

The food on offer is a weird hodgepodge of whatever Alastor could find that he thought met Sir Pentious's culinary preferences and that didn't come in plastic wrappers: French onion soup (leftover, but no need to mention that), a few rolls and a loaf of sourdough he popped into a nearby bakery to shamelessly steal, some smoked salmon—he gestures at it as the one item on display that most disappoints him, "I would have made *baked* salmon to go better with the soup if I'd known you were visiting"—and some cubes of beef he'd quickly seared, just barely on the cooked side of rare, tossed cheekily in a sugar bowl next to the French onion soup as if they were sugar cubes to be dropped into tea. With some random jams and a couple jars of mustard to compensate for the—by Alastor's standards—rather slim selection.

Sir Pentious

For a few seconds, Sir Pentious thought that Alastor was asking him if he minded that he was American. Once the sentence catches up, he waves a hand.

"NO, I DON'T MIND. I WOULD IF YOU WEREN'T WEARING ANYTHING UNDERNEATH THAT JACKET OF YOURSSSS." what a grin.

He's going to look over the selection, and cover his mouth as he looks a little.. Well! Sir Pentious didn't want to be *rude.*

"AH, AND HERE I SHOULD HAVE BROUGHT SANDWICHESSSS! I'M INTERESTED IN YOUR MEAT CUBES." Hee hee.

Alastor

He looks over the display ruefully. "I should have had sandwich meat on hand. Consider the cubes yours!" He pulls the soup bowl over, this is his now. Doesn't even need to scoop some out of the serving bowl now, does he? "*Next time,* I *insist* on six hours' warning before you come over for a picnic. There's no greater crime than for a host to let his guest go hungry!" Says the man guilty of crimes like "murder" and "eating people."

Sir Pentious

Prr. He swoops his hood over his shoulder, playing with it idly and grinning.

"VERY WELL, ALASTOR. I WON'T DUMP ANYMORE SSSURPRISE, LASSSST MINUTE VISITSSSS UPON YOU, UNLESS THERE'SSS NO PROMISE OF FOOD TO BE SSSERVED!"

It was funny to show up unannounced, but having barely any food to show for it did cut down on that food. He takes a seat on the couch, still clutching the bourbon.

"ALL THINGSSS CONSSSSIDERED, YOU DIDN'T DO TOO BAD!"

Alastor

“Even then, unless we’re going out, I’d like to have *something* edible on hand! My mother would fly down from Heaven to give me an earful if she found out I’d invited a friend into my home without feeding him—and the hotel’s full of beds and I’m in it daily, so it counts as a ‘home’ on a technicality.”

He waves off the faint praise, but not without his chest puffing up a little. He picks up a spoon and points at the soup. “Not a fan of French onion soup, I take it?”

Sir Pentious

He laughs, "OH, IT WOULDN'T BE *HELL* SHE'D HAVE A PROBLEM WITH, EH? MOSSST ASSUREDLY YOUR HOSSST ABILITIESSS." He laughs through his teeth.

"OH, THE SOUP? I HAVEN'T THOUGHT TO CHECK IT YET, BUT MEAT IS WHAT I'M MOSSSST IN THE MOOD FOR."

Alastor

Cue the studio audience laughter. “Damnation is no excuse for starving a guest!”

Alastor brightens. He’d thought that Sir Pentious’s disappointment was due to his opinion of the available offerings, but maybe it was only the quantity. He pushes the soup’s serving bowl back to the middle and gestures at the two smaller empty bowls he’d supplied. “It’s all onions, butter, and cheese—but I thought you might want meat in it! It pairs best with venison, but in a pinch beef will do fine.” (A lot of the side dishes Alastor makes pair best with venison. Is it because he thinks everything pairs best with venison or is it because he’s biased toward cooking foods he can have with venison? Who can say.) “I recommend tossing a few cubes in, that’s what they’re there for. It’s excellent for dipping bread in, too. Usually toast, but soft bread’s fine.”

Sir Pentious

A brief face scrunch at the mention of toast. Sir Pentious doesn't bother with the smaller serving bowls, instead taking a spoon and dipping it into the soup.

"I HATE TOAST. IT IS TOO CRUNCHY, TOO *BRITTLE.* THOUGH I NEVER HAD A PROPER *TOASSSSTER* FOR THAT KIND OF THING."

Alastor

“You may notice I didn’t bring toast. After all, we know well that *crumbly* is for the *lower class!*” No, he’s never going to forget that Sir Pentious said that.

Sir Pentious

He *cackles*, and puts the spoonful in his mouth. Wow, he didn't recoil this time! Instead he actually swallows it down, clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

"NOT BAD AT ALL, ALASSSTOR."

Alastor

He’s going to add that sand-sized grain of gold to the jar in which he collects words of positive affirmation from Sir Pentious. “I’ll keep it in my recipe book!” Apparently they’re eating straight out of the serving bowl. He gets a slice of sourdough and dips it into the bowl, like it’s some kind of au jus/fondue. “It uses a beef stock, so it still tastes rather meaty even without any actual meat.”

Sir Pentious

Snickering through his teeth, he moves to drop a few meat cubes into the soup. Sploot.

"THAT'SSS A FUN THING TO DO TO THE *HERBIVORES,* WOULDN'T YOU SSSSAY? NYA HA HA!"

Alastor

He laughs at the thought. “I don’t get along very well with vegetarians—but oh, wouldn’t that make them hopping mad! I’ll keep it in mind if I ever need to really insult one.”

Sir Pentious

"*SSS SSS SSS!*" OH, he is GIGGLY today! You're making him laugh so much, Alastor. But anyway, time to try the meat with the soup.... Nomf....

"MM, VERY WELL PREPARED. JUSSSST THE WAY I LIKE IT."

Alastor

He’s noticed! And every time it makes his dead heart flutter. “Good! I do believe I’m getting your tastes figured out.” As a reward for a job well done, he’s grabbing one of the meat chunks the next time he dips his bread in the bowl.

Sir Pentious

BRIEFLY BRISTLES. He fights the urge to be selfish, actually... Usually he would yell and fuss!

But he doesn't. Instead, he just WATCHES ALASTOR INTENTLY.

Alastor

Alastor watches Sir Pentious watch him intently. “... I *cooked* these, I can have one.”

Sir Pentious

"YES." He leans on his chin on his hands, still watching him with an ever growing grin! What a brat.

Alastor

Then he’s going to chew EXTRA SLOWLY, so Sir Pentious KNOWS that he’s savoring it.

Sir Pentious

SHIT EATING GRIN. What is wrong with this man. Finally he turns off of this nonsense, and reaches for a roll to bite into. Nomf.

Alastor

Alastor huffs, and takes another dip of the soup. "So, what brings you by so suddenly? A desperate desire to grind my smile into the floor, or something else?"

Sir Pentious

A blink! And Sir Pentious sits up straighter, adjusting his (used to be Al's) bowtie. "WELL, NO, NOT EXACTLY. I DID NOT HAVE THE CHANCE TO SSSSIT WITH YOU SSSO MUCH LASSSST TIME.... AND." His hand crawls across the table, and takes Alastor's, "SSSORRY, ABOUT LASSSST TIME. I MISSED YOU! I WANTED TO TALK AND TOUCH AND DRINK, BUT THINGSSSS WERE SSSO TENSE BEFORE. GAVE ME A RIGHT *SSSTOMACHACHE*."

Alastor

So it was intentional? Alastor's actually relieved to hear it. He'd been afraid that the reason they'd never touched was because Alastor had never initiated—that Sir Pentious didn't *want* to unless Alastor was pushing into his space.

Alastor immediately squeezes Sir Pentious's hand in relief. And then, just, casually, relocates himself to sit closer to Sir Pentious. Not quite close enough to touch shoulders, but enough to make clear that Sir Pentious *totally could* if he *wants* to. Hint hint. "I missed you too!" He gives Sir Pentious a wan smile, then glances away, focused on the table. "Why was it tense?" Unspoken: *what did I do?* "I know why at the *end,* but... that was the end. It doesn't explain the rest of the movie."

Sir Pentious

And touch shoulders he *does*, bumping against Alastor's with his own, still holding that hand as he taps his talons against it to a melody that wasn't playing. "AH, WELL... THAT'SS DUE TO A MISSSSCONCEPTION THAT VALERA HAD ACQUIRED ABOUT YOU, BACK WHEN YOU WERE A TAD *SSSNIPPY* WITH HER OVER THE MUSICAL CHOICESSS. YOU SSEE AT THE TIME, I WANTED TO HEAR HER REASONING."

Sir Pentious waves a hand, "SHE HAD THISS THOUGHT THAT YOU WERE *JEALOUSS* OVER HOW I PRIORITIZED HER INSSTEAD OF YOU! BUT, WELL, I DID NOT THINK THAT SSSOUNDED LIKE YOU AT ALL. OUR RELATIONSHIP ISSN'T LIKE THAT..." Another hand squeeze, "I ASSURE YOU THAT IT ISSS ALL SAID AND DONE, AND SHE HASS SINCE ADMITTED TO HER MISSCONCEPTIONSS. SHE WAS WRONG ABOUT YOU, AS I FIGURED. BUT DURING THE MOVIE, I FEARED THAT JEALOUSSSSY LINGERED IN THE AIR, AND A CERTAIN TENSENESSSSSS BETWEEN YOU BOTH, IT ALL CAME TO A HEAD WHEN THE ARGUMENT SSSTARTED."

A sigh, and he keeps hold of Alastor's hand, but uses his other to pat it, "PARANOIA CAN MAKE FOOLSSSS OF USS ALL. IT HASS BEEN DEALT WITH, REGARDLESS! WE SSSPOKE AT LENGTH ABOUT IT, AND I AM CONFIDENT THAT SHE NO LONGER HASS THOSE MISCONCEPTIONSS ABOUT YOU, ALASSTOR." He beams with pride.

Alastor

A surge of anger pulses through Alastor. "Oh, so she talked to you about that." And in the process made Alastor look bad enough that Sir Pentious hadn't even wanted to touch him. Who was the one acting jealous—

Stop. It was resolved. Valera had apparently admitted her error to Sir Pentious, things were fine now.

"Well. If she didn't already tell you herself, I was snippy *because* of her musical choices. Of every person she picked songs for, I was the only one she singled out to receive songs that, by her own admission, I wouldn't like!" A pause. "Which *sounds* insignificant, but coming from one aficionado of musical theater to another, it's a grave insult! Particularly since our both being in musical theater means she *shares* my tastes. Honestly, I'm amazed she thought that thing had anything to do with you." He bumps Sir Pentious's shoulder. "What kind of a poor friend would I be if I got jealous over a man spending time with his own fiancée! I can assure you that all the tension was one-sided."

Sir Pentious

"IN TRUTH, I HAVEN'T THE FOGGIEST WHAT YOU TWO TALKED ABOUT--I DECIDED IT WASSN'T ANY OF MY BUSINESS! BEING CAUGHT BETWEEN THAT WAS SSOMETHING I'D NOT LIKE A REPEAT OF." An uneasy smile, but he bumps right back. "YESS, YOU AND VALERA BOTH HAVE QUITE A LOT OF MUSICAL TASSSSTESSS IN COMMON! SSSUPPOSE IT WAS SSIMPLY PARANOIA GETTING TO HER." He clears his throat, "I KNOW THE FEELING. IT CONVINCESSS MYSELF OF MADNESS AND SSPINSS LIESS AS THE TRUTH WITH SSSUCH *CHARISMA.*... AND MAKESS MONSSTERSS OF THE ONESS I CARE ABOUT."

Oh hey LOOK AT THE TIME! It's time to pour himself some bourbon.

Alastor

If Sir Pentious doesn't want to be in the middle, then Alastor has no right to drag him back in; the sentences he'd been lining up to try to explain his side die in his throat. And anger flares back up again—it's all well and good that Valera apparently resolved it, but it sits like a lump in his gut that the only narrative of the situation that lives in Sir Pentious's head is whatever Valera deigned to tell him. It's harder this time to swallow the anger down.

He wrestles with his words, trying to pare everything he wants to say down to something small enough to squeeze out without adding unduly to Sir Pentious's burden, "I don't know what she told you—or has *been* telling you—but after our conversation, I can fairly confidently state that she's been wrong about... just about *everything* she's thought about me for months." He grimaces. "I wish I could say more than that, but I don't know what all she claimed about me—she didn't mention that she'd said anything to you at all! And I'm not going to ask."

He picks up a glass and holds it out. Give him some too.

Sir Pentious

He pours bourbon for Alastor, as well, and studies the deerman's expression.

