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obsidiangravity · 4 months

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Nikto Gets A Cat

I saw this lovely artwork by @quimera-cami and it possessed me to drop all other WIP to write this.

Summary - Spetsnaz are tasked with guarding a remote location. Can’t ask for a simpler operation really. The only downside for Nikto is having to endure the stifling presence of his teammates. Maintaining what’s left of his sanity in such a tiny house is an exhausting challenge, but at least they all get their own sleeping quarters.

Until Rodion returns from a weekly grocery run with a companion.

Word count - 3.9k

Tags - Fluff, Alcohol, Nikto being nice.

It’s no secret to the closest people in Nikto’s life that he despises cats.

The incessant calls for attention. The hair that seems to overrun everything one owns. Their need to mark and ruin upholstery. His disdain for those common house pets are seen as irrational. Perhaps it's a childhood trauma long forgotten, the unsavoury memories regarding these animals locked away in the dark corners of his mind.

But he disagrees. The extreme hatred is warranted. How could it not? What do they provide other than misery and annoyance. He’s grateful to have been spared the torment of living around one since he joined the military over a decade ago.

So the man is rendered temporarily speechless and imobile when Rodion calls out from behind him on the armchair, “Look at what I found outside the supermarket!” and five kilograms of hissing fluff and fury is dumped on his thighs.

The feline snarls and bares its teeth at the person that dropped it. Long razor-sharp claws dig into Nikto’s flight suit, poking his skin.

He winces, gaze narrowing at the youngest Russian. “What the fuck is this?”

“Mm, it’s a cat,” Rodion mumbles over a mouthful of chocolate chip cookie as he searches for the TV remote and brushes stray crumbs onto the ground. It makes Nikto’s fingers twitch. “Siberian I think?”

Dmitry looks up from his task of chopping potatoes in the scantily sized kitchen, amusement ghosting the corner of his eyes. “Oh, it could be, but they are usually a little bigger, no?”

The cat, in a blur of unruly fur, launches itself off Nikto's lap, nails screeching and scraping the wooden floorboards as it skitters across like one of those rats caught out in the light in this shithole of a house. In a second, the creature vanishes behind a doorway to a bedroom. The one belonging to Maxim.

Rodion clucks his tongue. “Well, someone tell Maxim he has a new roommate when he’s back from patrol.”

An acidic scowl is hidden behind his balaclava when Nikto notices the strands of hair and filth left on his uniform. “Are you soft in the head? Why did you bring it here?”

“Saw her scavenging in the garbage as I was about to return. I couldn’t just leave her there.”

“Get rid of it, or I will shoot it.” His voice low and coarse. It is the only response Nikto gives before he stands up, readying to leave for a shift change with Maxim.

Nikto returns twelve hours later after a quiet night, slips out of his worn leather boots to find his single bed occupied.

The feline saw fit to curl up on it and rub dirt on his clean white blankets and pillows. Of course it would be in here, his room is the only empty one.

He’s able to get a better look at it as it sleeps. Dust clings to its matted and tangled cream-coloured fur. Its scrawny figure and ribs are barely concealed by its thick coat. Thin, elegant, almost silver whiskers a contrast to the extremely bushy unkempt tail.

Three small lines of scar run from its right cheek to its velvet-like ear. This is no pampered house pet, it may have been once, however those times were long gone.

He lightly shoos the cat away. It startles from peaceful sleep and hisses, tries to gouge his hand with the tiny daggers on its fingertips, but ultimately scampers off and hides under the bed.

Nikto sighs, long and drawn out. Questioning if he should bother using the back of his rifle like a stick to force it out of his room. He reaches for it, then decides it’s not worth potentially hurting himself from an accidental discharge.

He flips the switch off and collapses on the mattress.

~~~

He wakes up before everyone else again, the sun heating his face through the dusty window. Nikto blinks against the early morning rays and stretches his stiff muscles with a content groan. His toes collide with something furry and soft, and that brief moment of peaceful serenity is disrupted by a sharp scratch to his bare calf.

The half asleep man jerks away from the sting — accidently rolling off the bed. A shoulder and knee takes the full brunt of the fall and the greater pain jolts him fully awake, a “Blyat,” escaping his scarred lips.

The feral animal dashes around the small room, emerald eyes wide, fangs showing and claws unsheath. It howls and arches its back as it realises its trapped between the closed door and him.

Nikto scrambles to his feet, swearing a string of colourful curses that echo against the concrete walls. His jaw tightens. He wonders if he can turn the doorknob to kick it outside without being inflicted with any more injuries.

Goosebumps form on his arms when a deep rumble emits from it, as if it’s charging up an attack. He eyes the AK-47 propped against the wall on the other side of the room. Of course the one time he leaves a firearm out of reach is when he needs it most.

Tentatively, he takes a step forward and in a whirlwind, the infernal creature resumes its frantic scrambling.

It throws itself up onto the bed, rumpling the messy sheets further and jumps on his nightstand. In its rampage of destruction, it knocks the full bottle of vodka over.

It shatters loudly on the oak floor. Large and tiny shards of glass scatter in all directions as the liquid seeps through the planks.

Nikto, who is usually able to repress his anger and known for his stoic composure, lets his vision go red and a roar of unrestrained rage erupts.

He will gut this mangy stray then dump its entrails on Rodion for putting him through this. He has done far worse for less.

The bedroom door creaks open and Devil Incarnate finally dashes out.

A dishevelled Maxim peeks his head and a broad shoulder in, sleep clouding his eyes. “Can you not make so much fucking noise this early?” Then his gaze shifts to the spilled alcohol and groans. “You’re not wasting anymore of the vodka again,” he says and slams the door shut with a resounding thud before Nikto could redirect his fury at him.

He is left to simmer in the aftermath and he swears to drag Rodion’s face across the broken glass if that imbecile doesn’t clean this up.

~~~

It seems an illness has overtaken his comrades.

With its fur clean and brushed, they dote on the cat at every chance it decides to show itself. Regal grace that laid beneath the grime is now allowed to shine. It moves with the arrogance that all cats possess as it struts around the house.

“Oh, what a cute kitten.”

“Look at its shiny gemstone eyes! What a pretty girl.”

Running their fingers through the fur as they coo and play with it. All three of them mull over what to name it. As if it’s a newborn baby and they’re first time parents.

“How about Mishka?” Dmitry asks as he strokes its back. “Look at its silky coat! Nikto, you have to feel this.”

Maxim scratches his stubble. “I prefer Nina.”

“Satan,” Nikto offers, gaze not leaving his book.

“It’s a girl,” Rodion’s faraway voice interjects from the bedroom.

“Baba Yaga.”

“Doesn’t really suit her… Princess?” Maxim suggests.

Nikto flicks to the next page. “Gluttony.”

“I think Anastasia fits this beauty.”

“Garbage Eater.”

That night, he pulls the covers over him with the feline nowhere in sight.

But dawn finds that yet again the whiskered intruder found its way onto the bed near his feet.

Less scratching and hissing this time. He’s able to expel it with only an attempted swat at his arm and minimal destruction. No caterwauls of wildness, or pointed teeth and claws tearing at his blankets thankfully.

~~~

They take pictures and record videos of the nuisance doing the most inane drivel and send them to each other, including Nikto. As if he can’t see the damned cat himself. At this rate, they would probably snap an image of its excrements and praise it for defecating outside by the end of the week.

The cat takes the greatest liking to Dmitry. It’s no mystery why. Twirling about his legs for food at all hours of the day that it’s not sleeping.

And the meowing.

It doesn’t shut up. Always whining, always mewling. Like an alarm siren demanding more and more meals.

The short period where it is not doing that, usually when one of the Bale brothers has the little gremlin on their lap, massaging the soft fur around its ears — it purrs loudly. Impeccably imitating a broken lawnmower.

Nikto has no trouble tolerating most discomforts — the filthiness of a barracks, the lack of sleep during a long operation, numbness from the biting cold of Russian winters. He would endure all of it again over this.

Nobody else seems to be agitated by it. Madness has infected everyone but him. No longer can Nikto read a book or relax with a good bottle of vodka in peace. He enjoyed his lone shifts a little more than the rest of the team before. Solitude is always freeing.

Now, it’s his only solace for true rest.

His equipment, his bed, the whole house, is filled with stray strands of fur. Irritating his nostrils and ruining his clothes. He briefly considers murdering the cat and the idiot that brought it home when he finds a nonhuman hair in his half eaten soup.

The last straw that solidifies their insanity to him is when the living embodiment of chaos vomits a wet furball on the sofa.

They will throw the cat out now for sure. Nikto has no doubts about it.

Except, that does not happen.

They did not throw the cat out.

They mutter words of comfort and pat it on the back, cleans up the mess and offers it a treat.

Nikto occasionally catches the feline watching him from some dimly lit corner. A spark of intelligence in its big round eyes. As if it secretly taunts him, before prowling away.

The following night, he scours his room, getting on all fours to check under his creaking bed frame. His bloodshot eyes strains against the darkness and finds only dust bunnies. No furry form with a demonic glint in its jade irises. Satisfied, he switches off the light and crawls in, the chill of the night seeps through the small crack in the window.

Yet, come morning, the relentless animal inhabits his sheets, purring with satisfaction.

It amazes him that it is able to burrow up so close as he slept again — with him being none the wiser, considering how much of a light sleeper he is. Nikto makes a mental note to seal the window. Clearly the sliver of opening for fresh air is too much to ask for.

He lets out a bone weary sigh, running a hand over his scarred face and rubs his temple. It can stay for now.

It’s not being overtly infuriating. It barely takes up any space. The man observes its sleek fur shining almost golden in the sunlight. Is it as soft as they all say it is?

He reaches for it, his fingers lightly brushes its tail and it lets out a groan of discontent, hopping off the bed, onto the windowsill. It slinks away, landing on the bushes outside.

Nikto watches the raised fluffy tail disappear past the treeline and he pushes the pane fully shut with a resounding snap for tonight.

“She’s nearly done with her moult,” Dmitry comments as he sweeps the tumbleweeds of fur out the front door. There are clumps of it stuck on foliage, mixing with the twigs and leaves.

It’s visually revolting.

When asked why he doesn't simply throw it in the trash, Dmitry says it makes the birds happy to use it for their nests.

Birds don’t nest this close to winter, you moron. Nikto would have loved to retort, only, he realises he doesn’t have the energy for it anymore.

The one upside to the neverending mountain of inconveniences is there seems to be a decrease of rat sightings inside. Perhaps, it’s not as lazy as Nikto originally thought.

He scowls at the empty packet of potato chips left by Rodion on the coffee table. The cat is now far from being the most useless individual in the house.

He lies awake in his bed, watching the shadows of the tree branch right outside his window dance on the wall as the wind jostles it. Sleep has trouble taking him like most days.

As he is about to drift into unconsciousness, an ear grating yowl echoes in the living room through the walls, loud enough to wake the dead.

Nikto huffs and rolls onto his stomach.

It continues. The sounds of the kitchen’s trash can being rummaged and the occasional meow of discontent prevents him from dozing off.

He’s determined to ignore it, maybe yell at someone else to feed it but realises it’s probably useless. Dmitry can sleep through a bombing. Maxim is likely comatose from drinking and nothing less than a gunshot will wake him.

He sits up, fingers reaching for his balaclava, fully intending to throw some biscuits in its food bowl so it can leave him alone.

The moment he pries open the door, the feline sprints in and beelines underneath his mattress.

Nikto narrows his eyes, tired brain is slow to process what exactly occurred. A defeated exhale leaves his lips and pushes his door shut, returning to bed.

He has grown to expect the cat to claim the territory beside his left foot and is careful not to nudge it come morning.

~~~

Frantic scratching on worn oak is like fingernails on a chalkboard, agitating Nikto's taut nerves. It wasn't just the sound, but the urgency behind it.

He’s not the only person home, someone else can let it out.

He tries to ignore it and focus on his task. Cleaning firearms is a silent and soothing experience. It helps to clear his mind when he needs it most.

The scraping intensifies.

Nikto unclenches his jaw — gently places down the bolt carrier and oil stained cloth, and stands up.

Boots thudding on the floor as he marches to the source of the noise.

The cat paws at the front door and wails. Wanting to be let out. It looks at Nikto as he turns the corner. Its face saying, please I need to leave.

I need to leave right now.

He unlatches the steel lock and pulls the door open. The feline hesitates, its miniature nose twitching, testing the cool air and the scents wafting in.

Frosty blue irises flash in anger. “You wanted to leave? Then go!” His free hand gestures to the open space outside.

Seconds stretch into a minute.

It stands there. Peering outside. Then, with a flick of its tail, turns and walks away, returning to its favourite spot on the kitchen counter by the window.

Nikto watches it, a mixture of confusion and realisation settling in his chest. It gives him a side eye that speaks volumes before it lays down and gazes out the glass.

He had served this creature. Catered to her whims. Ungratefulness aside, he feels used.

~~~

Nikto leaves for his shift just like any other night. Familiar weight of his rifle in one hand. Vodka in the other. Stars glittering in the sky.

He settles down at his usual spot in the outpost overlooking the area he’s meant to guard. As he’s about to peel back the fabric of his mask to take a sip, a crunch of dry leaves alerts him to a presence not too far from his left.

Drink forgotten, muscle memory and instincts take over, he raises his gun in the direction of the intruder. Two glowing orbs look back at him, and then an inquisitive meow.

Low and behold, it’s Garbage Eater.

Exasperation washes over him. He lowers his firearm and stares at it.

The cat saunters up to his feet, rubbing its face on his boots.

Nikto silently grieves his allotted hours of privacy robbed away and sits back down. How did it even follow him? He was not as alert as he usually is compared during a mission, but for it to have not been detected since he left the house is a feat.

Surprisingly, it keeps a respectable distance. Choosing to lick its hand an arms length away.

He finally gives in. The Russian reaches out to run a hand over its back. A throaty groan of protest erupts.

Nikto stops. Fair enough. He doesn’t like being touched either.

As the night deepens, he offers little bits of chicken from his food container while they sit in tranquil company together. He will never admit to it if asked, but the presence of decent companionship is something he craves. Dmitry is pleasant and respectful, however he can be a little too worried more often than not. That man is not subtle. Nikto catches every glance of concern, every time his lips pull into a hard line.

Animals don’t do that. They don’t have any questions of his mental state barely held back on the tips of their tongues.

Sometimes when it gets too quiet, his thoughts can be overwhelming. Fragmented memories from his past come slithering back. Lately, he has been unable to keep them at bay.

Every now and then, a new door opens, and he often doesn’t like what comes out of it.

Maybe it senses his mood, or maybe it’s just cold, it inches closer to sit beside him for the remainder of the shift. Its green eyes full of concern.

When they return to the house together, the cat doesn’t have to sneak into his bedroom.

