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miracleonice87 · 3 years

Note

38 with Mat

from the Winter/Christmas Writing Prompts list

38. “You’re under the mistletoe so stop stalling and just kiss.” 🎄

quick note: this one is prob a bit longer than the others will be. I just L O V E writing Sydney and Marty as secondary characters in Mat stories.

quick warnings: swearing, alcohol, super snowy powdery Christmas fluff

and, just for fun, song pairing: mistletoe by Justin Bieber (obviously)

_____

There really was no place like home.

After moving away to Los Angeles to attend USC for both undergrad and grad studies, you were finally back in New York. You hadn’t been able to resist the pull — it was almost as if, from all the way across the continent, you could feel the Atlantic tide receding and pulling you home along with it. For better or for worse, you belonged to the Empire State.

Sydney, your lifelong best friend and a New Yorker herself, was beyond ecstatic, as she had recently gotten engaged to her longtime boyfriend Matt, a hockey player, and named you her maid of honor. Planning a wedding — not to mention showers and bachelorette festivities — would be far easier, and far more fun, with you in the same zip code. Since moving back six weeks ago, you’d spent about ninety percent of your time with Sydney by your side, making up for lost time with the woman who had long been your other half.

So sweet, right? There was just one problem. Sydney wouldn’t stop trying to set you up with guys. She was insistent that you’d been single for too long — you’d broken up with your college sweetheart by the end of your senior year — and she made it her mission for you to find love again. And she, on her own, was bad enough — she’d already hooked you up with so many friends of friends that you’d lost count, and none had been interesting enough for a second date — but her fiancé conspiring right along with her made resisting them that much more difficult.

This particular night, she had lured you to the home she shared with Matt under the guise of having dinner with her family, when in reality, she was throwing a Christmas dinner party for Matt’s closest friends on the team. All of whom had — and brought — significant others. Except for one. What a coincidence.

Also coincidentally, his name was Mat, too, or so you were told — you didn’t quite believe Syd’s Matt when he told you that upon introducing the two of you.

“Mat with one ’t,’” he announced, one arm slung around Mat’s shoulders. The handsome, dark-haired man swallowed thickly and gave you his best polite smile — it was in that moment that you realized beyond a shadow of a doubt this was yet another set up.

Matt made a lame excuse about needing to check on Sydney in the kitchen and snuck away after some brief pleasantries, but not before blatantly nudging your much-smaller frame toward New Mat. You gave Matt a menacing glare before recovering, standing a safe distance away from New Mat, leaning against the wooden beam behind you to keep you steady.

“So, Mat with one ’t,’ how long have you played with the ever-obnoxious Matty?” you asked, trying to play it cool.

Mat laughed easily. Damn, he had a nice laugh — the kind that made his pretty eyes crinkle at the corners. Nice hair. Nice teeth — perfect fucking teeth. Wasn’t he supposed to be a hockey player? Wait, what was he saying? Something about Seattle, and the draft, and… now you were lost. You nodded slowly with a forced smile as you tried your hardest to focus on what he was saying. He was just so goddamn pretty.

Thankfully, Sydney’s call from the kitchen saved you from the embarrassment of not having heard a word this poor boy had spoken.

“Dinner’s ready! I’m really type A, as you all know, so I made little placecards for everyone at the table,” she announced to the group of ten, hands clasped before her as Matt snaked an arm around her from behind and smiled proudly.

“Guess that’s our cue,” Mat mused. “Shall we?”

You threw him a grin and nodded, turning your back to him and making your way to the dining room.

On your way, you paused in front of your dear friend just long enough to grumble, “Assigned seats? Really, Syd?”

She clapped enthusiastically and smacked your ass as you passed her. “Yep! See you in there, champ!” she exclaimed as you heard frantic whispers exchanged between Mat and Matt. You couldn’t hold back your snicker, and as you glanced over your shoulder, Mat gave you a strained smile. You shook your head bemusedly and turned to the table to find that, to no one’s surprise, you and Mat were indeed to be seated side by side at one end of the table. You cleared your throat and nodded toward the cards bearing your names.

“Subtle, no?” you joked, causing Mat to blush pink. He choked out, “Ah, yeah. You gotta love them.” Then, he pulled out your chair and motioned for you to take a seat, which, as luck would have it, Sydney and Matt caught just in time because they were bringing in the food on serving dishes at that very moment. Their eyes sparkled and Sydney looked like she may self-destruct out of sheer joy as you sat down and thanked Mat. You gave her an icy look and she visibly retreated, holding herself back from making a complete scene.

“Okay, dig in!” she said instead as she sat down across from you.

Dinner was incredible, as usual — while your talents lacked in the cooking area, Sydney had always been an outstanding chef. Even more, you enjoyed the conversation, which was mostly inclusive of everyone at the table, save for the occasional chirp Mat secretly muttered in your ear about Matt or Anders, making you cover your mouth with your hand to stifle a giggle as Sydney looked on smugly. Meanwhile, whenever you and Sydney would say the exact same thing at the same moment or finish the other’s sentence, Mat would look to Marty, who would only raise his eyebrows and nod, confirming Mat’s suspicion that these two were always this in sync. Mat found it endearing. He adored Syd — if he didn’t, he wouldn’t have agreed to come here tonight when she told him, “There’s someone I want you to meet…” — and already, he saw countless similarities in the two of you.

After he’d helped you clear the plates and load the dishwasher for your hosts, you and Mat settled onto a couch in the farthest corner of the living room, near the Christmas tree, while the others gathered in the center of the space, loudly entertaining themselves. As you curled your feet underneath yourself, you didn’t miss how Sydney reached for a nearby remote and slowly flickered on the fireplace right beside you and Mat. Yet again, you shot her a killer look that she pretended not to see as Mat smiled, amused at how flustered you were by Sydney trying to further set the mood.

“So how long have you known Syd?” he asked as he took another swig from his beer bottle, attempting to get you back on track. “Has to be a while. I swear I’ve never seen two friends who were more alike.”

You tucked some hair behind your ear and let out a breathy chuckle. With anyone else, you were ever prepared to skirt that question and quickly move on to another subject. But with Mat, it was nice knowing you really didn’t have to.

“Yeah, my whole life, actually,” you answered, a smile on your face at the thought. Your eyes flickered up to his as you added, “My dad played for the Jets... with Boomer while he was there.”

Mat’s brows quirked noticeably, but not in the familiar way that made you feel like he was about to ask you to FaceTime your dad or get an autograph from him. Because he was a professional athlete himself — which was ironic because you’d sworn up and down your whole life that, because of the lifestyle you saw your dad and his teammates, not to mention their families, lead, you’d never fall for anyone who played sports for a living. Even when Sydney insisted with a shrug after settling down with Matt, “It’s not that bad.”

“No way,” Mat said with a casual laugh. “That’s awesome. What position did he play?”

“Uh, receiver,” you replied. “So he and Boomer were tight. Our moms hit it off right off the bat and have been best friends since. Since then, we’ve always vacationed together, ended up living in the same neighborhood after they both retired. I’m three years younger than Syd and I was basically like her shadow. Still am, I guess,” you added with a smile.

Mat nodded, his eyes never leaving your face as you told the familiar tale. “I think that’s awesome though,” he spoke. “You guys could be sisters I feel like. You act just like her. Plus Marty says you’re the only friend of hers who’s kicked him out of bed so you could sleep with her.”

You threw a hand to your chest and your head back laughing at that, and Mat’s heart soared at being able to elicit such a reaction from you himself. You pointed a gold-polished index finger at him and admitted, “He tells no lies on that one.”

Just then, you caught Mat’s unabashed gaze, which had shifted from well-mannered and nonchalant into something deeper, something... affectionate. You swallowed, casting a downward glance at your lap, and swirled the ice cubes in your otherwise empty highball glass.

“I need a refill,” you said with a nervous giggle. “You want anything?”

Mat looked all too pleased with himself at your offer, and he nodded. “Sure, yeah, another beer would be great. Thank you,” he said. You smiled and nodded as you turned away and headed for the kitchen.

Ever the subtle one, once again, Sydney, who had been shamelessly watching the two of you from her perch in Matt’s lap across the room, stumbled over Jax’s paw as she bolted to the kitchen island where you now stood. You blinked at her wildly and said, “May I help you, Sydney Irene? You nearly wounded your poor dog.”

“So,” Sydney sang, ignoring your question completely as she leaned back against the kitchen counter, propping her palms on the edge and looking much more smooth than she had just a moment ago. She waggled her eyebrows at you before continuing. “Whadd’ya think? He’s cute, right?”

You scoffed. “Sydney—“ you began in a warning tone as you reached for the rum, but were interrupted before you could speak another word.

“If you hate him, it was Matt’s idea,” she deadpanned, then allowed a mischievous grin to stretch along her painted red lips as she cocked her head. “But if you like him, it was mine.”

You rolled your eyes as you poured yourself another rum ginger, ignoring the flush you could feel creeping up your chest and neck under Sydney’s scrutiny.

“You’re blushing! You do like him!” Syd squealed as she poked at your side, thankfully making an attempt to stay quiet as the guys, Mat included, carried on noisy shenanigans in the family room before you.

“Sydney, stop! I just met him,” you tried to argue, turning away from her. It was Sydney’s turn to roll her eyes.

“Like that matters. I fell for Matt like—“ she snapped her fingers for dramatic effect, “—that. And look at us now.”

You pursed your lips to the side. You couldn’t exactly argue that. With no quick comeback coming to mind, you stirred your drink, took three generous gulps — as Sydney watched, wide-eyed — and licked your lips before sighing at her.

“Well, fine,” you grumbled as you opened the fridge and grabbed a fresh beer for Mat. “Let’s not keep the boy waiting then.” You sashayed away from your friend who, spinning away from you, quickly squeezed her eyes shut and crossed her fingers before turning back and following behind you.

Mat thanked you profusely for the drink as you returned to him. Now he sat among his teammates, and Sydney sat back in Matt’s lap as you took the seat beside Mat on the opposite couch. You noticed how he immediately leaned back and comfortably stretched his arm across the cushion behind you, and you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t inch a little closer then. It briefly occurred to you that you were drawn to him in the very same way you’d been drawn back home not long ago.

He felt like home. Already.

And soon, after a few hours more of merrymaking, Mat never leaving your side, the other couples had all headed for home. You four who remained had played several rounds of euchre and sang and danced to half a dozen Christmas carols before you realized how late it was. Knowing you’d had too much rum and wouldn’t be fit to drive, you’d already established that you’d stay in Sydney’s guest room — or maybe kick Matt out of the master. Regardless, you were staying put. But Mat, reluctantly, was leaving — the boys had practice in the morning.

“I guess I should go,” Mat sighed after a long round of goodbyes. Matt and Sydney gave him one last hug and retreated to the far side of the spacious room, aiming, of course, to leave the two of you to your own goodbye.

You nodded. “I guess you should,” you said, caught off guard by the twinge of sadness in your tone. “I’ll walk you out.” Mat smiled and turned toward the front door, and your heart truly may have skipped an actual beat when he glanced back at you and reached his hand out for you to grab. You did so, biting down on your smiling bottom lip as you followed him down the hall into the entryway, acutely aware that, if Sydney and Matt were indeed watching — of which you had no doubt — they could still clearly see you.

But when Mat pulled on his shoes and stood up straight again, stepping slowly, so slowly, closer to you, all you could think about was how hard your heart was thumping against your ribcage. You looked up at him in anticipation, and he smoothed his hands down the sleeves of your sweater softly.

“I had a really, really nice time tonight, you know,” Mat spoke. You had to remind yourself to breathe as the sincerity of his voice flooded your senses and his warm, honey-flecked eyes pierced through you. “Tonight was honestly the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”

You beamed — how could you not? “Yeah?” you asked incredulously. Mat nodded.

“Yeah. In fact,” he cleared his throat. “I was wondering if maybe, uh, you’d want to go to dinner with me sometime. Like maybe this Sunday night, after we play?”

You felt yourself grinning like an idiot, yet had no control.

“Yeah,” you finally answered. “Yes. Of course. I’d love that.”

Mat blew out a long breath and chuckled nervously. “Thank God,” he added as you both dissolved into a fit of giggles. You stepped closer to him and smelled his clean, woodsy cologne, inadvertently breathing it in. Mat came nearer, too, and tentatively reached his hands around to your lower back. “It’s a date then,” he spoke, his voice lower now, gravelly. You swallowed — hard — and gave a nod.

“It’s a date,” you echoed.

You simply stood in one another’s presence for a few long moments, smiling giddily at each other, before Mat sighed once more and glanced toward the door.

“I really don’t wanna go, but I—“

“No! Syd, just leave them be,” Matt suddenly whispered sharply to his fiancé — who seemed to have literally leapt up from the couch — though there was no point in whispering at all because you still heard him loud and clear. Jumping up behind Sydney, Matt easily wrapped her in his arms and clapped his hand over her mouth just as she started to speak.

After wrestling for control of Matt’s hand, she finally pulled it away just long enough to call out, “You’re under the mistletoe so stop stalling and just kiss already!”

With one final “shush!”, Matt covered her mouth once more, though his entire body was wracking with silent laughter.

“Goodnight, kids!” Matt said tersely as he all but manhandled Sydney down the opposite hallway into their bedroom, the two of them erupting with laughter the second they closed the door.

You rolled your jaw and looked above you and Mat to find that, yes, indeed, there hung a very Sydney-like crystal ornament adorned with glittery mistletoe, suspended from the archway.

“Un-fucking-believable,” you muttered, resting your head against Mat’s chest as you both laughed anxiously.

But a moment later, Mat’s voice rumbled in his chest. “Hey...” he spoke. You took that as your invitation to look up at him, and when you did, you found him gazing at you even more tenderly than he had before.

“I mean, since there’s mistletoe and all.. would it be okay if I kissed you?” he asked. His hand found your cheek and you grasped his fingers in your own.

“Well,” you began, leaning further into him. “Only since there’s mistletoe.”

Mat breathed a chuckle and whispered, “Okay, good,” before his lips found yours in a toe-curling, snow-melting, heart-growing, hell of a Christmas movie kiss that you both found yourselves smiling into by the end.

“Wow,” was somehow all you could whisper when you finally pulled away for air.

“Yeah,” Mat agreed simply. “Wow.”

“It worked!” You heard the muffled squeal from behind Sydney’s closed door.

You rolled your eyes once again, hating Sydney in that moment, as Mat snickered and leaned in for another kiss.

Little did you know that a few years later, your dear, meddling Sydney would stand up at your side in front of a ballroom filled with your and Mat’s family and dearest friends and proudly tell the story of that cold late-December night when your love story with Mat began.

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thefishmongersdaughter · 4 years

Note

ESKEL/GERALT PFOMPT: Eskel is walking down a main road looking for a contact but catches Geralt's scent and desides "to follow it. Jaskier is with Geralt and is shocked how Geralt interacts with this unknown witcher. And Geralt is like "ya....Eskel and I are married. Have been for almost 80 years." #Extreamly Affectionate! Geralt #playful! Geralt #talkative! Geralt #shocked! Jaskier #sweet and soft! Eskel

[Yes!!! Let the Witchers have fun! Let them be s o f t:] The summer had been a particular long one, with oppressive sun and short, restless nights. Eskel hadn’t slept or eaten well in almost a week and he had exceptionally little patience for the wild goose-chase he’d been sent on by someone who insisted their teenager daughter had been snatched away by demons (and not, say, the boyfriend that Eskel could smell all over her room). Still, if he could find a drowner or something and drag it back to the farm, he’d get some easy coin.

But as he crossed over the man-made path of the woods, a familiar scent caught his attention. His gaze flicked up, following the path as far as his vision would allow; if he focused, he could hear voices...

Turning his footfalls to follow the path, he kept his posture low and walked slowly along the softer parts of the road. As he breached the hill, he caught sight of them; the White Wolf and his little bardic pet. Eskel had heard tales of the bard, both from townsfolk with an ear for music (who stupidly asked whether Eskel was the White Wolf Witcher in question), and from Geralt himself during the tortuously short rest of winter.

Geralt was shirtless, washing his jerkin in the stream as the bard, Jaskier, asked for his opinion on certain phrases for his song. Testing the wind, Eskel was pleased to find that he was downwind. Perfect for an ambush. He waited until Geralt’s back was turned, then tore through the woods as quickly as his legs would carry him, throwing himself bodily at the Witcher in the water.

There was a short cry of “Jaskier, my sword!” but it was too late. Eskel tackled Geralt and tumbled them both into the water, laughing as he watched Geralt’s expression shift from an intimidating snarl, to confusion, to joy. Eskel barely had time to gloat before Geralt had rolled them over and was trying to pin Eskel to the riverbank.

“You bastard! I could have cut you in two!” Geralt chided, leaning in to kiss him.

Eskel made a pleased sound against Geralt’s lips, slipping his arms around his partner. “Without your sword? I’d like to see you try.”

“You’re right, guess I’ll just have to try and split you in two some other way,” Geralt retorted, but his gaze tracked upwards and he froze. “Ah... right. No, Jaskier, it’s ok. Put the sword down.”

“Geralt... who is this?” Jaskier asked, his pretty blue eyes seeming to flick between Geralt’s bare chest, Eskel’s scars, Geralt’s face, Eskel’s hands. Smug, Eskel tightened his hold of Geralt and bit playfully at his left pec.

Geralt gasped and cupped Eskel’s cheeks in his palms, giving him a warning look. “This unruly menace is my husband.”

Silence followed for a full minute before Jaskier finally found his words.

“Your husband...”

“Eskel, this is Jaskier. He’s half the reason I bring coin home each winter,” Geralt continued as though this was completely common-place.

“You’re spending your summers with a younger man?” Eskel growled, teasing. “Guess I’ll just have to kill him and steal his fancy clothes.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and leaned in to steal another kiss, his fingertips stroking idly over Eskel’s chest. “At least have some dinner before you kill the bard,” Geralt offered, adjusting his weight so that he could stand and offer Eskel a hand. “I dunno, that ok with you, Bard?”

Jaskier nodded silently, then raised a finger in a ‘wait’ gesture. “On one condition,” he announced.

Eskel frowned, waiting to see what price the bard would demand of him to spend time with his husband.

“You have to tell me all about the wedding.”

#geralt of rivia #geralt x eskel #eskel #the witcher #Jaskier #fluff

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aro-of-artemis · 3 years

Text

It's what you do with the things you love!

3 times the boys give Julie kisses and 1 time they have a cuddle pile.

AKA an excessive number of hugs, kisses and I love yous because they're all touch starved and they deserve it.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29331480

{1} Alex

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Julie knows she's dreaming. But that knowledge doesn't make her feel any better. She can feel the staccato thrum in her chest even as she sleeps, her lungs filling and deflating too quickly, making her feel hollowed out like a wind tunnel. Dreams, some nonsensical, others entirely too real, blur and warp in her head. She sees her mother's casket being covered in dirt, hears the pulsing, beeping heartbeat seemingly echoing from the very walls of a hospital. She sees the boys, her boys, laying in a haphazard pile, tear stained and rumpled and slowly disintegrating, turning to bone and then ash and then dust, blown away by a source-less wind. She sees-

"Julie."

Her frantic twisting and turning in bed is disturbed by a voice laced with concern. She can still feel her heartbeat in her ears. The rise and fall of her chest does not slow down but she is mercifully rescued from her dreams. She begins to cry. Big, loud sobs that judder and heave like a ship on a stormy sea.

"Hey, hey, hey," the voice says, gently. She turns her face to see Alex crouched by the side of her bed, resting his hands on the edge like he wants to reach out and touch her but he's not sure if he's allowed. He turns one palm up in silent question. Julie nods desperately, sobs never ceasing.

Alex moves slowly, sliding in next to Julie, half sitting up. He wraps his arm around her shoulders and she gratefully buries her face in his chest, body still shuddering. His other arm comes around to encircle her completely. He doesn't say much - there's not much he can say that would actually help - so he just holds her to his chest and runs his hands over her hair and down her back in long, soothing strokes.

He slides down a bit more so that her head is fitted under his chin, her damp breaths against the collar of his hoodie. The tears have quietened a bit, beat out by sheer exhaustion. When she speaks, her voice is raw.

"Thank you, Alex."

"Of course, Jules. I love you."

"Love you, too," she murmurs into his chest.

He tucks his chin, pressing a soft kiss against the crown of her head, her curls tickling at his nose. She lets out a deep sigh, her tense muscles relaxing in small increments.

"Will you stay with me?" Her voice is small, uncertain.

"As long as you need."