"WELL, PERHAPSS YOU CAN SHED SSSOME LIGHT ON YOUR PART, ALASSSTOR? BECAUSE WHAT I MENTIONED BEFORE, WITH HER ASSUMING THAT YOU WERE JEALOUS, WELL THAT WAS THE FIRSSST I'D HEARD OF IT! WHICH WASS WHY I WAS CAUGHT OFF GUARD. I DIDN'T HOLD YOU OR PLAY WITH YOU AS USUAL, BECAUSE I HAD SSSSURMISED THAT IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN UPSSSETTING TO *HER*... ALTHOUGH WHEN I MENTIONED IT TO HER, SHE SSSEEMED UPSSET THAT I'D THOUGHT TO DO THAT AT ALL."

His tongue hangs out like he's exhausted, "SSO MY EFFORTSS TO QUELL A SSSITUATION I DID NOT UNDERSSSTAND CLEARLY DID NOT DO MUCH, EXCEPT MAKE YOU FEEL UNWANTED, I IMAGINE."

Alastor

Half the tension leaks out of him as the implicit gag order is lifted, he can explain his side now.

"You imagined correctly." He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "Truth be told, I... well, I spent half the movie wondering if I'd said something wrong, or if you'd *never* wanted to touch me and I just somehow hadn't noticed because I'd always been the one to initiate it. I was sure that couldn't be true, I try not to initiate, but... well, like you said, paranoia makes monsters." He leaves it unstated that in this case, the one paranoia had made a monster of was himself.

"She—somehow got it into her head that every single thing I said and did to her was loaded down with a subtext of veiled hostility and threats. Which is ludicrous! Not only do I have nothing against her, but I wanted to be her friend! Which is a rare occurrence! I don't meet many people that make me go, 'Now, *there's* someone who'd fit perfectly into my little social circle!' I don't put in an effort that often! And when I do, it's..." He struggles with his words for a moment. "I'm usually—*good* at it. *Very* good at it. I used to be, anyway."

He pulls his hand back so he can cross his arms tightly, compensating by leaning more heavily on Sir Pentious. This was easier to talk about when he was angry. Now, he finds, it just hurts.

Sir Pentious

Oh... Sir Pentious tilts his head as Alastor speaks, considering his own thoughts. Should he tell him his own *guesses* as to why? or would that just make everything worse? It was hard to say--Valera and Alastor were both quite *sensitive* in their own ways. Sometimes, he'd say something that would get a negative reaction out of them and it would take the serpent a moment to reevaluate what he said and how it could have affected them!

So, for the moment... he slides his tail around the back of Alastor, puts an arm around his shoulders, and pulls the Radio Demon to his side. He'd rest his chin on Al's head, but he wasn't looking to *stab himself through the skull* with those antennae.

"YOU HAVE A BIT OF A REPUTATION, YOU KNOW. AT LEASSST DOWN HERE. YES, IT ISSS TRUE THAT VALERA DOES NOT HAVE THAT SSSAME UNDERSSTANDING BUT... PERHAPSSS MY PARANOID DELUSIONSS FROM MONTHSSS AGO SSANK INTO HER UNDERSTANDING. OR! PERHAPSS IT'S YOUR SMILE, YOUR SSSTATIC GRIN!"

He takes out his phone, and types in a sentence. "Hello, stinky." he types into it, and then adds a simple :) smiley face, "LOOK AT THISSS, ALASTOR. ARE YOU AWARE OF THISSS PHENOMENON?"

Alastor

He starts slightly when he feels himself being embraced. Is—is he being... comforted? It feels weird. He leans into it.

He groans. "I know I do." There are very few things he regrets, but his rampage when he arrived in Hell is constantly hovering on the verge of making the list. Nothing he's done or refrained from doing since then has ever let him move past it. "But she doesn't have that context! She shouldn't, anyway."

Alastor looks at the example, is immediately self-conscious, and lightly elbows Sir Pentious. "You'd better not be mixing a jab in with your example, I smelled fine before you got me sweaty." He'd managed to squeeze in a quick shower amidst scrambling for food. He'd been showering a lot more since he'd started hanging out with Sir Pentious. "Yes, I know, smile when you insult someone and it's all the more biting. I know that! I understand the nuances and subtleties to a smile! You don't wear the same facial expression for eighty-seven years without learning its limitations inside and out! I'm *good* at telegraphing whether I like or despise someone, when I want to. And I wanted to."

Sir Pentious

"SSS, SSS, SSS!" Sir Pentious snickers through his teeth, and flicks one of Alastor's ears with a talon, "YOU DON'T SSSMELL. I'D BE ABLE TO TASTE IT ALREADY!" Weird thing to say but he is a snake. He swivels is head around, long neck allowing him to look Alastor around the front without moving the rest of his body. You're friends with a *noodle*, Alastor.

"WHEN WE FIRSSSST BEGAN MEETING, EVEN AFTER THE LETTERSSSS AND THE PROMISSSSESSSS... IT TOOK ME SSSOME TIME TO FEEL COMFORTABLE AROUND YOU, AND IT WASSS BECAUSE I COULDN'T HELP BUT READ ALL OF YOUR SSSMILESS, DESSPITE YOUR MOVEMENTSS AND YOUR VOICE, AS *A THREAT.*" He gestures to his phone again, "TAKE THISSS SMILEY FOR EXAMPLE. YOU WOULD THINK THAT THISSS SMILEY FACE WOULD CREATE A SSSENSE OF CAMRADERIE AMONGSST THE ONLINE TEXTING COMMUNITIESSS, BUT APPARENTLY, IT ONLY CREATESSS A SSSENSE OF *DREAD.* A SSORT OF... PASSIVE AGGRESSION!"

He leans back a bit, tapping a claw to one of his fangs, "AND THAT COULD VERY WELL BE WHY, ALASSSTOR. SHE MUSSST THINK THAT YOUR SSSMILEY FACE IS A THREAT, IN HER MIND! I KNOW WHEN I SSMILE AS YOU DO, IT ISSS USUALLY BECAUSE I WANT TO SHOW OFF MY *TEETH.*" And he does it right then, too, beaming.

Alastor

"I *know!* The fact that it's threatening is one of the reasons I do it! But I can get *past* that instinctive reaction with most people when I choose to! Unless I'm just—just... losing my edge."

He sighs. He looks tired.

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious puts the phone away--or in this case just fumbles it briefly and lets it bounce on the table. It's fine. He clears his throat, "WELL, I KNOW THISS MUCH... I BECAME *MUCH* MORE ABLE TO TRUSST YOU WHEN I COULD *TOUCH* YOU, ALASSSTOR." All of his eyes are looking away, "USUALLY I HATE THAT KIND OF THING BUT... PERHAPSSS IT MADE YOU MORE *REAL* TO ME." To punctuate his thought, he takes hold of Alastor's hand again and squeezes it.

"VALERA AND I HIT IT OFF RATHER WELL, BUT ONLY AFTER WE TOUCHED... AND SHE AND I ARE VERY ALIKE, AS WELL, IN OUR WAYSSS.... PERHAPSSS THAT'SS THE KEY!" He laughs behind a hand, "NOW I AM NOT SSSSUGGESTING YOU GO AND FONDLE MY WIFE, ALASSSTOR, BUT PERHAPSSS OFFERING HER YOUR HAND MIGHT EASE SSSOME OF HER WORRIES?"

Alastor

He squeezes Sir Pentious's hand, glad to have it back. "More real?" He laughs weakly. "What was I before then, a ghost? A disembodied voice in a box?"

The corners of his mouth curl down. "It's a ridiculous price to pay just to prove I don't detest her! And I *have* held her hand before—apparently it didn't do any good."

Sir Pentious

"PERHAPSSS YOU SHOULD CONSIDER GROWLING SSCALESS AND LOSING THOSE LEGSSS OF YOURS. MIGHT I SSUGGESST SWAPPING THEM OUT FOR A TAIL INSSSTEAD? HA HA!" He purrs, taking hold of his glass.

Alastor

"Oh, I couldn't do that! I'd miss tap dancing and shaving too much." Laugh track. He's gonna just, subtle cuddle further into that purr. And slide his free arm around Sir Pentious. Alastor's got Sir Pentious's tail around him, reciprocating with an arm is fair game, right? He hopes so. It feels nice.

Sir Pentious

He's not about to push him away, anyway. Sir Pentious' tongue flicks out, wiggling in front of Alastor's face before he sucks it back in, "I FEEL FOR YOU, ALASSTOR, THAT THINGSSS ARE *BUMPY*. I DON'T REALLY KNOW THE FIX--IT ISSN'T LIKE ADJUSTING UNEVEN BOLTS OR REBUILDING THE BOILER ROOM FROM SSSSCRATCH BECAUSE THE ORIGINAL OWNERS OF THIS BUILDING HAD ZERO IDEA WHAT THEY WERE DOING." Ahem, "*PEOPLE* AREN'T MY EXPERTISE, NOT AT ALL. I THINK, IT COULD JUSST BE, THAT VALERA MAY NEED TO FIGURE YOU OUT ON HER OWN, PREFERABLY WITHOUT HURTING HERSSSELF OR YOU."

Alastor

"There's nothing *to* fix." Alastor shrugs ruefully. "She misunderstood; I explained; now she doesn't misunderstand. There's nothing else to do about it now."

Sir Pentious

"YOU COULD ALWAYS BREAK INTO SSSONG, I'VE HEARD THAT HELPS." He beams, knocking his glass against Alastor's a touch.

Alastor

He grimaces more, then shifts enough to put his glass on the table out of range before curling back up. He doesn't want to drink right now.

"The issue is—It's—To use your metaphor, it's fine to fix a boiler that some other incompetent idiot built—but what if the boiler that breaks down is one *you* designed and built? It doesn't matter that you can fix it, that doesn't solve the real problem—that you messed it up in the first place. You pride yourself as an engineer and inventor, what does it say about you if you ruined a mere, simple boiler?"

Sir Pentious

When Alastor curls back up, it dawns on Sir Pentious suddenly that they were actually talking very seriously about this. It wasn't that he was totally oblivious, but it clearly stopped being a discussion, and now, the Hellish Gentleman had to find some way to comfort his friend. Of all the scenarios to find himself in, comforting the Radio Demon had never really crossed his mind. ... Or had it? He did want to go drinking with Alastor, after all. Hmm.

He gets a little quiet, placing his own glass against the table and leaning back. Time to sink down to the floor, taking the deerman with him. "...I'd argue that--I have more experience with *that* particular example than *you* do, Alassstor. The leak is always in the same place, no matter how many timessss I repair it."

Alastor

Oh, okay, they're sliding off the couch now. Down they go. He repositions himself once they're on the floor.

He wasn't expecting to *look* for comfort from Sir Pentious. He's not even sure that *is* what he's doing—his only goal had been to make himself understood, nothing more. But here they are.

"Well, that's... Everyone has their weak points, of course. But this *isn't* one of mine. At least, it hasn't been before. So I can't help but wonder if I..." He trails off. "I think I'm repeating myself. I apologize, I'm sure that's boring."

Sir Pentious

"ALASSSTOR, IF I THOUGHT YOU WERE BORING, I WOULD HAVE *LEFT* ALREADY!" And he flicks his ear again, "I AM *KIDDING.* I DON'T MIND TALKING TO YOU ABOUT THISSS, BUT I DO KNOW THAT I DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH HELP I CAN *BE.* I AM SSSTILL NAVIGATING MYSELF THROUGH ALL OF THIS... IT'SS HARD TO KNOW WHAT TO DO WHEN THINGSSS YOU WORK ON BREAK! BUT I HAVE LEARNED THAT PEOPLE ARE NOT LIKE *MACHINESSS*, FOR BETTER OR FOR WORSE."

He squeezes that hand again, "TELL YOU WHAT! I WILL ASSSK VALERA FOR YOU! HOW ABOUT THAT?"

Alastor

Alastor doesn't laugh. He knows it's true, even if Sir Pentious doesn't. Of course they wouldn't be friends if Alastor was boring. If he was boring, he wouldn't even be *Alastor* anymore.

"No. There's nothing you need to ask her, what could you possibly ask her? It—I'm hardly even talking about Valera at this point, this has nothing to *do* with her except that she inadvertently uncovered a problem I already suspected!"

Sir Pentious

His face falls at that-- and he looks in a different direction. A short inhale with a bit of a louder *exhale...* He didn't know what Alastor was going on about, overall, due to him not being as talkative as usual.... so Sir Pentious just curls around him, allowing Alastor to essentially sit on the cinnamon roll that was Sir Pentious.

"WELL, I AM NOT DEVELOPING TELEPATHY ANY TIME SSSOON, MAN. IS HELL GETTING TO YOU, AFTER A HUNDRED YEARSSS?"