~~~

Tiny gifts in the form of dead rats are deposited in his quarters every so often. He could dispose of it normally, but he throws them into Rodion’s room. It grants Nikto a small bit of satisfaction whenever a screech of disgust sounds throughout the house, usually after that man returns from his shift.

A week passes and Nikto wakes up with a feather duster-like object in his face.

It seems that the cat, perhaps emboldened in the darkness, gained some courage and moved upwards long past midnight. She sneaked up close beside his chest as he was sleeping. Her padded foot, soft and warm, rests against his bicep with an easy pressure, tail tickling his cheeks.

She had stuck to the end of his mattress every day before this.

Her forehead nudges his hand, seeking contact, and she rubs her long whiskers against his open palm.

Sundown arrives sooner, the days grow colder and Nikto quickly discovers she likes to be squashed by his arm.

The cat blinks and carefully leaps over him to situate herself in the small space between him and the wall. She sniffs Nikto’s hand curiously and rubs her cheeks against it before rolling into a ball. He buries his fingers into her soft fur and closes his eyelids.

He knows she only pursues his company for his warmth. He doesn’t mind it. His nail traces patterns in her coat and she stretches languidly. Maybe it's not just her seeking him. Maybe he craves the physical touch too.

It has been too long, he realises, since he has hugged another living thing. To feel the pulsing of a heartbeat against his fingertips. It is not so bad afterall.

The even vibration of her purrs lulls him to a dreamless slumber.

He hears the rhythmic clacking of claws on the hardwood floor before the cat jumps onto the armrest. She puts a gentle paw on Nikto’s forearm and meows.

Nikto hums, the words of his fantasy novel momentarily blurring. “What do you need this time?” he grumbles.

Everyone else left ten minutes ago, a rarity. He has plans to finish this book today.

Unfazed by his hollow annoyance, she steps onto his lap and does a few circles before settling down.

He shifts in his chair, trying to find a position that’s more comfortable for them both. “I’m reading a story, do you want to hear it?”

She looks at him knowingly and yawns. Nikto clears his throat, he begins reading with a soft voice that feels unfamiliar, it has been a long time since he last used this tone.

At some point, her eyes drift close and her breathing deepens, yet he continues.