Her breathing grows deep and slow, a slight rasp around the edges that approaches a snore. Alex lets his eyes pull shut and slips off into sleep.

~~~

Sometimes Ray wakes in the middle of the night, filled with a sudden dread and the urgent need to check on his kids. Tonight, he has a distinct sense that something is wrong with Julie.

Quietly, he swings his legs out of bed and makes his way down the hall, feet scuffing against the floor in a hushed whisper. Her door stands slightly ajar and he nudges it further open, eyes searching out his daughter.

He is momentarily startled to see not one but two bodies in her bed but the sun rises in his chest at the sight before him, dispelling the menacing shadows of night. A pink-clad torso curls protectively around Julie, shielding her from any and all threats within and without. Alex's soft gold hair falls in every which direction and his normally anxious face is eased with sleep. Ray smiles and pulls the door shut.

{2} Reggie

Julie's noticed something. Reggie always wears the same clothes. It's always some combination of his black skinny jeans, a tank top, his leather jacket and his flannel. Luke and Alex seem to mix it up more, so it's not a ghost thing. Maybe he's just committed to the aesthetic, Julie thinks, but she's not so sure. It nags at the back of her mind for days.

She brings it up to Luke. He looks at her with his big, sad puppy dog eyes. "Yeah, I guess he does. His parents weren't - they didn't really…" Care. He trails off but Julie fills in the blanks. She feels something in her chest harden in anger and yet also soften with tender affection. The result of some strange oxymoron of love.

Luke doesn't offer any more information and Julie doesn't press but plans are already forming in her head.

She has a hushed conversation with her father which ends with a credit card pressed into her hand and the encouragement to "go nuts - within reason". She tells the boys the next day that she's hanging with Flynn and that they should under no circumstances interrupt her. It's not a lie - Flynn's eye for clothes and talent for thrifting is an invaluable part of this mission.

They spend the next day rifling through thrift stores and shopping centres, collecting flannels and t-shirts and jeans that match Reggie's style. (And perhaps they purchase socks and undies for all of the boys because honestly. And maybe Flynn stumbles upon a band shirt that would be just perfect for Luke and Julie finds a fanny pack that was made for Alex).

Tote bags full-to-bursting perched on her shoulders, Julie makes her way down the garden path and pushes her way into the studio. She finds the boys lounging on the couch, Luke and Reggie idly plucking at their guitar strings and Alex hanging upside down off it.

"Julie!" they chorus as she enters.

A small laugh enters her voice. "What are you guys doing?" It turns into a full-belly laugh as Alex tries to extricate himself from his precarious position and ends up landing on his head.

Reggie notices the bags on her shoulders. "Whatcha got, Jules?" His enthusiasm is infections.

"Well…," she says, drawing it out. She sets the bags down on the piano and starts unloading them, making a small pile off to the side for Alex and Luke. Once she's finished, she steps back with a satisfied nod and a flourish. "It's for you, Reg."

His smile drops. "For me?"

She nods, biting her lip nervously. Now that she's here, she isn't sure how he'll react. Would he be mad that she'd overstepped? Embarrassed? She watches his face carefully for a reaction. Her heart drops to her shoes when tears start spilling down his cheeks.

"Oh! Reggie, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have assumed, I should have asked before I -" She's abruptly cut off when warm arms pull her into his chest and she lets out a soft oof. But she revels in the embrace, letting Reggie hold her as long as he needs.

When he pulls back a bit, his eyes are red and puffy but he's smiling once more. "Don't apologise, Julie. I - It's just that no one's ever - no one's done this before. Thank you."

Julie can feel a stinging sensation at the back of her eyes and a boulder forming in her throat but she manages to croak out, "Of course, Reggie. I love you." She tugs on his necklace affectionately.

Fresh tears spill down his face. He leans forward, ducking his head down to press a gentle kiss into the softness of her cheek and pulls her back into an embrace.

"Love you, too, Jules."

~~~

"You bought us underwear?"

"Yes."

"I dunno how to feel about that, Jules."

A sigh. "Just say thank you and move on."

"Thank you, " is said in a three-part chorus.

{3} Luke

Julie lays on her bed, stomach pressed against the soft duvet and heels kicking in the air behind her. But her eyebrows are furrowing in tense concentration and her fingers are tight around her pen. Spread haphazardly before her are various textbooks and notebooks, her laptop open off to one side. An irritated sigh drives its way out of her throat when disorderly curls fall into her face again.

As if summoned, Luke poofs into her room. She doesn't look up.

"Hey! Jules. You nearly finished with your school work?"

"No." She says it flat and terse, eyes fixed on the page before her.

"Oh." His face momentarily creases but he shrugs and makes himself comfortable at the end of her bed, leaning his side up against it. His chin rests just on the edge. "I'll just wait here until you're done then."

Julie doesn't respond.

Time passes. An hour perhaps, but Luke's never had the best sense of time. His brain always seems to warp and shift it. He stays admirably quiet, considering, if he does say so himself. He paces around the room, fiddling with knick knacks and keepsakes, admiring (from a distance) pictures of Julie and her mom. He gives the dream box a wide berth (even if his eyes keep being drawn to it. Especially so).

Eventually, he sits himself back down in his original position, eyes glancing around the room. Absentmindedly, his hand reaches out to tug at a curl that had fallen forward over Julie's face.

"Would you STOP that?" she snaps.

His hand jerks back as if scalded. "Julie - what - I - I'm sorry, I didn't mean to - ". His eyes are wide, eyebrows practically disappearing into his hairline.

Julie's breath leaves her chest all in a rush, as if trying to beat the traffic at the end of a concert. Her face drops into her hands. Luke looks at her in consternation, unsure where he went wrong until he sees her back begin to shake with awful, desperate sounds.

"Julie - I - are you okay?"

She doesn't answer but continues to tremble.

"Julie. Jules. Talk to me. Or - or do you want me to leave. I can go if you want. I didn't -" He begins to rise, backing up.

He's stopped in his tracks, half crouched, by a garbled sound that he thinks was no.

"Okay," he says. He sits back down. Thinking. His eyes never leave Julie. "If, if you don't wanna talk about it, would you like a hug instead? I'm told I give pretty good hugs."

The hiccupy almost-sobs are interrupted by a wet chuckle. Her head nods minutely. Luke's not sure he would have noticed except for how close he's watching her.