Alastor

"*Exactly!* That's exactly it!" He sits up a little to look at Sir Pentious directly. "*Is* it getting to me?! Has it—has it been getting to me since the day I arrived? I'm a *radio host*, damn it, people *like* me, they've *always* liked me—but they've *never* liked me in Hell, because I—I precluded the possibility of that on my very first day! I can say it was my own fault, but I, I don't think it entirely *was*, I think that's what Hell *does,* it conspires around you to make you... trip and stumble into doing whatever it is that will make them suffer the most, tricks you into orchestrating your own divine punishment. And my worst—part of my worst punishment would be—*losing* that! Being a radio host! All my charisma, my charm, everything my audience loved me for! I already lost my audience, I took care of that my first day, but what about the rest of it? That likability? I always *feel* the weight of Hell on me, I don't think *everyone* feels it so clearly but I do, I've always been more sensitive to things like that—I think Hell takes something from us, on a spiritual level, slowly, over time. What if this is what it's been taking from me? What if it's going to leave me a—a hackneyed, cheesy, boring... has-been?"

He pauses to take a breath.

Then he winces. "Was that too much?"

Sir Pentious

Oh! Hmm. Sir Pentious sits up at that, though in his efforts he may have disturbed Alastor a little- he brings a hand to his chin in thought, mulling over what the other rambled on and on about. That did seem to allign with his own misgivings about Hell--could they even be called that? Hell certainly sucked! It may not have lined up with the scriptures, but it sure did feel *awful all the time.* No matter how high one climbed, there'd always be something to knock them down.

"FOR ALL THE INVENTING I'VE DONE, FOR ALL THE LEAPSSS AND BOUNDSSS I'VE MADE WITH MY PROWESS AS AN INVENTOR, NOBODY EVER SSSEEEMED TO *CARE* DOWN HERE. I CONTINUED AT IT, OVER AND *OVER* AGAIN, IN TIRELESS PURSUIT OF BEING RECOGNIZED, OF BEING KNOWN!! AND..." A huff, "VERY FEW RECOGNIZE IT, VERY FEW PEOPLE SSSEEM TO GIVE ANY KIND OF *DAMN*. AND NOT TO MENTION ALL OF THE... *ROADBLOCKS*, AS IT WERE... EVERY PERSON WHO KNOCKED ME DOWN SEEMED TO HAVE BEEN DESIGNED PERSONALLY FOR ME! TO HIT ME WHERE IT *HURT MOST.*"

He lies back down, flopping back with his arms out. "... I'D JUST ABOUT GIVEN UP, ALASSTOR. AND THEN.... VALERA CAME INTO MY LIFE, AND THEN I MET YOU, AND... IT'SSS AS IF THINGSSS HAVE PURPOSE AGAIN. I CAN FEEL MY WILL RETURNING--BUT NOT JUSSST THAT... I AM *ACTUALLY* EXCITED TO BLOW UP THIS PUTRID SHITHOLE AND REMAKE IT IN MY IMAGE!!! I FEEL LIKE I HAVE SO MANY OPTIONSSS!"

Sir Pentious sits up a bit once more, looking at the Radio Demon with a smile--not his usual aggressive grin, but a kind smile. "I DON'T THINK OF YOU AS SSOME KIND OF 'HAS-BEEN'-- YOU'VE LIKELY JUST GOT TO FIND YOUR NEW AUDIENCE. AND YOU FOUND ME!!! I TUNE IN ALL THE TIME."

Alastor

He's on pins and needles until Sir Pentious starts talking, not sure if the pile of decades-old fears he'd just dumped on Sir Pentious was going to drive him off. (Is Alastor still worth being friends with if he's not just the two-dimensional entertainment, if he has worries too? Other people might think so—but will Sir Pentious?)

And then Sir Pentious starts talking, and Alastor is spellbound. He has to keep stopping himself from interrupting to agree—because yes, he's observed the exact same thing for decades from watching his own Sir Pentious, yes, he does believe that people are specifically set on collision courses with each other in order to hurt each other as much as possible—so he just nods along enthusiastically to everything he agrees with.

*Purpose.* Alastor takes Sir Pentious's hand again, squeezing it. "I've felt... somewhat the same. I know you don't think much of my own lack of ambition, and I truly don't have any interest in taking over Hell, but—I hope I don't sound too sentimental when I say that watching *you* pursue the crown... it's always been inspiring." His smile's unusually self-conscious.

"Maybe a new audience is all I need. Truth be told, that's the real reason I agreed to Charlie and Vaggie's ridiculous "blog" idea—I was *desperate* for an audience. I suppose at least some good's come of it." He laughs ruefully.

"And yet... I can't quite shake the thought that the only reason the stars aligned to let us be friends is so that some higher power can use it to break us someday." He looks away. "I—sincerely believe—and have for *years*—that I'm one of the people that were designed to hit you where it hurt most. And I'm referring to our respective, parallel... your me and my you. I hope it's not the case with *us.* But if it is, are we going to be able to tell before it's too late?"

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious brushes his hood back behind his head, then puts both arms around Alastor only to pull him in close and LIE on him. Squish. You get loud Cobra breathing as he mulls over what's said. "I DON'T KNOW--YOU SSSSOUND PARANOID, PERHAPSSS YOU NEED TO RELAX." He beams, "BUT HONESTLY, I DON'T KNOW. I'M... TIRED OF WORRYING ABOUT IT!! I WANT TO... JUSST SSEE, I SSSUPPOSE. I'VE HAD FUN, YOU KNOW. EXPERIENCING THINGSSS AGAIN. AND BEING *EXCITED* TO WAKE UP. IT'SS... ...."

He gets a little quiet again, thinking to those nights of anguish, of screaming and dragging his claws through his own scales. A shake of his head, "WELL, IT'SS REFRESHING, TO SSAY THE LEASST. AND I'M TIRED OF BEING AFRAID OF WHAT *COULD* BE."

Alastor

*Squish.* He hugs Sir Pentious back tightly. "Is it really paranoia when we're in a prison divinely designed to serve as eternal torment?"

But Sir Pentious has a point—Alastor is tired of worrying about it, too. He's tired of the guilt and the grief and the regrets. "I hear you." He holds on a little tighter. "I—haven't had much worth waking up for in a long time, either. It's a nice change."

Sir Pentious

"YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE IS A NICE CHANGE?"

Sir Pentious slaps at the table blindly before giving up, "I WAS GOING TO SAY DRINKING WITH A FRIEND! BUT. I COULDN'T REACH,"

Alastor

Alastor laughs, tries to reach, and finds he's not going to do any better as long as Sir Pentious is pinning him down. "Oh, well. It can wait."

Sir Pentious

Prr prr. Oh well. He's gonna stay like this a little longer until....

"HASSS BEEN.... HAAZZZ.... *OH.* IS THAT WHY THE SIGN SAYS THAT? *HA!*"

Alastor

Ding ding ding. "Isn't that what *most* of the damned are? People who used to *be* something, and aren't anymore? Anyone who comes looking for redemption has just given up on trying to make something of themselves in Hell, too!"

Sir Pentious

"I CAN'T TELL IF IT'SSSS A SSSELF BURN OR NOT, ALASSSTOR.... BUT AT THE VERY LEAST, REDEMPTION! *PAH.* IT COULD NEVER HAPPEN. NEVER!"

Alastor

"*I'm* not at the hotel seeking *redemption.* I'm here to watch the sinners seeking redemption fail spectacularly."

But no yeah it's a self-burn. He's not going to count himself among the has-beens *out loud,* but...

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious could relate to that. He didn't want to admit it out loud, but! He was a failure, in a lot of ways. Succeed in something, but at the cost of too much else.

He moves to get up in order to grab at his glass.... But then lies down again. "YOU ARE VERY WARM." Reptile here,

Alastor

Alastor laughs. "It's all that mammal blood in me. Are you cold?" He looks around, trying to figure out if the bed's cover is within arm's reach. Nope.

Sir Pentious

"ALWAYSSSS. THE THERMOSSSSTAT WOULD HAVE TO BE CRANKED UP MUCH HIGHER FOR ME TO FEEL *COMFORTABLE*. AND SOMETIMESSSSS, HELL FREEZES OVER, OR AT LEAST DROPSSS TO THE NEGATIVESSSS."

.... "30 DEGREES, YOU AMERICAN." He's smiling smugly~ "DON'T PUT A BLANKET ON ME ANYWAY, I'LL END UP GOING TO SLEEP."

Alastor

His stomach twists at the phrase *hell freezes over*. He compensates by holding Sir Pentious just a little bit tighter. For the moment, he's silent.

Sir Pentious

A blink, another blink. Oh, shit, did he break Alastor? Sir Pentious swivels his head to the side, looking him over.... Blelelelele of his tongue. Concern,,,,

Alastor

Alastor flinches. "Sorry! Sorry, I was just—just thinking." He clears his throat with a noise of a dial flipping rapidly through several stations. "On the day that... when your version of me... betrayed you. Was it cold?"

Sir Pentious

*Oh.* His head lurches back.... And he thinks on it. It was hard to remember, exactly how everything had *felt*.

".... IT WAS A *BLUR*, REALLY... I. DO NOT RECALL IT AS WELL... SAFE FOR THE SSOUND OF VOLTAGE, OF WIRES SNAPPING AND METAL *CREAKING*... FEELING AS THOUGH I WERE DROWNING IN THAT SSSMILE, IN THE SSSTATIC."

But was it cold? "I. SSSORRY, ALASSSTOR. MY MEMORY ISN'T..." He looks embarrassed.

Alastor

"It's fine! It's fine, don't worry about—I shouldn't have brought it up." *His* Sir Pentious had been cold that morning. "You had more important things to worry about." So did Alastor—but he's never forgotten that cold. "Hearing you of all people talk about Hell freezing over, it made me think of—well. Old news."

Sir Pentious

A frown, and a look of frustration. He's not sure what he accidentally *said*, so when he hugs tighter this time, he pinches Alastor with his claws.

Alastor

Alastor just *said* what he said.

He flinches in surprise with a crackle of static. “What are you—?” He pinches back!

Sir Pentious

His hood FLOOPS up! And he lifts himself up some to pin Alastor to the floor, glaring down at him.

"I JUSSSST SSSSAID IT BECAUSE I'M COLD! THAT'SSSS ALL! EVERY TIME I SEE THOSE *CHRISTMAS* COLORS OR SWEATERSSSS I'M REMINDED OF HOW *UNPLEASANT* WINTER WASSS AND HOW IN *MY* HELL, SOME DAYSSSS THE TEMPERATURE JUST *DROPSSSSSS!*"

He presses their foreheads together, with Pentious STARING AT HIM. "THERE WILL BE NO READING TOO MUCH INTO MY WORDSSSSS, ALASSSTOR!!!"

Alastor

His heart leaps up into his throat. “I’m not reading too much into them! It just reminded me, that’s all!” Being flat on the ground with Sir Pentious pinning him down and pressing their faces together isn’t helping him feel any less reminded. And it occurs to him, dangerously, that it would be absolutely *effortless* to tilt up his chin and kiss Sir Pentious.

He’s got to remove *that* temptation real fast. He lunges up, wraps his arms around Sir Pentious, and pulls him back down into a hug again, putting his chin on Sir Pentious’s shoulder. “I hate the cold too. Hell does the same thing here too—three days in a row you can have temperatures of a hundred, zero, a hundred. And that’s an *American* zero.”

Sir Pentious

*BODY HEAT.*

He briefly is tempted to undo Alastor's shirt collar so he can get to his skin, but that decidedly was his animal brain talking. Don't do that.

"AH, YES, THAT SSSSOUNDSSS ABOUT RIGHT. IT DROPSSS SSSO QUICKLY." He pets down his scales, "IT ALSO JUMPSSSS UP SUDDENLY AS WELL... BEFORE I MET YOU OR VALERA, I HAD A DAY OF THE TEMPERATURE CLIMBING *SSSO* MUCH THAT MY BODY BEGAN TO *BUBBLE* AND *BLISTER*...." He winces.

"IT'SSSS A USUAL THING, PERHAPSSSS HELL'S ATTEMPT AT RECREATING THE SSSSUMMER."

Alastor

Alastor also winces on his behalf. “It doesn’t usually get much hotter than a hundred around Pentagram City, what with Lake Cocytus so close—but I’ve heard about weather like that in some of the other circles! Particularly around the volcanoes. When we do get more extreme weather, there’s no rhyme or reason to when it happens—I don’t think our Hell is trying to replicate any seasons, it’s just doing whatever it feels will annoy us most in the moment.”

He’s been laid on enough for now, he thinks. What happens if he tries to, just... sort of... roll them over, so he’s the one laying on top.