Nikto couldn't help but see the similarities they share. They both exude an independence born out of necessity. He runs a calloused thumb over her old scars. They’re both survivors. No other person he met has understood it truly. Though with the way she regards him, the reserved man thinks she might.

~~~

Nikto takes the last bottle of Five Lakes on a hunt with him before Maxim could — he can have whatever slop is left.

It’s been years since he had hunted, nevertheless, he still remembers how to track deer and rabbits.

Gloved hand securely clutching the cool glass, he ventures further east.

People argue that vodka isn't for taste. Nikto disagrees.

He values the smooth, barely detectable flavour, a welcomed change to the generic liquor he usually endured on duty. To him, the subtle burn is appreciated. He doesn’t think his alcoholic comrade can tell the difference.

It’s not that he can’t handle the harsh taste, he would simply rather get drunk with a minimal amount of hangover.

He’s not surprised when he hears the rustle of grass and the well-accustomed to call of his four legged companion behind him after he crouches down to inspect the gnawed on vegetation.

She trots up, her sleek form brushing against his thighs and investigates the leaves, sniffing it with a delicate nose.

“Can you hunt rabbits as well as rats?”

She flicks a ear and chirps in response.

Nikto takes that as a yes.

Undeterred by the distant rumble of thunder above, they proceed further, the sparse canopy offers little protection as tiny droplets soon begin to rain down upon them.

Eventually, the soil grows too damp for her liking and she tries scaling up his leg, tips of her claws latching on to his thigh muscle through the thick fabric.

She advances quickly, her pointed nails has no trouble finding purchase on the straps and gear tied to him. Nikto hisses and grips her to his chest with his forearm before she can make it any higher.

She calms instantly, feeling secured in his solid hold.

The mild drizzle subsides quickly, leaving the forest dripping and smelling of fresh earth. However the once stray Siberian forest cat has no desire to return to the damp ground.

He purses his lips and takes a deep breath. “Fine.”

He can’t use his hunting rifle with one hand and he refuses to let her on his shoulders. Daylight is about to leave anyway. Won’t be a terrible decision to return.

As the sun dips below the horizon, dousing the hills with the warm colour of fire, Nikto observes the sky and settles on the grass, Garbage Eater curling up on his lap in content silence — he thinks that having a pet cat isn’t the worst thing in the world.

#nikto #cod nikto #call of duty #cod mw #call of duty mw #call of duty fanfic #call of duty fic #call of duty MW19 #call of duty MWII #call of duty mw2 #Dmitry Bale #Maxim Minotaur Bale #Nikodim Rodion Egorov #MW19 Spetsnaz

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threadsun · 9 months

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Alright, it's getting into "I don't want to look at it anymore" territory so, here it is!

You finally piece it together, Jean, spoiled bitch Jean. He was always nice to you but it was never really personal, like he didn’t really know what having friends meant. You greet him by name, commenting on how tall he’s gotten. Jean chuckles and welcomes you both in, as you walk inside your mouth starts to water at the smell coming from what you assume to be his kitchen. He holds out his left arm and you go in for a slightly awkward side hug

“It’s so good to finally see you again, how have you been?” You tell him you’ve been good and that it’s nice to see him too. Man, Jean has really changed from when you were kids. Where Ian still has a bit of a baby face Jean looks almost like he was sculpted. Sculpted? Really? One of the first things you point out is how hot your old friend is? Maybe a harem wouldn’t be too bad for you, when was the last time you got laid- “Your grace?” Jack places their hand on your shoulder and you snap out of your little daze

You shake your head slightly and apologize for staring, Jean simply chuckles “Oh, you’re fine. Please, sit” He gestures to his couch, the upholstery having a few claw marks on the armrests but otherwise looking rather new. As you sit down you hear a chirping sound from under the couch. A ball of white fur crawls from underneath the couch before hopping into your lap. Jean opens his mouth but then shuts it, seemingly mulling something over “Uh- Princess, get off there, you’re getting your hair all over them” You laugh and say it’s fine, your hand petting her soft fur

After a second Jean’s eyes widen “Oh, Jack, didn’t you and Shaun have that meeting today?” Jack almost flinches “Oh, shoot, that was today? I better get going then, uh, here’s the coffee cake, goodbye your grace” Jack sets the bag of coffee cake onto Jean’s side table before giving you a small bow. Once Jack leaves Jean closes the door with his back and sits next to you on the couch. You ask for the cat’s name “Huh? Oh, uh, Princess, I said it earlier, remember?” You tell him you remember his folks not letting him have a cat and that once he got one he probably named it out of spite, so, what’s its name? “...I just call her Fucker” You knew it!

Jean laughs “I guess you did, you were always the smart one” He goes to touch your hand but Fucker bats it away before rolling onto her back and purring in your lap. Jean’s face goes from serene to pissed to something bashful all within a few seconds. He sighs “You always did have a way with animals” You thank him, actually, while you’re at it you ask him if he’s still cool with he/him stuff “Yeah, do you go by anything different now?” You tell him your pronouns “Alright, I’ll make sure to pass it on” His tone is full of confidence before seemingly remembering something “I-I mean, if you want me to”

The way he just talked sounded so much like Ian that you could swear he’s making fun of them, but he’s not making any faces or anything so it comes off as oddly genuine. Maybe they hang out now? A lot of time has passed, surely Jean’s bullying has toned down to some extent. You tell Jean there’s actually something you wanted to ask him “Oh? Well, whatever it is I don’t judge. You can tell me anything”

Jean leans forward slightly, looking up at you through batting eyelashes. You tell him that you remember his family being pretty close with your dad and ask if he can tell you anything about what running this place actually means. Jean’s face falls for just a moment before perking up again “Of course I can, I was one of the people closest to the founder before he died, what would you like to know?” You ask about your every day, if there’s a schedule you have to follow

“There’s no strict schedule except for the weekly sermons and any speeches or appearances you have to make” You ask what the sermons are like “A bit bloody if we find a decenter but other than that it’s just us praising your name. Except for the ones at the start of the month, that’s when the founder would make predictions of what would happen during that month” You can feel the blood start to drain from your face. You ask what happens when the predictions are wrong, Jean looks at you like you’ve just admitted to liking pineapple on pizza “They aren’t? They are predictions from our god, they are never wrong. If you’re worried about it, don’t be. You’re our god taken human form, I’m sure your predictions will be the best yet”

You feel like someone just ran up to you and punched you square in the diaphragm, knocking all the wind out of you. Fucker decides you’re not petting her good enough and starts rubbing her face on your shaking hand. You ask what he’s talking about, Jean sighs “That awful woman didn’t tell you anything, did she?” He takes one of your hands in his good one, he starts by saying your name “You are our god incarnate, the one who will raise us from the dark times after our founder fell. You are our future”

It feels like the whole world is slowly spinning around you, your brain desperately trying to make sense of all of this. You can feel your panic start to bubble to the surface, starting in your chest and spreading. You can feel it crawl down your arms and legs and you don’t know where you’re gonna go but you can’t be here-...He’s petting you. The long delicate fingers of Jean’s left hand weave into your hair to scratch your scalp “It’s ok, you’re ok, everything is going to be just fine” He gently places his hand on your left shoulder, moving you to rest your head on his chest

You feel yourself melt slightly, enough of your stiffness leaving you for you to wrap your arms around him “I want you to focus on my voice, ok? It’s just us here, you don’t have to worry about any of that right now. Can you tell me something you can smell” You tell him his cologne, a deep cinnamon mixed with some kind of wood. You can smell the faintest whisper of smoke on him too, it’s nice, complementing his cologne. You also pick back up on the smell from the kitchen, now that you’re focusing on it you can tell it’s some kind of roasted chicken. You breathe out a small laugh as you realize your mouth is watering

“Good, very good. You’re doing such a good job for me” Something about his praise mixed with him petting you like this makes you feel warm. It’s not like the fiery heat of embarrassment you felt earlier in the day, it’s softer, it feels nice, almost too nice. His hand moves down to your back, slowly rubbing up and down, you’re reminded of how you did this for Ian back at the restaurant, did it feel this good for him too? You hardly even know Jean but something about him feels so safe, so familiar in all this chaos. A small chuckle escapes you as Fucker butts her head against your leg, clearly miffed you’re not giving her all your attention

“There you go, just relax into me. You’re so cute like this” His hand slides up a bit higher than before, his thumb brushing the base of your neck. Now that he’s made you focus in on your senses everything just feels so much…bigger than it did a few minutes ago “You know, if you’re this worried about doing a good job, I could help you. Like I said, I was really close with your dad. I could be really close to you too” He leans his head down just a bit, his lips brushing over your ear making you shiver “Or maybe even closer” Jean’s hand moves to your cheek, cupping your face gently. He tilts his head, you can feel his hot breath on your lips and-DING DONG

Both of you damn near jump out of your skin as the doorbell rings. Jean looks to the door, to you, and back to the door. He lets out a groan as he gets up to answer it. He just stands there, knob in hand, for a second to collect himself before opening it “How can I-...oh, it’s you” A deep voice comes from beyond the doorway “It’s meeee!” Jean huffs “What are you doing here? Don’t you have some murder fest to be filming?” The voice chuckles “Well, I did, but then Jack came and told me he was sorry for being late for our meeting that starts a week from now. And after he told me their grace was left here all alone with you? How could not come pay you a visit?”

Jean looks back over to you before trying to close the door, the person from outside easily keeping it open “This is my house, Shaun you can’t just barge in here like this!” Shaun steps inside so you can now properly see how massive they are. They’re not as tall as Jack or Joseph but they seem a bit wider? Not chubby, just wider, maybe it’s bone structure? Maybe it’s Maybelline. Oh shut the fuck up

“Listen, we’re allowed to do whatever is needed if there’s an emergency our leader needs to take care of remember? Or are you going to admit you had no good reason to take the founder away every time I wanted him to review my edits?” Jean stutters on his response “Hey, it’s not my fault the founder was such a good taste tester. What else was I supposed to do? Just feed the public food before it’s perfect? What kind of a man do you think I am Shaun?” Shaun laughs again, they have a good laugh, a deep warm belly laugh, even in this rather tense situation “I’d tell you, but I’d rather not use that kind of language around their grace, speaking of” Shaun turns to you “I wasn’t kidding earlier, there really is something you need to take care of. Mind coming with me your grace?”

Ok, it’s done! Man, manipulation is so hard to write when you’re in the reader’s head, ya know? Like they can’t know about it otherwise they’d call him out, and Jean’s sneakier than that. Anyway, hope you liked it!

👀😳Jean is such a manipulative bastard and that's sooooo sexy of him!!! Sending them into a panic attack so he can talk them through it and then take advantage of their emotions to kiss them >:3c

Also lmao Shaun talked to Jack and just immediately showed up because like fuck is he leaving you alone with Jean of all people!

#sunshine #cult town au #I'm so feral for this #I'm picking it up in my teeth and shaking it and growling like a dog with their favourite toy

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ghostofskywalker · 2 years

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Just Another Stray

Dottie Underwood/Fem!Reader

Fictober Day 16 of 31

Words: 976

Summary: When your girlfriend brings home a stray kitten, you can’t help but fall in love with it.

Dottie Underwood Masterlist

It was not uncommon for your apartment to be filled with stray animals at any given time, you worked as a veterinarian - of course you were going to bring in animals from the street. Usually though, you were the one actually finding the animals, and your girlfriend had to deal with the fact that she occasionally shared an apartment with mangy and malnourished cats and dogs.

So when you walked into the living room one day after work to see a black cat sitting on the couch like their name was on the lease (and you hadn’t been the one to welcome that cat into the house), you were understandably a bit confused. It definitely looked a bit worse for wear, far skinnier than healthy cats should be, with tangled fur and what looked like a small bite taken out of its ear. Thankfully you didn’t seem to notice any violent tendencies (or at least it hadn’t started attacking you yet) and your heart immediately broke for the pain and struggle that this animal must have been through living on the streets.

A bed sheet had been laid over the upholstery, which was a good move because you never know what a stray animal could be carrying, and it’s yellow eyes stared unblinkingly at you, as if questioning what you were doing in its house. “Dottie?” you called out, hoping that your girlfriend would be home to answer your many questions.

“Yes?” she called back.

“Not that I’m complaining, but why is there a cat on the couch?”

Dottie didn’t respond for a moment, but when she appeared in your line of sight she had an apologetic look on her face. “It came up to me today and wouldn’t leave me alone. I thought you could look at it, if that’s okay.”

You nodded as you took a pair of gloves out of your bag and took a few steps closer to the cat, tentatively reaching out in its direction. The fixed stare did not go away, and thankfully it didn’t seem to move into a defensive or attack position, so you guessed that wherever this cat came from, they had some level of comfort around humans. “Hi honey,” you said, the saccharine voice you often used to talk to the animals slipping out almost instantly. Dottie always teased you about it, saying that they didn’t really understand what you were saying, but you maintained that intonation was incredibly important when talking to any kind of creature, and even if you slipped into what others called “baby talk,” it helped them feel more at ease.

The cat let out a soft meow as you gently pet its head, and you gently picked up the animal and lifted it in the air. Once it was established that this particular cat was a girl, you checked for broken bones and other injuries and did as much of a checkup as you could in the middle of your living room.

Dottie watched the entire process intently, fascinated by the way you gently handled the cat. You didn’t know too many details about your girlfriend’s past, but you knew that it was often harsh and cruel, so something like showing kindness to animals, which for you was a simple and immediate act, was something strange and foreign to her. You loved your girlfriend, but it seemed sometimes like she was a bit of a stray herself, always evading your attempts to get her to open up and talk to you about more sensitive topics.

You knew of her skillset (and you weren’t blind to the fact that she sometimes disappeared for a day or two and returned with a lot of cash in her purse and some blood on her clothes), and you genuinely didn’t care. Of course you wanted to encourage more ahem, legal, hobbies and pastimes, but at this point in your life it didn’t matter. You were already breaking the law due to the very nature of your relationship with her, something that if discovered would ruin both your veterinary practice and your life, so there was a part of you that simply didn’t want to know what she got up to this way you wouldn’t have to care.

“What are we going to name her?” she asked, pulling you back from your thoughts. “I was thinking Shadow had a nice ring to it.”

“What do you mean?” you asked. “We don’t name the animals that come in at the shelter.”

“Yeah, but I was thinking that she could be ours,” Dottie said. “Because I found her, and it doesn’t seem like she’s anyone’s pet.” The cat, who at this point was still in your arms, gave a loud purr at your girlfriend’s words. “See? She agrees with me.”

You couldn’t help the laughter that came bubbling out of you, and you knew you couldn’t say no. “How about I take her into work tomorrow and get her checked out better?” you asked. “And we’ll see if anyone contacts us about a missing cat that matches her description. If no one comes forward, we can think about adopting her.”

Shadow jumped down from your arms as you spoke, apparently having decided that she had enough of your examination. Dottie’s face held a grumpy expression, and you walked over to her and pulled her into a hug. “I really want to keep her,” she said softly.

“Me too,” was your response. “Hopefully there won’t be any problems tomorrow at work, but I also can’t keep every stray either of us come across.”

“Why not?” she asked, a playful twinkle in her eye. “You kept me, didn’t you?”

“You’re a special case,” you said, leaning in to place a soft kiss on her lips.

You could feel her smile into the kiss. “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

- the end -

#ghostofskywalker.fictober #dottie underwood #dottie underwood x reader #agent carter #agent carter fanfiction

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auburniivenus · 4 months

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───✱*.｡:｡@geraniumplant STARTER