His muscles bring him to standing and he opens his arms wide. "C'mere," he says. Just quietly. She swings herself over the side of her bed and just about flings herself at his chest. He wraps his arms around her, as tight as they go, matching her grip, and just holds her for a while, rocking back and forth slowly.

~~~

Luke's hugging her so tight. She feels so safe and so warm. His small shushing sounds cease when he presses his warm, dry lips against her forehead. He keeps them there and strokes her hair gently, careful not to snag any curls. Julie feels her shoulders drop, finally, some of the tension unspooling from her spine. She breathes in, 2, 3, 4 and out, 2, 3, 4 and in and out for a while longer.

Once her heart has calmed from a jackhammer to the mere ticking of a clock, she pulls back to look at him. His eyes are like an ocean at storm, a wild mess of greygreenblue.

"Luke, I'm sorry, I - "

"You don't need to apologise." One of his hands comes up to cup her jaw, dragging a thumb under the corner of her eye where tears still linger. She feels her heart grow a couple of sizes.

"I want to," she insists, looking down bashfully. "I'm sorry for snapping at you. I've just been really overwhelmed by my school work and it was feeling like too much. But I, um, I think I just needed a really good cry 'cause I haven't in a while and I - " Her words stumble when she looks back up because there's a bittersweet crinkle around the corners of his eyes and his eyebrows are so earnest that she has to just reach up and touch one, grazing her thumb along it.

He laughs a little. Just softly.

"And thank you. For the hug," she says. "You really are excellent at hugs. 10 out of 10. Would hug again"

His eyes crinkle again but this time with mirth. "Of course, Julie. Anytime. Day or night."

Her thumb is still on the tail of his eyebrow and the rest of her hand is cupping his cheek. He may be a ghost but she can feel the warmth of his skin against her palm, the rushing of blood beneath the surface, the faint freckles that wander across his nose.

And his eyes. She could write entire songs about his eyes - whole albums - and still not know what colour they were or how to capture how they shift with his mood like a flag in the wind.

Her gaze drops to his lips without her permission. As they lift into a tentative smile, her thumb drags over the crease of skin where his smile lines form and tugs at the edge where his mouth curls up, making him smile wider.

Julie looks back up to his eyes after eons to find him staring back just as intently. His lips part slightly, as if in awe, unsure what to say. Finally, they resolve into the soft sounds of her name.

"Julie. Can I - ?"

"Please." Her voice is barely a whisper.

Slowly, as if encased in glass, he lowers his face to meet hers. Their lips brush, mere millimetres away from each other. The air crackles. And then breaks.

Julie pushes her lips up to meet his. They're warm (still). And soft. Her whole face, her whole body, is alight, lines of warmth spreading from every place skin meets skin. She presses into him harder and he presses back. The hand still on his face hooks around his ear, bringing him closer. One of his arms curls around the small of her back, pulling her in and his thumb rubs small circles on the sharp of her cheekbone, his calluses catching against her skin. She never wants this to end but she has to breathe, even if he - technically - doesn't.

She pulls back but doesn't go far, resting her forehead against his. She can practically feel the curlicue of his mouth against hers, his breath tickling her face.

"You're amazing, Julie." His expression is thunderstruck, disbelieving, electrified.

"So are you." She is filled with awe at the idea that she gets to have this. Him. Luke Patterson, the boy she. She - she loves.

Oh.

"I love you," she says in wonderment. "So much."

He laughs, incredulous. She feels unstoppable. "So do I. I - I - I love you so much I don't know what to do with it all."

Julie laughs back. Delirious. Just this side of hysterical. "Me neither. I wrote an entire song in my head because I had nowhere else to put it."

Luke snorts. "Me too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Their smiles could blind astronauts all the way in space.

{+1}

Julie turns over in her bed again. She tries to resettle her sheets but her feet get tangled up in the knotted blanket. She lets out a deep sigh and can feel irritation clawing its way up her arms and legs, tugging at her nerve endings, making her want to scream. She turns her head to read the time off her phone and another heartfelt sigh is pulled from her chest as she watches the numbers tick over to 1:13 am.

She lays there a moment longer, staring up at the ceiling like she's a character in The Office looking at the camera. Hoping - praying - that some semblance of sleepiness would overtake her. But no, that would be far too easy. It's just that something's wrong. She can't put her finger on it but she feels as though the air around her is ill-at-ease with the objects in its path and something in her chest twinges uncomfortably.

She rolls over and tumbles out of bed, half stumbling to her feet, and makes her way downstairs, outside along the garden path and into the studio. The sight that greets her when she enters is … unnerving.

Reggie lays in the middle of the floor, arms and legs spread wide, just staring fixedly at nothing. Over on the couch, Luke sits, picking a melancholy tune out on his acoustic. On the floor next to Luke's legs, Alex sits with his knees pulled up to his chest, his chin pressed harshly into them and arms wrapped around his calves. He too looks off into the middle distance.

"Uh. Hey, guys."

At the sound of her voice, Luke's fingers falter and the other two's eyes seem to snap back into this reality but none of them move.

"What's…going on?" she says uncertainly. She feels the weight of three sets of eyes on her, burdened by some incurable sadness. Luke has stopped playing but he still holds his guitar in his lap, clutching it to his chest.

"Nothing," he says like a lying liar who lies. "We're fine. What're you doing up?"

Julie narrows her eyes at him, looks to Alex, then Reggie. "Don't change the subject." Her eyes soften though. A few steps across the garage and she settles herself down by Reggie who has yet to move except to bring his hands together over his stomach and begin tugging at his fingers. Gently, she lifts his head up and settles it in her lap. He lets her without argument and she begins to comb her fingers through his soft hair.

"Clearly something's going on. So spill." Her words are direct but her tone is mild.

Alex's chin lifts from his knees. "We - I, I was just thinking about my, um, my parents?"

Julie nods encouragingly at him even as she continues to play with Reggie's hair.

He continues. "I don't know what happened to my parent since I died. I - I don't know if I wanna know what happened to them. They weren't - they didn't, after I came out -"

Julie just nods reassuringly. She feels so lucky that her dad was understanding when she told him about her sexuality, even if he didn't understand all of the terminology entirely.

"But my sister. I think I want to know what happened to her. How she's doing."

"You have a sister?" Julie's not sure why she's so shocked to find this out.

"Yeah, a younger sister." He smiles a little, crookedly.

Julie furrows her eyebrows a bit, considering. "We could find her? If you wanted. I'm sure Dad would be happy to help track her down."

"You'd do that?" His blue eyes shine with something like hope.

"Of course, Alex." She watches him as he scrubs a hand across his mouth and sniffles. She elects not to say anything but just opens one of her arms. He crawls over and slumps into her warm embrace, breathing shakily.

Reggie speaks now. "I don't think I want to find my parents. It would be - " He shakes his head and a tear rolls down the side of his face and drops noiselessly onto the floor.

"That's okay, Reggie."

"Thanks, Julie. I just sometimes wonder - it doesn't matter though." His watery eyes brighten a touch. "You guys are my family, now."

Julie feels a warm tear leak out the corner of her eye and make its way down her face, hanging off her chin.

She turns her face to Luke who hasn't spoken since the beginning. He chuckles softly, shaking his head. His face is dry but his eyes are brighter than normal. "You know my story, Julie. And I'm so …," he tips his head back as if searching for the right words, "… grateful to you for giving my parents closure but I still miss them, y'know?"

Julie does know. "Luke Patterson, you'd better get your butt over here."

He smirks a little at that, placing his guitar off to the side finally. As he does so, Julie wiggles herself down so that she's lying across the rug, carefully positioning Reggie's head on her stomach. Alex presses his face into her shoulder on the opposite side to Reggie, throwing his arm over her upper torso. She curls her arm protectively around his shoulders, her thumb stroking against the place where it rests. Luke plops himself down beside her and wedges a cushion under her head. She smiles at him gratefully. He positions himself at her other shoulder, cushioning his head on her outstretched arm so that he lies parallel to Reggie. He loops his arm over Reggie, pulling him to his chest.

As if they'd planned it, they all released a breath simultaneously. A damp giggle erupts from their pile on the floor.

After a few minutes of just existing together, Julie clears her throat.

"I love you guys," she says quietly. "You're my family and I'll do anything I can for you. You've already done so much for me. So if you want to see your families, or if you don't, I'll be here to help you. Just say the word."

"Thank you, Julie," Alex answers for all of them.

Time passes and she can feel Luke's breath begin to deepen against her neck and the rise and fall of Reggie's stomach slow. Alex burrows further into her shoulder. Her own eyes feel as though they're being pulled down like the shutters of a shop at the end of the day. She lets herself fall into a deep, restful sleep.

When morning comes, she lays a kiss on each of their cheeks before she makes her way inside. Because, after all, that's what you do with the things you love.

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #fic #jatp fic #platonic kisses #platonic cuddles #found family #they just love each other v much okay>#light juke #juke

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copias-thrall · 4 years

Text

Now What?

Our heroes thought they smoothed out the bumps to What They Were, but as it turns out, being in a relationship means *gulp* intimacy …

(Part 1; Part 2; Interlude 0)

You lean into the mirror—creating your favored doll eye—as the tinny noise of your Bitches Night Out playlist sounds from your phone. You and Mary are going out for some beers at O’Reilly’s since both of you have the night free and nothing to do the next day. Mary sits on the toilet seat going through your makeup bag. Every so often, he takes an item out, opens it, and does a smudge on the back of his hand.

You tsk at yourself when your hand wobbles and you fuck up a line. Mary looks up at you—then his eyes travel down to your derrière. You’re wearing your denim mini over thigh-length lace leggings, and it’s struggling to cover your ample ass, bent over as you are.

*public sex; dirty talk; brief homophobic language; consensual degradation; mentions of past emotional manipulation*

“Eyes up top, mister,” you say as you lick your finger to erase the wiggly bit under your eye. You already had to institute a “no-touching” rule, otherwise the two of you would never make it out of here. Mary loves the feel of you unrestricted though cotton—his band tees, hoodies, loungewear—and on any given night his roving hands are apt to start something. But you dressed up in what he calls your “fancy shit” seems to incite his lust on a very different level—so you wouldn’t put it past his roving eyes to spark something as well.

“You’re so hot when you want to be,” he says

You turn on the faucet to wet your hand, then flick it in Mary’s face. He sputters and ducks before he remembers he doesn’t care. He’s not in his stage cake, but he still wears a light dusting of white face powder and his skull accents. Instead of the blood dripping down his whole face, he has it tipping his forelock.

He grumps at you, but you just cackle. “I swear you’re half cat.”

“Whatever. Are you almost done? We’re gonna miss $5 Buds.”

“Yeah,” you say as you turn your head to-and-fro to assess the symmetry. “Just gotta put my lips on.” You hold out your hand for your makeup bag, but Mary hands you the burgundy tube.

“This one.”

“Mmm, isn’t this a little 90′s?”

His eyes sweep over you again and his hand indicates the NIN’s Downward Spiral shirt you’re wearing that you altered to tie in front.

“Aren’t you a little 90′s?”

“Point.” You take the tube and apply a dab on the center of each lip. Then you smear the color to each side with your finger. Through the mirror, your eyes linger on Mary’s plump lips filled in with a dull red instead of his usual black.

“Fuck, I’d kill for your lips.”

He mashes them together. “Is that why you’re always trying to bite them off?”

It’s true: you tend to fixate wholly on his lips sometimes when you’re making out. You give an exaggerated, dreamy sigh.

“They’re just so nice. Full, plump, well defined …”

“Weirdo.”

You shuffle over toward him and straddle his lap. Thumbing his bottom lip, you say, “I don’t usually hear you complaining.”

Mary leans back into the tank, his arms draping over it casually. “You’re breaking your own rule.”

Leaning in close you say, “I said you weren’t allowed to touch me.”

You slide a hand under his t-shirt—the skin of his torso warm and smooth—and tilt your head as if to kiss him. His eyes flutter shut, and that’s when you tilt your head back up.

“Hey, can we play?”

Mary’s eyes snap back open, and he lets out a sigh of exasperation.

“You’re a fucking tease, you know that?”

You grab his jaw.

“Can. We. Play.”

His eyes cast down.

“I don’t know, Suey. I really don’t feel like spending the whole night wondering if my dick’s gonna explode.”

You pat his cheek. “That’s ok, Mare Bear. Thank you for telling me.”

He turns to nip at your palm. “Some other night, k?”

You lean back in and actually kiss him—a short and sweet thing.

“I was thinking about something else, anyway.” You thumb his lip again. “Wanna see your lips all full and puffy. Wanna paint them with my lip gloss—have you wear it all night.”

“Is that … it?”

“Well—you can’t wipe it off, and if it gets smudged, I reapply.”

“And what do I get?” he asks as he gives a small roll of his hips. “Thought I was gonna get lucky later anyway.”

You straighten up. “What you’ll get is knowing that you’re my very good boy and that you have pleased me very much.” You smooth at a blackened eyebrow of his. “Don’t you like it when you’ve followed the rules and done a good job?”

Mary’s eyes are round and his pupils dilated. “Yeah. Yeah, ok.”

“Mmm,” you hum as you lightly sweep your hand over his stiff hair. “So good already. What a good job you’ve done keeping your hands to yourself.”

His eyes shine, and he says, “It’s easy being good for you.”

Mary and his inexplicable softness.

“Yeah, well. Let’s get that lipstick on you.”

After gently wiping off his matte with a square of toilet paper, you rummage through your makeup bag for the ridiculous gloss you got as a sample with the purchase of something or other. It’s wet and shiny with a glittery sheen to it—and some kind of chemical that supposedly plumps your lips. The first and only time you’d worn it, your friend told you that it made your mouth look like a wet vagina. It makes Mary’s lips look like a delicacy you want to consume as an entrée at a ridiculously expensive French restaurant. With a white wine pairing or some shit.

He rubs them together experimentally. “Sticky.”

“Yeah, it’s not the kiss-proof kind, so don’t wipe at it.”

You admire you work for another beat, then have an idea.

“Wait—hold on …”

You reach for your phone, then start poking through the apps. He’s assessing his lips in one of your small compacts when you finally have your camera app ready.

“Uh …” he says.

“You have your porn, I have mine.”

“Whatever. I’m pretty sure my cum lips look better.”

You don’t really notice anyone on the street that looks twice at Mary—but then again, he’s in full demonsona, and most passersby try not to look directly at him. (Apparently he gets fewer freakouts when you’re on his arm, but that’s just because they don’t know I’m the one keeping you in line, Suey.)

It’s embarrassing the amount of ownership you feel over Mary when the two of you go anywhere—like he’s a feather in your cap and not your autonomous boyfriend. But there’s just something about having this dramatic boy—in his makeup and leather jacket—on your arm and deferring to you that makes you feel powerful. It doesn’t help that he enjoys playing the part of your attack dog, happy to wait patiently until you tap him in—but a lurking, menacing presence all the same.

Of course, O’Reilly’s is really Mary’s bar—a place he and his bandmates have been frequenting for years (even if it’s a place you’ve been known to hit up on a bar crawl or for late-night eats)—so the staff and regulars obviously don’t buy the dark & mysterious routine from a dude who once sang “Paradise City” shitfaced while trying to Coyote Ugly on the bar. It doesn’t stop them from acting like you have some sort of … control over him—which, ok: you do—now that’s it clear you’re pretty solidly in the picture.

The barstaurant is what Mary calls a “Pop” dive bar. It’s dim enough and cheap enough to attract the college kids and the punks, but it’s clean and serves decent food all night so that the yuppies flock there too. The regulars don’t think too much of the dynamic (and Mary’s known to get into drinking games with the finance guys), but that doesn’t mean there aren’t … clashes. The bouncers visibly eye roll with their entire bodies whenever they see Mary in line.

“Goore. It amazes me you haven’t been banned yet,” says ‘Bruiser’ (what Mary affectionately calls him—his real name is Rodney or something) as he haphazardly marks at X on the back of Mary’s hand.

“I’m pretty sure that’s because my friends and I single handedly keep this place afloat when there’s not a game.”

When you thrust out your hand, Bruiser hums at you, like you’re guilty by association (not that he’s wrong), and swipes at your hand too.

“You should be keeping him in line.”

You give him a wolfish smile. “Where’s the fun in that for me?”

Bruiser rubs his eyes.

“Just … try to stay out of trouble?”

Mary slings his arm heavily across your shoulders as you enter the bar, set upon his own claim. It’s not so much about keeping guys from approaching you (“I mean, they can try. It funny watching you turn them down.”) than it is a warning that anyone who starts shit with you will finish it with him (“Or maybe I just want to show off the pretty piece on my arm—ow, fuck”).

As the two of you make your way to the bar, a few people call out, and Mary tilts his head at them. “Thursday is the new Friday” is apparently in full swing here. It’s crowded enough that you two have to squeeze into an opening at the bar, but not so much that you can’t carve out a space for yourselves.

You order the two of you a round of shots and a lite beer as a chaser. Mary knocks the whiskey back like it’s sugar water while you push through the burn. You immediately take a swig of the beer; some of it dribbles down your chin, and you wipe it away with the back of your hand. Mary tracks your movement.

“Oh—you want some?” you say licking your lips.

“Yeah.”

You crook your finger at him, and he leans down.

“Open.”

His glossy lips part, eyes fixed on yours. You bring up the beer bottle and carefully tip it into his mouth. He closes his lips around the mouth of it as you pour, but easily lets go when you incrementally pull it away. Some of the gloss comes away with it, so you tell Mary to hold up. You dig into your bra to produce the tube of gloss, then reapply to his lips.

“Disgusting,” comes a voice that startles the both of you out of your bubble. You turn to see a neckbeard in a hoodie scowling at the two of you. “You really going to let your bitch put that shit on you?”

Mary’s face darkens, and he straightens to much taller than his height.

“The fuck you just say?”

Mary lets a lot go—he’s a skinny goth boy who wears horrorface—but he hates it when men talk shit to you. Things that don’t even penetrate you seem to make his blood boil (“How can you not know this is just a thing?” “I did, I just … didn’t know how often it was a thing.”).

“You really gonna let some bitch dress you like a faggot?”

Mary tenses at the same time as you spit, “I’m sorry about your small penis.”

Neckbeard sputters at you, and Mary steps in front of you.

“Call my girl a bitch again and I’ll tear the veins out of your neck.”

“Fucking snowflake faggot, like you could.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult?”

“You’re ok with looking like a fairy?”

“The fae are fearsome creatures, so yeah.”

“Don’t be a fucking smartass, freak. You know what I meant”

“If you mean the colloquial meaning of ‘gay man’, then yeah—I am.”

“That’s fucking disgusting.”

“I’ve found sex with men quite pleasant.”

“What the fuck, dude,” says Neckbeard, recoiling.

Out of nowhere, Bruiser materializes.

“Problem?”

At the same time as Neckbeard says Not at all, Mary is gearing up.

“Yeah. He’s harassing Suey and spouting homophobic language.”

Bruiser is—as it happens—a gay man, and his face darkens.

“I’m sorry, sir. We don’t tolerate that kind of hate speech here.”

“Don’t tell me they got you toeing the party line?”

“Management reserves the right to remove any patrons they feel contribute to an unsafe environment.”

Neckbeard sputters. “Y-you will let this, this freak stay here, and kick out a red-blooded man?”

“He’s a pain in the ass, but hardly a public menace.”

“I’m touched, Bruiser.”

“Shut the fuck up, Mary.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’d like to speak to the manager. I want him to know what kind of Yelp review I’m going to leave.”

“Of course, sir. This way …”

Bruiser leads Neckbeard away. Mary gives him a thumbs up, but Bruiser just glowers at him.

You consider Mary.

“You like to fuck men?”

Mary looks at you, brows furrowed. “Well, yeah. I’m in a punk band.”

You squint at him. “What does that have to do …”

His features school. “You … you do know that we’ve all fucked each other?”

Oh.

You didn’t.

“That—that makes a lot more sense.”

No wonder his bandmates resent you. You took Mary from them.

“Is … that a problem?” says Mary, his face impassive.

“No,” you say quickly. “I just—didn’t know. I’ve never seen you make googly eyes at a dude.”

He crowds into your space, placing his hands on your waist.

“I don’t make eyes at anyone’s who’s not you.”

You burst out into laughing that turns into stifled giggles.

Mary scowls at you. “Don’t be a bitch. I’m being sincere.”

“No, it’s just … Mare—you’re the biggest flirt whoever made his family ridiculous. No, don’t shake your head at me—you are. I’m not the jealous type, but that doesn’t mean I don’t watch you play up your Evil Lothario persona when it suits you.”

He grumbles non-verbally at you, then deflects.

“Don’t you fuck women?”

“Oh,” you say, surprised. “Um. No? Not really.”

He tilts his head at you. “Not really?”

You shrug. “I mean, college … but no. I’m not sexually attracted to women.”

“Well, damn,” he says as he runs his hand through your hair. “I guess there goes all my hopes of a threesome.”

You smirk at him. “Does it?”

He stills when he gets your meaning.

“What?” you ask.

“I … I can’t tell if I hate that idea or not.”

“A devil’s threesome?”

Mary shudders. “I’m equal parts repulsed and turned on by that.”

You lean away from him. “Ok, wait. You have orgies with your band, but you’re stymied by a threesome with another dude?”

“I’m gonna sound like an asshole, but it’s different with a random groupie.”

“How so?”

His eyebrows twist.

“That was just fun. I never cared for them. Not like …”

He runs a finger lightly down your face, and you shy away from it.

“Gross.”

Mary narrows his eyes at you, then grabs you by the hips to pull you into him.

“But: I’ll admit that the idea of watching some dick that’s not mine fuck you is … appealing.”

You feel the growing bulge in his jeans. He leans down to murmur into your ear.

“Fucking into your pussy, like he has the right.”

He hikes your one leg over his hip and presses his erection into your crotch. You make a pleased noise.

“Watching your face contort with the pleasure he gives you. Watching you moan as he makes you cum.”

He ruts into you, and you wonder if he can feel your growing wetness. He presses his nose into your neck.

“Fuck. That makes you hot, too. I can smell you.”

“Fuck, Mary.”

“God, what a little cock slut you’d be. Could I punish you after?”

You’re throbbing now between your legs, and you let out a soft moan.

“Yeah, you’d like that. Being punished for fucking a cock that wasn’t mine.”

You grind into him, and he slips a thigh further in between your legs, resting his foot on the rail under the bar. Immediately you grasp at him as you rock yourself back and forth on his thigh in little movements.

“How would you like to be punished? Should I take you over my knee?”

A thrill runs through you, and your back arches as you let out an Uhhn.

“Yeah,” Mary rumbles. “Take you over my knee and make sure to cherry that ass of yours.”

He reaches his hand around to press at you from behind, and the feeling goes straight to your clit. Your head lolls as your eye roll back. You’re sure some of the people in the crowd must be aware of what’s happening, but right now all thought is between your legs.

They’re welcome.

“Would you fuck me?” you breathe.

Mary growls. “Of course I’d fuck you. Gotta make you remember why you like my cock best. But only after I spanked you red. I’d want you to feel the sting every time I fucked into you.”

You rock hard into Mary’s thigh, and he pulsates the fingers pressing into you, ratcheting up your arousal.

“Oh god, Mary.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Cry out my name. You know who owns your pleasure.”

You’re riding his thigh hard, your movements no longer discreet. You know Mary’s hard, but he’s just looking down at you with hooded, intense eyes as his clever fingers manipulate you. You rub your clit forward into his thigh, then rock back onto his fingers—your hips circling sinuously. You’re terribly close to climaxing if you could just …. You grip hard at his arms as you speed up.