Sir Pentious

"THAT MAKESSSSS SSSENSE. WISHFUL THINKING ON MY PART, THEN."

...... He doesn't like being on the bottom! He scrambles to sit up! Tongue flicks, "ARE WE GOING TO DRINK NOW?!"

Alastor

Aw. He ruined it. He ruined the moment. He sits up. “Sure, sure!” He picks up his as yet untouched drink and takes a sip.

Sir Pentious

As he is generally known for doing! Remember the musical number he blew up?

Sir Pentious knocks his glass against Alastor's, "CHEERSSS,."

Alastor

Alastor was referring to himself ruining the moment, actually, because he has learned that all bad things that happen to him are either a consequence of or a comeuppance for his own horrible actions. But if Sir Pentious wants some credit, he can have it.

However, Alastor is still a little chunk of venison surrounded by a big pile of noodles, so it’s not all bad. “Cheers!” Tap. He takes a bigger drink.

Sir Pentious

DULY NOTED.

Penny takes a deep gulp and rubs at his throat, *purrrring* at the burning sensation.

"AHHH, THAT HISSSS JUST RIGHT!"

Alastor

“Only the *highest* quality of the sub-par junk we stock at the bar,” Alastor boasts. If that can be called a boast. “I’ll get some top notch stuff for next time. And I’ll see if I can find some ha... habooshoo? Was that what it was called?”

He sets his drink back down and goes for the food again. Far be it from him to make Sir Pentious drink alone, but if he can help it, he doesn’t want to get drunk this time. He’s enjoying himself too much to want parts of this hangout to go fuzzy around the edges.

Sir Pentious

"AH! THE HABUSHU, YESSS, THAT ALCOHOL JAPONAISE!" He nods a few times, recalling the snake, "MMM, HMMM. I COULD ALWAYSSS ASK KATSSSSU FOR MORE, I'M SURE."

Alastor

“Oh right, *him.*” Katsu keeps coming up and Alastor keeps being mildly surprised every time he comes up. “The one who got promoted from nephew to son. I’ve been meaning to ask about that—are you... actually doing any *parenting,* per se, or is it more of an honorary title?” Katsu seems old enough to take care of himself to Alastor, but they’ve only briefly met in person, and at any rate Alastor has found that the average age of “old enough” has been creeping later and later over recent decades.

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious makes a bit of a *face*, and reaches instead for the brandy, uncorking (?) it.

"AH, WELL. YOU KNOW ITSSS A BIT UNUSUAL, ISN'T IT? I DON'T KNOW THE BOY TOO WELL. HE MOST ASSUREDLY LATCHED ONTO *ME* RATHER EARLY! BUT I THINK VALERA KNOWSSSS HIM BETTER THAN I DO. WE'VE SSSPENT A LITTLE TIME TOGETHER, BUT HM. I HESITATE TO CALL HIM *MY* SSSON AT THISS JUNCTURE."

Alastor

“*Ah.* Well, that explains a lot. He asked if he could call me ‘uncle’ almost immediately after meeting me.” He makes a bit of a face as well, insofar as he can with a smile on—all squinty eyes and scrunched nose. “I know some people do that out of desperation, and they have my pity, but I detest being on the receiving end!”

He nudges Sir Pentious. “How did Valera end up with him? I’ve been meaning to ask! Last I’d heard, he was calling someone else ‘mother’ and then suddenly here he was hanging around you two!”

Sir Pentious

Look at him, he looks un*comf*ortable suddenly! Sir Pentious rubs the back of his head, before he takes a swig of brandy straight from the bottle.

"OH, I REALLY FEEL AS THOUGH THE DETAILSSSS ARE LOSSST ON ME... VALERA MENTIONED SSSSOME SSSORT OF *ISSUES* BETWEEN MEREDITH AND KATSSSSU.... IT COULD BE A *JOINT* CUSSSSTODY SSSSITUATION?"

He rests his cheek on his palm, looking a little embarrassed, "IF THISSS WAS EXPLAINED TO ME, I... CLEARLY DIDN'T HEAR IT. BUT THE BOY LATCHESSS ON SSSO QUICKLY! I WAS SHOCKED TO LEARN HE WAS EIGHTEEN... WHEN I WAS HIS AGE, I WAS SSSTUDYING MATH IN PARIS."

Alastor

Well, Alastor didn’t want to make him uncomfortable! Would it help if Alastor leans on Sir Pentious again? Because he’s gonna.

Alastor mulls on this and on whether he should mention the misgivings he has about Meredith and people connected to her, when his thoughts immediately flip over to a different station. “You studied in *Paris?* I had no idea! Do you speak French?”

Sir Pentious

It does help. Those idle radio sounds and clicks are enjoyable to listen to so close.

OH! He *beams*, and gestures with a hand, "MAIS BIEN SÛR!" Sir Pentious slips his hood over his shoulder, preening in the attention, "IT WAS AT MY MOTHER'SSSS SSSUGGESTION, ANYWAY. PARISSS HAD MORE OPPORTUNITIES THAN LONDON, AND WHILE I COULD HAVE GONE ANYWHERE, I RATHER WANTED TO GO TO FRANCE." He giggles, "NOTHING MATTERED IN PARIS, EVERYONE WASN'T SSSO *UPTIGHT.* I DARESAY THE THINGSS I LEARNED *THEN* SURELY SHAPED THE KIND OF PERSON I BECAME IN THE LATTER HALF OF MY LIFE."

Alastor

“*J’arrive pas y croire!* You’ve been holding out on me!” Alastor laughs. “Your French sounds so *European.* I should have expected that.” Alastor’s French is... very not European. Not because he has a bad French accent, but because he has an extremely good Cajun accent.

“Oh, *hah!* You and me both, then! Paris, France: the perfect place for young men to find themselves and discover who they’re going to be the rest of their lives!”

Sir Pentious

This topic is much more comfortable to Sir Pentious and he looks full of life once more! No awkward movements or rubbing his neck at all.

"HA! YOUR *ACCENT!* DO IT AGAIN. SSSAY SOMETHING ELSE! IN FACT, HAVE YOU *BEEN* TO PARIS, ALASSSTOR?"

Alastor

“What, what do you want me to—I’ll sing something. *Le seul homme j’aimais il m’a quitté moi toute seule, pour s’en aller avec une autre que moi—*” There’s accordion and guitar in the background. It’s a very raucous song. Alastor won’t subject Sir Pentious to more than that. “Your turn. And sure, I visited Paris during the war! Learned to summon demons there! It was pretty good for both of our educations, wasn’t it?”

Sir Pentious

"VOUS INVOQUEZ DES DÉMONS À PARIS? HAAAAAAA HA HAAAAAAA!" He's clapping his hands together, laughing, "VOUS SSSSSAVEZ, CELA SSSEMBLE TOUT À FAIT HABITUEL À PARIS! JE PARIE QUE PERSONNEL NE L'A REMARQUÉ!!!!"

OH no, he's laughing so much, this is the best news he's heard. Plus, Alastor's accent is *awful*, but in the most endearing way.

Alastor

Alastor’s cracking up. “You sound like you’re reading from a textbook!” He flings an arm around his shoulders and leans on him more heavily. “*Non, non, pas à Paris.* I *learned* there, but I didn’t *do* it there. My first attempt was out in the trenches. I think I told you about that, didn’t I!—unleashing an imp in the middle of a battlefield?”

Sir Pentious

WHEEEEZE--

"OH, *OH*, I *THINK* YOU DID... ACTUALLY, CURIOUSSSS, I DON'T RECALL HOW THAT *ENDED*!"

Purrrrrr, he's going to take another swig of brandy before offering the bottle to Alastor. This is one happy hell serpent.

Alastor

“Neither do I! I was running a hell of a fever at the time! Or maybe the summoning made me delirious, I’ve never found out which it was. Anyway, I regained lucidity some days later in a medical tent, to get told all about how everything descended into anarchy and half of my surviving unit was in medical with me. Ha! Really exciting stuff!”

And deeply traumatic! He’ll accept that brandy, thank you. Sip! “There was no mention of an imp—so I don’t know if *they* caused all that chaos on my behalf, or if they were just unlucky enough to get summoned by a half-mad rookie occultist just in time to get gassed with the rest of us.”

Sir Pentious

"HMMMM... GASSED. OH! THE MUSTARD GAS? I WAS DEAD LONG BEFORE THAT GREAT WAR, BUT ONE DOES HEAR THINGS, EH!" He squeezes Alastor's shoulder.... Comforting? It was a long time ago, but talking about such things probably warranted some comfort.

"NASSSTY SSSSTUFF, THAT. PERHAPS I SHOULD ADD IT TO MY REPETOIRE!!" He winks. It's a very obvious wink, like the kind one might see in a movie to tell *I am Joking*.

Alastor

Oh! Is he being reassured? He doesn’t need it (he doesn’t think he needs it) but under the circumstances wow does that feel nice. Gonna lean more into that touch. Like a sunflower twisting toward the sun, he is. “Mustard, ketchup, sauerkraut—the works! I don’t remember that part, if I was even there for it—fever, see—so all I can do is assume. It was *probably* mustard gas, unless it was something more demonic.”

Alastor huffs. “In all seriousness, it would certainly be effective! The stuff’s bad enough it was banned after the Great War! The concept of war crimes has always been... *amazing* to me—how bad does an activity have to be before it’s made illegal to perform during the worst activity a group of humans can participate in?” He winks at Sir Pentious, “Anyway, *I* don’t mind a war crime or two, as long as I’m not on the receiving end.” Alastor thinks this is a normal supportive friend thing to say.

Sir Pentious

It is a very supportive friend thing to say!! If your friend is Sir Pentious. He is grinning headboob to headboob!!!

"HA!!! THEN WITH YOUR, AHEM, *BLESSING.* I'D GIVE YOU SSSOME WARNING AHEAD OF TIME BEFORE *PAINTING THE TOWN YELLOW.* NYA HA HAAAAAAA!" He is so very loud.

Another gulp of brandy, and his head sways a little. Buuuuuzzed.

"YOU SHOULD TEACH ME SSSOME OF YOUR BASSSTARD FRENCH. CA... CAGING?? CAGING FRENCH. THAT ONE. AND I'LL TEACH YOU *TEXTBOOK FRENCH.*"

Alastor

“When you’re ready to launch an attack that massive, I’d hope to be on board to watch with you!” ... Is that over the line? He can’t just invite himself along on one of Sir Pentious’s raids. He could have with the one he used to know, but, here...

Don’t overthink it. He’s gonna sip a little more of his drink. “Bastard French *indeed.* Cajun is a perfectly pristine, utterly respectable French. Just not the kind of French they teach in France to *English* students. And I already speak textbook French, thank you!�� He puts on a robotic-sounding accent, like a student reciting pre-memorized foreign language phrases. “‘*Bonjour, monsieur ! Excusez-moi ! Je m’apelle Pierre-Paul-Jacques. Comment allez-vous ?*’ Hah!”

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious *cackles* madly, SLAPPING Alastor on the back. TEARS man, TEARS! He clears his throat, then lifts his hands up, imitating Alastor's ears.

"HELLO, *MON CHERE*! SSSSALUT, SSSSALUT!! PASSSS *LE GUMBO!*" He grins playfully!

Could be vaguely offensive, but you know. Hell.

Alastor

He simultaneously tries not to grimace and tries not to smile harder. "Your accent is abominable, couyon."

Sir Pentious

HEE HEE HEE. *HEE HEE HEE!* Sir Pentious looks so pleased with himself.

Alastor

SHOVE. But it's a light shove. Friendly shove.

He immediately closes the distance again. "In France, when we had to deal with the locals, they usually asked me since I was already fluent—in a manner of speaking. Wanna know all the words that got me weird looks in Paris??"

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious looks to Alastor, leaning on his hands and *purring* in that horrific way of his, his hood lifting to drape itself upon the other's head. Flompf.

"YESSS, MY *MAN.* TELL ME, TELL ME!"

Alastor

“Very well! One time I got five men to stop and stare at me when I proposed hosting a *fais do-do,* we should start there!”

And so for the next he-can’t-even-keep-track-of-how-long, he pulls out as many obscure and local terms as he can think of—until they drift off on a trail of other topics. The only way Alastor is keeping track of the fact that time’s passing at all is by his gradually emptying glass and the dwindling quantity of food. He can’t remember the last time he had this much fun.

Sir Pentious

Alas, all fun times must come to an end! Sir Pentious finally has hit his limit for social interaction....he puts a hand to Alastor's shoulder, his body swaying some as he begins to uncoil himself.