THAN WAIT AROUND AND FIGURE OUT. Inoue is perplexed as she discovers that her new carpets and furniture have been damaged by a hidden cat that he has secretly kept in her estate for a week. Despite the chaos, she is touched by the other’s compassion for animals but is also dissatisfied because she was never consulted about it. She beheld with miserable eyes her recent obtainment; the impeccable upholstery and high-quality furniture now disfigured by mischief's lingering touch. A concealed feline interloper, that erstwhile obscure denizen, played his part in the ruination; a hidden harbinger of harmonious disarray, its presence unbeknownst to her for an entire septenary.

The gentle waft of eau de feliné stole through her chambers, a fragrant reminder of the veiled guest who lurked in shadows and silence for long enough to evade discovery. Cat, a cunning creature of treachery and grace, had settled within her cherished domicile under the auspices—a man of appealing countenance who possessed a tender compassion for God's lesser creatures. “Alright, let me try to compreend.” Misfortune hung like imposing draperies across Orihime's brow as she navigated the remnants of opulence turned to disarray. With each step into poignant still life, her heart pitched between the tumultuous seas of VEXATION and pietie, condemning herself for the distrust she felt towards an innocent soul so deviously sheltered within her own walls.

In this elegant maneuver between convoluted emotions and shattered weaves, she cast blame toward slumbering moons and whispered conspiracies, seeking solace in fathoming how such artful deception could persist unseen. Wandering through once familiar halls now unmasked as clandestine realms, she paused to consider what whispered council transpired between furtive fur and secretive smiles. “You managed to keep this feline a secret for days? How?”

#( — .:｡✿*┆ starters ❀ ❞ )"#°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ starter #hope this is fine :333

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langballefarmer1 · 2 years

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binniesthighs · 3 years

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two tails | the series prologue | reader x minho

in which a chance encounter with your neighbor’s fluffy cat buds a romance when you least expected it

Part One coming early January

if ya would like to be on the taglist for when this series starts, send me an ask ♡

Pairing: self insert, female reader x lee minho

Genre: a lil bit of everything!

Tags: neighbors au, catowner!minho, catowner!reader, skz side characters, slow burn, gradual romance, neighbors to lovers, friends to lovers

Word/part count: tbd!

Requested: by a lovely anon!

Chapters now available!

Start here ➡️ ONE

[open me for the prologue]

The tabby cat yawned, stretching out it’s little white paws in front of itself. You would have thought that the poor little lost thing would have been much more panicked, but this cat was rather the opposite. It’s golden-brown eyes dilated while it studied you.

“What am I going to do with you...” The cat’s fur was cloud-like between your fingers. “Clearly someone takes care of you...you’re not gonna tell me who?”

The cat stared at you blankly and unamused.

“Of course you can’t...you’re a cat...what am I saying.”

The cat rubbed it’s orange cheek into the side of your hand, a thankful little sign of trust.

“Nothing scares you, huh?”

As if saying, yes, the cat’s scratchy tongue licked at it’s chops.

“Hungry? I’ve got just the thing for you.”

The aged wood flooring of your duplex groaned under your feet while you patted your way to your kitchen. The tiny modest place flooded with the late-morning light. Streams of light brushed past the windows lined with your garden’s menagerie of budding flowers. In her usual spot on the windowsill was your calico, Bomi. Her sleeping green eyes peeked at you lazily when you entered.

“You’re not gonna say hi to our new friend, Bo?”

Temperamental as always, Bomi chose when she wanted to recognize your voice.

“Hope you don’t mind that I’m borrowing some of your food for then.” You scooped out some of Bomi’s kibble--a sound which made her twitch her ears. “I’ll leave you to your nap, princess Bomi.”

Even flattery didn’t phase that cat.

Once you had returned, the tabby had jumped up onto the edge of a chair overlooking your front lawn. The cat was unmoving and sphinx-like as it watched the cars roll past.

“Here’s some food. If you want it.”

The cat twisted it’s head back as if to say thank you.

“You’re alright, Cat. Maybe I should keep ya!” You scratched behind it’s ears eliciting little purrs. “No...I shouldn’t do that. Someone’s probably looking for you right now.”

Across the room, your TV hummed with the cooking show you had been watching before your walk.

“Well...I’ll leave you to it then. I’ll just be...over there.”

You slid back onto your couch, cuddling yourself up as tightly as you could into one of the sides. It was no wonder that you adored cats as much as you did when you were so similar to them. On your most peaceful days, there was nothing more that you enjoyed than reading or writing out in your garden, soaking up the sun, or your quiet nights with open windows, cicadas singing and fireflies dancing to their tune while you would wash your dishes.

Never had you thought that talking to Bomi was strange. She was your only companion, even if she would begrudgingly accept your love. You couldn’t picture your quiet little life without her.

The tabby loafed it’s body on the upholstery and you laid yourself down too. The constant droning of the chef on TV was the perfect lullaby to your sleepy eyes...

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

Ding dong!

“Hello?” His muffled voice seeped through your front door.

You shot awake from your couch with a startled gasp, your socks had twisted themselves all around your feet making them look like little elf booties. Undoubtedly your hair had resembled a bird’s nest.

The tabby stared at you with wide eyes and chirped as you approached the door. For a couple moments you fumbled with the obscene amount of keychains on your keys--many of them cat themed.

“Can-can I help you?” You tried your best to rub the nap out of your eyes and patted down the knots in your hair.

“Oh. Ahem Hi, I’m-uh, I live a couple houses down, I wanted to see if you had seen a cat around, maybe in your yard, it’s a tabby, they’ve got some white on their belly and their face...”

There were other words that had escaped out of his mouth, but those easily slipped past you. What was startling was how he was really...pretty. You had never really seen someone quite like him that made you feel as such. There was something about him too that seemed a little cat-like: perhaps it was his chocolate eyes, or bouncy coca-colored hair. He wore silver wire glasses that framed his face perfectly. There was a cardigan draped around his elegant figure, and it pooled at his hands into little paws.

“...have you seen them? I’m sorry to bother you.” He pushed his glasses up his nose bridge.

“Oh! Sorry, yeah, I’ve--”

The tabby yowled out, suddenly and proudly making its presence known.

“Doongie!” The boy gasped out, and promptly scooped the cat up while it’s legs dangled. “Thank you so, so much.”

“It’s no worry at all, I have a cat of my own, so it was no issue. I gave them some of my cat’s food as well.”

“Oh really?” His smile was just as pleasant and calming as you could have expected. “What kind? And thank you.”

“Calico. I think that she hates me most days but what would I do without her, you know?”

“Ahhh. That’s the life of a cat owner.”

You chuckled out a bit. “Hm. Yeah, it is.”

His face lit with realization. “Sorry! I didn’t introduce myself, I’m all over the place—I’m Minho. Lee Minho, from 2503.”

“I don’t think that I’ve seen you around this neighborhood before?” You leaned into the doorframe. “Then again...I don’t get out of my house all that much...” You laughed aloud a little at yourself.

“Me either,” He joined you. “Actually, I just moved back in with my mom, one thing after the other happens and living in the city doesn’t stack up too well...commuting is what works best for me now.”

“Oh, I’m sorry...”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind. It’s a lot nicer than I realized coming back home after being away for so long. She helps me with my cats as well. I have three.”

“Three?!”

He warmly laughed. “It’s kind of a lot isn’t it? For one person?”

“No, no! If I could have more cats I would, but...the one I’ve got already is a bit of a handful sometimes.”

“Maybe you could meet them one day...if you’d like?”

Minho’s cat Doongie had settled into his arms cozily, tail swinging and a paw slung over his arm.

“...Sure! But, I-I don’t want to impose--”

“--Please, my mother would love for me to invite someone over. She already thinks I’m a recluse.”

You cracked out a hard “HA” and Minho’s face flushed as pink as the petals from your yard’s cherry blossom tree.

“Oh! Sorry, sorry, I’m not laughing at you, it’s just that my mother thinks the exact same about me.”

Minho nervously joined in your laughter. “Good to know I’m not alone.”

Between both of you and the door frame, an awkward silence pervaded the air.

“I-uh, should get going...but--you didn’t tell me your name?” Minho swayed his cat gently in his arms.

“It’s Y/n.”

“Ah...Y/n. I’ll...be seeing you around then?”

“See you around.” You smiled to him as he clumsily attempted to walk backwards off your front porch.

You closed the door after him, facing the tiny mirror nearby. You looked an utter mess, baggy eyes and hair looking as if it had survived a windstorm. You couldn’t help but laugh a bit at yourself.

meow?

Bomi had sauntered up to you, then twisted between your legs.

“Sorry Bo, guess we don’t get to keep the cat.”

Bomi licked at the hair on her leg, going right back to ignoring you.

“I...wouldn’t mind seeing them again.”

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puppyexpressions · 3 years

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8 Tips for Managing Fall Dog Allergies

Just like their owners, dogs can show allergic symptoms when their immune systems begin to recognize certain everyday substances and allergens as dangerous. Fall dog allergies become problematic when your dog inhales or ingests allergens, or even when they come in contact with your dog’s skin. As a dog’s body tries to rid itself of these substances, a variety of skin, digestive, and respiratory symptoms can appear, which is why you should know what signs to look for in your dog.

Although fall does not have all the blooms and new growths that bother many, such as pollen and grass, it does have dying plants, wind, moisture, and chillier temperatures that can stir up irritants. The fall also brings mold, which has the ability to negatively affect your pet whether he or she is allergic or not. Fall dog allergies stink, trust us we know.

However, some veterinarians say that seasonal allergies are not limited to springtime, and that pets with fall symptoms are often allergic to weeds that pollinate in the fall, especially ragweed. Other weeds that are known to cause allergic reactions in the fall include sagebrush, Russian thistle, plantain, cocklebur, and lamb’s-quarters.

Common signs of fall dog allergies can include:

Nasal and eye discharge

Puffy red eyes

Ear infections

Pruritus (itching/scratching, licking/chewing at body parts)

Fur loss or color change (tears and saliva contain porphyrins, which stain light colored fur pink to brown)

Itchy, red, moist or scabbed skin

Itchy, runny eyes

Diarrhea

Sneezing

Coughing

Vomiting

What do I do if I think my dog has allergies?

You should visit your veterinarian, who will then take a complete history and conduct a physical examination, and hopefully then be able to determine the source of your dog’s allergic reaction. If this isn’t the case, your vet will likely recommend skin or blood tests, or a special elimination diet to get to the root of the problem.

What are some common fall dog allergies we see?

There aren’t really any specific “fall” allergies, but there are some that tend to surface with seasonal changes. Below are a few general ones that are good to be aware of.

Trees, grass, and pollens

Mold spores

Dander

Feathers

Fleas and flea-control products

Rubber and plastic materials

Fabrics

Immune systems for most canines will adapt to the seasonal changes we experience. However, with animals that aren’t quite able to self-adjust, we as pet owners sometimes need to step in and intervene with eye/ear drops, oral or injectable medications, nutraceuticals, baths, conditioning rinses, and more.

There are a ton of factors that can play a part in affecting your dog’s immune system health, likely making the management of his or her allergies complicated. Allergens will cling to your canine’s coat. Rover is outside sniffing around, breathing in and walking through potential allergens all the time. Also, dogs are only able to sweat through the pads of their feet and the tip of their nose, so they become like wet ‘Swiffer’ pads during allergy season. They’re collecting billions of allergens on and in their bodies throughout the warm months of the year.

8 Tips for Managing Fall Dog Allergies:

The first step is a veterinary evaluation to ensure your pet doesn’t have a secondary bacterial infection that requires antibiotics.

Bathe your dog after camping, hiking, etc. If your pet has irritated skin, bathing will rinse the allergens away and make your canine feel better immediately. Don’t be shy about how often you bathe your pet, especially if he or she is suffering from allergies that itch and irritate her skin. Discuss with your veterinarian what prescription shampoos are best, as frequent bathing with the wrong product can dry out skin.

Foot soaks after outdoor adventures are also a great way to reduce the amount of allergens your pet tracks into the house and spreads all over his or her indoor environment.

Use topical and/or oral anti-parasite (flea, tick, etc.) treatments per the guidance of your veterinarian.

Use an over-the-counter eye irrigating solution to rinse your pet’s eyes on an as needed basis.

Vacuum all carpeting and upholstery and wash all pet and human bedding at least once every seven days.

Start a flea control program for all of your pets before the season starts. Remember, outdoor pets can carry fleas inside to indoor pets. See your veterinarian for advice about the best flea control products for your dog and the environment.

Provide a moist, freshly prepared, whole food-based diet having human-grade protein, vegetables, fruits, fat, and fiber. Avoid ingredients that are lacking in protein and grain “meals and by-products,” artificial colors and flavors, moistening agents (propylene glycol, carrageenan, etc.), sugar, rendered fat, and other feed-grade components (as typically go into commercially available dog and cat foods).

#dog allergies #fall dog allergies #dog health

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blackestnight · 4 years

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out of the bag

aymeric has a cat. hanami also has a cat, sort of. she plays the long con.

warning: ridiculous.

prompts: getting a pet/playing pranks.

On one of the first occasions that Aymeric had invited Hanami to spend the evening with him in the Manor--she had rolled her eyes at the notion of courtship, but at least allowed him to treat her to drinks and dinner, to long evenings spent creeping ever closer on the loveseat until she was curled in his lap--he had rounded the doorway into the sitting room, a fresh bottle and a pack of playing cards in hand, to find Hanami standing before the loveseat, staring down at it with her arms crossed.

“Is aught amiss?” he’d asked, pausing in the entry. Nothing seemed to be out of place: the fire was crackling, the lamps were flickering, and the furniture was not tipped over or visibly damaged, or otherwise giving indication of what was prompting Hanami to stare at it like it had just presented her with a riddle.

“No,” she’d said, sounding--amused, actually, as though she was trying not to laugh, he remembered being pleasantly surprised by that. She had given a slow shake of her head in assurance, and her hair (still brilliant pink, at the time) had swung over her shoulder to settle bright against the black of her shirt. “But my seat is full.”

Only when he’d rounded the back of the chair had Aymeric been able to see the obstacle in question: Mandragora, curled up in a puff of white-and-gray fur, baleful yellow eyes holding steady as she glared in challenge, bottle-brush tail draped over her nose. She was settled squarely in the center of the leftmost cushion, and looked less like a lounging cat and more like a grizzled knight who had dug her way into a trench. Move me if you dare, mortal, her gaze seemed to say.

“Ah,” Aymeric said, and set his burden carefully down on the side table. “I see. Madame Hagane, may I introduce you to the head of the house, the Lady Mandragora de Borel.” He bowed slightly at the waist to present his knuckles to the cat, who sniffed delicately for a moment and then gave an imperious sneeze upon realizing he brought no further offerings. “The lady has been kind enough to grant me stewardship here while she attends to matters of greater importance, such as scouting for sunbeams to nap in.”

“Mandragora,” Hanami repeated flatly, while the cat in question gave Aymeric a suspicious glare and dug her claws into the upholstery. “You named your cat Mandragora.”

“You may thank my lady mother for that,” he’d said, unable to hide the wry twist to his mouth as he tugged his cuff slightly lower to cover the inside of his wrist. “Though she is quite aptly named. One moment.”

And, with speed born of long experience, Aymeric wedged his hands between cat and cushion, cupping her rear and her spine as he lifted her from the seat amidst a calamitous cacophony of yowling. Mandragora latched her claws into the fabric of his sleeves, wrapping her diminutive legs around his forearm as he removed her to the settee nearer the fire. His mother, on one of the only occasions that he had ever heard her speak ill of her favorite four-legged child, had likened Mandragora’s screeching to an infant with the gravel of a life-long chain smoker, and Aymeric almost winced as he set down the angry cat. Fury, she was loud, and she twisted out of his hands to land feet-first on the settee, giving one last screech of anger as she leaped down to the floor and dashed out of the room.

“Little fusspot,” Aymeric muttered, flexing his wrist briefly; at least Mandragora hadn’t broken skin. “My apologies, by the way. She has the run of the house but she tends to stay upstairs when someone unfamiliar is here. Did she hurt you at all?”