“Fuck, I want it. I want to cum.”

Mary’s other hand grips you harder, and he leans in so close you can feel his lips on the shell of your ear.

“I’d fuck your cunt hard to wipe away the feel of that other dick. Fill you up with my cum so you’d smell like me. I’d hold you down so I could cum into you again and again. Make you my cum dumpster. Would you like that? To have my jizz dripping down your thighs? So that everyone knew who you belonged to.”

“I’m such a slut! I don’t deserve it!” you gasp, your movements now jerky as you chase your orgasm.

“No you don’t,” he growls. “You’re so lucky to have my dick in you. If I could, I‘d always have you on my dick. That’s all you’re good for. Milking my cock. A fucking warm body. And you can’t even do that right. I should let that other dick have you, you worthless—”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you cry out as the throb between your thighs crests, hovers, then pulsates through your cunt from front to back. You press down hard into Mary’s leg as your pussy spasms, mouth open and drooling.

“Yeah, that’s it. There you go. Ride it out.” He pets at your hair.

Once you’re done, you slump forward into his shoulder, panting, and Mary wraps an arm around your waist. He extracts his hand from under you and brings it to his face. He closes his eyes as he brings his fingers to his nose and inhales. Then he slides them down over his lips and tongue.

A throat clears.

Mary jerks around as you sluggishly raise your head. Bruiser is standing behind you two, eyebrows raised.

“You two are fucking nasty, you know that?

You just press further into Mary—mashing your face into his chest—not up to confrontation so soon after your orgasm.

“You think this is Amsterdam or some shit? Uh-huh. You need to get your asses out of here.”

You feel Mary shrug at him.

“What’s a guy to do when his girl’s this hot?”

“All right, love birds. C’mon.”

Mary grumpily readjusts himself as you ooze down to gather your things. Bruiser escorts you both out the back door and shakes his head, laughing, as he closes the door in your faces.

You press Mary into the alley wall and rub your tits on him.

“I thank you for the use of your shapely thigh, good sir,” you all but slur as you look up at him with a happy smile.

He licks his lips. “I can think of a better way to thank me.” He grabs your hand and guides it to the bulge in his jeans. You give it a squeeze and Mary growls in response.

“I swear to god if you’re going to tease me—”

“I’m not,” you say as you pet his dick, “but not right here. C’mere …”

You grab his hand, yanking him as he stumbles behind you. You lead him down another side alley and into an overflow backlot. A quick assessment has you saying Over there as you lead him to a walled corner with an SUV parked adjacently. He lets you maneuver him in between the car and the brick wall, his eyes predatory. You push him up against the wall with both hands, and he bounces a little; you press the line of your body into him and let your hands wander slowly down the plane of his torso.

You’re looking up at him, gaze full of intent, as your fingertips slip under the waistband of his jeans. His stomach contract as he inhales sharply. You’re just grazing the tip of his cock when Mary’s hand shoots up to your head.

“I want your mouth,” he rumbles as he applies a gentle pressure to your crown

You grin up at him as you sink down to a squat. “You have been a good boy.”

He lets out a Fuck and tips his head back into the wall. You reach up for his belt, but his fingers reach it first. “Put the lip gloss on, I want to see how it looks stretched around my cock.”

Mary fumbles with getting out his cock as you dig the gloss out of your bra. You hastily swipe the wand across your lips before shoving it back into your cleavage. Mary’s holding his dick at the base—it’s flushed and the tip is shiny with precum—but with his other hand he chucks you under the chin.

“You’re beautiful you know that.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re only saying that because I’m about to suck your cock.”

His grip tightens on your chin.

“And I’m going to ruin that pretty little face of yours.”

Then he pushes his dick into your mouth whether you’re ready or not—his hand slipping to the back of your head to keep you in place. Your own hand reaches out to steady yourself on his leg as he holds you like that. He lets out a sigh of relief, then his hand is gone.

“I want to watch you,” he says.

So you bob forward down the length of his shaft, then back up, trying to get him as wet as possible with your spit. You curl your free hand around the base to use in tandem with your mouth. When you reach his cockhead, you close your eyes as you suckle at it, twisting your lips around it as you tongue at his sweet spot.

“Yeah. Yeah, just like that. Fuck.”

You remove it from your mouth so you can tap the tip on your tongue. Mary lets out a breathy grunt, and you run your tongue around the ridge before lapping around his cockhead a few times.

“Uhn, yeah.”

You suck it down to the hilt in one swallow, and Mary gasps, his hand slamming into the wall. You deep throat him for a bob or two, then pull off with a sucking sound so you can take a breath, making sure to keep jacking him with your hand.

Mary lets out a half whine.

After repeating that combo a few times, you settle in to work at sucking him off for really reals. It’s a good thing it’s a tight fight in the corner, since you’re able to use the car to help redistribute your weight—you probably can’t squat for long.

Mary’s earlier guttural noises have turned into something high and breathy. If you could spare a hand, you could probably cum again just from the noises he’s making.

There’s a tense moment when you hear footsteps in the gravel and you freeze, Mary letting out a soft moan of frustration and his cock throbbing against your tongue. But then the steps get closer, and you feel him tense. He puts a hand on the side of your head—whether to shield you from view or keep you from popping off, who’s to say?

The sound finally does round the corner of the car, and your hand tightens on Mary’s thigh. He feels like a coiled spring. There's a clink of a belt that cuts off suddenly.

“Whoops … sorry,” slurs a male voice.

Then a pause.

“Girl, you ok?”

Mouth still full of Mary’s dick, you give a thumb’s up in the voice’s direction with the hand not occupied.

“Ah. Have fun.”

Then the footsteps stumble and recede, and you do pull off his dick. Mary spits out a Fuck and slams a fist into the wall.

“Stupid fucking drunk. I was enjoying that,” he says looking down at you.

You’re feeling the burn in your leg muscles, which are starting to tremble.

“Wait—just let me …” you say as you try to shift around to a better position. You’re about to fold your knees under you when Mary says, “Wait. The gravel.”

He shrugs out of his leather jacket and hands it down to you. You lay it down in front of you before kneeling on it.

“Why, Goore—you’re such a gentleman.”

His hand is behind your head again, tangling into your hair. “Shut up and suck my cock.”

You acquiesce, sinking back down and getting right to it. He’s by no means soft, but he’s not as hard as he was before the unfortunate interlude, so you deep throat him a couple times to coax the blood back in.

“Hhhghh, how are you so good at that.”

You hollow your cheeks for a long suck.

“Fuck.”

You start bobbing on him again when he says, “Look up at me.” You flick your eyes to him. “Yeah, just like that. Keep your eyes on me.” His own eyes are glazed and his mouth is parted. “Yeah, keep going. Faster.”

Speeding up, you try to keep the hand at his base in time with your mouth.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

You bob faster on his cock, and you see Mary’s body tense, then release.

Tense.

Release.

He swallows audibly, the telltale stiffening obvious against your tongue, then he breathes out: “Keepyouhandgoing.” The grip in your hair tightens, and then he yanks you off his dick.

Your pace slightly stutters, but then you start jacking him as fast as you can as you squeeze your eyes shut. Almost immediately you’re hit in the face with the splash of his cum, and Mary makes this soft-moan thing in the back of his throat. He must really have been worked up, because he splatters across your face again and again. And again.

You ease up with your hand only when you hear him whine, but he just pushes your head forward as he presses back into your mouth, making a pleased rumble as he rubs against your tongue. He rocks into your mouth a little bit, and then the hold in your hair disappears and he withdrawals from your mouth. You feel him lean away from you and into the wall.

“Oh wow. Fuck,” he says laughing, then lets out a pleased hum.

You’re still kneeling on the ground, eyes closed and arms out for balance.

“Mare?”

“What? Oh—yeah, fuck. Hold on.”

There’s a rustling of clothes and a zipper, and then you sense him getting on his knees in front of you. He chuckles.

“Wow—I really got you everywhere.”

“Mary.”

“All right, all right,” he says still chuckling. “Um … ok.”

You feel what can only be his t-shirt wiping at your face. And your ear. And under your chin. And at your hair.

“Just a few more …” he says as you feel him wipe at your eyes with his thumb. “Ok … you’re a little smudgy, but—ok.”

When you open your eyes, he’s right in your face.

“You’re right—that lipstick is amazing,” he says, and then he kisses you hard and rough with an open mouth, his tongue going straight for your tonsils.

Despite being crunched between a car and a brick wall with the sharp gravel digging into your legs, you and Mary makeout sloppily with too much tongue and a lot of spit. His hands have found your face again and yours are braced on his chest.

The sudden noise of a car starting up and echoing off the wall has you both breaking apart.

“We should go,” you say.

“You think.”

It’s a little awkward to navigate in the cramped space, but you help each other up, your legs wobbling a bit. You hand Mary back his jacket, and he brushes off the detritus before donning it again. You notice that he keeps pulling the bottom of his shirt away from his stomach, and you laugh.

“Oh no! That can’t be comfortable.”

“It’s fine. It’s only cold and wet. And sticky.”

You hold out your arms to him, and he perks up. When he’s in your arms, you make sure to rub and smush his shirt into his stomach.

“Oh my god you’re such a bitch.”

“I’m helping!”

“How is that helping?”

“It’s just like acclimating to the ocean—you just got to dunk under in one go,” you chirp at him.

“Next time I’m just gonna leave you looking like a bad bukkake.”

At some point Mary started rocking the two of you, and you squirm until he finally lets go. He sighs.

“All right. Let’s get you home.”

He puts his hands in his pockets and starts striding out of the parking lot. You skip after him and thread your arm through his.

“Really? The night’s still young!”

He gives you an incredulous look.

“Suey, you look like you just got face fucked in a parking lot.” He gives you an appraising look. “Actually, that’s kinda hot. On second thought, let’s go to Sixes & Sevens—”

“Where?”

“Mickey’s place. I have no problem with everyone knowing whose dick you just sucked. I’ll make them smell my fingers too.”

“Pig.”

“Hmm, maybe I should reup.”

He pushes you against a wall and puts his hand between your legs. His face contorts into a look of surprise.

“Fuck, you’re wet. Like … really wet.”

“Well, what did you think—”

“Fuck, are you still …”

Suddenly he’s pushing up your skirt and diving his hand into your panties. You gasp Oh my god when his finger slip-slides over your clit.

“How are you still so wet?”

You give him a sultry look.

“You know sucking your cock does it for me.”

He’s still fingering you, leaning into your space, when he says, “Maybe we should get a cab. I could be fucking you in 10 minutes. No drunks looking for a place to piss.”

With his clever fingers manipulating you, you have to admit the prospect is appealing. But …

“No,” you purr at him. “You’re going to get me off right now because it pleases me. Then we’re going to go get a little sloppy, and if you can keep your hands to yourself, you can fuck me that way you like when we get back to my place.”

Mary presses into you like it’s a reflex.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And if I can’t?”

“Then it’s you and your hand, mister.”

His fingers go to work at you. They’re sloppy, artless—unlike his usual careful manipulation—but you’re already halfway there from the blow job and that, combined with him sucking bruises into your neck, has you mewling and pushing at him in no time. The pad of a finger suddenly presses hard onto your clit, and you make a wounded noise. It doesn’t leave, and you feel the direct pressure keenly. You start twitching and letting out small noises.

“Oh oh oh … Mary—oh god … Mary …”

He turns his head to kiss at the hinge of his jaw, but his finger just. Stays.

The pressure is all at once Way to Much and Not Enough, and you’re thrashing you head back and forth.

“Mary, Mary, Mary, Mary …”

You’re asking for mercy, but he’s granting you no clemency.

It’s a slow build to your orgasm, but you feel every second of it intensely. Your head tips back, and your nails scrabble at the wall as you moan Oh oh oh oh in time to the pulsating of your clit. You’re making these embarrassing high-pitched wounded noises as the throb between your legs worsens.

When you finally cum, it’s almost painful, and you grapple at Mary’s arms, sinking your nails into him. Your screams bounce off the walls around the two of you, and Mary covers your mouth with his to muffle you. You’re dimly aware that you just squirted everywhere, soaking your leggings, the fluid dripping down your legs.

You jerk when Mary runs a gentle circle around your over sensitive nub, and he wraps an arm around your waist to pull you into him.

“I made a mess,” you say as Mary withdraws his hand. You meant for it to be funny, but once it comes out, it sounds small and your voice wavers.

Mary wipes his hand off on his jeans and brings his other arm around you.

“I guess we’re matched now—both covered in sex juice.”

The wetness on your legs is beginning to cool, and the droplets are beginning to settle into your socks. Suddenly the thought of going anywhere else other than home is unappealing. Cleaning some semen off your face in a bar bathroom is much different than dealing with soaked bottoms all night. You push away from him.

“You did that on purpose!” you say as you tug on your damp leggings.

“I—what?”

“If you really didn’t want to go back out, you just could have said!”

Mary’s looking at you helplessly.

“You asked me to get you off …”

“I can’t go anywhere like this, Mary!”

He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Are you really fucking mad at me because I made you cum too hard?”

“You knew what would happen!”

“Jesus fucking christ. There’s never any winning with you sometimes.”

You turn and start walking away.

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“Yeah? You gonna walk the whole way?”

“Yep.” Maybe taking off your leggings will help. Except then your ass will be hanging out.

“Suey … that’s an hour’s walk. Let’s get a cab, ok?”

You spin on your heel.

“I’m all wet, Mary! I can’t sit in a cab. I’m disgusting.”

You turn back around and continue walking. After a bit, Mary catches up with you.

“Let’s get a cab, you can sit on my jacket.”

You look at him. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Well I’m … it’s …” you sputter.

“It was really hot. Fuck, I think I almost came in my pants.”

“But—”

“So I literally don’t give a fuck if you sit on my jacket.”

You don’t say anything, but you don’t fight him either.

“Look, we’ll get a cab; you can change; and we can go to the bar down the street from you. Ok?”

You stop and look at him.

“Ok.”

He looks at you, then rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

“You’re a fucking pain in my ass, you know that?” He bundles you into an embrace. “I don’t know why I keep you around.”

You let him enfold you in his arms, but don’t hug him back.

“Probably the blow jobs,” you say into his chest.

He cradles the back of your head and you feel him smell your hair.

“Definitely one of the top 3 reasons.”

The two of you get a cab and—true to his word—Mary lays out his leather jacket for you to sit on. When you get back to your apartment, you make a beeline for your shower. You strip down to everything but your panties and leggings—those you’ll shower in.

The shower is amazing, and you relish in washing the night off your body. When you’re done, you hang the wet garments over the shower rod and wrap yourself in your robe.

You find Mary conked out on top of your covers in just his boxer briefs. One of his hands is on his chest and the other is sprawled across your bed; his mouth is open and there’s a little drool in one of the corners. You climb onto the bed and lie on top of him

“Huh, wha?” says Mary as he startles awake.

“Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

A hand rests on your back.

“Wasn’t sleeping.”

“Mmhm.”

“Just resting my eyes.”

“Mmm.”

He rubs your back a little before saying, “Should we get moving?”

“Can we just stay like this?”

A pause.

“Sure.”

You lay like that for awhile, feeling Mary’s chest rise and fall under you.

“M’sorry,” you mumble.

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry I was such a bitch.”

“Yeah. I didn’t like that.”

You consider for a moment before saying, “My parents used to pull that shit on me.”

He breathes in. He breathes out.

“Which?”

“They’d—they’d give me permission to do something or whatever, and then they’d manipulate it so they got what they wanted anyway. Um, like one time I wanted to go to this concert? And they said I could if xyz, you know? I got the ticket and everything. All my friends were going. We had all these plans. And then like. The night before, my parents held up my English class roster. I had this paper due the next week and they asked me to show them my research notes. Obviously I didn’t have any research notes because I’d planned to spend that Sunday at the library. So they revoked their permission. Said I promised this concert wouldn’t interfere with my schoolwork, and obviously I hadn’t kept that promise. All my friends went to the concert that Friday and my parents drove me to the library. Said it was a lesson in responsibility.

“That’s just the one that really made me realize how fucked up they were. I know it sounds stupid—boo-hoo I missed a concert, but it's really the thousand little paper cuts like that. It’s about how stressful it was never knowing what I was actually allowed to do, and what was fake. Having to always go the extra mile and second guess myself. To do everything right and get tripped up on a technicality.

“One time I saved up to buy this dress to one of the proms I’d been asked to? And they knew that. They praised me for being fiscally responsible. I kept my grades up. I stayed on top of all my assignments and made sure all my chores were done. They helped me with a deposit to the group limo. And then a week before—you know, I didn’t even remember what bullshit reason they found. But they found something. And it’s like they knew I was going to go anyway, so they returned my dress and drove us out to grandma’s for the weekend.

“It kinda beat me into submission, you know? I just. Stopped doing things. Like, what was the point, right? The dance? The new movie? Game night? They always found a reason. And my friends? Just stopped inviting me out to things. They said my parents would just find a reason to block me anyway and that they were tired of working around it.

“So, I dunno. Tonight? It felt a little like that. Like you’d wanted to call it a night, and when I didn’t want to, you found a way to get what you wanted while pretending to give me what I wanted.”

Mary lightly scratches down your back through your robe.

“That sounds really fucked up.”

“Yeah.”

“Are they …?”

“They disowned me.”

Mary lifts his head.

“What? Why?”

“I—not tonight, ok?”

“K.”

The two of you lay like that, unspeaking, for a while. After a while you become aware of Mary’s hardness under you.

“Did you want to fuck?”

His hand stills.

“What?”

You squirm a little.

“I can feel you.”

“Suey. You’re laying on top of me. What did you expect? But no: I don’t want to fuck.”

“Are you sure?”

“This is kind of nice, actually. As it is.”

“Gross, but ok.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Whatever.”

Mary maneuvers his head until his mouth meets yours. He starts with your lips, then moves onto slipping you some tongue. You meet his kiss, gently tangling your tongue with his. He runs his hand through your hair, then rolls you onto your sides. His thigh slips between yours, but he doesn’t grind against you or anything. Still—his dick hasn’t seemed to get the memo. You slip your hand down to cup him, but May flinches and catches up your hand.

“Hey. I said it’s fine.”

“But you’re—”

“I said, no.”

You bury your head in his neck.

“Ok. But … do you really not want to, or is it something else?”

“Why do you think I’m some sexbot?

You bring your face to Mary’s and squish his between your hands.

“I don’t think that, Mary. It just seemed like—I dunno—you were falling on your sword or something.”

“Fuck, Suey. I don’t expect you to understand. You always seem ready to go. Like we could be having the worst fight, but if I took my dick out, you’d still drop to your knees and suck it.”

You flush at being read.

“But I don’t—I know my dick thinks it’s gonna get lucky because you’re so close, but I’m just not in the mood. If you want an orgasm, I’m happy to give you one—I’m always happy to make you cum—but I’d rather not myself, ok?”

You kiss his nose. “Ok, Mare Bear. But if you change your mind …”

“Noted.”

The two of you make out lazily. Mary’s hands slip into your robe and roam all over your body—a light caress here and a grabby handful there—but you keep yours at his face and in his hair. Soon, he has his face in your neck and his one hand is kneading at your breasts. Because he’s pressed close to you, you can feel the throb of his cock. His finger sweeps over a hardened nipple, and you moan at the sensation. Mary ruts into you, then whines.

You pet his head. “It’s ok, Mare. You can fuck me.”

“But I don’t want to want to fuck you. I should be fucking able to just lie here with you without fucking wanting it.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Ok, but if I want it and you want it …?”

He tilts his head back. “Christ, you’re frustrating. Look—you were kinda right earlier. You wanted to go out, and instead it became all about where we could fuck. Is that all? Are we just strung together by times we’ve fucked and times we could be fucking?”

You consider his words.

“I don’t have many relationships, Mary. They kind of seem like a waste of time? And if I get horny, there’s always a bar full of guys to fuck. But, I dunno. You’re different. You don’t want things from me. I feel like I can just … exist with you.”

“I want a lot of things from you.”

You huff.

“You don’t want idealized things from me. I don’t know where you’ve gotten this idea that the only thing we’ve got in common is our genitals.”

“Don’t say genitals.”

“Our nethers.” Mary groans. “But I feel like in a pie chart of my life, there’s a big slice devoted to Mary Rants. About capitalism, about the patriarchy, about gender construct, about slow walkers—”

“Who are these people who have nowhere to go?!”

“—and another devoted to the plotline of the WWE wrestlers.”

“I won’t apologize for that. It’s dramatic as fuck AND there’s head bashing. Everyone who disses it is missing out on some serious soapy shit.”

“Such on brand Mary.”

He grumbles.

“Fine, ok. But—you’re like this vault, and I only have a lock pick.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah.” He presses an index finger to your forehead. “I know there’s gold in there. But I can’t get at it.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm?”

“I’m ruminating,” you say.

“You and your 10¢ words.”

“I won’t apologize for my vocabulary.”

Mary pecks your lips. “Wasn’t asking you to.”

You sigh and snuggle—yes, ok snuggle—into him.

“I guess I take too much pride in being independent. And, I mean … I think we work because we’re both independent people looking for—I dunno—a partner to come home to, not someone who follows you around. But—I’ll try, Mary. To, I dunno—hand the gold bars out through a slot or whatever … it’s your stupid metaphor.”

“It’s a start.”

You blow a raspberry at him, and he retaliates by gently biting your tongue. When you squeal in consternation, he just sucks it into his mouth. You try to push away from him, but he just rolls on top of you and begins to blow raspberries into your neck

“How do you like it?” Thhpbt “How do you like it now?” Thhpbt “You think that shit is funny?” Thhpbt

You’re laughing and trying to push him off you, but he has you thoroughly pinned.

“Wait—no! Stop!” you beg in between giggles.

He buries his face between your tits and gives you the biggest one yet.

“I will fucking murder your face, Mary Goore!”

He looks up at you, eyes glinting boyishly. “You’d have to get free first.”

You start kicking with your legs, and he tries to keep you pinned—but you bring your knee up, and he flinches away preemptively.

“Don’t play dirty!” he exclaims as you take your advantage to roll back on top of him.

You lick his face and try not to cringe from the awful taste of the makeup on it. Mary makes a disgusted noise.

“Did you mean murder my face like a kitten? Seriously, fucking stop.”

Still ignoring the bitter taste of his makeup, you continue to lap at him. He grabs you by the hair and drags your mouth down to his. Him sucking your tongue into his mouth (“Ugh, is that what I taste like?!”) is initially a matter of defense, but it soon turns into a heated kiss. Mary’s gripping your hair and pressing up into you as his tongue pilfers your mouth. He wrenches your head back so he can kiss down your neck.

“What about now?” you gasp. “Can I take your cock now?”

“Ugh,” he huffs into your neck. “I hate it when you win.”

He rolls the two of you back onto your sides, and his hand travels down to your cunt. You’re by no means soaking, but the play fighting and subsequent kissing have made you wet enough. Mary thinks so too, and—after some fumbling with his underwear and your robe—his cock finds your hole and pushes in. He makes a sound of relief, as you gasp, and begins to slowly thrust in and out of you.

The position is a little awkward, even with your leg hoisted over him, and you say, “I can turn around if …?”