"WELL, ALASSSTOR... I BETTER BE GETTING BACK TO MY SHIP. I HAD A *GOOD* TIME WITH YOU! NEXT TIME, I'LL BE SSSOBER ENOUGH TO GET THOSE MEASUREMENTSSSSS."

Alastor

Alastor tries his best to steady Sir Pentious. Which is a bit of a challenge, considering that Alastor is drunk and Sir Pentious is a slinky that’s twice as drunk and twice as tall. “So did I!” Alastor squeezes the elbow he’s been helping support.

He really did have a good time. For the first time since he met this Sir Pentious, he didn’t feel like he had to be on his best damn behavior, careful of every single word and action, triple checking every sentence’s implications to ensure he was neither about to accidentally trod on Sir Pentious’s brittle ego nor about to get unacceptably affectionate... This was how it was supposed to be. They’d finally gotten everything right.

“You could have gotten those measurements *before* you got drunk, you know.” He winks. “But if you want another excuse to butt around with me, I’m not going to complain.”

Sir Pentious

He purrs and pretends to look offended, "WHAT! NOOO, I COULD NOT HAVE-- I DID NOT BRING MY MEASURING EQUIPMENT." Which he totally has. He giggles drunkenly, starting to slither toward the door, blinking hard to make sure he wasn't bumping into anything. He was, but whatever.

"BUTT AROUND WE SHALL, ALASSSTOR!"

Alastor

Maybe Alastor oughta help Sir Pentious with the door. He’s just gotta get to the door before Sir Pentious does. He’s halfway through climbing over the bed to try to reach the door first when he *remembers* something, loses his balance, nearly face plants, somehow manages to keep his feet and stumbles forward to pose himself with his elbow propped against the wall like he totally meant to do that. “Before you go! I’ve got something to say.”

Sir Pentious

~~Alastor I'd die for you.~~ Penny blinks, his head swiveling a little in place as he looks to that very elegant pose from Alastor. Tongue flicks. "HMM??? WHAT ISS IT?"

Alastor

“I...! Ahh.” Now he’s actually got to *say* it. That’s embarrassing as hell.

But what would be more embarrassing would be *looking* like he’s embarrassed, so he rallies himself and says, “When you came over, you were expecting to get drunk and wrestle a buck, not necessarily in that order! You *weren’t* expecting an unplanned therapy session wherein I drag up a good fifty-odd years of... concerns, about the environmental effects of Hell. But you took it gamely and responded in kind, and I... well... Thank you.”

Sir Pentious

His eyes are doing a weird thing, but it's mostly because he's trying to keep Alastor in his focus. Sir Pentious strokes his chin a little, and he waves a hand, "IT WASSSSN'T THERAPY, ALASSSSTOR. I WAS LISTENING TO YOU HAVE A TALK ABOUT YOUR *FEELINGSSSS.* AFTER ALL, YOU'VE HEARD ME PRATTLE ON ABOUT THINGSSSS BEFORE, WHAT KIND OF *SIR* WOULD I BE IF I DIDN'T LISTEN IN KIND???" What a development. He reaches over to pull Alastor into a very drunken hug, "ANYWAY, YOU ARE WELCOME, MY DEAR CHUM! THANKSSSSS FOR PREPARING EVERYTHING ON SSSSSUCH SHORT NOTICE! I HAD A VERY GOOD TIME."

Alastor

He melts into the hug. It’s so *nice.* “So did I. The best time in years.” He pulls back, grinning a *real* grin, and looks Sir Pentious over. “Do you need help getting home?”

Sir Pentious

Hmmm... Does he? All his eyes are blinking at different times.

".... YOU KNOW, PERHAPSSSSS I DO. THE SSSTAIRSS ARE NOT SSSOMETHING I AM LOOKING TO NAVIGATE."

Alastor

“Come on!” He slings an arm around Sir Pentious’s back to help keep him steady. “I think I can do something about those stairs.”

(The “something” is temporarily turn them into a slide. This definitely won’t end badly and he won’t regret it at all.)

Sir Pentious

Prr prr prr... He's going to head out into the hallway with Alastor in toe... Yes, surely. This won't end badly. Like forgetting that he changed the stairs into a slide later.

Alastor

Surely not.

And out they go, headed home.

#hissandvinegar #chat log

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holographic-chogi · 4 years

Text

Protector pt.17/?

Author: holographic-chogi

Pairing: fem!reader x skz

Warnings: heavy swearing, psychological abuse, heavy violence.

A/N: ok. So this one is VERY dark, but it’s it’s a little longer than usual? So bonus points? haha. Anyway, I hope everyone is still enjoying! I feel like my writing is still pretty consistent with how it was pre-hiatus, hopefully you guys feel the same :) As always, feedback is very welcome and appreciated!! If anyone wants to be tagged, pls let me know!

Summary: a virus has wiped out most of humanity, and society has collapsed. People survive in groups where they live in constant fear and a struggle to survive. Women were the primary victim of the virus, leaving few behind. You are one of the few, kept in secret since the beginning. However, you’ve just been caught.

Masterlist

Fear radiates through your body as he stands in your doorway. Next to Hyuk, he looks quite small, but that’s never stopped him from being dangerous before. Hell, maybe if you weren’t always hunched over in his presence, you’d be taller.

Taeil turns away from you, pulling out a pack of cigarettes before taking one out; putting it in his pocket before handing the rest of the pack to Hyuk, earning a look from the latter. “The deal was a whole pack, not a pack minus one.”

Taeil looked at him, his sickening grin still ever-present. “Cut me some slack, are you really doing me that big of a favor?”

Hyuk looked back at you, before shrugging. “Good point, I really don’t give a shit. Go to town.”

You began to tremble, realizing just how much danger you’re in. Surely Hyuk wouldn’t let Taeil do anything, right? Jiho wouldn’t allow it.

Doesn’t matter. Hyuk just left. You watched as he closed the door behind him, leaving you with Taeil. He fucking left you alone with this psychopath. You were no longer playing a part, this is Taeil.

“What do you want?” You surprised yourself with the venom in your voice, you had expected it to waver.

He pushed himself from his leaning position in the doorway, striding over to where you sat on the bed. You quickly turned to face him on high alert. “I said what the fuck do you want?”

His eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward. “We’ve been over this. That is not how you speak to me.” He reached out and rested his hands on your thighs, “You are property. Don’t you dare raise your voice at me, or I will end your miserable existence in a second. Do you understand?”

Instinctively, you try to move your thighs away, grimacing at his touch. But as soon as you do, his grip tightens. Painfully so. Everytime he opens his mouth, his voice is laced with more and more venom, “Going somewhere, your majesty?”

You narrow your eyes at him. Despite the strong exterior you’ve seemingly pulled out of your ass, you’re still mentally praying for him to let go. “You’ve had your fun. Now leave, before I scream.”

He snickered. “No one can hear you here. Give it a shot, I dare you.”

Your blood runs cold, eyes widening once you realize why he’s here. No one can hear you. He can’t kill you yet, so he’s here to hurt you.

You slowly creep backwards on the bed, successfully moving away from his hold, “T-Taeil...I-I…” you’re just blubbering at this point, coming short of any actual sentences.

And then he lunges.

He aims for your neck, but you’re ready. In an instant, his gut makes contact with your foot as you kick him as hard as he can, knocking him to the ground. You stumble off the bed, trying to steady yourself and shake off the shock as you make a dash for the door.

You’re so close, fingers grazing the doorknob, when you feel his hands roughly grab your ankle; yanking you to the ground. You land with a hard thud, knocking the air from your lungs. In a panic, you quickly roll onto your back ready to kick again.

But he’s ready for that. He holds your legs down as he crawls over you, blood dripping from his mouth. He must’ve hit his head when he fell. Hard.

“You little bitch.” Blood sprays onto your face as he snarls those words, causing you to recoil in disgust. Your eyes fly back open when you feel his hands around your throat.

It isn’t slow, the pressure is intense and instantaneous and his hands constrict your windpipe. He moves to sit on your chest, further restricting oxygen.

The pain is like nothing you’ve ever imagined. The pain of his fingers digging into your neck, even the pressure of his body on your chest doesn’t compare to the eruption of pain in your chest. It feels like you’ve been lit on fire from the inside as your lungs beg for air.

You can tell Taeil is speaking, but you can barely hear. Your vision begins to blur, and your limbs begin to weaken, your arms falling to your side as you no longer have the strength to fight back.

And then he lets go. You immediately begin coughing, violently. You take huge gulps of air, your hands on your neck, where Taeil’s just were. You aren’t sure where he went, as your way too focused on returning that precious oxygen to your lungs. And then you hear him directly in front of you, “Got carried away there, almost killed you early.”

Then you feel his hands grab your left wrist, and you’re harshly yanked forward, your whole body dragging behind. Everything is a blur, you can’t tell where you’re going, but you can feel the wooden floorboards pass beneath you.

You retch before you reach your destination, and you hear Taeil curse above you, before he let’s go. “Fucking disgusting!” He shrieks, and you can see him shake his leg from the corner of your eye. You experience a moment of relief as you roll onto your stomach, temporarily free. With barely any strength left, you try crawling forward, unsure of where forward will even lead you.

However, you don’t make it far, as his grip returns to your wrist, hauling you up against an unknown surface.

You feel a rough, gritty rope slide across your wrists as you're tied to whatever you’re up against. It takes effort, but you force your eyes open. You’re greeted with the sight of Taeil in front of you. Despite your current state, you take great satisfaction in the fact his grin is gone. Possibly delirious, a small smile creeps onto your tired face.

After you’re tied up tight enough to his liking, he sits back, catching his breath for a moment. You look down and notice vomit on his shoes and bottom of his pants. It isn’t equal retribution, but you still enjoy the sight. After all you’ve just been through, you can still feel your inner fire burning.

“You sick fuck.” You can barely speak, your voice coming out as a croak, barely audible, but he still hears you. Good.

He chuckles to himself, before leaning in again, his face inches from yours. “Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea. I’m saving the good stuff for the day I end you.”

You don’t respond, simply meeting his gaze with as much intensity as you can muster.

He stands up, reaching into his jacket pocket for the cigarette. He examines it, smiling, “Good thing this is still intact.” He looks down at you, and back at the cigarette he’s currently rolling around between his fingers. “I don’t know what I’d do with you if it wasn’t.”

You let your head fall back, resting on something soft behind it. You must be tied to one of the legs of the bed. You distantly hear the flick of a lighter, and a deep inhale as he takes a drag. You don’t care. You’re so tired, and the pain in your left shoulder is growing. You’d first noticed it when you were being dragged, and you now suspect that it may be dislocated.

What a night.

You lean your head forward again, trying to look at Taeil. It wavers a moment before stilling, as you’ve still yet to regain equilibrium. He’s back in your sight once he kneels back down to eye level. “We’re done tonight. I think you got the message.”

Perhaps you’re stupid. Perhaps you’re stubborn. Perhaps your inner fire is no longer something you can control. Regardless of the reason, you don’t take too much time considering your next actions.

You were still disoriented, so you knew this would hurt him much more than it hurt you. You reeled your head back, and before he could react, you crashed your head into his.

You were right, you barely felt it.

He, however, was on his ass, clutching his head as he hollered in pain. You smirked to yourself, spitting blood on his crumpled form. “Tied up and I can still kick your ass, pipsqueak.”

He removed his hands from his face, revealing his enraged expression. The cigarette was still dangling from his lips. Damn. You had wanted to knock that out of his mouth too.

He regained his balance, rubbing his forehead before sitting back up. “I think you’ve earned one more treat before I leave.”

You struggle against your restraints as moves towards you, removing the still-lit cigarette from his mouth and hovering it over your arm, “sit still, or you’re getting two.”

His voice sounds distant, as your entire body trembles in fear, the familiar, tell-tale signs of a panic attack on the horizon. He hovered the lit end over your arm, dangling it as if to taunt you. His smug look had returned, his power over you regained. His voice was calmer now, but you could hear the rage behind it, bubbling just beyond the surface. “You’re such a waste of space.”

He hums, circling a spot on your inner forearm with his pinky. Your eyes widen, knowing full well just how many nerves lie in that spot. This gonna hurt like hell.

He seemed to notice your reaction, continuing his monologue. “Ah, so you do know this spot!”

He opens his mouth again, as if to speak, but instead plunges the cigarette into your arm. You’ve experienced so much pain today, that your reaction to blistering, horrible burning sensation is a quiet, strained whimper.

At this, he stands back up, dropping the cigarette and stomping it out with his boot. As if you weren’t even there, he turns away and casually makes his way towards the exit. He stops at the door, turning one last time with narrowed eyes. “You better find a way out of those ropes by morning,” he turned back, opening the door and walking out, adding as he leaves, “Or I actually will kill you”

---

You sat there in silence for a long time, though you’re not sure exactly how long. You passively notice the sun finish setting out the window, as well as the heavier snowfall begin to build.