“No.” Hanami shook her head, already sitting in the vacated loveseat and toeing her shoes off. Aymeric smiled as he retrieved the wine and the cards; he’d only just learned of her habit of pulling her feet up when she sat, and she was cute with her knees drawn up to her chest, even if he didn’t dare say so to her face. “I know better than to get in range of a territorial animal. I have a cat, too.” She tucked her heels up, moving to press against the arm of the loveseat, and said, “How do we play this game?”

Aymeric had raised a curious eyebrow; he filed the tidbit of information away as he sat at the opposite end, leaving ample space on the cushions between them, and began to shuffle the deck for a game of Écarté.

Hanami was surprisingly reluctant to talk about her cat.

In Aymeric’s experience, fellow pet owners were usually willing to discuss breeds and origins, if not eager to offer anecdotes; Hilda often took time out of her visits to the Congregation to regale him with stories of her little mutt’s attempts to befriend Lucia’s dignified Greyhound. Hanami, though, had only shrugged when he had asked; she wasn’t sure of the cat’s breed, apparently, having freed it from an animal trafficking ring as a kitten. She had told that story easily enough--apparently having tripped over the smugglers’ den while chasing down a hunt mark in Thanalan, she had broken open the crates and left the smugglers unconscious in the largest cage for the Immortal Flames to deal with. The kitten had wailed piteously when she had tried to hand it off to the Flame officer charged with re-homing the animals, so she had decided it was easier to keep it.

“Her name is Katsu,” she finally admitted, when Aymeric pressed for more information.

“You,” he had said, laughing, “named your cat cats.”

“Katsu,” she had corrected, with an irritated flick of her tail. “It is a Doman word for a cut of meat. She was so small that she could fit in a dinner bowl.” And, with a sigh and a forlorn look, she’d added, “It was supposed to be a joke. By the time I realized that it was a pun she would not answer to anything else.”

From nearly a year’s worth of questions, peppered over dozens of visits, Aymeric managed to learn very little: Katsu had black fur, which was the extent of Hanami’s knowledge of her pedigree; she was too energetic to stay indoors, so Hanami left her with an acquaintance in La Noscea who had plenty of land for the cat to roam; and she disliked both travel and cold weather, which led Hanami to shoot down the idle suggestion that Aymeric had made of bringing her to meet Mandragora.

Hanami tended to get a strange, pinched look at the corners of her mouth when Aymeric brought up her pet; he wasn’t sure what about his questions could possibly upset her, but she began to answer all of his queries with silent shakes of her head, and eventually he dropped the subject altogether.

Strangely, Hanami was the next one to bring up the matter of the cat.

He’d travelled to Limsa Lominsa for a tour of the Maelstrom’s forges, where the Admiral had shown him a number of artillery pieces that were being developed to line the barricade that held the Sahagin at bay in Halfstone. After the tour Hanami had caught him at the bottom of the winding staircase that led down from the Aftcastle, falling into step at his elbow as he wandered in the direction of the food stalls of Hawkers’ Alley.

“Since you are here,” she said, interrupting his consideration of a display of fish pastries, “would you like to go meet Katsu?”

“Would I--? Yes, of course,” he said, stumbling over the non sequitur. “It was my impression that she lodges outside of the city, though.” Not that he had much on his itinerary for the rest of the day, but he was expected to join the Maelstrom’s First Commander for cannon drills in the morning.

“Yes, but if we catch the next ferry it will not take long to get there,” Hanami said, and then gave a condescending pat on his bicep. “I promise you will be back before Merlwyb yells at you about curfew.”

The ferry in question had taken them to Costa del Sol, though Hanami assured him that it was not their ultimate destination--instead they walked inland, following the road north with the occasional detour to avoid a roaming aurochs. Eventually they arrived at another, much smaller dock, and Hanami paid for their passage while the Lalafellin skipper ushered Aymeric aboard with a lazy wave.

They sailed downriver, and as they traveled the vegetation grew more and more dense, a jungle springing up before Aymeric’s eyes. Just beyond the shoreline, Aymeric could make out the shadows of roaming wildlife, most of which he didn’t recognize immediately but all of which looked large enough to tower over him. “You said this cat lives outside?” he asked, incredulous.

“Mm-hmm.” Hanami looked away; the pinch returned to her mouth. “Katsu can take care of herself.”

Aymeric stared. He was familiar with the idea of farm cats, roaming free and hunting field mice, but this was just absurd. Hadn’t Hanami said that Katsu was unusually small?

They disembarked at a small, sheltered dock, crowded with crates and barrels that the skipper began to load up. “From Wineport,” Hanami said, tugging Aymeric up a set of stairs and out of the way of the workers. “Going back to Costa del Sol, and then the city, probably. This way.”

She led him to a squat little shed barely a stone’s throw from the dock, which butted up against the dense jungle at its back and the river to the east. There was a hyur man sitting on the steps leading to the door, sharpening a knife with a bored expression that brightened somewhat when he caught sight of Hanami. “Little cousin,” he said, and stood to offer a shallow, stiff-backed bow. “And the Lord Commander as well. Have you brought news from Limsa Lominsa?”

Aymeric startled a bit at the mention of his own title; he wasn’t dressed in his ceremonial armor, and hadn’t thought himself to be that recognizable without it. Hanami returned the bow, her mahogany hair swinging over her shoulder and catching on the back of her horn.

“Hello, Byakubu,” she said. “No news today. I came to visit Katsu.”

“Ah,” the man said, and leaned back against the door. “You are in luck, then. Oboro saw her in the area a few days ago. I doubt she has wandered too far.”

“Thank you,” Hanami said, and tugged on Aymeric’s hand to lead him around the side of the building. He managed to nod to the man--Byakubu--who returned the gesture, and then to his whetstone.

“Cousin?” he murmured, when they were safely out of earshot. He could recognize a Doman accent when he heard it, but somehow he doubted that Hanami was any blood relation to the rather stocky hyur.

Hanami shrugged. “He knows my mother. He traveled here with Yugiri, but he and some others have found good work and chose not to return to Doma just yet.”

She guided him around the trunk of a massive tree, into the shade, then brought her fingers to her mouth and whistled, short and loud. “Katsu!” she yelled.

The whistle echoed away into the trees, and Aymeric glanced along the jungle floor. There were tracks from something very large, layered over each other like the animal had been pacing. “Hanami,” he said, wary.

“Shush,” she said. The mouth-pinch was back in full force. “She is coming. See?”

Aymeric squinted into the jungle, first at the floor and then higher, as a shadow resolved itself, loping their way with the low grace of a predator. A very large shadow.

He had only ever seen illustrations of coeurls, and the odd fang or pelt being hawked by traders in the Crozier. Certainly he had never seen a pitch black coeurl, but that was certainly what the beast resembled, inky as a starless night with a brilliant slash of fangs and two lamp-yellow spots for eyes. He took a step back, wondering if it would be more wise to draw his sword or run and hope the guard from the dock would come to their aid, when Hanami stepped forward and allowed the beast to ram her in the chest.

“Hello, Katsu,” she said, and Aymeric choked.

“Hanami,” he said, voice strained, but he thought he should be forgiven for losing his composure somewhat because--”That is not a cat.”

“Yes she is,” Hanami insisted, and ran one hand over the coeurl’s head, glancing over her shoulder with a ridiculously straight face. “Does she not look like a cat?”

The corner of her mouth twitched.

Aymeric blinked, and thought back.

“You knave,” he said, “you did this on purpose,” and Hanami burst into muffled, nasally laughter.

“Your face,” she said, and stumbled backward as the coeurl butted her again, sinking down onto the ground while the massive cat collapsed onto its flank and dropped its head in her lap. “Aymeric, come here, you look like you are going to jump out of your skin.”

“You said she fit in a dinner bowl,” he sputtered, obediently taking a tentative step forward. The coeurl rolled one massive, luminous eye toward him, but held still at a touch from Hanami.

“When she was a kitten, yes, she did,” Hanami said. She ran her fingers along the beast’s cheek and it twitched its whiskers. “She had hardly been fed; the smugglers who caught her had been trying to give her milk but she would not drink it. I had no idea she would grow up to be this big.”

She certainly looked well-fed now, and no wonder, Aymeric thought; she could probably eat like a king by hunting down the beastkin that the Maelstrom chased away from the roads. “Good gods,” he muttered, because if there was a situation that merited invoking all the Twelve this was probably it, and made his cautious approach. “You could have said something.”

“I do not think there is a good way to tell people that I have a kitten who grew up into a panther,” she said, and reached out to take Aymeric’s hand. “And it is not like I keep her secret. She guards the storehouse here, and goes hunting with me sometimes.” She turned his hand over, knuckles out, and nudged the coeurl--the panther--Katsu. “Say hello,” she ordered, though he wasn’t entirely sure whether she was talking to him or the panther anymore.

Aymeric took a fortifying breath, still shaky from the leftover adrenaline, and summoned what composure he could muster. “Hello, Katsu,” he said. “It’s an honor to make your acquaintance.”

Katsu gave a slow blink, and tilted her nose up; even from several ilms away he felt the whoosh of air over his skin as she scented him. She blinked again, made a garbled sort of grumbling noise, and dropped her head back into Hanami’s lap.

“She likes you,” Hanami said, smiling, and Aymeric offered a fervent prayer of thanks. First, that Katsu did not seem half as temperamental as his own Mandragora, which he surely owed to the grace of at least one of the gods; second, that Katsu was an outdoor animal, because he doubted there was a force in the world that would convince him to chivvy her off of a loveseat, even upon pain of death.

#wondrous tails 2020 #final fantasy xiv #aymeric de borel #ffxiv #oc: hanami hagane #s: a minor justice #dedicated to my own cat. she curled up in my lap earlier and got the hiccups and i almost cried.#writing - mine

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fern-writes-stuff · 3 years

Text

7/2000

in childhood, there were two cats.

taz and tasha;

the former a clingy cuddler,

the latter a grumpy anti-social introvert.

(a certain kid’s personality may have been based off of a pair of cats they knew)

to be honest, they’re just the barest of memories in the soup of foggy memories that is childhood.

the first six years of life, spent with two beings

and the faintest of memories to say of it.

tasha passed on eventually

taz followed swiftly

and max came jumping into the kid’s life.

parents weren’t very happy when they discovered he was a destructive being-

too much fire built up in his spirit to stay in one place at once-

and when he went running off he left jagged scratches on the upholstery and scars on the chair legs.

he was returned to the shelter,

too much chaos for the parents to handle,

and the child learned to not show their inner anarchist.

they didn’t know what shelter they might be going back to.

in came lucy,

the final kitten of the bunch.

grumpy just as tasha was,

with an added touch of skittishness in the early days,

and the kid loved her deeply.

still does,

alongside an excitable puppy named sandy that swiftly outgrew the kid themself.

these last two have seen the kid go from child to young adult,

from happy and innocent to what seems to be an endless supply of tears,

from a lover to a self-preserver,

from an optimist to a hopeless mess in the blink of an eye.

they’ve seen the kid fall from the hills they once rolled down while laughing,

the cold from all the ice cream cones sloppily consumed solidifying to form a barrier around their soul.

lucy, who the kid used to cradle in their arms, is now an older cat;

less grumpy, more cuddly

no longer hiding from the dog, but intimidating her

the true queen of the household.

sandy, who used to wind her way in circles around the kid’s ankles, is now what could be defined as a big massive smiley baby,

still excitable, jumping at the sound of the garage door and barking at past-teachers-turned-neighbors

a momma’s girl through and through

one who likes to ignore the kid’s calls.

the three live as siblings,

irritating each other frequently, yes,

but taking care of each other all the same.

the kid is there when the cat needs a little extra help getting up onto things because of her arthritis,

and they’re when the dog needs a foot behind her paws when she’s halfway into the lap of the mom and the floor’s too slippery for standing still.

and the cat and the dog are there to curl up against them when the kid’s upset ,

letting their fur soak up the tears.

-- day 7, 1/14/2021 poem 7 of 2000 prompt 118 “do you have a pet, if so what kind?”

wowza, that was v long! definitely not something like i was expecting to write tonight, but i’m proud of it. unfortunately i need to go write up the research proposal i’ve been putting off for the past week and a half, so until tomorrow, gn :)

also!! friendly reminder to drink some water!! maybe eat something if you haven’t recently!!

#poetry #poem #writeblr #poemblr #nostalgia #childhood innocence #childhood pets #memories

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jmeelee · 5 years

Text

The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Stiles and Derek’s Cat

Sterek Week 2019 • Mystery

Rating: T (for swearing and lite innuendo)

Word Count: 2.1 K

***********

Derek flips on his blinker, and the taxi driver riding his ass swerves around the Camaro, rolling down a window and shouting something indecipherable while Derek pulls into the fire lane in front of the airport. His sister walks through the automatic doors as he climbs out and pops the trunk, a parting blast of air conditioning blowing her dark shoulder-length hair around her head like a demonic halo. She’s dressed in an old band t-shirt with a black blazer layered over top, and ripped skinny jeans, one hand gripping the handle of her rolling luggage, the other pressing a ratty book to her chest.

“It seems stupid for a werewolf to be superstitious,” Cora greets, handing Derek the leather-bound album, “but I didn’t want to take the chance of it getting lost in the mail.”

He pulls her close in a one-armed hug; Cora was never the overly affectionate type, but distance and pseudo-death make the heart grow fonder. “I appreciate you lugging it all this way. Stiles has been asking me a lot of family questions since he started emissary training, and I wanted to put some faces to the names he’s been hearing.” Pictures that aren't attached to obituaries, he silently adds.

She tosses her suitcase into the trunk, dusty wheels leaving a streak of dirt across the upholstery, and slams it closed, climbing in through the passenger door Derek holds open. “Alpha Varela had a decent amount, and Alpha Ogden gave me a half-dozen,” she supplies as he slides behind the wheel and pulls out into traffic, “but they only fill up a quarter of the pages. It’s pretty pathetic.”

She reaches out a hand, lovingly runs fingers over the brown cover embossed with a triskelion.

“It is,” Derek concedes, “but it’s better than nothing.” His fingers itch to flip through the meager pages immediately, pour over the pictures like Cora’s been able to do, and bring his long-dead family back to life, but it will have to wait through rush hour traffic and a trip to the pet store. They’re out of cat food, and Agnes Nutter—the stray orange tabby Stiles fell in love with when he started spending so much time with Deaton at the vet clinic, and proceeded to drag home��has been known to take claws to the curtains, leather couches and freshly painted walls when dinner isn’t served on time.

“We’re back!” Derek calls through the front door an hour later, pulling his key out of the lock.

Cora drops two five-pound bags of dry food to the entry-way floor. “How much does this damn cat eat?” She laughs. Derek shrugs, wet food cans clanking in the bags hanging from his hands. The album is tucked securely under his armpit.

“I’m in the family room!” Comes Stiles’ disembodied voice. Derek detours to the kitchen to stock the cat food in the walk-in pantry and Cora heads to the back of the house to greet her brother-in-law. He’s only moments behind her, but when he finally rounds the corner into the family room, his little sister’s face is shifted, snarls twisting out of her throat through elongated teeth, and Stiles is sitting on the couch, eyes wide, laptop in one hand and the other raised, palm out, sparks sizzling along his fingertips. Acrid ozone spikes the air.

“What. The. Hell.”

“I don’t know, dude!” Stiles’ voice trills and Derek doesn’t have the time to admonish his husband for calling him dude. “She rolled in here and didn’t even say hello! Just went all grrrr-” his nose does the scrunchy little thing Derek secretly loves, top teeth bared like an adorably angry hamster- “and scared the shit out of me.”

“It’s that...thing,” Cora rasps, pointing a claw-tipped finger at Agnes Nutter, calmly lording over the room from Stiles’ blanketed lap, like a ginger queen on a throne.

Stiles drops his laptop to the couch cushion, wrapping his now free arm around Agnes, who’s yellow eyes squint in annoyance at the vigorous display of affectionate protection. “What’s your problem with my cat? Does the lupine-feline rivalry actually run that deep?”

“Really, Stiles? Dog jokes? Now?” Derek rubs at a tension headache brewing over his left eyebrow.

“Stiles,” Cora commands through sharp white teeth, “get away from it. It’s a demon.”

Agnes answers the accusation with a charming little “meow,” and rubs a paw over her docked left ear.

“Put your teeth away. She’s my pet!” Stiles shrieks.

“Derek. Get the photo album,” Cora orders.