But he just draws you closer. “No, this is fine.”

His thrusts are slow and steady, him slowing you down every time you try to pick up the pace.

You whine. “Mare—”

“Shh—it can be good like this.”

He finds your mouth again, his one hand tangled in your hair and the other gripping your ass. You let him slowly fuck into you, your hand snaking down to play with your clit. It takes longer than when the two of you pound frenetically at each other, but soon enough Mary is stuttering and trembling with the need to cum.

“Are you close?” he mouths at you. “I want to cum with you.”

You squirm. “Mary …”

“Please …”

You suck his tongue into your mouth and start tapping quicker on your clit. You dredge up your favorite x-rated fantasy. All you need is …

“Faster—oh please, Mary …” you plead, breaking away from his mouth.

He presses you into him harder as he begins to thrust faster. Your eyes are squeezed shut as you will your orgasm to happen.

“Suey—this pace … I can’t …” whines Mary. He slows down a little, pumping into you with longer, deeper thrusts. You press into your clit, hard, and clench around him, loving the feeling of being filled, of having something pressing back against you.

“Oh my god,” hisses Mary, and then he slams suddenly into you. “Ughn,” he grunts out as he empties into you.

It’s actually enough to push you over, and your eyes roll back as you start to pulsate and spasm with the waves of your orgasm.

“Ah ah ah ah,” you punch out.

And then the two of you are clenching and grinding and grabbing at each other, mouths meeting and then smearing across faces and necks.

When it’s over, your leg is draped and hanging over his hip, his face is mashed into your shoulder, and your arms are wrapped around his head. You are both panting, hearts rabbiting.

“Fuck,” says Mary into your shoulder.

“Double fuck,” you say, and Mary huffs out a laugh. He raises his head to capture your mouth in a lazy kiss.

You’re both sticky with sweat, and it’s a messy business separating. Mary reaches out to you, but you’re already bouncing off the bed.

“No, why?” he whines as he makes grabby hands at you, but you’re already shrugging your robe back on.

“Do we have to go through this every time? I’m going to pee—I’ll be right back.”

You’re on the toilet when Mary wanders in—nude and soft cock bouncing.

“Mary,” you squeal as you cover yourself with your hands.

He squints at you. “What?”

“WHAT IF I WAS TAKING A SHIT?!”

“Are you taking a shit?”

“No, but—”

He turns the sink faucet on. “Then what’s the issue?”

“Fuck, leave some mystery!”

He grabs his Mary-designated washcloth and looks over at you as he runs it under the water.

“I don’t really want ‘the mystery’. I want the real thing.”

Mary begins to wipe in between his legs, and you turn your head away with a disgruntled noise.

“I don’t get what the big fucking deal is. I probably know what your, uh, vagina—”

“You can just say ‘cunt’, jesus christ, this isn’t health class.”

“—your cunt looks like better than you do. I’m up there enough. And earlier tonight you were covered in my jizz.”

“It’s-it’s—I don’t know! Kind of gross?”

“You peeing is grosser than semen?”

You press the palms of your hands into your eyes.

“Yes?”

The faucet shuts off. “Fine. I'll tell you what. You promised to be more open. So you can either finish peeing—don’t deny it I know I interrupted you midstream—

“Christ, Mary—”

“—or you can tell me one personal, intimate thing, and I’ll leave.”

You turn to glare at him. He’s standing with arms akimbo, modesty be damned. You keep his gaze as you unclench and finish peeing. He grins at you—a wide, fearsome thing.

“Ok, ok—get out. That’s all you get tonight, drive through.”

He leans over to kiss your head, and you make a mean lemon face at him.

When you get back into your room, Mary is in a fresh—well different—pair of boxer briefs and is straightening out your sheets. You hang up your robe and shimmy into the old tee of his that you’ve claimed as yours. When he turns and sees you, his eyes linger, but he doesn’t say anything.

You both climb into bed, and you allow him to big spoon you—with the understanding that the second he falls asleep you retain the right to extract yourself from him. He snuffles into your neck and sighs.

After awhile you say, “Sorry that that’s not the way I promised to let you fuck me.”

He huffs into you. “How do you know how I wanted to fuck you?”

"It was implied.”

“You said ‘that way I like’. I like the way we fucked just fine.”

“But I—”

“Hush. Let’s just go the fuck to sleep, ok?”

"Yeah, ok.”

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#mary goore #ofc #feral cats fic #ficlet #gritty girls #gutter punk #my writing

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ffxivimagines · 4 years

Text

fidelity | Fic for DarthSuki

Thank you so much for your patience and support @darthsuki! I had a lovely time working with Samilen ^^

Ao3 Link

Rating: G

Category: M/M

Applicable tags: Stormblood spoilers, RDM questline references, I went a little hard on the pining can you tell, mutual pining

Summary: Maybe Samilen shouldn't have read so heavily into X'rhun's many shows of affection, but maybe he could have stood to had a little more confidence as well.

There is a letter waiting for him when Samilien slides onto a bar stool inside the Quicksand. Momodi smiles knowingly, sliding the folded paper across the counter toward him, and says, “Someone left a little somethin’ for you. I didn’t peek.” She finishes her sentence off with a wink. Honest to Menphina, a wink.

Samilen… is not sure how he should feel about that. Momodi isn’t the sort to gossip (usually) but the way she’s watching him promises trouble.

He takes the letter and opens it gingerly. The first thing he notices is the familiar pattern of X’rhun’s not-quite-cursive spelling out “To my dearest Samilen” like they were lovers and not just comrades (though the idea of being involved in that way is by no means a bad one). He tended to title nearly all his letters the same. The notable differences are simply where the comma is placed or what comes after the sappy opening line.

In this case, the latter that follows is no less affectionate as it is urgent. They rarely correspond via paper means─while enjoyable to send and receive, they are easy to track and intercept─and receiving written correspondence is always a welcome surprise. The letter reads:

To my dearest Samilen,

‘Tis a rare occasion I can write to you. I can only pray this letter finds you in good health and in better time. There have been more skirmishes with the Empire as of late and I have been sorely missing your presence at my side. Do write me a response if you are able.

Sincerely,

Rhun

The trouble with Garlemald is standard fare for the both of them, but what is not by any means standard is the scribbled footnote saying that a package should be arriving within a few days (or so X’rhun hopes).

Momodi giggles behind her hand and asks, “An admirer, perhaps?”

Samilen is tempted to reply, but flounders. X’rhun is a comrade. A friend. Not an… admirer. He hasn't shown the slightest inclination that he views Samilen in that way, either. He settles for shaking his head. Momodi frowns.

“A shame, that. You’re a lovely young man,” she says, disapproving of his apparent lack of prospects. “I’ll make sure you know when that package of yours arrives.”

Samilen excuses himself, tucking the letter into his pack, and tries very hard not to think of exactly why X’rhun is sending him a parcel. They are both affectionate in their own ways, but this can’t be meant in that way. X’rhun has given him things before (like the all-important Soulstone that allowed him to take up Red magic) but he really shouldn’t be reading this far into it. It would just serve to get his hopes up over nothing.

With that thought in mind, Samilen goes about his day. He manages to successfully forget about the promised package until he prepares to check out of the inn and head out of Ul’dah. Momodi slides a parcel across the countertop before he can even hand her his room key and says, “That admirer of yours sent a little somethin’ extra, it looks like. Make sure to write back, Samilen! Leadin’ them on isn’t like you.”

He flusters, ears flattening close to his head. “It’s not like that,” he signs frantically.

“They sure don’t think so.”

He places his key on the counter with a pointed clack, counts out Gil for his stay, and takes the package under an arm before departing. Momodi calls after him, tone teasing, and he tries not to give her words any credence. He’s already on the airship and sat in a corner with his bag in his lap when he remembers that he never even opened the parcel currently making a menace of itself where it’s wedged between cuttings he’d collected from throughout Thanalan. He extricates it with care (little for the box itself and more for the phials it was sitting on top of) and simply stares.

There, in X’rhun’s typical script, is a label that reads: To my dearest companion.

Samilen thinks he may have missed something. Multiple somethings. Like how they used to share drinks all too often and X’rhun’s hand would stray from his elbow to his waist. How he always signs things as Rhun in an all-too-intimate show of trust and affection.

Affection that Samilen would still like to think is platonic, lest he drown in embarrassment.

He feels his cheeks heat the longer he looks at the little parchment tag, so he tears apart the wrapping and hopes that the little voice inside his head saying that it is definitely a courtship gift will be proven wrong. The box inside is made of thin plywood sheets and left shut with a length of butcher’s twine. It isn’t much to look at, all told. It’s simply standard for things that might be damaged during a courier’s travels. Nothing more and nothing less.

Samilen finds he is somehow disappointed.

He unties the twine and lifts the lid. Inside is a pocketbook─the type he would expect to find in Gridania proper and not wherever X’rhun was camped out─with close-set type and a thick, cardstock cover. “A Horticulturist’s Guide to Ala Mhigan Flowers'' the title reads and maybe Samilen should have had more care when flipping through the pages because there are loose flower petals all over his lap, now. He picks them up delicately, cursing quietly when the airship lurches and he accidentally punctures the delicate surface of what he assumes to be the remnants of a carnation. He sweeps all the petals into the box and carefully continues flicking through the book. He gets to the second to last entry, careful of the myriad pressed flowers between the pages, when a small scribble catches his eye.

X’rhun’s familiar scrawl fills up the margin. Samilen squints, reading his writing with some difficulty. The words are barely spaced and the looping script has become a curse where lines intersect and make nonsensical symbols instead of letters. He manages most of it, though.

I hope you enjoy the gift. It would bring me great joy if this has managed to arrive safely into your care. Do take a moment to read the entry on this page. I think you’ll find it most enlightening.

There, circled in blue ink, is a little section explaining the meaning of the plant in floriographer’s terms. Jonquil is something he recognizes. It’s resemblance to the daffodil is a point of constant contention for beginner botanists. It also… isn’t a flower he ever thought to look into for more than cultivation methods. He wishes he had, now, because it stands for desire─both toward someone but also to have that feeling reciprocated─and X’rhun had pointed it out very much on purpose.

Samilen realizes with such sharp clarity it nearly hurts that he has been ignoring legitimate courtship attempts. Readily given company, trust with each other’s safety, tokens of affection, physical closeness, and letters titled and signed with ever-increasing intimacy. X’rhun has been courting him (him! By Menphina!) and wanted to know if he returned the feeling.

He feels like he’s nearly buzzing by the time the airship lands and he disembarks. It’s a wonder he manages to not crash into anyone on his way home because all he can think of is that he wasn’t reading too much into gestures, but rather that he had been ignoring them. He sits down and pulls out a sheet of parchment the second he’s inside, nearly forgetting to close the door behind himself. He stares at it, unseeing, before realizing that he has to write on it in order to send a reply.

How could he even title it? To X’rhun? Certainly not! Well, maybe. He had every other time they corresponded, but this felt different. He would be replying with the knowledge that it wasn’t just letters between friends. But, then again, X’rhun had been attempting to court him for many a month. He could respond the way he has before and address the unspoken question, but doing it through a letter also feels less than genuine, considering how recent of a realization it is.

He settles for a request to meet and agonizes over how to word it. By the time the letter is written, folded, and appropriately labeled for delivery, Samilen thinks he may be making a mistake. The courier is already down the road, however, and it’s late enough he simply sorts out the cuttings in his bag so he can attend them come morning. He looks at the little book sitting innocuously next to the wrapped bits of plant and decides not to snuff his lamp. He has a lot more reading to do if he intends to respond in kind.

When a reply arrives, it’s in the hands of a red-coated Seeker whose roguish smile barely manages to cover his nerves. “Is this the residence of a Samilen Jawantal? I have a letter for him.”

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professordickinson · 4 years

Note

Hi! Since your art is an inspiration to me, I thought I'd ask: when do you imagine Harley and Arthur getting together on your timeline? And how?

Thank you that means alot! Oof this is gonna be a long reply sorry ^^’ Well in my version she became his doctor shortly after he killed murray on live tv. He had other doctors before but harley was the only one who got through to him. So there was no batman yet, me and my sis actually talked about that timeline but thought that it’d be ok because this is a different version of joker so would probably be ok to change it up a bit

I believe at this point in time hes not too far gone compared to the og joker, dont get me wrong hes still fucked up beyond belief but arthur is still in there. To some degree, she was curing him Joker was starting to revert back to arthur, he hated himself so much, to him, his joker persona was his saving grace but circumstances took that away from him. He hated her for that, he hated how she never understood that, reverting back to who he was meant death for him but he was dead either way whether he was in the asylum or not But then again she was the only one who treated him like a person during his stay at arkham.

Harley was fascinated by him and was also swayed by his charisma and charm, they eventually fell in love. Their interaction lasted for less or more than a year(?) At some point, joker’s supporters broke him out and harley was there to witness it. She pleaded with him not to go this way but Arthur took the opportunity and escaped, going down the true path of crime. This was her breaking point, everything she worked for was wasted but she wasnt giving up, she tracked him down. She followed him and made many attempt to change his mind, most of her encounters of him were traumatic. He was a monster now. He couldve easily killed her but he didnt, couldnt bring himself to go through with it no matter how hard he tried, at some point harley planned on killing him too because he was a menace in society but was too intimidated by the thought. One time she caught him, shot him in the leg and was ready to call the police but she didnt, she thought that it was too cruel to put this up against him, that she was still in love and they were forever tied to each other’s being, he cant be tamed so why tame the beast? She joined him.

Obviously this decision wasnt easy for the both of them. They can be equally abusive to each other, harley actually being physically stronger oof. Harley is more affectionate but often questions herself whether she actually loves him or not, she can be cruel i dont how i can describe it in detail but she can. Arthur has a hard time understanding her and understanding their relationship as a whole since hes never been in one but nonetheless he can also be affectionate if hes up for it.

#feel free to ask more about Harley and Joker

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malecsecretsanta · 4 years

Text

Merry Christmas, @stupidnephilimlove!

Merry Christmas!! I hope you like it!!!!

*****

Find You There

One.

It’s dark outside. Snow falls gently from the sky, pelting the grass in a fluffy white blanket. Their home is abundant with joy and warmth, incomplete traditions of years past inviting comfort into the hearts of a now complete family.

Alec looks on fondly as his husband gathers their sleeping eleven year old daughter into his arms, carrying her to her bedroom. His mother is smiling, her hair resting on her shoulders. Her fingers curl elegantly around a wine glass stem, her right arm resting at Luke’s waist as they snuggle together on the couch. His father and his new wife stand in the corner, laughing softly. There had been years of turmoil when his parents had been married, and a deep sigh of relief had followed their divorce. He was glad to see them both smiling and happy; something he wasn’t entirely certain he’d ever seen when they had been together, not even when he was a child.

Isabelle, Jace, and Max sit on the other couch together, setting up the next game for the evening. Max is 16 now, and Alec feels a never ending burst of pride towards his youngest sibling. He’d been nothing short of a menace growing up, but the years have started to mellow him out significantly. Alec feels all 29 years of his life as he watches him grow into an adult, and it’s something that should maybe bring a feeling of dread, but all Alec feels is a deep and sated content.

Jace, his best friend and sort-of brother, is finally at a point in his life that he can say he’s genuinely happy. Years of abuse from his father, Stephen Herondale, had culminated into a reckless boy longing for love and affection. He’d found it in the Lightwood home, but it wasn’t until a couple years ago when he began regular therapy sessions that he really began to find his own purpose in life. He’s a successful entrepreneur in a happy relationship with his longtime girlfriend, Clary Fairchild. Alec thinks of the ring he knows he keeps in his jacket pocket and he smiles, looking at the bright and happy redhead standing in the corner with her childhood friend and Izzy’s boyfriend, Simon Lewis.

Izzy had made friends with Clary a few years ago, bringing her into their lives and subsequently tearing down all their walls, one by one, until she burrowed her way into their tight knit family. Simon had followed her, similarly settling into their lives as a permanent fixture. Alec had, admittedly, been rather averse to their presence at first but eventually warmed up to the both of them, knowing they had made his siblings happier than he had ever seen them.

Magnus interrupts his musings as he settles in next to him on the large armchair which, though wide enough to seat both of them comfortably, finds Magnus more in his lap than on the chair itself.

“Serenity is asleep,” he says, “She woke up for a bit when I put her in bed but all she wanted was Bun.”

Bun, as their daughter affectionately called her stuffed rabbit, had been around since they’d adopted her 4 years ago. It was the first gift they had given her when they brought her room, and she refused to sleep without it. Alec feels affection swell within him, knowing his little girl was just that, still- a little girl.

“Thank you,” he says, leaning over to give him a chaste kiss.

“What were you thinking about over here?” Magnus asks, and Alec shrugs.

“Just that I’m happy to be here with everyone.”

Magnus hums in agreement and sits up slightly as Isabelle smirks in triumph, announcing the start of the next game.

“Let’s kick their asses,” he grins, and Alec smirks. He loves his family, but there’s no way in hell him and Magnus are losing their winning streak this year.

Two.

Magnus can feel his magic bubbling to the surface, playful and curious as it always is in Alexander’s presence. He suppresses it, not wanting to scare off his new- well. It’s perhaps a bit early to call him his boyfriend- they’ve only been on a grand total of three dates- but the sentiment remains. He really likes Alec, and he’d like to keep him around, if only for a little while.

Everyone leaves him eventually.

They’re sitting in companionable silence, grading tests and sharing longing glances every so often. As he falls into a deep state of focus, he doesn’t notice the blue sparks that start to make their way towards Alec, running across his arm.

“Oh,” Alec says, and Magnus looks up.

Whatever it was he thought he would see, it’s certainly not tendrils of magic wrapping themselves around Alec in smoky blue wisps. Magnus pales and forcefully draws the magic back into him.

“I can explain,” he says, struggling to come up with something to tell Alec.

“Why’d you stop?” Alec asks, pouting, and Magnus freezes.

“What?”

“The magic, why’d you stop it? It felt nice.”

“It… felt nice,” he repeats, somewhat stupidly, taken aback by Alec’s reaction. No one had ever reacted to his magic like this; not even his own mother. In all his nearly 30 years of life, he never thought he’d find someone who would not only accept this side of him, but become confused when he hid it away.

“Yeah,” and Alec is blushing now and oh, this man will be the death of him, “It felt like you.”

“That’s because it was,” Magnus mutters, astounded by this man’s ease of adaptation, “Me, that is. It was me.”

“I figured.”

Magnus shakes his head, smiling brightly at the man sitting across from him. Slowly, he lets go, and his magic reaches out to him again, soft and curious. Alec smiles and Magnus thinks that maybe Alec might just be the one to stay.

Three.

He’s walking along the poorly lit Sunset Boulevard. It’s mid-January and damn near 4 in the morning, but the light leather jacket he has on has him sweating in the California weather. He’s never been able to adjust to the weather here, despite the fact he’d lived here since he was a child.

He doesn’t really know where he is or where he’s going, but he knows he’ll find his way to where he needs to be. It’s a gift that has been with him (with his people, really) for millennia now. He looks up at the night sky, seeing the stars that are there despite the intense light pollution, and he imagines he can see his home from here. He knows he can’t, and that he’ll likely never see it again, but he can certainly hope.

He hears the flash of a camera and he curses, preparing himself for the ambush. He keeps walking, minding his own business, knowing this is the best method for dealing with the unwanted attention he’d been at the behest of for nearly 5 years now.

“Alec! Hey, Lightwood, Alec Lightwood! What are you up to tonight?” the paparazzo calls, and Alec keeps walking. He scoffs as the man continues to follow him, taking pictures as they go. “Come on, man, give me something here! You got a new boyfriend? How’s your sister?”

Alec grits his teeth and spins around, his eyes flashing in anger. The man takes a step back, frightened by the sight. “Woah, hey, I don’t mean any harm,” the guy laughs nervously, “I mean, we’re just concerned ya know, after that brush with death the people wanna know how she’s doing in rehab-”

Alec feels his eyes flash brighter, and the man falls on his ass, breaking his camera in the process. He knows he needs to control himself, he needs to calm down, but the mention of his sister has him seething. He stalks forward and the guy backs up before scrambling to his feet and running, disregarding the shattered equipment he left behind. The tension leaves him almost immediately, and his eyes return to normal. He picks up the camera and stands, turning around to go home. He freezes.

“What the actual fuck?” the man breathes out, his eyes wide.

“Ah, shit,” he mutters, pulling out his phone. He dials the number he knows practically by heart, getting in contact with the organization so that they can get the mess he’d made taken care of. He explains the situation briefly before hanging up, knowing they’d be arriving soon.

“Are you Alec Lightwood?” the man asks when he pockets his phone, seemingly shaken out of his earlier shock.

“Yeah, I am,” he says, knowing the man wouldn’t be remembering this conversation tomorrow, “What’s your name?”

“Magnus Bane,” he says.

“Are you okay?”

“Your eyes were white,” the man says instead of answering the question. Alec curses himself internally; he’d known he was angry, but he hadn’t realized it was that bad. If the paparazzo had looked at him for any longer, the man would be dead.

“Yeah, that happens sometimes,” he says. He can hear the tires screeching not too far away, and he sighed a breath of relief.

“Are you an alien or something?”

“Yeah, actually, I am.”

“Why are you just,” Magnus hesitates, “answering my questions? Aren’t you concerned I’ll tell someone?”

“Not really,” Alec shrugs, greeting the two suited women who exited the car matter-of-factly, “You won’t be remembering this conversation anyway.”

“Wait, what-?”

“Alec,” Maia calls, exasperated, “How many times are we gonna have to do this?”

Alec just shrugs and she rolls her eyes. Gretel smirks at him, amused.

“Who is this guy?” Maia asks.

“His name is Magnus. He just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time; the guy that pissed me off already ran away, but I have his camera.”

“So what you’re telling me is we’re going to have to track this guy.”

He shrugs again and Maia sighs, taking out her sunglasses and neuralyzer.

“Again, what the fuck?” Magnus calls, “I’m standing right here! What are you people going to do to me?”

“Magnus, don’t worr-” Maia starts, her smile sweet and deadly.

“Wait,” Alec interrupts, chewing his lip, “Let me talk to him first.”

Maia huffs and puts her neuralyzer back in her jacket pocket, waving her hand. He walks up to Magnus and hesitates, “I’m sorry about this, I didn’t know you were here,” he says, “But if you don’t mind, I would like for you to at least remember meeting me tonight. If that’s alright with you.”

“Are you telling me they’re going to just… take my memory of this?” Magnus asks, baffled.

“Sort of. It’s more like they’re just gonna… convince you to forget certain things.”