Your arms hung loosely from their binds, and your body is slumped below them. You were beginning to lose circulation, and the rope’s gritty texture was burning your wrists.

Maybe you should just stay like this, and let Taeil kill you in the morning. You doubt you’re in the condition to carry out Hyoseob’s plan anyway, and you were losing willpower by the second. The combination of pain, verbal abuse and lack of a plan was overwhelming.

“Well this isn’t very cash-money of you.”

Woojin’s voice? You look around feverishly, consciousness slightly regained. No one’s there. Great, you’re losing your mind.

Another voice. This time Minho’s.

“You expect me to deal with these boys alone? Get working on those restraints.”

You no longer question it, pulling at the ropes binding your hand. The tugging sensation only adds more pain to your endless supply. Then it’s Chan’s voice.

“You’re doing so well. You can do this Y/N.”

Tears build at your eyes, spilling over. You miss them so fucking much. If you don’t get out of this, you’ll never see them again.

“Hurry! You still need to read me treasure island!” Jeongin sounded so young, so optimistic.

But Jisung’s voice was desperate. “You’re so close! Keep going, keep going!”

You yank your good shoulder forward, loosening the bonds a little.

“You’re so strong. You’re going to get out of this.” Hyunjin’s voice was serene, calming, like the day that dog attacked you.

You take a deep breath, and you can hear Felix breathing with you, helping you time your inhales and exhales. Just like he did when you had your panic attacks.

The last voice stills you completely. “I can’t lose you too.”

Changbin.

You lurch forward, releasing a groan of effort. Your hands raw from the effort, but you’re coming free. “I love you, Y/N. It can’t end here.”

No. No it can’t.

With all of your remaining strength, you pull at both arms, good and bad, letting out a roar of pain.

You fall forward on the floor, and you hear the ropes fall to the ground behind you.

You’re free.

Taglist: @leetaemintrashnumber1 @peachescherryheart @lico-rice526 @claire4799

#skz #stray kids #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids reactions #protector #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #skz reactions #skz fanfic #dystopian au #stray kids apocalypse au

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samwilsonshandsandass · 4 years

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So, I’m completely in love with @keanureevesisbae fanfic “Mr. Cavill your dog is kinda fat” and that’s why I just had to read it again (although it’s not finished yet and from the looks of it and her masterlist, she writes longer things) and this time I also needed to take all my fav bits and write something on some of them when they really hit home or touched me even more than all these bits do at minimum. And for context, I’m an outspoken childfree woman and at the very most I have auntie fever, baby fever doesn’t exist for me. So, here goes:

I sit up straight, looking at the drawing she made me today in school. She always makes drawings for me, but they are always the same. She draws a house, with me in it and herself. And outside she draws a dog and a man, with suitcases and moving boxes next to them. ‘Because,’ she explains every single time, ‘one day you meet a nice man who has a dog and he can become my new daddy. A daddy that does want me.’

You broke and mended my heart with this in one paragraph!

His mind keeps racing, constantly racing. The terrible reviews of his latest movie, the way how women kept saying how they want to have his kids, but none of them is good enough. He wants to fall in love with someone, someone who understands him, who loves him for who he is. A woman that he has an instant connection with. A woman where he can be himself.

This is so vulnerable omg

‘Hi Vanessa,’ Henry says in a soft voice, before holding onto her hand, that nearly disappears in his. ‘My name is Henry Cavill and this is Kal.’ Doctor Tran looks up from the bag of vomit. ‘Henry Cavill?’ she asks. ‘Isn’t there an actor whose name is Henry Cavill?’ ‘Yeah, there is.’ Henry chuckles, feeling a bit awkward, but also amused that she doesn’t recognize him. It’s nice to be unrecognizable, even if it’s for a short amount of time. ‘That actor would be me.’ Her eyes widen. ‘Oh,’ she says, but she can’t seem to find the right words to say. ‘Mommy, is this man famous?’ Vanessa asks, while not breaking eye contact with Henry. The little girl blinks her eyes, almost in disbelieve that someone famous is standing next to her. Doctor Tran pulls herself together. ‘Yes, sweetheart, he plays in some movies. He even played Superman.’ Vanessa widens her eyes as well and yet again she looks just like her mother. ‘Wow, Superman is here.’ She starts to giggle, a sound that Henry already adores. ‘So, if you are Superman, you are really strong.’ ‘He is,’ doctor Tran says, placing the vomit samples aside. ‘He carried his dog inside.’ Henry can’t help but beam with pride as he takes in the compliment from the doctor. ‘Wow,’ Vanessa says again. She holds out her arms and asks him if he can lift her up. Henry looks over at the doctor, who smiles and simply nods, a non verbal sign of consent. Henry lifts the little girl up in his arms and she wraps an arm around his neck. ‘I can’t wait to tell miss Sue that I met Superman.’

…

‘Doggy Herb,’ he answers, while Vanessa is tugging his curls, pulling on one strand until it’s straight, before letting it go and watching it curl together again. ‘Why?’

I wanna tug in his curls, probably everyone wants to tug on his curls

He shouldn’t feel this desperate need to impress the doctor. However, he can’t help but flex his muscles a little bit, as he carries the dog to the corner of the examination room.

Vanessa starts to frown and she takes a step to the side, so she’s standing in the doorway. ‘Mommy, can I tell Superman he is lying and that you’re not supposed to lie?’ He can hear doctor Tran laughing. ‘You can tell Superman that, sweetheart.’ Henry feels a little finger poking his thigh. ‘Superman, you are lying and you’re not supposed to lie. My mommy says that you should tell the truth, especially about your feelings.’

‘My mommy is also a superhero,’ Vanessa says. ‘Not like Superman of course, but she always saves animals.’ ‘Well,’ Henry says, unintentionally loud enough for doctor Tran to hear it, ‘your mom is an even better hero than Superman.’ That confuses her, because she frowns. ‘Why?’ ‘Because I play Superman. It’s pretending. Your mom is not pretending.’

Her mouth falls open. ‘Well, my mommy doesn’t have a husband. I’ve always wanted a daddy,’ she admits with bitter sweet honesty. ‘But my real daddy didn’t want me.’

Again, you broke my heart

‘Mister Cavill, your dog is kinda fat.’ She could’ve slapped in across his cheek and he wouldn’t be as surprised as he is now. Kal is fat? ‘Excuse me,’ he says in a defensive tone, crossing his arms in front of his buffed out chest. ‘My dog isn’t fat.’ Doctor Tran doesn’t seem impressed by his facade at all. ‘He is,’ she tells him. ‘An average American Akita weights between the forty and sixty kilos. Your dog weighs seventy kilos, while he should be between the fifty and sixty kilos.’ ‘It’s muscle.’ Geez, he never thought he could get this defensive.

I mean, same

Kal is finally feeling better and Vanessa has woken up again. She is hanging around Kal’s neck, giving him tons of kisses. Kal doesn’t seem to mind, because he continues to lick Vanessa’s face when he gets the chance. Henry knew that his loyal dog was good with children, but this is on another level.

I want to think about something else, but I can’t. I simply can’t stop thinking about Henry Cavill and his strong arms. I’m convinced I was hallucinating when I thought he was flexing his arm muscles, when he carried Kal.

I prepare myself for the well known drawing, that I can dream by now, but all the air is knocked out of my lungs when I see what she drew me today. I stop in the middle of the curb, earning me some annoyed groans from two old ladies who were apparently walking behind me, but I don’t care. I really couldn’t care less at the moment. Oh my God, what is it with this kid and desperately wanting a father? Okay, now I get that she wants a dad, I do, but did she honestly have to draw a Superman and a dog (where she wrote underneath KAL) inside of our house? Superman stands next to me and she tried to make it look like Superman and I are holding hands.

Excuse me while I’ll be screaming

A bark pulls me out of my thoughts and I look over my shoulder. I not only see the chubby American Akita, but also his owner. Henry looked handsome Saturday morning, but he looks even hotter today. He wears a dark blue jeans that shows the world how thick his thighs really are and a cosy sweater, but not a coat, since men are apparently too cool to wear coats in the beginnings of autumn.

Where is the lie?

‘I believe you,’ he laughs. ‘You just tell owners their pets are fat.’ I involuntarily let out a laugh. ‘You are the first one in two months with a fat pet, so I just save it for the famous actors with who can’t say no to their chubby dogs.’ Henry licks his lips, before he sinks in this top teeth in his bottom lip. Goodness gracious. Next time I run into Henry Cavill, I should bring some extra pair of panties.

This could be said in a church as a religious truth!

I want to tell her that she can’t just expect him to carry her, simply because he is strong and he is Superman, but without any difficulties he lifts her up with only one arm. If I tried that, I’d dislocate my shoulder, but obviously it’s a piece of cake for him. I spend my fair share on Pinterest and YouTube, admiring his arms. And that clip of him building that PC? That was the hottest thing on earth and is nearly illegal.

You’re preaching

‘He still believes in the Tooth Fairy.’ I bite my lips, to prevent myself from laughing out loud. ‘I think you should tell him.’ She nods and wraps an arm around Henry’s neck. ‘Mister Henry,’ she says, ‘the Tooth Fairy doesn’t exist. Mommy just gives me money when I lose another tooth.’ Henry looks at me, also visibly holding in a laugh. ‘The Tooth Fairy doesn’t exist?’ he ask in almost believable disbelieve, but then I remember: this man is an actor. ‘Are you serious?’ ‘Mhm.’ ‘I need to call my mother, to ask her why she lied to me all those years?’ Vanessa shakes her head. ‘Well, lots of kids still believe in the Tooth Fairy, so it’s okay that you did too.’ ‘It was just time for you to know the truth,’ I add. ‘Well, thank you, miss Vanessa,’ Henry says. ‘Thank you for being honest with me.’

How cute can this be?!

I decide that I’m not ready for a head tilt by the one and only Henry Cavill. ‘Her biological father didn’t want her,’ I say. ‘He broke up with me and disappeared out of my life, if that’s what you wanted to know.’

No one is ever ready for the Henry-Cavill-Head-Tilt

I don’t think I can ever understand those kind men. Did he honestly just say that? My entire body temporarily forgot how to function. Henry Cavill out there trying to steal my heart and with the rate he is going at, I’m willing to hand it over to him without putting up a fight. Her biological father doesn’t know what he is missing out on. That one went straight to my soul.

‘I do have to tell you, he isn’t the greatest with needles,’ Henry warns her. She nods. ‘Aren’t you projecting your own fears on your dog?’ she jokingly asks him.

…

Olivia glances at him, before she sticks the needle into Kal’s thigh. He doesn’t even whine, but Henry rubs his own face. ‘Are you okay, Henry?’ she asks, but he doesn’t hear what she says anymore, because he passes out.

He tries to remember where he is and when he looks around, he sees he is at the animal clinic. The examination table, his own dog sitting next to doctor Olivia Tran, who walks up to him and crouches down in front of him. ‘You’re up,’ she says with a chuckle. ‘For such a big guy, I never assumed you’d pass out like that, simply because I was giving your dog a shot.’

…

‘No need to, it was kind of funny, especially when I had to drag you around this examination room and had to explain to the assistant that the loud thud she heard, was the owner that collapsed and not the overweight dog,’ she laughs, handing him a paper cup filled with some water. ‘Here, drink this.’

I was torn between laughing at that image of dragging Henry around but also, kinda, same?

‘Okay, mommy,’ Vanessa says. ‘Can Kal sleep in my room tonight?’ ‘He can,’ Olivia says. The little girl smiles and looks up at Henry. ‘Is that okay with you too, mister Henry?’ she asks. ‘Kal is your dog.’ ‘He can sleep in your room,’ Henry says, touched by the fact that she actually thought she should ask him about this. Olivia is raising such a lovely and polite girl. He truly admires her.

Henry gently holds my wrist. His hand nearly engulfs my wrist, only adding fuel to the fact that Henry is a lot bigger than me fact.

Size kink activated

Henry brings a hand to his lips, to suppress some laughter, but he fails miserably. ‘And yet you agreed on going on a date with me.’ ‘Guess I have a thing for handsome men with chubby dogs.’ He lets out a chuckle. ‘Good thing I have a thing for veterinarians who drag me across the examination room after I passed out.’

It’s impossible for me to keep my mouth shut now. ‘And you want to start a family of your own, right?’ His eyes widen. ‘How do you know about that?’ ‘You’re famous, Henry and I’m curious. Go figure.’

I walk back to the kitchen when the cries have turned a bit softer, to see Henry chopping up onions into tiny pieces. ‘How is she?’ Henry asks, blinking his eyes fast, because of the onions.