Derek glances back toward the kitchen. He can see the book sitting on the granite countertop, but is loathe to leave the room. “Is this really the best time for a Hale family history lesson?”

“You bet your hairy ass it is. Go get those pictures. Now.”

Derek’s never been more grateful for supernatural speed. “Here.” He hands the album to his sister, who flips open to the second page, turns the book around and hands it back to him.

At first, Derek’s baffled. What do his unearthed family photos have to do with a c—

An orange and white striped cat that’s sitting on his grandmother’s lap, when she was roughly thirty years old. A cat that twists around his mother’s ankles as she stands on tip-toe to kiss his father on the cheek, while toddler Laura plays in the background. A cat that lingers behind his great-grandfather as he cuts the ribbon at the dedication ceremony for the Beacon Hills preserve. The last photo is in black and white, but this cat, like the others, has a docked left ear.

“Stiles…” Derek looks up at his husband. Agnes stares at him with slanted eyes. He does the math in his head. At least fifty years…

Stiles groans, head lolling on the back of the couch. “Don’t tell me she’s a Flerkin. I knew I should have named her Goose.”

“Not a Flerkin,” Cora says. “But definitely something.”

Agnes jumps off Stiles’ lap and calmly pads over to her empty food dish, flops down next to it, and lets out a loud, piercing howl.

“Get the cat carrier,” Derek says. “We’re going to Deaton’s.”

———-

“Why did you let me adopt a time-traveling cat?!”

Deaton, as usual, says nothing in face of Stiles’ hysterics. Agnes dangles from Stiles’ outstretched arms, held at a forty-five-degree angle like a domesticated lion king. She blinks, whiskers twitching. Derek feels her pain; the overlapping scents of animal, iodine and industrial-grade disinfectant makes him want to hurl.

“I was surprised you even got a cat,” Scott chimes in from the waiting room chair. Having a pet who turns out to be old enough to collect social security merits calling your alpha right away. “I didn’t think you liked them. Remember my old Maine Coon, Louis? You used to pelt him in the ass with spitballs.”

Everyone’s mouths drop collectively, and Stiles reels Agnes back to his chest, hiding part of his blushing cheek in her soft orange fur. “I was seven, Scott! And in my defense, Louis used to bite my toes through my sleeping bag.”

“Well, thank goodness it was in retaliation,” Derek deadpans. “I wouldn’t want to be married to an animal abuser.”

A war plays out on Stiles’ flushed face; narrowed eyes shooting daggers at Derek, while the corner of his generous mouth cocks up. “I didn’t hear any complaints from you the other night.”

“Gross,” Cora bemoans. “Get a room.”

“Already did.” Tucking Agnes under his arm like a football, Stiles holds up his free hand and wiggles his fingers, white-gold wedding band flashing under the fluorescent lights. “Made it legal and everything.”

“Did you bring the photos?” Deaton inquires, enigmatic face as placid as the surface of the little pond in the preserve. Cora hands them over, and everyone watches Deaton slowly flip through the pages, eyes skimming over each picture. “Hum,” he says, laying the album on top of the reception desk, open to the picture of Derek’s parents with Agnes at their feet.

“Hum? That’s all you have to say?” Stiles scoffs.

“I’m surprised at you, Stiles,” Deaton says softly, crossing arms over his lab coat. “I thought you knew what Agnes was when you took her home.”

“Obviously not,” Stiles grumbles. “I’m supposed to be learning from you, aren’t I? One would assume the teacher would tell the student if the class pet was an immortal demon waiting to eat their face off when they fell asleep.”

Derek feels a hysterical giggle crawl up his throat and clamps his lips closed.

Deaton spins the album around to face the waiting room, and Scott extricates his butt from the chair to creep closer. Deaton taps the top right corner of the Hale’s photograph. “I took this picture in nineteen-eighty-eight. Derek,” he says, glancing up into his face, “your parents had just gotten the news they were pregnant with you.”

The giggle threatens to turn into a sob.

“Talia and Sebation celebrated their good fortune with a pack dinner. As you well know-” Deaton turns toward Scott- “emissaries are invited to important pack events.” He turns back to the room at large. “I came that evening, and Agnes, as you are fond of calling her, came with me.” He flips to the picture of Derek’s great-grandfather. “Emissaries protect their alpha’s, so I assume the former Hale pack emissary was somewhere in the crowd during this ceremony.” Deaton blinks, letting the pregnant pause come to full gestation. “Familiars tend to follow witches wherever they go.”

“So…” Cora trails off, tilting her head to the side and pursing her lips while she studies Agnes. “She’s a familiar? Familiars are demons, right?”

“Fantastic,” Stiles sighs, shoulders slumping. “We all know my track record with demons.” His face is carefully blank, except for the bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“No concrete evidence exists to say familiars are demons,” Deaton lectures. “In fact, that tends to be an antiquated belief held over from the witch trials. Some believe they are fae, or goblins, sent to assist fledgling witches in the practice of magic. Others believe they’re guardian angels.”

“Ha!” Stiles crows, sticking his tongue out at Cora. “She’s not a demon after all. She’s an angel. Take that!”

“Hey!” Scott helpfully adds. “You could change her name to Aziraphale!” Stiles looks like he’s considering it.

“I’m not trying to rain on the parade,” Derek cuts in, ignoring Stiles’ mumbled Sourwolf, “but you’re saying Agnes is here to help Stiles? She mostly just eats, craps, coughs up hairballs in my shoes and knocks shit off the counters. Like that time she broke the vial of ground-up Mucuna pruriens, and we all broke out in that horrible rash.” Derek’s butt itches just thinking about it.

Scott snaps his fingers, goofy smile stretching across his face. “Yeah! And then Stiles used it to make those smoke bombs we attacked the hunter’s compound with the following month. It’s like she knew exactly what he needed to use.”

Everyone stares at Agnes, baffled and impressed.

“Legends say familiars most often take small animal forms,” Deaton continues, “but some are human-like, or can shape-shift. One was a horse.”

“No,” Derek says to both his husband and Agnes, on the off chance any ideas are forming in their heads. “No horses in the house. We don’t have the room.”

“So, you’ve told us what legends say, and what other people think about familiars.” Stiles bounces on his toes, jostling Agnes. She yowls, and he plops her onto the reception desk next to her portraits. “You’ve been an emissary for years. What do you believe?”

Deaton inhales deeply through his nose, exhales through his mouth. “I believe they’re an extension of our souls.”

Stiles smiles, scritching Agnes behind her mangled ear. “You’re the Pantalaimon to my Lyra. The Salem to my Sabrina. The—” Agnes hoists one leg straight into the air and starts licking her butt.

“Yup.” Cora smirks. “That makes total sense.”

“In conclusion, Stiles, your pet is not a demon who’s waiting to eat your face off. Now, can I please go home for the evening?”

It takes half a bag of treats to coax Agnes back into the cat carrier, and Deaton locks the doors to the clinic on their way out.

“I thought she was a stray,” Stiles says as they all head out into the moonlit night, voice a little wobbly. “I didn’t realize she was... Do you want her back?”

Deaton’s smile is as mystifying as ever. “She’s yours now, Stiles.”

Derek notes that, unsurprisingly, Deaton didn’t actually answer the question.

“One more thing,” Derek says, loading Agnes into the backseat of the Camaro. He’s strangely curious, even though he’s heard what curiosity did to the proverbial cat. “If she was yours for years, you must have given her a name. What was it?” Even arcane Dr. Deaton must be human enough to name his cat. Right?

“Some things,” Deaton answers before he slams his car door, “will have to remain a mystery.”

#sterekweek2019 #sterekmystery #eternalsterek #sterek #haleinski #my fic #sterek fic

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smallgodseries · 3 years

Photo

[image description: A slim grey cat sits on the black marble border and speaks condescending to you from over her magenta cone of shame, “Why, yes - it’s exactly what I been yearning for. Wherever did you find such a bespoke marvel? And in Magenta? Extraordinary. You really are much too much, you know. Too much.” Text reads, “76, MISS PURRFECT ~ SMALL GOD OF ANIMAL SARCASM"]

Last week you met the Small God of Animal Magnetism, now meet the Small God of Animal Sarcasm. -

If you’ve met a cat, you’ve met her. They are her creatures if not her creations, and she moves through them. It’s no mystery that she appears in their form when she deigns to appear at all; it’s more of a mystery that she doesn’t appear more frequently, popping into being long enough to throw up in the shoes of all who displease her, shred their upholstery, and get white fur on all their black clothes.

Although any goth can tell you, she does that more often than you’d think.

Miss Purrfect can do no wrong in either her own eyes or the eyes of her beloved feline faithful. She is a rare god in that she doesn’t care whether or not humans believe in her; our belief is inconsequential when compared to the eternal worship of her smug, sincere, sarcastic felines.

Honestly, we should all be so lucky.

.................

Join Lee Moyer (Icon) and Seanan McGuire (Story) Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for a guide to the many small deities who manage our modern world: Tumblr:

https://smallgodseries.tumblr.com

Twitter:

https://twitter.com/smallgodseries

Instagram:

https://instagram.com/smallgodseries/

Homepage:

http://smallgodseries.com

#Cat #Sarcasm #cone of shame #Miss Purrfect #AnimalSarcasm

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katsukikitten · 5 years

Text

Princess 3

Reluctantly you follow the Ash blonde. He could prove useful what with his dragon and quick reflexes. He must also have a use for you.

Considering he's already saved you once.

You follow through a sandy field lush with small grass, that grows thicker the more you walk.

You can still hear the ocean's call, the smell of salt air, your body tingles from the amount of moisture in the air.

You could be even more deadly here. A cat smile forms on your lips only to be replaced by a wince.

Blood red eyes flicker to you, stopping to allow you to catch up, a muscled arm slips around your waist.

"I can walk!" You protest but he hushs you with a hiss.

"I'm not carrying you now am I Princess?"

"Stop. Calling. Me. That." You bite out each word and he just gives a nasty smirk, leaning in close.

"Is that not your title *Princess?*" A feral growl.

You pause for a moment because if you hadn't...well whose to say that King Bakugou Katsuki of the Bad Lands wouldn't be dead right now?

You begin to wonder just how far away the city is and if your bleeding calf really can handle another step until you see the outskirts of a peculiar city.

Your eyes rove over the vast amount of movable homes, your eyes widen at their beautifully tanned canvas, the sides covered in paintings.

Paintings of the royal family, the former queen already has her radiant halo, you watch as a few artists carefully paint it around his father.

Your eyes find his face but it does not falter. He marches on, hand squeezing your ribs when you slow to take in the scenery.

"Quick fucking gawking." He whispers in your ear, "The more they stare the more danger you'll be in."

Danger, no one was even looking at you.

Or you were so absorbed in this movable city that you failed to notice that every pair of eyes *was* on you.

You return the questionable glares with an intensity unmatched. Most look away but some do not. You snort having half a mind to make their eyes explode in their heads for such disrespect.

Considering you've done more for less but you can respect the gall.

Most of the citizens wore a variety of outfits but all had a common theme. Mobility should a fight break out. You smile at the thought, even the women wore pants to move easily in, all of them draped in blacks, deep blood reds, golds and greys. Some had weapons that shined in the fading daylight while others had theirs brandished always.

Flexing their weapons as they moved paint, canvas, traded money for goods.

Katsuki brought you through a large chaotic market with yelling and haggling. Some shop keepers even showing off their quirks to customers who solicited too long with out buying. It all stops for a moment to give a curt nod to the king before it resumes. Cats chase miniature dragons through the alleys of the stalls, children laugh loudly as they play. Your eyes take in the culture hungrily, greedily as they've only ever seen other cultures after war.

Alter, diluted, destroyed.

He pushes you faster though they all have some sort of offering as he passes by, all of which he ignores.

"Ahem, your majesty." The man at the last stall clears his throat. Dark eyes cut to the older man with malice as he stops. His wrinkled hands hold out a set of folded clothes. Black with a collar of white fur.

At first you think them for Bakugo, it's the same white fur he has on his vest and no other garment in the whole open market had a hint of any sort of animal skin aside from decorative scales.

His merlot eyes narrow, focusing on the set of clothing.

"I may be speaking out of turn your expolisve greatness but I do believe the future queen will need a fresh set of clothes, considering hers are torn and that of the enemy." He smiles, urging them closer.

You laugh aloud.

"You must be getting senile in your old age but know that I will be *no one's* bride." You say so sharply that the whole market grows quiet. Straining their ears to listen, Bakugo keeps his eyes fixed upon the graying man who's smile only widens.

"Ah almost verbatim of my dream. This woman knows no fear, sire, you've seen that today haven't you? A fiery Queen for a fiery King. You two will always have passion for one another. If you remember my wife blessed every stitch of your vest, for luck, prosperity, fortune. Fortune to find a strong woman worthy of our people." He places the garment down on the left hand corner in a golden outlined box, the same that every other stand has, "Just as your vest these are blessed too. Luck, fortune, fertility and strength. "

Still the King does not speak and still you cannot fathom this older man's audacity.

To bless a garment for fertility, you seethe and just as you're about to rip him to shreds, whether it be from your tongue or your hands, the King let's out a low growl.

"I accept your offering." He bites out, grabbing onto the clothes. The older man bows deeply.

"An honor." He replys as your dragged from the market.

What the fuck?

You pull away from his grip, careful to keep your weight off of your now bad leg.

"What the hell was that?" You snarl, sure to still be heard in the market as you hear an elderly man laugh.

"There are somethings you do not understand about my people and my culture." A hiss close to your face, he inspects it for a moment and you feel light headed. He grabs onto your wrist tightly, tugging you up a small hill to the only white home, what you later find out is called a yurt, in the whole encampment.

"I swear to Kami himfuckingself if you are not in my home Ashido with the fucking captive doctor I'll hang you for all to see." He snarls, pulling harshly on the canvas revealing two women sitting atop low chairs. If one of them is captive you cannot tell which as your eyes study the women, they both have relaxed dementors. Both with creamy, healthy skin, one white and the other a peony pink.

The thought of women in his home pulls at your gut stupidly before you bite your mostly split lip.

"Oh!" They seem to say in unison, bowing before the king.

The yurt is circular but all can be seen from the entrance. Rich wood expands across the floor covered in various furs, pillows and low sitting furniture and chairs. Centered in the back is a bed atop a platform looking plush as it is also draped in cotton blankets and furs.

Sleep pulls at your muscles but you fight it. Sitting when guided to a dark wood chair with blood red upholstery.

Good thing as you're losing a hefty amount again. It drips fat drops onto the fabric and floor. The woman with white skin and dark hair inspects you, trying and failing to keep the horror off of her face as she looks at your own.

She prepares and cleans quickly taking no time to start the process of stitching.

"So when did you become king?" Because talking to this asshole was more bearable then feeling a needle pierce your already throbbing, screaming skin.

"Shhh." The woman hushs, "You need to keep your face still."

You roll your eyes before watching the now brooding King. He walks past the wooden tub to your left all the way to a low cabinet where he produces a dark liquid.

You'd kill for a drink as you watch him take a long swig.

"Ow what the? No dont! FUCK!" But it's too late, pink fingers are already half digit deep in your open wound before you grip onto her wrist tightly enough that her bones groan, "His arrows embed themselves deeper if the victim doesn't remove it themselves."

Fear grips her features, as she pulls on her arm, hard enough you hear her shoulder pop before you let her go. Anger fuels your fluid movements as you call upon your power. Moving your own blood to push itself from the wound. The crimson arrow head stains the grains of wood and the ash blonde's eyes narrow.

"Please be still!" The doctor urges, stating her work again.

"Better listen Princess or I'll ask her to sew your mouth shut." An idle threat that boils your blood, "I'll offer you a different story instead. One that I heard at dinner not too long ago."

You cannot protest and he goes on.

"I heard that the High Queen has more than just a calming quirk." He pulls up a chair and sits just in your sight line. You sigh out angrily at the idea of hearing this theory again except coming from the mouth if the worlds biggest ass.

"I heard she can manipulate feelings as well. Otherwise how else would a hand maid marry the only male heir to the kingdom?"

"Do not slander her." Your eyes narrow to slits as they meet those of a predator.

"Quiet." The raven haired woman hisses.

"Snap at me once more and you will not have such pretty hands to sew with, or such shining eyes to see with." You keep her gaze as she shrinks back from you

Time passes slowly as your vision clouds, Bakugo no longer taunting you with rumors. The pink skinned woman packs your arrow wound as the light skinned woman spreads ointment on your burning cheek and lip.