“That doesn’t make this any better.”

“I know,” Alec says, sighing, “Let me make it up to you? When it’s all over?”

“What are you suggesting?” Magnus asks, somewhat suspiciously.

“Dinner?”

“Oh,” he says, “What, like… Like a date?”

Alec blushes slightly, “If that’s what you want, I don’t mind it being a date.”

A smile finds its way onto Magnus’ face, and Alec’s heart stutters, “Okay, I’ll go to dinner with you- on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“If it goes well, and we… get to know each other, tell me the truth of what happened here tonight.”

Alec looks back at Maia and Gretel, then back at Magnus, “It’s a deal.”

He grins and walks back to Maia, explaining the deal to her. She rolls her eyes and grumbles under her breath about troublesome aliens and pretty boys. She walks up to Magnus, pulling the neuralyzer back out. In a matter of minutes, Magnus’ memories of Alec’s more extraterrestrial abilities were erased, and the girls were gone.

Magnus snaps out of it, looking at Alec.

“So,” he purrs, “you got a phone number?”

Four.

Magnus lets out a deep breath and plops into the grass, his sore feet throbbing. Church and Clefairy curled up next to him, sleepy from the long day of travel. Alec throws the bags on the other side and plops next to Magnus, groaning.

“I could sleep for an eternity,” Magnus mumbles, Alec grunting in agreement.

“We should probably let everyone out for a bit, get some fresh air,” Alec suggests. Magnus nods and reaches for his pokeballs, pressing the release button for each one. Church gets up, excited to see his friends (or, about as excited as any Gglameow can get) and Alec’s Clefairy does the same.

Alec’s Snorlax looks around for food before deciding it would rather sleep, settling in a soft patch of grass and snoring peacefully. Magnus’ eyes widen in curiosity as he realizes that this is the first time meeting all of Alec’s Pokemon, and he sits up a little straighter from his own spot in the grass.

Magikarp flops around in the grass next to Magnus’ own Magikarp, and he smiles in amusement. Magikarp were incredibly useless in battle until they evolved, but they were at least good for drawing a smile out. His eyes flit to the right, where Alec is standing, and his eyebrows raise in alwarm at the Bewear trying to elicit a hug out of Alec.

“Bewear, no,” Alec scowls, “We’ve talked about this. You can’t hug me, you don’t know your own strength. I’ll hug you, but you have to calm down first, okay?”

The Bewear slumps in defeat before sitting down. He wraps his arms around himself and pouts, and Magnus has to try really hard not to laugh. Alec sighs and wraps his arms around the Pokemon, muttering something that he can’t hear, and his heart just about melts in his chest.

This man will be the death of him, he’s certain.

He startles as he feels something brushing against his legs, and he looks down to see his own Espeon cuddling up by an Umbreon, presumably Alec’s. Wooper is running around with Clefairy somewhere in the distance, but he can’t drag his eyes away from the sight below him. Church and Clefairy’s bond was something that he sometimes still couldn’t believe himself, but to see his Espeon and Alec’s Umbreon interacting in this way…

Well. He can’t help but entertain that Alec may be his soulmate, if soulmates are a thing. To have Pokemon that are this compatible with one another is rare even amongst family. The rareness of the parabatai bond that Church and Clefairy share only further serves to confound and baffle him.

His thoughts settle themselves as Alec sits next to him, running his hand through Umbreon’s fur.

“I didn’t know you had an Espeon,” he whispers.

“I didn’t know you had an Umbreon,” he responds, “Or a Bewear, for that matter.”

Alec snorts, “He killed a few Team Rocket grunts not long before Izzy and I left. I was supposed to… take care of him,” he curls his lips in disgust, “I ended up training him instead. He’s a good Pokemon, he just doesn’t really know his own strength. We’re working on it, though.”

Magnus nods in understanding. Alec is a caring man with a heart much larger than he can sometimes bear, but he continues to care even when he’s suffocating.

“What’s in that one?” Alec asks, and Magnus remembers he had one last Pokemon to release. He hesitates.

“It’s a Dragonite,” he admits, “Rescued him from Team Rocket a few years ago. She was in a bad way, and the trauma from the experience still affects her now. I’ve never released her around strangers before, and I’m just worried she might attack you.”

Alec hums, considering. He stands and walks a few feet away before calling Church and Clefairy over, the rest of Magnus’ Pokemon and Alec’s Umbreon following moments later. He sits amongst them, placing his hands gently on Church and Espeon.

“Let her out,” he calls, “Maybe if she sees that the other Pokemon feel safe with me, she won’t attack.”

“And what if she attacks anyway?” Magnus asks, his heart pounding against his chest.

“I’ll protect the Pokemon,” Alec says, “Don’t worry about that.”

That’s not what I’m worried about, he wants to say, but he knows Alec already knows that. He just cares far more for the safety of their Pokemon than his own safety. He drags in a deep breath, looking down at the Pokeball before pressing the release button.

Once Dragonite has settled, he runs his hands down her flank and muzzle, whispering. She hums. He breathes, in and out, before stepping to the side and allowing her to see Alec. She perks up for a moment, considering the sight before her. She approaches slowly, suspiciously, and Magnus follows in nervous apprehension.

As they approach, Dragonite sniffs around, watching Alec with an intensity that would make any man fear for his life. Alec didn’t even react, continuing to pet the others. Eventually, Dragonite must decide that Alec is okay, because she lays down- still separated, not entirely trusting of her new companions- and watches.

Magnus lets out a deep breath and sits next to her. Alec Lightwood was definitely going to be the death of him.

Five.

Alec gazes down at the small box in his hands. He’s had it for a few weeks now; he’d honestly intended on proposing the day he got the damn thing- he was owed enough favors from his vendors, he could have gotten the flowers and the food in a matter of hours if he really needed to- but Magnus was acting… weird.

Well. Weirder than normal.

He’s the first to admit that his boyfriend is strange. The nature of a 400 year old man who’d been hiding his powers for nearly that long and then suddenly had them back only a few years ago, he supposes.

But this was weirder than his usual. He’s been distant, and though it’s difficult for him to describe, even the air around them feels different. More charged. Sometimes- and he knows this is crazy because Magnus has always had control over his magic, even when they were first together and he was still getting used to it- it feels like the magic is reaching out to him, trying to pull him in. He could talk to him about it if Magnus would just stop avoiding him.

He sighs and pulls out his phone. If Magnus won’t talk to him, then Alec’s just gonna have to figure this out on his own.

“Hey, Ragnor?” he says, “Are you free today?”

Alec briefly explains the situation and they make plans to meet that afternoon at Ragnor’s home. He got up and grabbed the keys to Magnus’ car, knowing it would take at least an hour to get to Ragnor’s. He could run some errands on the way there, stop by the office to check on the interns. He briefly considers leaving the ring at home before changing his mind, grabbing it and stuffing it in his jacket pocket.

He can’t stop thinking about Magnus the entire time, biting his lip raw as he makes his way upstate. What if Magnus has grown tired of him? They’ve had the immortality argument before, and though he’s mostly accepted it now, he can’t help but wonder how Magnus can even stand to be with someone like him.

Mortal. Boring. Predictable.

He pulls into Ragnor’s driveway, impressed as he always is by the house. It’s an 18th century cottage, European inspired and probably expensive as all hell. Being immortal certainly has its financial perks.

Ragnor greets him before he even walks up to the door, having felt him enter the wards the moment he passed the mailbox. He’s ushered inside, and he smiles in amusement at the man’s antics.

“Now, now,” Ragnor says, practically pushing him onto the couch and summoning a tray of tea and snacks, “From what you’ve told me about the way Magnus is acting, I’m fairly certain I know what the issue is on his side. You, on the other hand…”

“Me?” he asks in confusion, his brows furrowed. What did he do?

“You see,” Ragnor begins to explain, munching on a cookie (It’s a biscuit, says the voice in his head that sounds like Ragnor, and he wonders when that happened) “When warlocks allow their magic to be active and have been in a relationship for so long, our magic begins to reach out to that person. It’s totally normal, usually wouldn’t be a cause for concern, except that it can only happen when our partners possess magic of their own.”

“I-” Alec starts, and isn’t that something? To think he’s had magic this whole time, to know that he’s not so mundane after all, “I’ve never used magic.”

“I know that, you know that, Magnus knows that,” Ragnor says, “That’s probably why he’s been so distant. Old insecurities and frankly ancient trust issues have come back to bite him in the arse.”

Ah. “I guess that makes sense. Suddenly finding out I have magic after all these years…”

Except he hadn’t known, either. He really needs to talk to Magnus about this. But, first thing’s first.

“Can we find out what I am?” he asks, “Like… what kind of magic do I have?”

Is he immortal?

“Yes, of course,” Ragnor says, pulling out a small vial, “Just drink this.”

Alec eyes it suspiciously, raising it to his face to sniff. No smell. He shrugs and downs it, not feeling any different, though by the look on Ragnor’s face he was certainly seeing something. He looks down and gasps.

“Where did these tattoos come from?”

His arms are covered in them. Stark black, curving in confusing manners, almost like calligraphy. Except, when he looked at them, he knew what they meant. Courage. Strength. Stamina. Healing. Angelic power.

“You, my dear boy, are one of the last remaining nephilim,” he says in awe, “and judging by the wings you now have on your back, I’d say the blood of the angels runs quite strongly through your veins.”

Alec whipped his head around, and he caught a glimpse of white glowing wings before they vanished. He looked back at Ragnor, then down at his now bare arms.

“How the hell am I supposed to tell Magnus that I’m a Shadowhunter when they don’t even exist anymore?”

Ragnor winces, “Well, it won’t be easy, that’s for sure,” he softens, “But he’ll listen to you. He loves you to the point that, if you were even a fraction of a bad man, he’d be in severe danger of being hurt.”

Alec nods, instinctively pulling out the box and looking at it. Ragnor inhales sharply, not quite a gasp, and sits up straighter. Alec looks up at him, and the look Ragnor gives him is nothing short of pleading.

“Take care of him.”

“I will,” Alec says, more determined than ever. He has some favors to call in.

Plus one.

Magnus wakes up slowly to his boyfriend- husband, he corrects himself with glee- wrapped tightly around him. He grins and turns around, facing him. Alec is still asleep, though he seems to be waking up now. He leans forward to press a kiss to his forehead, and Alec’s nose crinkles slightly. He can’t resist pressing another kiss on the tip of his nose before Alec tips his chin up, and he kisses his lips.

It’s soft and gentle and slow. They don’t have to get up or go anywhere or do anything. They could lie here like this all day if they wanted, wrapped up in nothing but each other.

Magnus hums and pulls back, his eyes fluttering in contentment. Alec has a soft smile on his face, his fingers gently stroking under his eyes.

“I love your eyes,” he mutters, and Magnus smiles.

“I love you,” he says.

“I love you too.”

Alec kisses him again, somehow softer but no less intense in emotion. He could do this for hours; days; he could do this for an eternity, if he had the chance to do so. He pulls back again.

“Simon told me something interesting at the wedding last night,” he says, laughing at Alec’s eyeroll.

“How interesting can it be? It’s Simon.”

“He told me that you asked him to turn you.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

Magnus snorts, “Oh, yeah, he says. How do you forget to mention that?”

“I forgot it happened,” Alec mutters, “I was desperate to get to you, but then Clary came up with that rune, and well…”

Magnus sighs, wrapping his arms around Alec and pressing a kiss onto his temple. Alec leans over and kisses his neck, snuggling into him.

“I still can’t believe you came,” Magnus whispers, “I didn’t think I would ever see you again. I-”

He thought he would be alone. Forever.

“I told you,” Alec says, “We always find our way back to each other, and it was only Edom.”

“Clary had to invent a new rune just so you could bare to enter Edom,” Magnus says.

“Yeah, and I found you,” Alec insists, “I’d find you anywhere if I had to. If you somehow ended up in another dimension, I would find you there. When I die and you live on…” he swallows, tears pricking his eyes, “We’ll find each other again. You’ll never be alone, Magnus.”

Magnus rests his hand on Alec’s cheek, staring at him in wonder, “Where have you been all my life?” It’s cheesy but he means it all the same. Where was this man when he was alone, for all those centuries? Where was he as the Angels looked down on him in contempt, throwing tragedy at him from every angle?

“I was looking for you,” Alec says, and what is Magnus supposed to say to that?

He can’t think of anything, so he kisses him. And he kisses him. And Alec kisses him back.

#stupidnephilimlove #malecsanta19 #*fics19 #*gifts19

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tiaragqueen · 5 years

Text

Get Even

This one-shot might be kind of weird, but I couldn’t pass up the chance to write one of my favorite animals.

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

“Realize that everything connects to everything else.” - Leonardo DaVinci

There was an odd feeling of numbness as you watched the blaze engulfed the village you grew up in. You stood a few meters away from the burning houses, unable to do anything but stare. Even when a silhouette appeared in the midst of the raging fire that should’ve scorch them, you remained still.

“[Name]-sama,” it – no, he – spoke. You slowly averted your gaze to the said person, mouth dry yet dying to utter a single word. Four letters that you’d said so tenderly. A name that gave him an identity.

“Maru.”

Maru stopped in front of you and smiled. A pair of fangs peeked through those pinkish lips, blood dripping ominously. His dark tail swished behind him, sparks of flame flickered in the air. You couldn’t believe it was the same tail that had reduced many villages and towns to ashes. The same tail that you had touched and grabbed before.

Slowly yet hesitantly, you walked towards him as if he was a timid animal ready to flee at any wrong movement. Your hand reached out to stroke those ebony strands that framed his dimpled cheeks. He closed his piercing, amber eyes and purred contentedly like a cat.

But he wasn’t a cat. He was a monster.

A monster cat.

Your monster.

Frowning, you gritted your teeth to prevent the tears from falling because you couldn’t. You couldn’t and refused to believe that your pet was here, standing in front of you in all his human glory. You couldn’t and refused to believe that he had destroyed your hometown. You couldn’t and refused to believe that he had killed many people.

Because this... This was all just a dream. A nightmare. And you were waiting to wake up, to meet that cat and play with him again. To pretend that none of this occurred right before your eyes. To convince yourself that Maru was still a harmless cat and not a killer.

An arsonist.

“What... happened?” You blinked away the tears in your lashes and looked up to those irises that you often got lost into. “Maru, what happened? What did you do?”

“You were hurt,” he said gently. It reminded you of a calming breeze in the beach after a hard day; the same place where you found him. A black cat that sat near the shore, gazing at the setting sun. He lifted a hand and stroked your bruised cheek, where your abusive husband had slapped you last night. “I couldn’t let that happen any longer, especially not on my watch.”

You wanted to correct him that it was you who had taken care of him, but he beat you to it. “I’ve seen everything, you know? The pain you endured... I’ve witnessed it all.” Those slit eyes appeared more intimidating under the moonlight as he peered through his shoulder and towards the ruins of your house. “Every slap, every hit, every beating that you’d received. It was unfair how you took the blame for something that you didn’t even do.”

Maru paused, caressing your trembling lip. “You didn’t deserve such treatment. After all, you’re nothing but a saint. An angel. And that man was a scum. A bastard. He’d abused you; calling you bad names that a husband shouldn’t have called to his wife. He didn’t deserve to be with you, nor he deserved you. He didn’t deserve everything you gave him.” A small, tender smile softened his hard features. “But that’s alright because I’m here now. I’m here to save you, [Name]-sama.”

Maybe he has always been possessive. Maybe this was his real personality that has been hidden under the guise of an affectionate feline. But when he patted your head – the same way you often did to him – you knew that some part of him was still that affectionate feline.

“Come with me,” he said. “Leave this terrible village and come with me.”

You withdrew from his touch and shook your head, much to his dismay. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because...” Because who knows what would happen if you come with him. Who knows how many dying people you could see but unable to help. Who knows how many buildings he would burn down mercilessly. But there was no way you would say that to him. Not when his intentions were... pure, to say the least. “Because I can’t. I just can’t, Maru. It’s... It’s not that easy.”

Maru frowned. “I don’t understand. I offer you a chance to live freely. I offer you a chance to explore the outside world. Why did you reject it? What’s bothering you? What’s hindering you from getting your freedom, [Name]-sama?”

Because you were scared, was what you wanted to say. “I... I just don’t feel ready yet.”

“I’ll be with you in every step of the way. I swear on my life that I will always protect you from any harm, [Name]-sama.”

“No, Maru.” You clenched your fists, sniffling slightly. “You can’t... You can’t just come to me and ask me to go with you after you killed them! I... I know that you hate Jin, but most of these people were innocent. They didn’t deserve to die!”

Maru scowled, obviously displeased with your stubbornness. “Do you think I didn’t know that those people have been badmouthing you behind your back? Do you think I didn’t know that someone had tried to ruin your business? Do you think I didn’t know that you’ve been sobbing alone in the living room after that bastard used you as a punching bag?”

You ducked your head from his glare. “H-how long...?” you mumbled.

“Does it matter? You don’t need them, and you certainly don’t need those kind of people in your life. They were toxic. They could taint your purity.” Maru was quick to close the distance and grabbed your forearm. “Come with me and I’ll guarantee that you will have your freedom.”

“This isn’t freedom if you’re forcing me against my will!” you hissed, clawing at his knuckle to ease the increasingly tight grip.

“It is freedom,” he insisted through gritted teeth. “Can’t you see that I just want to make you happy, [Name]-sama? I gave you an option but you refused. Therefore, I have no choice but to use force.”

“Maru, no! Stop this nonsense. I don’t want to go with you!” you yelled, trying to dig your heels against the ground but to no avail. “As your master, I order you to stop!”

He halted on his tracks before slowly turned his head to look at you. “And as your protector, I order you to follow me.”

The bakeneko (化け猫, “changed cat”) is a type of Japanese yōkai, or supernatural creature. According to its name, it is a cat that has changed into a yōkai.

Bakeneko possess great shape-shifting abilities and frequently disguise themselves as smaller cats or humans – sometimes even their own masters. While in disguise, they like to dress up as humans with a towel wrapped around their head and dance around merrily. Many learn to speak human languages. They can eat things that are much bigger than they are, and even poisonous things, without any difficulty at all. It is even possible for a bakeneko to eat its own master and then take his form, living on in his place. If they do not kill their owners, they often bring down great curses and misfortune upon them. They can summon ghostly fireballs and are known to accidentally start house fires, their tails acting like torches on any flammable materials in the house. They also have the disturbing ability to reanimate fresh corpses and use them like puppets for their own nefarious purposes. They are generally a menace to any house they live in or near. – Wikipedia and Yokai.com

#Yandere bakeneko #Yandere scenario #yandere imagine #yandere one-shot #yandere bakeneko x reader #Yandere yōkai #Yandere yōkai x reader #Yandere Japanese folklore #yandere anime

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popatochisssp · 5 years

Text

Snips & Snails 6/7

Series: Undertale, Horrortale Relationship(s): HT!Sans/Reader, HT!Sans & HT!Papyrus Chapter Warnings: none

It's been a rough road. It hasn't been easy to make it this far. ...But he did it.

AO3 Link

PERSEVERANCE

Sans mulls it over for a long, long……long time.

It’s not the kind of thing you rush into, lots of factors to be considered, and honestly, he’s…a little nervous about what you’ll say.

But eventually, he builds up the courage to ask.

One night while you’re cuddled up beside him in bed, he gently nudges you and just blurts it out.

“i want a cat.”

Sans isn’t quite sure what he expects you to say, but you manage to surprise him anyway.

“Yeah? Okay, a cat sounds nice.”

“……really?”

It feels like it shouldn’t be so easy.

He feels like you should be…rolling your eyes at him, pointing out that you already have a pet, he doesn’t need another one.

(Sans never thinks that he had a bad dad, but it’s moments like these, when he’s surprised to be so quickly, unquestioningly supported that he realizes he probably didn’t… have a very good one, either.)

You make half a shrugging gesture and wriggle a little closer beneath his arm.

“Sure,” you say. “I mean, we probably want to be careful about personality, don’t want Buddy getting bullied too bad, but… yeah, we should be able to handle a cat.”

“……”

Sans elects not to answer with words. He figures his silent gratitude is understood in the way you snicker at his affectionate nuzzling.

“Got your eye on anybody in particular, or…?”

At that, it’s Sans’ turn to shrug.

“i’ll let ya’ know,” he says, and that’s the end of that discussion.

Sans is excited already.

You actually have no part in picking out the cat.

You’re out walking a new dog and Sans is in the cat room, cleaning out litterboxes and it just sort of happens.

Just like in the movies, practically in slow motion, he looks up and meets eyes with…her.

‘She’s a fine specimen of feline’…is something that would probably not be said about her very often.

She’s a little weird-looking, with a thin, sparse coat instead of a fluffy one and gigantic ears that don’t really fit her head and when she sees Sans looking at her, she screams at the top of her lungs—which is pretty damn loud, because those big bat-ears of hers don’t work and she has no concept of volume control.

Her loudness is actually what got her the affectionate name of…

………

Well, Sans can’t remember it now, but he thinks it was probably appropriate, whatever it was.

He also thinks that this cat has been here a pretty long time already, with no one willing to give her a chance.

And he knows instantly that she’s The One.

He feels it urgently enough that he finishes his task and then goes straight to her, scooping her up and carrying her into the lobby.

She sniffs and tries to bite the pen he uses to hastily scrawl his name on the adoption form, but then is perfectly mild-mannered as he pays the fee and probably spooks the receptionist by shortcutting home with his new cat.

Sans sets her down in the middle of the living room. Even knowing she can’t hear it, he still says, “go on, check out your new digs,” and slowly, cautiously, she does.

She looks around, taking a sniff of the carpet, the coffee table, the leg of the couch, and it seems to pass muster.

The real challenge is when Buddy’s head pokes out of the kitchen door, investigating the noise of somebody home so early in the day.

Sans watches them carefully as the two catch sight of each other for the first time.

He surprises himself with how much animal body language he’s picked up over the years and how well he understands what’s happening now.

Buddy’s ears are back, but his tail is slowly wagging as he comes on in—a little wary, but mostly curious.

The cat’s tail is straight out behind her, a little low, but not fluffed—not quite sure of what’s happening, but not scared, either.

Buddy approaches and when he’s finally close enough, he…sniffs her.

She sniffs him back and summarily decides he is a boring dog, like all the other ones she’s seen at the shelter, and ambles away to explore much more interesting things.

She’s not followed because Buddy goes straight to Sans instead, snuffling at his slippers in greeting of his skeleton-dad.

Sans grins so wide it makes his skull ache.

“good boy, buddy,” he assures him, giving him a real good scritch behind the ear.

No instantly flying fur and claws was a fantastic sign and he makes sure to give his little pal a cookie for being cool before tracking down his littler pal on her tour around her new home-to-be.

Sans can’t quite say it’s all smooth sailing.

Actually, aside from the meeting with Buddy, there’s not much smooth about her introduction into the house at all.

She knocks over three cereal boxes and a half-empty bag of coffee trying to jump on top of the fridge. She finds the laundry room and spends a good few minutes yelling at the washer and looking between it and Sans as if expecting him to explain himself for it. He picks her up and shows her the upstairs instead and she gets so excited about the new territory that she starts to rocket back and forth with the kind of Unique Cat Energy that usually only comes out at three in the morning, and…