There’s no cuter mental image

‘I can look after her,’ he says. Excuse me, what? ‘Excuse me, what?’ I say out loud. ‘I can look after her,’ he repeats. ‘I have nothing to do, so you can go to sleep and then tomorrow, you’ll go to work.’ I blink away some tears in my eyes, that start to collect there at an admirably fast speed. ‘Henry, I can’t ask that from you.’ ‘Good thing I’m offering,’ he says with a soft smile. ‘Really, I don’t want you to get in trouble and besides, I don’t want to leave Vanessa when she’s feeling like this.’

He smiles. ‘Come here,’ he whispers, pulling me against his broad chest and when I feel his massive arms engulfing me in a hug, tension in my body that has been building up there for God knows how long, slowly seems to fade away. I wrap my arms around his waist and he places his chin on top of my head. Was a hug something I needed for all those years? Is that it?

Size kink activated and this also really hit home, because I also build up emotions/tears

‘What is that?’ Olivia asks. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Is that a carseat?’ He blushes, but realizes that she would find out about it sooner or later. Henry clears his throat, before he admits: ‘Yes, I bought it this morning. Figured if we’re going to make a habit out of this, I should be able to take Vanessa safely with me.’

…

‘Henry, really?’ she asks and he doesn’t know if it’s from disbelieve, gratefulness or annoyance. ‘You bought her a carseat…’ She places a hand on his arm. ‘That is so sweet, you keep amazing me, you know that?’ His blush is intensifying at an alarming speed. ‘It’s nothing, really.’

Excuse me while I scream

‘Don’t say something like that,’ she tells him. ‘It’s not nothing, this is everything. You are honestly the greatest guy to come across my path. In these past week you’ve done more for her than her real dad or family for that matter. This is really quite something.’

My desire to punch Wesley just got even stronger

‘Olivia,’ he says and she looks up. ‘Why are these women staring at us?’ She glances over her shoulder and growls something under her breath. ‘Those are the perfect housewives, with their perfect kids and perfect husbands,’ she says, her brows furrowing. ‘They are probably in shock that I brought some male company with me.’ Henry can’t help but chuckle, as he looks at the feisty woman next to him. He gently places a hand on her shoulder, maybe because he feels like he needs to physically restrain her, maybe because he wants those women to be extra jealous of her.

Henry sits behind the wheel and Vanessa says: ‘I made two drawings today. One for you and one for Henry.’ Henry waits with starting the car and just like Olivia, he turns around in his seat, so he can look at Vanessa. She hands them both a drawing and when the two of them look at the pieces of paper, it’s evident that she drew the exact same thing: All four of them, Henry, Olivia, Kal and Vanessa in one house. Olivia told him about the same drawings she has been making for such a long time and how after they met Henry, she drew Superman and Kal with them. Now he is not in Superman clothes, but in normal clothes. Now he is Henry.

This is like the “Being known is being loved post” but even better and more heart shattering in a good way

‘In that cafe, can I sit with Henry?’ Olivia smiles. ‘Of course.’ ‘You won’t jealous then?’ He notices out of the corners of his eyes that Olivia frowns. ‘Why would I be jealous?’ ‘Because he is your boyfriend.’

This kid I swear

‘You have baby pictures of Henry?’ Vanessa asks. They all start to laugh. ‘We have,’ his father says. ‘But be prepared, Henry was an ugly kid.’ Vanessa pulls her mother a little down and whisper shouts: ‘Is this a joke or is he serious?’ Olivia chuckles. ‘It’s a joke, sweetheart.’ ‘Good, because even if mister Colin is his dad, he shouldn’t be so mean to him, right?’ Henry pulls on one of her pigtails and she looks up at him. ‘Thank you, sunshine, for looking after me.’ She smiles. ‘No one should be mean to each other and if he does it more often, you should say something about him.’

Vanessa is the best and the cutest and just ahhhhhhhhhhh

Vanessa tilts her head. ‘Mommy, I think you should give Henry a kiss.’ ‘Why is that, sweetheart?’ Olivia asks. ‘He seems like he needs it. Your kisses always help.’ Olivia chuckles, before she leans in and presses a kiss on his cheek. And Vanessa was right, he did need that.

This is a question that I do understand. It happens all the time: man wants the woman, but not the kid and Vanessa is not stupid. She knows that stuff like that happens all the time. ‘Then I’m going to leave Henry,’ I say to her, before he can say something. ‘Because if that is the case, he is not the man I thought he would be. I don’t want someone who doesn’t want you, because you are my number one and you will always be my girl.’

This hits kinda home, because for my best friend it was the opposite. Man meets woman with daughter, man and daughter detest each other, woman still chooses (to this day) the man. And can and could see what that did with my best friend.

‘Mommy, are you okay?’ I hear Vanessa ask, nearly causing me to yelp. I quickly dry my tears. ‘I’m fine, sweetheart.’ She frowns. ‘You’re crying.’ ‘I’m not crying,’ I tell her, but lying to her feels so wrong. ‘Okay, I was, but—’ ‘Superman, mommy is crying,’ Vanessa yells and it takes about a second before Henry is in the kitchen. Maybe he really is Superman, moving around like lightening speed. ‘What’s wrong, love?’

…

‘They are. I kept thinking about how lucky I am to not only have the cutest daughter in the world, but that Superman is here as well.’

Catch me screaming again

I feel like I can handle a few nosey brothers, but hearing how he knows that Vanessa will be overwhelmed, nearly changes me into a puddle. We are important to him… I squeeze his hand. ‘You are the biggest sweetheart I have ever met.’

I see Henry send a picture of the four of us on the couch. He desperately wanted to take a picture of us in our matching pajamas and the fact that he decided that this would be the best one to share with his family, warms my heart.

#my things #keanureevesisbae #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #mr cavill your dog is kinda fat

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angerissue · 3 years

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Bruce’s transformations into the Hulk seem simple on the surface, but there are many processes that facilitate the final result. This is a collection of meta that pertains to them.

🚫 Please do not reblog this post.

I. Foundations.

To commence, the changes that happen to Bruce during his transformations can be explained by the mass-energy equivalence formula. This formula explains that under certain extraordinary conditions, mass can become energy and vice versa. During the accident in 2006, Banner absorbed a tremendous amount of gamma radiation, which now resides in his amygdala as a form of condensed energy; it's not necessarily gamma radiation in the truest sense of the word anymore, but an unusual type of energy that can be controlled at will. Whenever Bruce unlocks the energy and releases it into the rest of his body, it becomes new mass that causes various amendments.

These amendments are blueprinted by the super soldier serum in Bruce’s cells, which he recreated and administered to himself during Gamma Pulse. However, because he used gamma radiation to activate the serum instead of vita radiation, he becomes the Hulk instead of undergoing subtle changes like Steve Rogers did. The usage of gamma radiation also gave Bruce the ability to revert to his original form, unlike Steve Rogers, who is completely unable to revert to his smaller and frailer self.

This means that technically, Bruce does not “turn into” the Hulk. He is the Hulk; it became his main form as soon as he absorbed the radiation.

In addition... Despite the super soldier serum's presence in his cells, the genes of his normal body are completely human and unchanged. His genetics do change a little (0.0001%) whenever he transforms, which lets him function on an enhanced level, but that's it.

II. General Process.

Transformations into the Hulk have two phases.

The first phase is considered "activation". Whenever Bruce is in his normal form, the radiation is usually locked in place and unable to leave his amygdala, because there's a kind of automatic barrier that prevents that from happening. But during the activation process, Bruce consciously removes this barrier, which is similar to removing the padlock from a door and opening it. This "unlocks" the radiation. As soon as this occurs, a small amount of the radiation will leave his brain, which he cannot stop. This causes his eyes to turn green and become bioluminescent, so they'll glow in the dark a bit. Not to the extent that a nocturnal animal's eyes will glow in the dark, because he lacks a tapetum lucidum, but certainly enough for someone to notice.

At this point, he can either lock the radiation again, or release it into the rest of his body via cellular diffusion.

If Bruce chooses to release the radiation, it will start the "initiation" phase, which is the main part of the transformations that happen when the radiation floods his body. Many changes happen in concurrence with each other. His heart becomes fortified and increases in size, which causes it to beat slower but more powerfully and efficiently. This also makes his blood pressure increase a lot. To compensate for this increase, which would otherwise make his blood vessels burst, the walls of his arteries and veins thicken and become more elastic in nature. The vessels can temporarily become distended and more pronounced beneath his skin, until further into the transformation process.

This is accompanied by a change in skin colour, which mottles across his body in a bruise-like manner that is reminiscent of blood leaking underneath his skin. The colouration is uneven at first, and usually becomes densest around his neck and torso, but it becomes more uniform as the transformation progresses. His blood and inner structures start to assume the same colouration. If samples of Bruce's blood are taken at different stages of the transformation, there will be an evident shift from red to brown, then finally to green, because the shift is not immediate. However, contrary to popular belief, Bruce's blood doesn’t turn entirely green — it retains some warmer notes. Because of this, the Hulk’s skin can seem flushed at times.

But the most prominent effect of the radiation is Bruce's growth spurt. In seven seconds or less, his weight increases from 158 pounds to 1,200 pounds, and his height increases from 5.7" to 8.6". This is caused by three different processes in his body. The first is the suppression of myostatin, which is a chemical that limits the amount of muscle in someone's body — moreover, the suppression allows the radiation to transcode itself into new muscle and change the cellular structure of preexisting muscle, both of which contributes to his increase in size. The second process is the extreme growth in his skeleton, which allows his bones to become thicker and more robust. This is because the radiation promotes the production of something called hydroxyapatite, a mineral that gives bones their strength; it also forces the osteoblasts in his skeleton, which are responsible for making new bone, to become more active and make millions of new cells. Because his bones are shifting during this process, his joints often release air bubbles, which causes a muffled cracking sound to be heard, similar to the sound when someone cracks their back or knuckles. And the final process is cellular hyperplasia / hypertrophy, which causes his cells to expand and increase in numbers across the board. This adds a large amount of new mass to his body. As his cells rearrange and increase in size, Bruce stops breathing for a few seconds, because his diaphragm, which is responsible for expanding and compressing the lungs, momentarily doesn’t work. He'll often take a breath after the transformation ends.

Because of these changes in his muscle and bone structure, Bruce’s proportions also change. He loses his slenderness in favour of a more compact and inhuman silhouette; his limbs become thicker in diameter, his shoulders broaden, and the characteristic features of his face shift, becoming more exaggerated, especially his brow, cheekbones, and jawbone. Even the ridge patterns of his fingerprints change, which makes it impossible to connect his forms via prints.

Bruce's brain releases serotonin and dopamine during his transformations, too. This is because his transformed state is considered more preferable to his mind and body than his normal form, so his brain gives positive feedback whenever he assumes it. He also theorizes there could be stressors in his normal form that he doesn’t notice on a conscious level, but they disappear when he transforms, so his brain breathes a sigh of relief.

Finally... Bruce's transformations aren't pretty. They're the opposite of that. The changes that happen are completely unnatural and shouldn't be possible for the human body, and this in itself can unnerve someone. Additionally, these changes are not completely uniform in occurrence, because certain facets of the doctor's body can change at different rates than the rest — not necessarily to the point of being comical, but still enough to be noticeable. This is similar to watching a time lapse video of something, but some of the sections are lagging or sped up a little bit. Many of his inner structures momentarily become more visible under his skin as well, including his blood vessels (as mentioned earlier), his muscles, and even his bones, especially around his knuckles. The sounds created by these process can also be uncomfortable to hear.

In consequence, it's not uncommon for people to react in a visceral manner when he transforms, or even suffer "vasovagal syncope", which causes them to become lightheaded or pass out. This happens even though Bruce himself doesn't make a fuss over the process now, and even though he's become very good at ensuring it goes as fluidly as possible.

III. Temperature.

Transformations will also cause Bruce's body temperature to increase a lot. While a normal human's body temperature is around 98.6° Fahrenheit, his temperature increases to upwards of 140° during the transformation itself, then it lowers to a toasty 109.7° once his form settles. Bruce believes the increase in temperature during his transformations is enough to cause burns, but he cannot confirm this, because the Hulk's healing abilities would heal any burns before they can become visible.

If someone were to touch Bruce as he were transforming, he would feel very hot, just on the cusp of being uncomfortably so. Afterwards, this will wear off and he’ll feel pleasantly warm.

IV. Healing.

The Hulk has impressive healing capabilities, which become even more effective and rapid when Bruce is actually in the middle of a transformation. If he's shot or otherwise injured in his normal form and he decides to transform, he can usually recover by the time the process is finished. Deeper injuries can require additional time, however.