Even after all of this poking and prodding you would do it again.

"You may take your leave." He stands rushing them out of his tent before stretching.

"My chambers are where?" It hurts to speak more so than before and he can tell. He smirks at your pain expression that only sours.

"Well. You're looking at it."

"Then you're dismissed." You say pulling at the tight gown, when you spy him still there you growl.

"Oh no princess. This my room that I am sharing." A heated glare, "Keep your friends close and enemies closer they say."

"Fine." You say letting the shredded fabric fall to the floor and removing your underwear.

You stand nude and proud in front of a staring King.

You see a hint of blush in his scowl.

"What are you doing?" A bark.

"I always sleep nude." You shrug your shoulders before sliding into the cool covers. You moan from the comfort.

"Tch." You hear fabric hit the floor before weight is beside you, "Good thing because I do too. Sleep tight Princess. Know that it is an honor to share a bed with me."

"A dishonor is more like it. Considering you reacted to my body as if you've never seen a bare woman before." You snort snuggling deeper. You feel the heat from his skin as he nears closer and you must fight yourself from leaning into the touch. His lips barely touch your ear as he growls.

"None such as repulsive as you."

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugou #katsuki bakugou #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki #mha bakugou #katsuki bakugo x reader

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lucyhblack · 5 years

Text

How to get a pet for your lamia

This story is based on the "How to raise a Lamia" series from the amazing @damnedxfate.

To better understand it I recommend reading the series first.

English is not my default language, so I hope it is understandable.

Summary: Boss goes to the market and Cherry doesn't get what she asked for... but she can get something better.

Your phone started to vibrate.

With a bit of juggling with the shopping basket, he managed to fish in his pocket without releasing the can of sauce. A quick glance at the screen told him it was a video call. He quickly accepted to see whose it was.

- Cherry? - The nervous lamia twitched on the small screen. Edge looked closely at his mate for damage or something that might have happened in the few hours that had left him alone. Seeing with relief that he looked good the tall skeleton frowned. It was not unusual for the hybrid to call him, but he had only been gone for two hours. - What happened?

-Boss! - Cherry squeaked happily - Boss, market?? - He swayed from side to side and stretched as if that allowed him to see where Edge was at the moment. Suppressing a smile at cute behavior, he answered in the affirmative.

Cherry let out an excited hiss and disappeared for a moment from the screen, Edge raised a curious eyebrow bone with unusual behavior. The little one returned with a folded newspaper to make it easy to carry and to show the announcement that will catch his attention.

-Buy Boss... Pleassse?? - He pleaded.

Edge approached the screen so that he could see better. It was some advertisement for a new savory flavor ... Mustard, of course!

He sighed. It was not the first time Cherry had asked her to buy anything, especially if it was in the taste of the bitter and spicy yellow spice. He did not like to give such greasy, industrialized things, but he had also promised that he could try on various kinds of food.

His favorite "food" was Edge himself, but his second food of choice would definitely be mustard, anything with her. Edge debated internally. Cherry was on a balanced diet, its nutritional and magical levels were good and some occasional snacks would not hurt. His lamia was well behaved and almost never asked for anything (other than his attention and affection to which Edge was more than happy to provide). Looking at the expectant and slightly begging face made his decision.

-Right. But only one!

It was definitely worth it just to see and hear your joy. He felt his own smile bloom just to fade quickly. One second Cherry was hugging the grateful newspaper, the next he froze and stared at something off the screen.

-Cherry? What's it?! - He asked in alarm.

Edge watched the little being freeze, its sweet little face turn into a mask of dread and let out a strangled cry. Before she could say anything Cherry fled, her red tail bumping where her cell phone was propped and flinging it abruptly to the floor.

He did not realize when the basket fell from his hand, or when he turned and started walking in quick steps to the exit, only realized he was already in the middle of the parking lot when he almost "ran over" a car looking for parking .

On the cell phone, everything became a confusing blur for a few seconds before the camera focused on the living room ceiling and part of the couch. An off-white blur was all he could see before the screen was blocked by something. One more confusing moment with light and indistinct shadows before everything went dark. He thought the phone was turned off, but soon realized that even though the camera was not picking up anything, the microphone was still working and was catching the muffled shouts of his panicked lover.

What was a brisk walk became a full run.

Whatever was happening he couldn't see anymore. He could still vaguely hear Cherry screaming, sometimes screams of terror, sometimes her name and calls for help, sometimes interspersed with noises of falling things.

"Who?!!"he wondered as he ended the call. He couldn't hear her lover's screams without doing anything. He quickly turned on the surveillance camera system he had installed throughout the house. In one of them he would see what was happening, and especially the bastard who had invaded his house!

Running through the options he selected the cameras in the room. At first he can not see anything, switching to the second saw a rapid movement. There it was! Cherry running from behind the couch and diving under the table. A second later his stalker appeared on the screen.

He felt his nonexistent heart stop.

It was the cat! The damn annoying cat!

The stray cat that had prowled the neighborhood for some time. No one could ever catch him, he was the master of escape and invasion, always sneaking into his house, appearing in the most inconvenient places, and never falling into the "traps" he and others in the neighborhood set. That was why it had been nicknamed "affectionately" an annoying cat.

He had found him prowling his trash one night. A ball of grayer than white fur, with a tattered ear and a tail that once cleaned and brushed would be glorious, but at the moment it looked like an old bottle-cleaning brush. He bet that beneath the thick fur the pathetic thing was just bones.

The two faced each other in silence. The feline ready to defend his possible loot and the tall, dark skeleton with a trash bag in his hand. Edge knew he shouldn't do that, but he couldn't be indifferent to the poor creature. He dropped the bag outside the door and went straight into the fridge. There wasn't much, the day of shopping was the next day. Even the milk was gone.

He growled in frustration and was about to close it when he saw the pot with the leftover lasagna he had made. He was sure pasta wasn't ideal for cat food, but it must be better than anything the feline would find in the trash cans.

He took the pot and put it in the microwave for a few minutes. He ran to the door to check. The cat was still on the trash can, glaring at him. As soon as he heard the whistle he ran to the device and fished the pot.

The cat eyed him suspiciously, grunting in warning as he approached. Careful not to scare him, he set the pot down and walked away. The animal looked from the pot to him and back to the pot. With a twitch of his tail he jumped to the ground and went to investigate what the tall monster had left.

Lasagna might not be ideal for animals, but he sure didn't bother with it, willingly attacking the food. Edge came back and fixed another bowl of water and set it a little way away. Not that the pussy cared, so moored was in the pot... the poor thing...

Edge had come back into the house and was distracted by his chores when he later checked on the feline. He picked up the pots and totally forgot about it until days later when he found it again. This time on the kitchen table licking.

After that Edge had met him several times inside his house, sometimes waiting in the middle of the room, but sometimes in the most unusual places like the tall kitchen cupboard or the laundry basket. He never knew when he would meet him (or where), but it seemed he was here to stay... only one day he didn't show up anymore.

Messing about that he was gone, and annoying as he was, Edge had gotten used to the company, when he realized how lonely he was. He had been a few shelters, considering adopting some animal, but was a little reluctant if that was the solution.

The advantage of their "relationship" with the annoying cat was their independence. Out searching the internet about pets and housemates, he heard about hybrids. A being who had enough intelligence to communicate was tempting, but it also seemed to double the work. When researching a little more discovered the breeding center and after "stir the chopsticks" entered as a volunteer. He went to find out how laborious, and compensatory, it would be to have a hybrid. Instead he had his heart stolen by the little red lamia that had become the center of his life.

Center that could be about to become lunch.

Cherry had tried to hide behind or under some furniture, but thanks to being a little chubby, the spaces were a little limited. He could squeeze in a few, but it would take a little effort to do so, and with his hunter so close this was not an option. He slipped back under the table, trying to reach the couch. Maybe he could hide in some pillow when the cat jumped on the table and with the height advantage plunged into its prey.

From the camera angle Edge could not see very well. It didn't look like the cat had hit Cherry hard, but it sure had caught him.

He liked the feline, regardless of whether it drove him crazy with his trespassing tricks, but if he hurt his sweet little Cherry... he would make him a cushion!

Boosting his legs further, he turned the last corner and spotted his house. Without a second thought he clashed into the front door and broke it open.

- CHERRY!!! CHERRY!!! - He burst through the now destroyed door, shouting and looking wildly into the room. The first thing he heard was the purr. He felt his world crumble.

No, no, no...

He felt a sob forming. Oh God! He had not arrived too late... He could not have arrived late! Please it wasn't...

-Boss! - The little fluttering squeak was like music to his ears. He felt his knees shake as he turned. In the middle of the couch was the damn white cat purring like the smallest (and furry) tractor in the world. His claws twitching with pleasure threatening to scratch the upholstery while Cherry was half wrapped half buried in the thick white fur.

-Boss! - He called happy - Can we sstay with him?!!

***

Bonus:

The bell rang.

-Oh! MUST BE EDGE AND CHERRY. Could STRETCH OPEN THE DOOR? - Papyrus ordered from the kitchen.

-Sure, man.

They were in another meeting at Papyrus's house. He and Slim had already arrived and their lamias were in the room playing (or fighting more likely if they took Black's screams and hisses seriously) while they waited for the last members of his small family to arrive.

He opened the door with a teasing tip of his tongue about Mr. Punctuality's delay.

-Hey Edgelord, Cherry! You...- He fell silent as he saw Edge's sour face even angrier than usual. Her eyes wandered to his shoulder for Cherry, and with a shock he noticed that the shy lamia was not in her usual place. Before he could comment on the little one lack, a lively greeting from the region of his heels made him look down at the most unusual scene of his life.

Standing beside Edge's right foot was the largest, worst-looking, shaggy white cat Stretch had ever seen. And that wasn't even the most bizarre part! Mounted on him, and with a smile that threatened to split his skull in two, was Cherry. He held the fur behind the cat's ears as his body tangled around the cat's neck and chest like a living collar.

As the skeleton looked shocked the cat passed him and led his little knight inside. Hearing the voice of his brother Blue and the others came to greet him, but stopped as soon as they saw the cat.

Blue shrieked and Sans quickly pulled his younger brother behind him, ready to protect him with his life. Black of course began to hiss and growl, trying to look much bigger than it was. Alerted by the noise Papyrus and Slim came running from the kitchen and were also shocked by the scene.

The cat stopped in front of the three lamias, casting a disinterested look at them and the two skeletons in the room. His yellow eyes focused on Black not the least bit intimidated by the little hybrid's act of anger.

-Hi!! This Doomfanger! - Proclaimed Cherry by patting her mount's head. - He ... my friend! - Pride and joy dripped into his words.

Stretch slowly turned his face to Edge who had an expression of stoic conformity. Realizing that he was being faced by a sagging chin skeleton, he rolled his blood-red spotlights.

-LONG STORY!!!

#undertale #underfell #underswap #swapfell #sans #papyrus #bittybones #lamia bitty #sans bitty #sans lamia #fontcest #my fic #there is a second chapter

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maple-writes · 5 years

Text

I was feeling nostalgic for an older wip of mine so instead of finishing chapter 16, this happened. Features the main character and antagonist of Waking in Dream.

Ginger and I walked up to the house, small and modest. I stood by her side as she knocked on the door. Footsteps came soft on the other side before the door opened, and a tired-looking man with fiery hair and bright green eyes peered out at us.

“Oh,” he spoke slowly. “Are you Ginger?”

She nodded and held out a hand. “Ginger Lark.” She paused as he shook it, then gestured to me. “And this is Asher Sang, who’s learning under me.”

The man turned to me and extended his hand. “Dakota Ruse.”

I took his hand and shook. My skin crawled. Exhaustion thickened my blood, but there was something else. Something threatening, something that sent a chill down the length of my back. If he noticed, he didn’t show it as he drew back and stepped inside the house.

“Come on in.”

I followed Ginger through the door, trailing Dakota through to the living room. Glancing through doorways we passed, it seemed he hadn’t cleaned in a while. Dishes piled up at the sink in the kitchen, old cups left on coffee tables, shoes scattered haphazardly by the door…

He stopped in front of a couch and couple of large chairs with pillows and blankets more or less randomly piled on the edges. “Do you want to sit down?”

Ginger shook her head. “I’m alright, thanks.” She took out a notebook and her pink pen. “Now, can you elaborate on what’s going on?”

I looked from her to Dakota as he thought. He bit his lip and ran a hand through his hair. My chest tightened and I had to force myself to take a breath. There was something watching us. No, not us. Something was watching him. Something that didn’t want us here.

“I’m not sure.” He finally sighed.

Ginger nodded. “Is it a feeling? Are things going missing or happening that shouldn’t be?”

Dakota shook his head. “No, nothing’s gone and everything seems normal.” He paused, looking down to the floor. “It… It’s hard to explain, but I know something’s here and I don’t know what.”

He was right. The more he stood here speaking with us, the more whatever was watching grew upset. I scanned the room, but it hid itself well. Whatever it was though, it made me uneasy. Ginger must have noticed the way it made my skin crawl, her eyes darting down to me for a moment before focusing back on Dakota.

“Well,” she tucked her pen behind her ear. “Why don’t you and I step outside for a moment and I’ll get Asher to take a look around.”

Dakota hesitated, his fingers working themselves around the fabric of his blue jacket. “Alright.” He glanced at me. “Thanks.”

I waited as Ginger led him out the way we came, leaving me alone in the living room. As soon as the two of them had gone, the air shifted, thickening with malice and dread.

“You think you can get rid of me?”

I whirled towards the sound right behind me. Perched on the back of the couch was the shadowy figure of a cat. It’s too-long tail stood straight up as it stood, long legs ending in claws that gripped the upholstery.

It’s mouth moved out of sync with it’s words. “This is between me and him.” It, she, bared ivory teeth. “He belongs to me and always will and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

I stared, trying to figure out what it was that growled down at me. It radiated fear and tension and panic like a demon would, but something about it didn’t make sense. It wasn’t corporeal, but it could still seem to speak through the air as plain as day. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end and I swallowed. Whatever this was, it was dangerous.

She crept from the back of the couch and leapt to the coffee table, chuckling as I doubled back. “He thought he’d killed me once, but he’s foolish to think I would be gone forever.” Her voice grated on my ears as she stepped closer, sitting on the very edge of the table. “Now, my question is this…” Her tail lashed and she cocked her head. “Will you be clever and leave here, tell them both you’ve found nothing and keep your sorry life, or,” She bared needle teeth and razor claws. “Will you throw your life away for some misguided sense of purpose?”

My heart pounded in my chest, slamming against my ribs. I glanced towards the door. I couldn’t just tell him he was crazy, tell him there was nothing here to worry about. I swallowed, slowly bringing my eyes back to the cat. There was no way I could take her on my own. I needed Ginger.

I nodded. “Alright,” my voice shook. “I never saw you, I’ll tell them I didn’t find anything.”

The cat only watched as I turned towards the door. My legs trembled as I took the first step.

“Liar.”

My blood ran cold and I whirled as the cat leapt, claws stretched towards my face. My scream cut off as my vision flooded black.

I was in a forest void of colour. Greyscale trees swayed below a colorless sky as I laid flat on my back amongst tall, monochrome grasses swaying in a wind that didn’t reach my skin. Slowly, I pulled myself to sit, and finally to stand. I shuddered. There was something wrong, something so wrong about this place.

“You think I can’t tell when a mortal is lying?”