Well, by the end of that, at least Sans has a pretty good name for her.

He asks if she likes it, but she just hops up onto his lap and starts kneading little cat-claw-sized holes in his already hole-ridden hoodie.

“you’re such a weird goof,” he mutters down at her. “you’re gonna do great here.”

She keeps on kneading and squints at him, the way you always say he does when he’s happy.

Sans doesn’t think he’s capable of making a face as cute as hers, but he guesses love can make even the ugliest of monsters seem cute.

And speaking of love, you’re walking in through the front door, smiling brightly at the sight that greets your eyes.

“Here you are,” you say, with a cute little smirk, and…

Oh.

Did Sans text you he was leaving, or did he just sorta…ditch you?

“……sorry,” he says sheepishly, attempting to cover his bases, but you shake your head.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say. “I figured something pretty important must’ve been up and it wasn’t too hard to figure out what when my husband and our resident noisemaker both disappeared at the same time.”

You come right up to Sans and the cat, unable to stop your grin as she cranes her head directly backwards to look at you.

She seems happy to see you and the feeling is mutual. You gently harass her, flicking her ears and letting her chew your finger a bit.

“How’s Banshee like the place, anyway?” you wonder.

Banshee, that was it!

But Sans doesn’t have to worry about forgetting that again.

“slinky likes it just fine,” he assures you. “already buddied up with buddy, even.”

You smile, but also… you know him entirely too well.

“She got that name for a reason, didn’t she?”

Sans shrugs, but he’s already grinning, anticipating your question.

You sigh. “Alright, alright, let’s hear it—why ‘Slinky’?”

“wasn’t lookin’ where she was goin’ an’ cartwheeled down the stairs.”

“Pfft! Hahahahaha, Sans…!” You scoops Slinky up and hold her to your chest, as if protecting her from him. “That’s so mean!”

“heheheheh, you’re laughin’,” he gleefully points out. “‘sides, it ain’t like she’s gonna come when we call. could name her ‘fartface’ if we wanted to.”

“Let’s…stick with ‘Slinky’ for now.”

“yeah, you’re right. ‘fartface’ is more of a middle name.”

Sans knows the punch-line hit you unexpectedly when you snort trying to hold back a wheeze and his soul feels fit to burst with pride.

You may not be the biggest audience he’s ever performed for, but you’re definitely one of the best.

And you’re hands down his absolute favorite.

Sans doesn’t miss his guess about Slinky: she’s a great fit for your home.

She…causes some collateral damage around the house from time to time—which Papyrus doesn’t particularly love—but she more than makes up for it by being the sweetest cat you could ever imagine.

One of her favorite things to do is just sit on top of people and purr. She does it to everyone in the house at some point or another, but she seeks out Sans’ lap the most and it’s…nice.

It’s especially nice for those times when you and Pap are at work and Sans is home, dissociating so hard that not even Buddy’s head resting on his feet is enough to bring him back around.

Lately, Sans has been coming back to himself with a dog at his feet and a vibrating cat-loaf in his lap, or just a little more rarely, some loud, insistent screaming and gentle paws bapping at his skull because it’s lunch-time and Queen Slinky has not been fed yet, the horror!

You make for a much kinder nursemaid than the cat, but… Sans thinks Slinky does a pretty good job, too.

At least good enough to earn her an extra treat or two on top of her meals, just because.

Slinky loops around your feet and yells excitedly when you get home, barely bullies Buddy, and as much as Papyrus gives her the side-eye-socket and refers to her exclusively as, “The Menace,” he always seeks her out and plops her onto his lap while he’s watching those soap operas he loves so much, and that’s more telling than anything else.

Sans is really glad he brought her home.

He feels like he made a good decision.

It’s a rare feeling, for him. It’s often felt like most of his decisions…weren’t entirely his own. Or weren’t decisions at all, just things he had to do.

But he didn’t have to get this cat: nobody told him to do it, nobody needed him to do it, nothing bad would have happened if he hadn’t done it.

…But life feels just a little bit nicer because he did and that’s…good.

Really good.

Slinky’s most hated enemy in the entire world is definitely the washing machine.

Something about the look or smell of it had already put it afoul of her, but then she had discovered something far more sinister about it.

Sometimes…one of you turned it on.

She certainly couldn’t hear it but she must’ve been able to feel its vibrations or something because her indignant, offended yelling could not be stopped on Laundry Day, The Most Awful of All Days.

Sans is recording this one.

“…aaan’ we’re live at the scene of the most clawful travesty catkind has ever seen—the washing machine is running. we go to our correspondent, slinky, for more. slinky?”

Slinky looks right at the camera of Sans’ phone. “MYAAAAAAAAAH!”

“harrowing. now, do ya’ think there is even the slightest pawssibility that you’re blowing this out of proportion?”

“MRRRRRAAAAAA!”

“i see. and ya’ can’t think of any way to put a better spin on this?”

“MRRRRRRRR.”

“well, far be it from me to tell ya’ what you should be feline in the midst of this catastrophe.”

Sans angles his phone towards the washing machine and the clothes and soap swirling around inside.

“yeeeep, me an’ slink are havin’ loads of fun here. might have to spring for another cycle just to keep it goin’.”

As if Slinky could understand him—or even hear him—she yells again and it almost sounds like the word ‘no.’

He loves this freakin’ cat.

“heheheh, c’mon, slink, get a sense of humor, m’only kitten.”

Slinky bats at the glass door of the washing machine, utterly humorless and very loud (as usual).

Sans sighs.

“guess not everybody appreciates the clean humor. maybe i gotta start workin’ blue?”

He stops the recording before he can laugh too hard at his own joke and texts the video straight to you.

He doesn’t expect a quick response, and he doesn’t get one.

You’re out—not at work, but at some sorta training class with Buddy. Sans thinks it’s to do with service dog stuff, something about ‘he’s gonna earn that damn vest’, and while Buddy’s certainly smart enough for it, he doesn’t totally see the point in it himself.

It’s important to you and your Justice soul, though, and that’s all that really matters to Sans, in the end, so whatever classes you want to take with your son is fine by him.

The (horrible, evil, no good) laundry is finished by the time Sans gets an answer.

You: LOL, baby, you gotta post that one!

………post it?

PUNbelievable: what, like…online?

You: Yeah, it’s really funny!

Sans is…honestly a little thrown by the suggestion.

He never thought of doing that before.

He wonders…if you’re just saying something nice, or if you really think he should do it.

And even if you do…you’re probably the most biased person he could ask.

You love him, of course you think his goofy cat puns and laundry jokes are funny.

He spares a glance at Slinky, already happily loafed and furring up the clean, folded sweatpants at the top of the laundry pile.

She’s the real star of that video, isn’t she?

Eventually, he settles on a response to you.

PUNbelievable: i’ll take another one next laundry day with just slink in it, give the people what they really want.

A weird, screaming cat seemed more like something people on the internet would actually wanna see, without his half-baked puns ruininginterrupting it.

But you insist.

You: No, it’s perfect, funnybones, just post it!!!

Three exclamation points—you really must mean it.

Sans still hesitates.

He spends a couple days mulling it over, resisting the urge to just ‘accidentally’ delete the video from his phone so he’d have an excuse not to do anything with it, but in the end…

In the end, Sans thinks that as biased as you are, he probably trusts your opinion more than his own when it comes to…himself.

And if you think it’s funny, then somebody else out there probably will, too. Even just one more smile out there in the world is something Sans has trouble saying ‘no’ to.

He posts the video.

And the comments flood in.

Most of them are exactly what Sans expected:

Not to be dramatic, but I would die for this loud goblin

lol what’s with the ears? Is she gonna grow into that?

why she screm at own laundry

But there’s also…

There’s a lot more comments than he’d thought that are…

That are…

You’re pretty funny, dude, cute cat!

The commentary really makes the video, I love this guy already

hOW MANY PUNS DO YOU HAVE?! WHEN WILL GOD SILENCE YOUR SINFUL TONGUE

……Sans actually screenshots that last one, just to save.

But he finds himself coming back to the post every couple of hours, reading new comments and old ones, trying (and mostly failing) to remember if the number of likes had gone up since the last time he looked.

It makes him feel… a very familiar feeling.

It’s just a flash, but it feels the same as when he used to be able to do standup; when his skull was whole and he could retain a whole set, beat for beat, without getting mixed up somewhere or forgetting an hour in if he already did that joke or not.

All he did was post a little video, but looking at all these likes and comments makes him realize what’s actually happening here: that there’s real, actual people out there, hundreds of them, and they’re all looking at this clip with his weird cat and his silly puns and they’re smiling. They’re laughing, they’re having a good time and it’s…

It’s because of Sans.

He did that.

A thought slowly creeps its way into his skull.

That video wasn’t even five minutes long.

Sans’ short-term memory sucks, but even he can keep himself on track for five minutes.

It’s been a long time since Sans has felt this openly, unrestrainedly hopeful. The last thing that made him feel like this was…is you, the love of his life, and getting to feel so passionate about something again—after so long without it—is exciting beyond the telling of it.

The next time he’s home alone with Slinky, he pokes her belly, waking her up from a nap.

She yells at him, but he pays it no mind.

“hey, slink. ya’ ready to take the stage again?”

Because Sans thinks…that he is.

The next video he takes is of Slinky on her back and trying to rabbit-kick a cat-toy that she’s way too long for.

His punning game is cranked up to eleven and without anyone’s encouragement necessary, he goes right ahead and posts it.

The likes and comments come in a flood and most of them are still about the cat, but Sans doesn’t think he minds playing second fiddle to a feline with as much star-power as Slinky’s got.

He spends a long time reading over the stuff people have to say about him and his cat and almost every single one gives him that same amazing thrill of validation.

But his favorite is still the one you left on it.

LOL, what a goober. Like father like daughter! ;3

Sans looks at those words and the cute little emoticon and all he can think about is how amazing it is that he has all this; that he’s still around to have all this.

He’s alive and thriving, with a nice house and plenty of food in it for him, his brother, his human, and two pets. He has a family that loves him, he’s (more or less) stable, and now, he has a brand new hobby that’s giving him feelings he thought he’d never get to experience again.

Things are good. He’s okay, and more than that, he’s…

Keys jingle from behind the front door and Sans knows that it’s you.

The second you’re through the door, he’s on you—sweeping you up into his arms and nuzzling the living daylights out of you.

You laugh, one of Sans’ favorite sounds in the world.

“Sans, what the hell,” you giggle in between smooching him back, but Sans just shakes his head.

“no reason,” is what he says, because there really isn’t one.

He’s just happy.

Maybe that’s reason enough.

Postscript to Fur a Good Time, Call…

A/N: Sans, allowed to do things for himself? Getting to have things he enjoys, after years of getting pushed into stuff and barred from his own happiness?It's more likely than you think. ;3

Prev Chapter | Next Chapter

#snipsnsnails #undertale #fanfiction #sans #papyrus #sans/reader #horrortale #ht!sans #ht!papyrus #myfic

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valasania-the-pale · 5 years

Text

The Last Rose - Chapter Two

Thank you to all of you who read the last chapter! Please enjoy chapter two :)

Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY, I’m just playing in the sandbox.

X_0_X

“You want to know what I’m afraid of, kiddo?” Her uncle softly blew out his flaming marshmallow before he answered her. Ruby wondered why his breath didn’t catch fire like before. “I’ll tell you what it is: it’s the same thing that every real huntsman or huntress will tell you they fear…”

She waited a few seconds; they were an eternity to her young mind.

“…Well?! Don’t be mean, Uncle Qrow! What is it?”

He barked a laugh. “It’s… That moment. The one where you realize that your luck has turned on you. The moment when things have gone to shit, the tide has turned, and the hunter has become the prey. It can happen on any mission, at any time, against any kind of enemy, and all huntsmen are guaranteed to have it happen at least once in their lives.”

Ruby nearly dropped her s’more, she was so bewildered. “Whaaa - But you’re all hoowah! and witchaa! and super cool with Harbinger and all! What could ever beat you?”

“Heh.” Qrow let his eyes close and a shadow passed over his face. Ruby frowned. “You’d be surprised. Even badasses like me get tired and distracted, even though we try not to make a habit out of it.”

Ruby tilted her head to the side. “Hmm. I think you’re just making excuses for getting old!”

“Hey!”

…

Of course, I later learned that in this, as with a lot of things, Uncle Qrow was telling the truth. I’m afraid of a lot of things, and I think he was too. But every huntsman will experience this fear at some point in their careers.

Suffice to say, I survived. Not everyone does.

Obviously.

X_0_X

A gentle rain pattered on the hull of the bullhead. It was a soothing counterpoint to the constant hum of the engines and pulsing sonar.

‘…known to encircle their prey before closing in with their pincers to crush armor and/or tear flesh. Collective intelligence estimated to be mid-to-low; they are known to leave carcasses desecrated in easily spotted locations, but only display rudimentary tactical abilities. Likely gained experience attacking smaller villages (See page 6 for details), but have yet to move beyond their preferred methods of psychological warfare…’

Ruby perused the detailed reports on her target, provided by various village scouts from southern Anima.

It was impressively comprehensive. While huntsmen were relied upon for most of the actual killing, many villages fielded small fighting forces that specialized in reconnaissance and ambush tactics in addition to their defensive garrisons. They would either provide huntsmen with the best information possible for their assignments, or they would take care of what they could through subterfuge and surprise.

It made jobs like this much simpler to prepare for. Instead of spending a week in the field simply tracking her target and getting a feel for their abilities, she started with relatively-fresh information on their location, preferred haunts, and the threat they posed.

Assuming the Grimm didn’t play up their habits for an advantage. Or change tactics abruptly when faced with a greater threat. Some of the craftier few had been known to take advantage of their species’ reputation for predictability.

‘…greatest threat is posed to Horikiri. Our village is well defended by the sheer cliffs on our eastern and western flanks, but cannot stand against a concentrated force for long, and we have few options for our outlying farms…’

The village was desperate, having already lost a family of five on the outskirts and two guards sent to repel another attack closer to the wall fencing them in. Ruby scowled, sorely regretting the delay in information. How many more had died since the report was sent?

‘…They are emboldened by their numbers. We have repelled their probes for several weeks, but the situation has quickly grown from routine to untenable…’

Ruby read through the last few pages, flicking back to review a few entries before she closed the report, tucking her scroll away in one of the many pouches on the belt of her huntress’ garb.

Defined by dark reds and blacks, her preferred style had changed little from her days at Beacon and the years following its fall. It would have been an insult to Crescent Rose if she shifted her look toward something that didn’t complement its menacing visage.

Her red cloak, worn, tattered, and given to her so long ago, rested comfortably across her shoulders, hood down to reveal the long braid she’d cultivated. Streaked red, her obsidian locks had been twisted into an efficient braid, pulled over her shoulder to rest on her chest.

Long hair had never been her ‘thing,’ but after so long living with it she’d come to appreciate it. The braid was a concession to how much it got in the way left loose; she’d never understood how her sis-

Locks shining gold like the sun flared behind a sun-streaked face, eyes burning RED in fury, sparking flames dancing amidst the curls, hands clenched in fists rose in readiness for combat, craving fire, blood, and PAIN.

Thump.

Ruby shied away from the line of thought furiously. She liked her hair the way it was. That was it. There was nothing else. She had an assignment to complete.

Suddenly craving comfort, Ruby pulled Crescent Rose closer to her, letting the familiar sound of sliding metal fill her ears as her baby unfolded itself into its fearsome scythe form.

Her fingers stroked across the cool metal, tracing all of the nicks and scars that covered her pride and joy; that made the work of art what it was. She could never bring herself to paint over the imperfections streaking it. It would be a lie, covering up the suffering it had gone through over all the years she and it had danced together. Her only concession had been to mend the gouges and dents that threatened to restrict the scythe’s transformation sequence if left alone.

Ruby ran her eyes along Crescent Rose’s length, seeking any of those flaws, fingers no longer affectionate but instead moving over the scythe’s length in search of the imperfections that would put them both in danger.

There were none, of course. Crescent Rose was maintained by her careful hands, after all. Not a day went by that she didn’t go over it, taking it slowly apart to make sure the insides were all in order, and sharpening the blade with her trusty whetstone…

She tapped the transformation switch, satisfied by the examination, and set Crescent Rose to the side.

Her hand dropped to her waist, resting on the soft hilt of her other weapon.

Heron, she’d taken to calling it in absence of any knowledge of what its previous owner had named it. If she had named it at all.

Ruby unsheathed it with a flourish, spinning it in her hand and refamiliarizing herself with its heft and balance. Lacking a pommel, it was unlike Harbinger, Crocea Mors, or any other sword she’d known; instead its grip simply extended to the end of the sword, capped off by a simple metal piece that Ruby had had to add herself.

Beyond that had once extended a long, prehensile wire to control and manipulate the blade, relieving her of the need to hold it personally in the first place.

The blade was irregular, a ramrod straight spine edged in three places, forming two distinctly triangular shapes to deliver death and pain to its victims. The hilt, circular and irregular like everything that was associated with the sword, proudly displayed the Atlesian ‘standby’ symbol, standard for all of their products…

It once glowed a vivid electric green, pulsing in time with its owner’s aura. Now it was a subdued velvety red, dark and broody against the black plate.

Ruby ran her finger along the blade, mindful of the razor-sharp edge the metal never seemed to lose. In all the years she’d carried it, it had never required sharpening, being smelted from some rare Atlesian alloy too expensive for even most huntsmen to incorporate into their own weapons.

‘Heron’ was – historically – the name of an eccentric hermit and ancient genius, known to experiment with all sorts of things, including the first conceptual automata… It had seemed fitting.

There were no imperfections on the blade. No scars, no nicks, no dents. It was perfect, like it always was, untouchable. In that way, it too was irregular. Just like its owner.

She flicked the activation switch she’d had to add to its design, swapping it into its pistol form and back again, and sheathed it. Ruby then tucked her hands under her arms, keenly feeling their chill all of a sudden…

…

Breathe.

…

Slowly, her fists loosened, and the tension drained from her shoulders. Her spine lost the steel that kept it stiff, and her jaw unclenched.

Breathe.

The moment past, and lacking anything else to do, Ruby leaned back in her seat with a sigh and began to mentally review the many potential scenarios she might encounter on the assignment, as well as tactics she could use to counter them.

It was an effective distraction.

X_0_X

Ruby landed on her feet, knees bending to distribute the force of the drop, hours later.

Above her head, the airship had already begun to pull away from the forest canopy, the pilots wary for any signs of approaching Grimm – especially Nevermore. It wasn’t unknown for the most daring individuals to attack lonely transport flights when they thought they could get away with it.

Thankfully, there wasn’t any snow for her to sink into for her to worry about this far south. Grateful for the higher temperature, Ruby dropped her hands to her waist, running her fingers along her supplies and mentally checking off everything.

Map. Pouches. Scroll. Crescent Rose. Heron. Pocket-knife. Canteen. All check.

Shifting the weight of her pack of supplies and equipment on her shoulders, and tightening the strap across her waist, Ruby nodded to herself. Everything was in order.

Her eyes darted across the area, noting the faint traces of Grimm still left over from the scouts’ original report a month prior. Bark scraped away from several large, passing bodies. Broken undergrowth growing back, a sign of nature reclaiming what had been stamped into the mud. But no footprints.

Recalling the weather reports from over the last few weeks, Ruby shook her head. Those would have washed away with the rains. The front that she’d moved through on the journey would have been here mere days, if not hours before.

There was something else of note, however. The slightest prickle of sensation, playing at her instincts and just barely tangible. Her eyes darted around the clearing, noting the absence of animal life, taking in the silence.

She was being watched.

It was far too quiet, the expected sounds of life amidst so much wilderness were muted and far away. Possibly because of the bullhead?

Ruby frowned, considering what he could do with the observation… before she compartmentalized the feeling. As a huntress she had learned to trust her instincts, but she had also learned not to stress too much in similar situations. Whatever was watching her was, at least for the moment, not a threat, and her assignment could be time sensitive.

Shooting the clearing a last, wary look, she began following the Deathstalkers’ trail, setting a familiar brisk pace she knew she could maintain all day with only minimal rest.

Behind her, a long, dark shape withdrew into its hollow beneath the dense undergrowth.

X_0_X

Sun was a fucking hypocrite, and he knew it.

Around him he could hear the sounds of his teammates as they puttered around their small home in the residential district of Mistral. The scrape of Sage’s chair against the floor as he made to bring the dishes from his morning meal to the sink. The fond bickering he and Scarlet partook in as they pushed and competed for space at the sink.

Distractions. There were too many. Always were.

…Don’t lie.

Externally he could make all the excuses he wanted, but he knew it wasn’t the noise that kept him awake right then, when he’d promised Ruby he’d be catching up on lost sleep. No.

Worry gnawed him. It wrestled away any semblance of control he had over his rest and held it above his head like a schoolyard bully.

When he’d shambled across the threshold, that morning, still shivering from the cold morning air, Scarlet’d taken one look at him and demanded he go straight to bed. No ifs, no buts, just firm command in his eyes.

Masculine pride demanded that Sun protest. He should have mocked his teammate for acting like a mother hen and plopped down on the couch for some good ol’ television. He should have ignored the disapproving glare and proved the defiance in his soul.

Instead, Sun had numbly accepted his teammate’s demand, kicked off his damp boots, and collapsed onto his soft mattress, lights flicking off behind him as Scarlet shut the door with a lingering look.

He was bone-tired. Insomnia was a bitch.

It had been a fairly good week, too. He’d snatched a few hours of rest each and every night and made his way through the day with relative ease. It was downright pleasant being able to interact with his team like a normal person. The mood around the house had lifted so much it was almost a tangible brightness in the air.

Then he’d gone to sleep and dreamt of Neptune, blue hair, style, cool-dude embodied. His brother in arms. His partner.

Gone.

Waking up with a panic attack was nothing new to him; it happened with depressing regularity, the short pulse-pounding episodes sending him to his feet to pace and massage his chest, desperately going through the motions of the breathing techniques that Ruby had coached him through dozens of times before, as he had with her.

She wasn’t there, this last time, either to get him through it or bring him down afterwards. It’d been Scarlet to find him on the couch in the morning, staring at the ceiling with bloodshot eyes and a deep frown on his face.

His expression? Empathetic. It always was. And he’d done everything he could to make Sun comfortable, which Sun appreciated. But it always lacked that final step of understanding he could find with Ruby...