V. Pain.

Before Bruce took the LR-05013 serum to control his condition, he would always experience severe pain whenever he transformed, unless he'd channeled enough anger, which could anesthetize the worst of it. This pain included the sensations of organ failure and joint dislocations, as well as bone, nerve, and muscle pain. It wasn't really unexpected, considering how much his temperature would increase and how much the structures in his body were tearing and reforming. Nowadays, while his transformations are the same as a whole, Bruce doesn't experience pain anymore, only a comfortable sensation of warmth — he would even consider the transformations to be pleasant, having a similar satisfaction to a deep stretch, or the feeling when someone cracks their knuckles. This is because the serum stops him from feeling pain from the radiation's presence in his amygdala, in addition to the pain from the transformations themselves. This pain was responsible for both the capriciousness of his transformations, and his inability to remain fully lucid as the Hulk.

Despite the lack of pain, Bruce can still feel the different components of his body shifting around. He can feel his joints popping out of place, and his muscle fibers pulling and condensing; as mentioned earlier, he would also see them if he looked at himself, because a lot of the effects are visible. These sensations bothered him at first, but he’s gotten used to them.

VI. Side Effects.

There are three main side effects of Bruce’s transformations.

The first one involves his proprioceptors. These are neurons that help someone’s body determine its position in space without visual aid — they allow someone to touch their nose when their eyes are closed, and know the location of their limbs even in a dark room. Because Bruce's body changes so much whenever he turns into the Hulk, his proprioceptors can sometimes have issues returning to normal when he reverts. Due to this, his movements could be inaccurate for a few hours afterwards. He might reach for an item or raise his hand to adjust his eyeglasses, but underestimate the distance needed to complete the action and miss entirely. He could also duck when he passes through doorways, because his body believes it's still "Hulk-sized".

The second side effect is bruising. When Bruce reverts, he gets subtle bruising across his clavicle and shoulder blades, which is because of the stress that his transformations put on his normal body. There would be more bruising, but the Hulk’s healing abilities persist until his reversions are almost complete, allowing the majority of it to heal and disappear. This also means the bruises are usually yellow (indicating older bruises) instead of blue and purple, and they only last a few hours.

The third side effect is hunger. Bruce doesn't eat whenever he's in a transformed state, because he cannot keep any sustenance down unless it was already in his system before he transformed. Additionally, any sustenance that was already in his system will be metabolized with excellent efficiency, meaning his digestive tract will be completely empty once he reverts. Reversions also expend a lot of calories in general because of how much stress they put on his body, so Bruce will always be extremely tired and hungry afterward, and need to eat something in order to recuperate.

VII. Partial Transformations.

Bruce has total command over his condition, so he can easily send the radiation to certain parts of his body instead of producing a complete transformation. For instance, he'll often summon small amounts of muscle for menial, unremarkable tasks, like removing a stubborn lid from a jar.

However, Bruce never humours more sizable transformations, like transforming an entire limb on its own. This can have dangerous consequences — the affected part will become heavier and far more demanding of oxygen, and his normal body cannot support this increase unless it transforms, too. He can suffer hypoxia, low blood pressure, dislocated joints, and even broken bones. Bruce has passed out from attempting these kinds of transformations, and he doesn’t want to repeat that mistake.

(To put this into perspective... A man’s arm usually accounts for approximately 3.3% of his total body weight. If Bruce’s transformed state weighs 1,200 pounds, his arm alone would weigh 396 pounds, without even accounting for proportional discrepancies between his two forms, which would raise the weight even more. It is impossible for his normal body to accommodate this. He could potentially work with 1/4 of that weight, but only if there is support beneath his arm, and if he can monitor his breathing and oxygen levels the whole time. So yeah, there won’t be any weirdness with freakishly huge body parts here.)

VIII. Unconscious Transformations.

Occasionally, Bruce can experience unconscious and automatic transformations. These most commonly occur when he's asleep and having a nightmare, at which time a green tint could ghost across his skin. This is similar to how someone can mumble or toss and turn in their sleep. If the dream is bad enough, Banner could even transform entirely, which often wakes him up. Unconscious transformations can also happen when he's awake, and he's either surprised or extremely mad; on these occasions, the radiation in his amygdala can momentarily unlock and turn his eyes green.

IX. Amnesia.

Before Bruce took the serum, he suffered amnesia whenever he transformed, as there was an "imperfect" connection between his normal and transformed states in terms of memory formation, storage, and retrieval. However, this isn't an issue now — the serum has allowed Bruce to remember everything that happens when he's the Hulk, even if he's currently in his normal form. The memories can be hazy from time to time, because the connection between his two forms still isn't 100% spotless, but he merely needs to think a bit harder, as if he's attempting to recall a vivid dream.

Nowadays, Bruce will only suffer amnesia if his alter, Hulk, decides to front in his DID system. On these occasions, his core identity will be unconscious and totally incapable of forming new memories. This has nothing to do with his transformed state; it's only because Hulk is suppressing his core identity and not allowing him to remember anything. That's all. Furthermore, if Bruce didn’t actually transform at these times and remained in his normal form, the situation would be the same and he’d still have amnesia.

X. Withdrawal.

Bruce needs to transform at least once per week. This is because ever since the accident, the "natural" and "optimal" state of his body has been his transformed state, rather than his normal one. He didn’t need to transform every week before he took the serum, because the radiation was always leaking into the rest of his cells in small amounts, which tricked his body into thinking he was transformed. But ever since he took the serum, the radiation has been completely confined to his amygdala unless he consciously decides to release it. If he doesn’t transform enough now, the radiation will leak into the surrounding cells of his brain, and in a troublesome manner.

This will cause him to become cranky, aggressive, and claustrophobic until it’s impossible for him to function indoors. He could also suffer involuntary shifts in eye and skin colour, which are very tough to predict and control. This could draw unwanted attention to him in public and have interpersonal repercussions, not to mention it unnerves him in a general sense, because he doesn’t like losing control over himself.

Disclaimer: The content in this post is unique to this adaptation of Bruce Banner. Feel free to like, but do not reblog without permission.

#( headcanon. )#( essential. )#i imagine that bruce probably first passed out on the helicarrier #trying to run a differential on a body part because he was curious #then going 'hmm i feel dizzy that's not good' and just... fainting lol.#he probably shat his pants thinking it was something really bad at first #before actually looking at his readings and the surveillance cams #and going 'well that makes sense'. cx #anywho #this post could've been 10x longer because... yknow... tangents galore.#but those tangents weren't related enough to this topic so.#coming soon?#i guess?

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dimigex · 4 years

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Hi, sweetheart! 💕 Could I maybe get a combo of 7 and 28 from the kiss prompt list? Btw am I the only one who is weak for that combo?? 🤔

I’m still taking prompts (but I post slow lol) if anyone is interested. Here’s the post with more information. If you like what I do, consider supporting me on Ko-fi. Posted on A03 and FF as well.

Also, this one got away with me. It’s less of a micro drabble and more of a 1100 word one-shot? I guess I’m weak for this combo too? The two prompts were an I’ve missed you kiss and first kiss. Enjoy!

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Anger burned through Sakura’s chest, hot enough to make her lungs ache. She forced herself to walk rather than run through the hospital, but it was a near thing. The murmur of conversation filling the hallway grew silent at Sakura’s approach. Bodies parted, allowing her to reach the door just as it swung open.

Tsunade flapped her hands at the gathered crowd. “This isn’t a meeting area. If you can’t find something to occupy your time, I’d be happy to provide some suggestions.”

Nurses, medics, and orderlies scattered in every direction rather than face the woman’s wrath. Then, honey brown eyes met green, and emotions swirled across Tsunade’s face too quickly for Sakura to catch. “He’s stable,” she offered.

“He’s going to wish that he could still say that when I’m through with him,” Sakura growled, anger getting the best of her. For some reason, knowing that Kakashi was okay after the worry of the past two months, made her furious. He needed an excuse, a reason for having been gone so long, something beyond fine.

Tsunade ignored the outburst, speaking over her former apprentice. “But he was injured, badly.”

Sakura stopped hearing Tsunade’s words, rushing from fear to fear before she could stop herself. Tsunade wasn’t worried, so she shouldn’t be either. It took her a moment to realize that the woman had rattled off a list of injuries while offering the file. Sakura snatched it and scanned the notes: broken leg, probable concussion, fractured ribs, dislocated shoulder, chakra exhaustion.

“Can I see him?” Sakura asked, flipping the report closed

“Would you take no for an answer?” An almost smile played on Tsunade’s lips, and Sakura’s annoyance rose toward the surface again.

Tsunade open the door, and Sakura slipped through. As she tucked the folder underneath one arm, her eyes swept the dim room. Kakashi sat on the hospital bed, propped up by at least three pillows. His right leg rested above the itchy, blue blanket, swathed in a thick, plaster cast. His left arm hung in a sling around his neck. One bruised eye was swollen shut, almost a mockery of the way he used to slant his headband across it. Shaggy silver hair fell across his forehead, matching the pallor of his skin.

“You look like shit,” Sakura observed, some of her anger bleeding out at the pitiful sight before her.

Kakashi’s laughter came out strained, like he hadn’t attempted the sound in a while, and his smile didn’t reach his eyes. Sakura wondered when she’d begun being able to read him so easily. Kakashi’s mouth moved beneath the mask, lips pulling into a frown. “I guess I missed dinner, huh?”

Of all the things that Sakura expected Kakashi to bring up after being missing for over a month and on a mission for three weeks before that, dinner was near the bottom. It took her a moment to remember what he was talking about: that stupid bet. She hadn’t thought about it in weeks, far more concerned with his safety when he missed the return date.

The night before Kakashi was due to leave, Sakura had stopped by Tsunade’s office to review the hospital reports as they did every Thursday night. But, the blond had waved her hands and complained that her trainees could handle it. She’d even laughed and said that she’d check their work in the morning, like it was some kind of school assignment. Then, she’d left them alone together.

The air between Sakura and Kakshi had been charged with the reality of the looming mission. She hadn’t wanted him to take it, but she wasn’t sure how to articulate her reasons. She worried that he wouldn’t be as strong without the sharingan, and didn’t want to insinuate weakness. They’d spared together often enough for her to know better. Kakashi had been chafing from the constant scrutiny of the village as he prepared for the role of Hokage. Tension filled his shoulders more and more often.

There had been a moment, a brief touch before they said goodbye for the night when Sakura thought that he might say something else. Something that she hadn’t quite admitted to herself yet. Instead, they’d made a stupid bet on whether or not he could complete the three week mission in half the time. If so, Sakura owed him dinner wherever he chose. If not, he’d owed her the same.

Sakura knew that Kakashi meant the words to lighten the mood, but they made her throat tighten. “You barely made it back at all.”

Kakashi winced at the tone. “But I did, in the end.”

“Two months,” Sakura growled, cutting Kakashi off before he could elicit more pity without trying. “You’ve been gone for two months. Do you know how long that is? Do you know how long I waited--”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Sakura halted the flow of words before they could go somewhere she didn’t want them to. She exhaled, hating the rattle in her throat that hinted at something more than anger. “I’d punch you if you weren’t already injured so badly that you can’t stand up.”

“I’d deserve it.” The gentleness surprised Sakura, pulling her gaze to Kakashi’s injured one. His laugh sounded marginally better this time, tinged with a hint of nervousness. Kakashi tipped his head to the side, studying Sakura in a way that filled her stomach with butterflies. He shrugged. “I got careless because I wanted to be back in a week.”

Sakura frowned at the words, mind struggling to make the leaps that seemed to come so naturally to Kakashi. The flickering light above the bed almost hid the blush that appeared on his cheeks. Almost. Sakura closed the distance between them, fighting the urge to flood his system with enough chakra to erase every injury. “Why? That’s stupid.”

“I missed you.” Kakashi’s simple words temporarily halted Sakura’s ability to respond. He must have thought they needed additional explanation, because he kept talking. “I missed you every one of those sixty-four days, and for months before that. It sounds stupid, but I feel like, maybe, I’ve been missing you my whole life and--”

Kakashi’s words died when Sakura hooked her fingers in his mask. She paused, silently asking permission to remove the garment between them. Once she had it, she dipped her head to meet their lips together, taking full advantage of the soft gasp in Kakashi’s throat. Her heart did somersaults as the room spun, making it hard to draw a breath.

Laughing softly, Sakura pulled back. “Now, let’s talk about the terms of that bet…”

#Dimi Answers #Kiss Prompts #KakaSaku #Kakashi Hatake #Sakura Haruno #Fluff #First Kiss #Mutual Pining #Sappy Fluff

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