The cat’s voice came from above my head. She stared down at me, blue eyes burning into mine. Black and white fur stood out against the grey of the world. Her tail draped over the thin branches below, flicking at the tip.

“Where am I?” My voice shook like the colourless leaves on the trees, but I tried to put as much command as I could into my words. “Bring me back, now.”

But the cat only laughed, mechanical and heartless. “It’s too late for that now.” She narrowed her eyes to a cold glare. “You’re doing to die here.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but a cold breeze from behind made me whirl. Something was moving, approaching, through the trees. Something hovering just over the ground. No… I squinted. Swimming. Swimming though the air like it was water. It got closer and my heart skipped.

It was a shark, long as a school bus with a mouth full of razor teeth. It’s leisurely swim slowed as soon as it met my eyes. It seemed to grin, mouth stretching too wide for it’s body. Then it charged.

I screamed, scrambling out of the way as best I could. It chased after me, weaving it’s way around trees and bush as I ran. My feet pounded against the hard ground and my breath came fast and raw in my lungs.

There had to be somewhere to hide. There had to be somewhere. There had to be.

But I ran and ran and the forest stretched on and on, an endless expanse of grey trees and grass and sky. The shark was gaining on me. It was getting closer. I was tired. I was slowing. My lungs and legs burned.

I stumbled.

I fell hard on the ground, rolling and slamming into a thin tree trunk. The shark charged and I squeezed my eyes shut.

But nothing happened.

My eyes flew open to Dakota standing over me arms stretched out towards the shark. It swam as if in slow motion, it’s charge reduced to a crawl. Dakota panted, ribs heaving as he stared unwavering at the shark.

“Get—” He choked. “Get out of the way.”

I scrambled to obey, scattering to the side an instant before he leapt along with me. Stare broken, the shark shot forward, charging jaws first to where I’d been lying a moment earlier. Dakota ushered me backwards, herding me with outstretched arms until I stood behind him.

“Stay close,” He ordered.

I nodded and he whipped his gaze back to the shark. Clenching his fists, he raised his head and sucked in a deep breath of air.

I jumped back as his figure twisted, snapping and stretching with a viscous glow until a giant serpent with a fox’s head and razor teeth towered above me. He curled around me, wrapping me in the protection of his armored body as he reared towards the circling shark. He bared fangs, each at least the length of my forearm and hissed.

It charged and he struck, fangs sinking into it’s sides. Dakota thrashed his head and it’s skin tore like paper, halves falling lifeless to the ground. Then it was gone, the shark’s body fading away and vanishing without a trace.

“Welcome back Dakota.”

Dakota’s fox ears pinned back as he swung his head towards the black and white cat perched above our heads.

“I thought we killed you,” Dakota snarled, the words coming from deep in his throat like a bird imitating language.

The cat met his snarl with her own. “Oh you only wish.” She leaned forward, hackles raising. “You’re mine, remember? And maybe if you’re going to be this way I’ll return the favor and let you die.”

“We killed you once, I can do it again.” Dakota reared.

But the cat didn’t seem bothered, a sick grin spreading on it’s tiny face. “You’re alone this time.” She stood. “But if it’s a fight you want…”

She leapt from the tree, yowling and swiping for Dakota’s face. He ducked just in time, twisting around to try and snap her out of the air. But she vanished.

I pressed myself against the side of Dakota’s serpentine body. His ears were pricked, swiveling at any sign of noise. What was happening? From what I could see over the top of his body, there was nothing but trees and grasses. No sign of the cat. I swallowed. But that wasn’t true, was it?

Something moved in the corner of my eye and I whirled. The cat appeared out of thin air, swiping at my eyes. I screamed threw my arms over my head. Claws sliced the skin of my forearms, pain shooting up my arms. I shut my eyes and braced for another blow, but with Dakota’s snarl the claws were gone.

The cat dangled from his jaws. He bit down hard, the bone crunching under his teeth before flinging her at a narrow tree. She vanished before her body hit the bark, appearing in the air behind his head with a screech.

He twisted, but not fast enough. She hooked a claw under one of his scales and wrenched it from his skin. Blood welled red and thick as she cut the skin, too high up for him to twist and wrench her off. He thrashed and shook but she held on, digging into the muscle with tooth and claw. I could only stare, frozen to the spot as she tore muscle and exposed bone.

With a cruel grin, she bit down hard on a vertebrae. Dakota screamed, eyes stretched wide. He fell to human hands and knees, panting and bleeding from the back of his neck. The cat leapt for his shoulder and he moved too slow, her teeth sinking into the skin.

He reached to try and tear her off, but she ducked out of his grip each time. My heart pounded as he rolled to shake her, but she dove for his throat instead.

“No!”

I rushed forward and grabbed the cat by the scruff of her neck before teeth could meet flesh. My hand burned and heat raced up the veins of my arm like a match to gasoline. I dropped her to the ground and clutched my arm to my chest.

But for a moment, the cat didn’t move, stunned on her side. She stared up at me, eyes wide and pupils shrunk to slits. Then she shook out her head, scrambled to her paws and leapt at my face. I ducked back, stumbling to the ground just in time.

She jumped again but this time Dakota knocked her back with a kick to her ribs. He stood panting over me, blood soaking the clothes around his back and his shoulder.

“Run.” He could barely speak, struggling to catch his breath. “Run and wake up before she kills us both.” He swallowed and widened his stance. “I’ll give you as long as I—”

The cat dropped from the trees, landing hard and heavy on Dakota’s shoulders. He staggered and I screamed, but neither of us had a chance to react before she closed her jaws around the soft skin of his throat. Dakota didn’t make a sound as she tore his trachea from his neck and he collapsed.

She landed soft in the grass beside him, spitting blood from her mouth. “Worthless.”

I scrambled to his side as the life vanished from his body. Fast. Be quick. I held my breath and thrust my hand to his chest, ripping his soul from it’s shaken hold on useless organs and dying bone. It flickered cold in the cage of my fingers, chilling my blood as I forced it through the muscles of my own ribcage. For a moment it was still and dread poisoned my breath. Too late, too slow. It was— it moved, searching until he settled in the dip of my collar bone.

There’s no choice. My hands balled to fists at my sides and I turned to face the cat glaring up at us from the grass. If you can’t wake up she’ll hunt you down and kill you. Are we asleep? She can still kill you. So we have to fight? There’s no choice.

The cat snarled and leapt. Dakota took my limbs, throwing my body clumsily out of the way. I staggered to catch my balance and whirled around as she ran again, darting around trees and vanishing into the air.

But a glow in the air above my head caught my eye and I jumped back a second before the cat dropped right where I would have been. She whirled, snarling.

“How?” She spat.

How did you? She vanished and I ran backwards, heart pounding and searching the greyscale forest until the glow appeared again above my right arm. If it were me or Dakota I couldn’t tell, but I darted away before she materialized. Then again, again, again.

You’re not human are you? I backed against a tree, the shine of the cat’s soul burning right in front of my face. My limbs chilled as Dakota took hold, raising them as the cat appeared clawing at my eyes. I caught her between my fingers, digging into the soft fur around her bony ribs. The spirit trapped inside her body fluttered, hot and manic and ancient.

If it had a soul, I bet I could tear it out.

Her teeth found my wrist and I dropped her. She vanished and I clutched the wound bleeding down the length of my hand.

Tear it out and then what? Destroy it. Forever? I nodded, searching for the tell-tale shimmer. I swallowed. Destroying souls was one thing, fighting whatever this was a nightmare was a different story. Leave that to me.

Dakota pressed against bone and muscles, trying to extend his hold to take over all of my body. I dropped my guard, letting him take over just as the cat appeared again.

I whirled and doubled back out of the way as she fell. She turned with snarl and leapt, but I yelled and slammed my foot into her hip in a kick strong enough to feel bone crack through my shoe. I staggered as I landed, pain shooting through my leg. I could barely breathe, my chest heaving and heart beating too fast. Dakota might have been able to keep this up, but my body wasn’t used to this.

But this time, the cat appeared and I lunged first. It yelped as I caught her by the neck and slammed her to the ground. Do it! She kicked with back legs, snarling and clawing at my arm as I held her down. Blood stained the white of her legs and pain radiated from my forearm but Dakota’s hold held it firm against my will. Hurry! Now!

I clenched my teeth and shot the other hand forward, crying out as claws sliced the skin through to soft muscle. But her soul pulsed so close, right beneath my bloodied hand. I curled my hands to claws and her eyes widened.

“What are you—stop!”

The edges of her soul caught under my fingers and a growl tore from my throat as I tore it from her body, ripping edges as I dragged it through her chest. Her body went limp and I clutched her spirit between my hands, panting, sweating, as I raised it to my mouth.

It cracked between my teeth and the world stilled.

My eyes flew open and I gasped, laying on the floor of Dakota’s living room. My arms burned and my heart beat too fast, skipping and irregular beside an icy hold clinging to the space between my lungs. I sat bolt upright, fighting for breath and clutching at my chest. Somewhere I thought I heard someone calling my name, but it was so distant, like I was deep under the water thrown overboard into crashing waves.

I was alive. Slowly, so slowly, the air returned to my lungs and my heart found it’s rhythm. I slumped forward, letting my head fall as far as it could. Dakota’s spirit shifted, and I felt for it with the tips of my fingers. How do I get back? I’ll put you back. My body is beside you.

So it was. I dragged myself the two feet to where Dakota’s body lay seemingly unscathed and intact beside me. He offered no resistance as I drew his soul from my chest and slipped it back into his, dripping from my hand like running water.

He woke as suddenly as I had, choking and shaking and curling to his side. But he was alive. I let my gaze fall from him to the floor in front of my stretched out legs. My mouth still burned, the skin of the inside of my cheeks hot and bleeding coppery on my tongue. What was that thing?

“Asher!”

Ginger’s voice made me snap my head up as she crouched in front of me, her panic-stricken face inches in front of mine.

“Asher can you hear me?” She spoke too loud, and I cringed. “Oh thank goodness.” Ginger sighed, shoulders sagging in relief. “What happened?” She swallowed. “I couldn’t wake you.”

I took a breath to speak, but stopped short. What was I supposed to tell her? I shifted my arm and winced at the pain. There wasn’t a mark on my skin, but it hurt, stinging and burning like it’d been torn apart. I didn’t know what happened, how was I supposed to explain it to Ginger?

Beside me, Dakota groaned and pulled himself to sit, wincing at the movement. “I’m so sorry,” his voice was tight, pained as the wrenching of his face as he rested a hand over his throat. “If I’d, I wouldn’t,” he choked on his words and shook his head. “You shouldn’t have… Had to do that.”

“Do what?” Ginger looked between me and him in quick movements. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” my voice was thin, tired, weak. “There was a cat and… And I don’t…”

Dakota sighed. “She was after me, not him.” He hunched forward, hair falling into his face. “I’m sorry, I should have never,” he swallowed. “Never brought either of you into this. I didn’t know she was back.” He paused, raising his head to look at me. “Are you okay?”

Was I? My body ached, my arms hurt and my mouth was burned, but it was already starting to fade. “I think?”

“The pain should go away in a day or two.” Dakota grit his teeth and forced himself to stand, legs trembling as he braced himself against the back of the couch. “Shouldn’t leave any damage.”

“Are you feeling alright?” Ginger watched Dakota nervously as he inched his way around the side of the couch, almost falling twice before sinking into the cushion.

He let his head fall back and closed his eyes. “I’m used to it.”

Ginger opened her mouth, but stopped when I shook my head. “Let me talk to him,” I spoke low enough that only she could hear. “Give us a minute.”

She hesitated, but finally gave a single nod before slipping out from the room. Groaning, I dragged myself to my feet and sat beside Dakota on the couch. He cracked on eye open to watch me, eyebrows furrowed, but quickly closed it again, a soft sigh slipping from his lungs. Slowly, I leaned back. The room was silent besides our quiet breath, empty besides the two of us. Relief seeped from my chest to my blood to my body. It was only us. Nothing watching, nothing waiting.

“She’s gone.” My words came out barely a whisper.

Dakota nodded, but when I turned to look a tear ran down his cheek. He swallowed, but it didn’t do anything to stop his breath from catching in his throat, or stop the twisting of his face.

“It’s pathetic,” he murmured. “That I’d almost hoped to see her again, after we killed her the first time.”

I shifted, tucking my legs up onto the edge of the couch. “Who was she?” Curiosity tugged at my heart, only growing stronger with every beat that Dakota hesitated.

He took a deep breath. “I don’t know. She told me she was an overseer of dreams and that she needed my help. She would train me as her knight to defend against a nightmare uprising. I was six, I didn’t know any better.” Dakota trailed off, but when I stayed silent he continued. “She come to me almost every night, throwing something new at me to learn how to fight off.” He shrugged. “I got used to it. She’d always been firm but never cruel. Although…” He shook his head. “In hindsight maybe she was and I just didn’t realize.”

Quiet filled the room once again until I gathered the words. “You said you killed her before?” There was so much I felt like I didn’t understand.

Dakota nodded. “Yeah.” He slowly opened his eyes, but stared straight up at the ceiling. “When she claimed the nightmares attacked, I fought them alongside my friends she’d dragged into the whole thing.” His voice faltered. “It wasn’t fair. Irene died, and it was up to me to make sure no one else did.” Fresh tears welled at his eyes. “I was scared, and when it was done I didn’t want anything to do with her anymore but she wouldn’t let me go. We ended up fighting her in the mountains and where we killed her.”

My shoulders fell. So that’s why he thought it must have been something else lurking in his home. I let my eyes settle back into my lap. If she wasn’t a demon though, what was she? Maybe she was a demon, just not one I’d ever seen before. If she were powerful enough to drag both of us into a world of her own creation, I couldn’t imagine having to try and make her let go of a decades long hold.

“She must have found some way to get back,” Dakota seemed to talk to himself. “She was weaker this time, though.”

Weak? I stared up at him, mouth falling open. That was weak? The image of blood welling from Dakota’s torn throat flashed through my mind. The shark, the blood dripping down my own arms, the never ending forest… I took a breath to steady my nerves. What would have happened if Dakota hadn’t called us in? If he hadn’t thought there was a misplaced spirit in his house, or if he hadn’t noticed the cat’s return until much later?

He glanced down at me. “But you, destroyed her, right?”

I nodded, running my tongue over the raw skin of my mouth. “She’s gone. Like she never existed.”

“How did you do that?” Dakota paused. “All of that. I thought I was dead, but then I was stuck in your body and…”

I swallowed. “You were dead.” I couldn’t meet his eyes. “I was able to take your soul before you died though.”

“Oh.” Dakota blinked, confused. “I didn’t know exorcists could do that.”

“They can’t.” When he looked even more confused I kept going. “I’m uh,” I hesitated. Should I tell him? He’d told me about the cat, it was only fair that I shared too. “My father was a demon. I mean, he still is I guess.”

“Oh, really?” For a moment worry crinkled his face, but then it was gone and he sighed. “Listen, I’m sorry you had to go through all this, but thank you.” He gave a tiny, weak smile. “For coming, for saving my life, for finally freeing me from her once and for all.”

I returned the smile. “Are you going to be okay on your own?” I eased myself up from the couch. Already the brunt of the stiffness had faded and I didn’t need something solid for support.

Dakota nodded. “Like I said, it stops hurting in a day or two.”

“That’s good.” I glanced down the hallway to the door. Ginger’s figure stood silhouetted o the other side of the little glass window.

“Before you go,” Dakota’s voice brought my attention back. “Do you think you can keep this a secret? What we’ve talked about anyway.” He paused as I nodded. “Thanks, it means a lot. Also, if you ever need anything… I’ll do what I can.”

I smiled. “Thanks.”

For a moment, neither of did anything, eyes locked in hesitation before I broke away towards the door. Everything seemed still, light, compared to when Ginger and I had entered. On the other side of the door Ginger asked what had happened, but thankfully didn’t press when I declined to explain.

As we drove back to the college, I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d only just glimpsed something far bigger than Dakota had admitted. Something ancient, malicious, powerful. Something thankfully no one would ever be roped into ever again. I leaned against the side of the car door. Maybe in a couple days I’d check on him on my own. Even if the pain would be gone, maybe he could use the company. Or at least help with his house.

#the city of eventide #waking in a dream #writblr #my writing #amwriting #this was really fun to write #managed to get thorough it in like #a day and half or something #fiction

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