Scarlet tried. Sage too. But they didn’t have the same problems with moving on that Sun and Ruby and gods-know-how-many-others dealt with. They were lucky like that. They knew what it was like, but they didn’t understand.

Sun shifted under his sheets, trying to find a new spot of coolness against his skin, to press the soles of his feet against. He was warm again – too warm. Outside, someone dropped a utensil. It clattered loudly, metallic against the granite countertop.

Ruby understood. Too well. Sun wished she didn’t.

Ruby was pure. She was good and kind and brave. And as her friend, Sun knew she also suffered far more than he did without her team beside her to support her through her mourning. They added to it instead.

He didn’t envy her. At his worst, he could barely stand the thought of his partner, but he knew that even at her best Ruby avoided those memories.

Just like Scarlet and Sage, he didn’t understand. He knew enough, just like she knew enough about his struggle, but it was never enough. He wasn’t the one she needed.

The only three with any hope of filling that role were lost to some Atlesian battlefield; the Valean memorial honoring every huntsman and fallen civilian from the conflict immortalizing their memory for everyone except the one who needed it the most.

He lifted his hands to rub at his eyes. They were so dry it felt like he was in Vacuo again, wiping away grit and dust and craving clean water. But just for his eyes. Every other part of him was either too hot or too cold. Never comfortable.

The bed creaked below him as he rolled over, jostling for some comfort.

He was a hypocrite. A fucking hypocrite, at that. He knew that he had drawn a promise from Ruby to get some sleep, to be safe, to come back home in one piece please, and he couldn’t do this one thing right when she asked him.

Useless.

Sun growled, frustrated, and rolled over again. Scarlet and Sage chatted outside – preparing to go out shopping for their assignment tomorrow.

He needed to fucking sleep, Dust damn it!

He was worried about Ruby. He knew he’d worked himself up to it last night, while Ruby had forced herself to get the sleep she needed for the day. In lieu of any real ability to rest himself, he’d tormented himself with the image of his friend alone in the forest, surrounded by Grimm. She was so strong, so talented, but there would always be a mistake. A misplaced foot, or perhaps the Grimm would have some crafty trick to pull, always something that would take her by surprise.

Red – not like roses, but scarlet like blood and all-too-prominent in those ghastly visions – and Sun would soon be on his feet, pacing away his anxiety. He’d work himself down, pull the sheets back over him and tuck his head between his pillows hoping that the wind would die down and give him some peace, but when that would fail he’d be at it again and the cycle would repeat itself, eating him alive.

If this had been years ago, before the Fall and the events that followed that would rip everything away from him (not Scarlet, not Sage, not Ruby, he reminded himself), Sun knew that Neptune would have been there to help him through the nights.

His partner would be there for him like he would be there for his partner. They were the best of friends, the closest of duos, complementing each other’s style and personality. The dream team could never die, nor succumb to weakness like this.

Except it had.

One half died, the other succumbed.

Weak.

‘Stop it man,’ Sun scolded himself suddenly, furious that he’d let his thoughts start down that road. ‘You’re better than this.’

The door outside opened and closed. Sun could hear his teammates’ conversation fade away beyond even his faunus-enhanced hearing, leaving him with the creak of the walls and the wind whirling by outside.

Sun squeezed his eyes shut. He was so tired…

Ruby…

‘You guys are all keeping an eye on her, right?’ he thought suddenly, willing his thoughts to reach the three people he knew were most likely to hear them. ‘Keep her safe, will you? So I don’t need to worry so much.’

Eyes opening to slits for a moment, he waited for an answer.

Nothing.

Of course, Sun sighed. Rolling again, he tried to make himself comfortable, hoping that his prayer would be heard.

X_0_X

The smoke led her here.

It could be smelled for miles, its presence sending spikes of worry up Ruby’s spine as she peered through Crescent Rose’s scope at the pack of Deathstalkers below. Their condition was hardly comforting.

Broken armor, shattered bones, reduced to six instead of the thirteen she’d been aware of, and nursing open wounds that bled the scarlet tar that passed for blood in Grimm. The pack was in shambles, and to someone of her experience it was obvious what had brought them so low. No huntsman could recreate the unrestricted savagery of some of the injuries she saw.

Her job had become much more complex, as it always did when Grimm got territorial with each other.

Such things were rare, since Grimm were usually more than happy to give each other the space they needed to survive. When it came to humans, however, they became unpredictable and deadly.

When they detected vulnerability, they might be found working together to overcome whatever defenses they encountered – prioritizing their lust for human suffering over whatever animal rivalries they held. But old, powerful Grimm were greedy. When they knew they could take a settlement alone, they would be vicious in their reprisal against interlopers, each violently protective of their kills.

Whatever ancient horror lashed out at this pack was powerful, and that boded very poorly for Horikiri and its people.

Which meant she had to be quick.

Crack!

Crescent Rose barked. The leader of the pack dropped to the ground instantly, skull beneath the bony shell of its head turning to a fine red paste as the dust round met its mark.

Utter silence fell for a split second as the remaining Grimm turned as one to look at their leader as it began to dissolve into black mist.

Crack!

Behind the jaw, in the chink where it its head flowed into the torso. The second Grimm sank to the ground and the remaining four spun to face Ruby in her perch, malevolent crimson eyes locking onto her with disturbing intensity.

Crack! Crack!

The third skidded on the ground as the two rounds pierced the two largest eyes, bypassing the plate guarding the rest of its head entirely. The surviving Deathstalkers were nearly on her position by then, however, so Ruby lowered Crescent Rose and tensed her legs for impact.

Crash-Snap!

The tree buckled beneath her. Ruby leapt, the world around her tinging scarlet as she blurred forward with her semblance. Everything slowed as she brought Crescent Rose around, twisting her body to take aim.

Crack!

Not a killing blow. The shot crippled the laggard of the group, thick blood erupting from the hole she’d punched into root of the only leg it wasn’t treating gingerly on its left side. The massive beast staggered, its weight suddenly too much to hold with the crippled limbs.

Crack!

Ruby landed in a deep crouch, knees bending to distribute the force of her fall, hastened by her shot’s recoil. Effortlessly, her finger tapped the transformation switch as she blurred forward, Crescent Rose unfolding into its full glory just as she came out of her semblance in a magnificent slide underneath its carapace. She drove the point of the blade into the Deathstalker’s softer underbelly, relishing in the agonized shriek she drew before it suddenly died, dissolving above her.

Slide right.

Crack!

Her feet skidded as another Grimm charged her former position, far too slow.

Forward!

The world blurred. She let her weight drop, the hardened, sun-dried earth of the clearing the perfect surface for her to repeat the tactic, sliding underneath and ripping open flesh with her baby.

The fifth Grimm died with a pathetic gurgle.

She pushed off with a hand on the ground, throwing her weight forward and distributing the momentum into a somersault. Ruby grinned viciously, blood pumping and adrenaline spiking high and natural for once as she finished on her feet, Crescent Rose glinting dangerously in the light behind her.

She felt alive, confident, deadly. Just like she was meant to be.

The single remaining Deathstalker held its distance warily, spitting at her in high-pitched whines and shrieks. This one obviously wasn’t stupid; it knew her now, having watched her pick apart its entire pack in mere seconds.

Her grin widened, all teeth. That just made it more fun.

Seconds passed, tense, all sound absent from their surroundings save for those made by the two combatants.

By some unspoken signal, the Deathstalker reared back and charged, deceptively quick on its short legs with its incredible bulk. Ruby’s grip tightened on Crescent Rose as she prepared to throw herself underneath it once more.

She moved.

Something grabbed her legs and she stumbled.

Her eyes widened in bewilderment as her center of balance disappeared, sending her crashing to the ground.

Thump.

Time slowed, and her eyes darted to her feet, breath hitching.

‘The hell?’

Two dark and resinous vines anchored her in place. They were absolutely covered in pulsing, sickly black veins, utterly anathema to the otherwise plantlike appearance.

Thump.

Time slowed, her perceptions shrinking until the space between heartbeats passed like minutes. The Deathstalker was far too close, seconds from being on her. Ruby twisted, painfully slow, impossibly fast, bringing Crescent Rose down on the tendrils, freeing one leg.

Thump.

The vines flailed wildly, withdrawing into the ground with unnatural haste. She pulled Crescent Rose up for the others. Too late.

Thump.

Her breath left her as the Deathstalker’s vice-like claws closed around her chest, her scarlet aura flaring into visibility as it strained to protect her from being vivisected. It lifted her into the air, for a brief moment nearly ripping her leg out by the root as the tendrils held firm.

Then they loosened, purpose apparently accomplished. Ruby didn’t have time to dwell on it.

Thump.

She dropped Crescent Rose, her weapon useless to her in such confined quarters. Ruby could feel her heart pumping wildly in her chest, every single nerve in her body alive with sensation – Pain!

Thump.

She wrapped her fingers around Heron, gripping the hilt like a lifeline.

Thump.

Her aura strained. She felt the fatigue setting in as it sapped the strength from her limbs to sustain itself. She drew her sword with all the haste she could muster.

Thump.

Twisting the blade around, Ruby maneuvered it to face the vulnerable chink in the Deathstalker’s armored pincer: the intersection of the two claws where the tendons that strained so hard to kill her were located, just as she’d been told in Grimm Studies.

The monster shrieked.

Thu-ump.

Ruby dropped to the ground, sucking in a deep breath as the Deathstalker reared back in agony, her former prison hanging uselessly open. The slit tendons smoked and bled, oily scarlet mixing with acrid black dust.

‘Thank you, Professor Port,’ she briefly thought, quickly running through her options.

She didn’t have the time to reclaim Crescent Rose. It was too close to the Deathstalker. No matter. Heron was more than enough. It would be wary, what would…? Yes. That would work.

Readjusting her grip on Heron, Ruby tensed her legs, eyes darting between her feet and the Grimm. She wouldn’t fall to the same deception twice.

She charged.

The Grimm’s other claw thrust at her. She dove, somersaulting below the massive appendage, coming up between it and the monster’s face. Ruby thrust Heron into a crimson eye, heedless of the champing mandibles below her elbow. Her teeth ground together as metal scraped rudely against bone.

The Deathstalker screamed.

She twisted Heron, feeling bone crack and the sickening sound of tearing meat.

The Grimm reared up on its back legs. Ruby yanked Heron back before it could be ripped away from her as her foe swung its head back and forth, spitting as agony overwhelmed its every sense. Its massive body twitched at random intervals, claws pounding at the air as though it were boxing an unseen enemy.

For a few seconds, she watched the Grimm, breathing tight and controlled, and viewed the damage she’d caused. The rush of the fight still drummed through her veins.

Ruby clamped down on it, breathing deeply through her nose to soften her pulse. Her eyes fluttered shut, relishing the moment of triumph.

Then they snapped open, silver pools examining the thrashing beast critically, evaluating.

She had a job to finish. The smell of smoke was thicker in the air already. Now that she wasn’t focused on surviving to the next second it was impossible to ignore. Wood and oil, with a hint of Dust’s telltale acridity mixed in.

Ruby crossed the short distance to Crescent Rose, keeping a careful eye on the Deathstalker in case it made any unexpected moves.

It didn’t. She’d probably hit something important.

Heron went back into its sheath, her fingers lingering on the hilt a moment in thanks for her life. Crescent Rose clicked back into sniper form, rising to press into her shoulder. She leaned into the stock, cheek warm against the metal where they kissed.

Crack!

Ruby turned away from the disintegrating corpse, nose twitching in displeasure as the temporary but foul scent of decaying Grimm filled the clearing. She was more concerned about the smoke. It was growing thicker by the minute.

She felt dread growing within her, settling in her gut like a heavy stone.

Pausing only to check over her supplies, Ruby jogged over to where she’d left her bag. Map, bag, Scroll, weapons, canteen, pack. Everything was in order.

She tilted her head tilted back to look above the canopy. Blue skies as far as the eye could see, littered with fluffy white clouds. The retreating grey line in the distance was a mere memory of the bad weather that had run through here not so long ago.

The simple beauty was marred by the rising column of darkness to the south. Ruby sighed, eyes squeezing shut for a moment, the stone growing heavier. Though it was only midmorning, the village was hours away by foot, as far south as one could go without crossing the mountains. She didn’t relish the idea of confronting the Grimm she’d find there in the dark, nor whatever sights would be there to greet her.

Nevertheless, Ruby shouldered her pack, tightening it against her body and ignoring the slight aches that came from her aura drawing on her body’s vitality. It would be a long, exhausting march.

And she knew what she would find at the end.

X_0_X

Twilight cloaked the land, but night had already fallen on Horikiri.

Ruby coughed harshly into her fist, arm raised against the plume of oily smoke blown into her face by the wind. The stuff was an omnipresent shadow, veiling everything in dust and darkness. She’d already passed several of the outlying farms mentioned in the reports, each a ruin of what they had once been.

The culprit was hardly subtle, not even bothering to mask its presence. Its massive footprints were impossible to miss – each a pit Ruby could have fit herself into, sunken deep into the soft loam of the fields.

Distantly, a part of her was grateful for the rains that had passed through the area. The moisture in the air as well as what had seeped into the ground and vegetation would go a long way to prevent the fires from spreading. Embers floated through the air, only to fizzle out and die as they drifted down to earth. They were fireflies, spots of beauty flitting through the ashes choking the village.

A simple beauty ignored.

Ruby felt empty. Hollow, like the burnt-out husks she’d passed that had once been homes.

Horikiri burned.

Though weaker than the conflagration that certainly consumed it hours before, the sheer cliffs of the ravine the village rested in at the head of the valley still danced with shadows, flickering orange, black, and red. Above the cackling flames she could hear something massive picking through the ruins, shifting rubble and splintered wood.

Corpses lined the path to the wall, black and desiccated. Ruby had no idea what possible reason the Grimm could have for defiling them so save for intimidation and the satisfaction of making every last moment as excruciating as possible.

If that was its goal, it was successful. Their shriveled visages, twisted in their final expressions of fear, terror, and despair were soul-crushing.

Crescent Rose was a quiet counterpoint to the sounds tormenting her ears, the familiar sliding metal and clicks comforting as she absently shifted it back and forth through its weapon modes.

Her hands clenched the snath tightly, her knuckles white and shaking. The dry air gently caressed her cheeks, but she could feel the wetness gather there in shining streams, silver pools locked on the blackened faces. Was this all that these people felt, before the end?

She felt sick, but it was growing fainter, her emotions draining away more with each and every corpse she passed after leaving the tree line on the village outskirts. Here, looking upon the broken ruins, there was no anger, no fury, no sorrow or chilled horror. Not anymore. Just the remains welding together into fierce resolve.

She was too late.

Again.

But she would avenge these people on their murderer.

Ruby moved with haste, leaving her bag where she would be able to easily retrieve it on her return. Her steps crunched on the gravel, soft ashes not yet thick enough to obscure the sound. She struggled to avoid inhaling a lungful of ash and smoke as they thickened around their source.

She stopped a few feet beyond the wall, staring through the gaping hole that had been ripped in it, wide enough that ten of her could walk through shoulder-to-shoulder. The crushed remnants of the structure were strewn about like toy blocks.

Somewhere within, a house collapsed, sending soot and embers flying.

Ruby shielded her mouth with her shirt and sucked in a deep breath of air as her lungs began to burn. It wasn’t enough, and she hunched over to hack and cough violently. The smoke was too thick to breathe, much less fight in…

Wincing, her mind turned over possibilities, discarding most of them. She didn’t have the material to craft anything on the fly, and there was no guarantee the monster inside the walls would stay in one place if it sensed her.

A solution popped into her brain suddenly, though she winced at the implications for her should the fight go poorly…

Fuck it. She needed to hurry.

Ruby closed her eyes, concentrated her aura upwards, toward her face. Years of training allowed her to mold her soul’s essence into tangible form, creating a barrier, different from those she’d used most often to protect herself.

Those shields were meant to protect her body; keep it safe when other weapons or trauma would otherwise incapacitate her. She didn’t want that – instead she molded it into a filter, permitting clean air through while blocking out the smoke and other debris.

Red light glinted in her lower peripheral vision. Her aura resembled the gauzy, scarlet veils of those Vacuoan dancers Sun had once shown her pictures of, fabric fluttering silently on a nonexistent breeze.

She smiled weakly at the thought.

At least she could breathe now. It was a start.

A scream pierced the air, high and hoarse and terrified. Ruby tensed, one leg already lifting up to carry her over the wall’s fractured foundation, but the sound died as suddenly as it started, accompanied by a violent crash. A low growl of satisfaction took its place, so heavy in the air Ruby could feel the immense size of the creature that created it.

She cursed bitterly and vaulted over the remains of the wall, marching into the ruins.

The village hadn’t been very large, probably only housing a population of a few hundred. Most of the buildings were single-story, made from wood cut from the nearby forest and designed after the dominant Mistrallan style like most buildings in Anima.

Most of them were now in flames, crumbling into themselves or already pulverized by an incredible force. It was a harrowing backdrop, but it had nothing on the dark shape picking through the ruins of the village’s inn. As she stepped into the large courtyard making up the center of the settlement, Ruby faced the shadow.

It was colossal, bulkier than any Nevermore or Goliath she’d ever encountered. It lumbered on four legs like a Berengal but towered over the buildings around it.

Its legs were built like tree-trunks; thick, rounded, and crushingly powerful. Protrusions at the ends only emphasized the comparison, looking like stubby, gnarled roots.

Its body was a mass of muscle and dense, bone-white plate armor, protecting the major areas of its body. Ruby’s stomach sank at the sight – the only Grimm with armor so thick and well-developed were Ancients, those few individuals given centuries to grow and fortify their patience with experience and ever-increasing intelligence.

It had little armor on its back. Instead, huge gnarled growths added an additional meter of height, dragging with them lichens and moss that pulsed black with Grimm corruption. More of the same dangled below the plate covering its face, like a thick and unkempt beard.

It was a Marsh Colossus.

Best known to spawn in northwestern Anima, they seldom grew to this size. They lived stationary lives in swamps, bogs, and marshes, drawing nutrients and strength from their environment and only attacking when humans chose to settle near their territory. Their sedentary nature made them easy targets for huntsmen; every few years there would be a flurry of culling assignments tasking them to fill quotas of Marsh Colossi before any could develop to such immense proportions.

That one was here, hundreds of miles from its preferred habitat, and in such a developed state... It must have been either lucky or clever enough to avoid the extermination teams throughout the centuries. Or never had to worry in the first place – there was a fair chance it might be older than the kingdom itself.

Regardless, it was a foe to be feared.

As if sensing her trepidation, the Colossus lifted its immense head to look at her. The growths framing the bony slab of armor protecting its face looked like an eerie mix of antlers and tree branches. Its crimson eyes bored into her, mixed curiosity and cold hatred, but it made no sound.

Marsh Colossi were notoriously silent, only breaking it when they inevitably moved, or when they wished to announce themselves. Absent-minded passerby could easily find their messy demise by walking past a colossus without realizing it, mistaking them for the dark trees around them.

Behind her, a roof caved in with a loud crash, the fires too much for it.

Her mind evaluated her chances furiously.

There was nothing she could do to kill this Grimm in one blow. Crescent Rose was made for smaller Grimm; for reaping the lives of the fodder that thrived upon Remnant. She had options to inflict terrible harm upon anything, of course, but on her own they were limited. And that was no guarantee that it would kill something this big.

The beast began moving out of the ruins of the inn, absently brushing by the bar and smashing it into splinters. Her eyes darted around the square.

Corpses littered the ground, blackened after being consumed by the Colossus. They were known to draw nutrients from their victims just like they did with their environment. She’d never seen pictures of such a thing in school – she wasn’t sure whether to be thankful or not – and hadn’t recognized it for what it was.

Now she knew.

Driven through the cobblestones that formed the streets were dark, organic growths like those she’d seen earlier. They moved seemingly without direction, lacking a physical connection to the Grimm. Colossi were known to draw strength from the ground, similar to trees and fungi with their extensive root systems, but she had never read up on how, nor the extent of those abilities. She would have to be wary; if it had time to prepare the battlefield then nowhere would be safe for her.

How far did this thing’s reach spread anyways?

Ruby lowered Crescent Rose, holding it perpendicular to her body as the Colossus stepped into the square, going eerily still. Its eyes moved ceaselessly, examining her, calculating, intelligent. Silver eyes returned the look with equal intensity, measuring her opponent.

She couldn’t fell it with a single blow, but there were ways around that. She’d bled opponents before. Her reserves were low, but she was confident in her abilities to outmaneuver the hulking beast.

She made the first move. The world blurred around her, tinting scarlet as she swung Crescent Rose at the thick forelegs of the Grimm - Right, Left - scoring two deep wounds as she came out of her semblance on its side.

Slash up!

The Colossus rumbled, like an aging tree amidst a windstorm, and swatted at her with alarming speed. Ruby ducked the blow, sweeping Crescent Rose above her and drawing blood once more. The rumble grew, more like an avalanche in its intensity now. She was forced far away as it slammed its forelegs into the ground, creating a shockwave.

The force of the blow shook the earth beneath her, two new craters forming where it stove through the cobblestone.

Ruby eyed her work and blanched.

Save for three miniscule scars to mark their locations, the wounds had already healed over. It had only been seconds! No Grimm she had ever seen or heard of had regenerative capabilities of that level.

Back!

Ruby leapt away from the next strike and tapped into her speed, the world blurring around her as she ducked and wove around each and every attack the Colossus made. Crescent Rose sang its mournful dirge as it bit into limbs and cut between chinks and cracks in the otherwise impenetrable armor.

It became a dance. The beast would attack, she would counter or leap out of the way and score yet another superficial wound. It would heal, and they would repeat the process. All the while, crimson eyes bore into her with contempt and fury.

Roll! Slash up! Right! Jab! Right! Slash across the body!

Her instincts guided her body while her mind worked; she needed a better plan if she would win… Ruby could feel her aura slowly draining away as she channeled it into her veil, her body, and her semblance. Eventually she would make a mistake and start taking damage and her reserves would truly start to evaporate. The Colossus, on the other hand, barely seemed winded.

Ruby rolled between its stomach, working the bolt on Crescent Rose as the blade came up against its leg.

Crack!

Her weapon bit deep into flesh, making the monster growl furiously, but then it stuck.

‘Shit!’

She flared her aura, using the burst of strength to rip Crescent out of the bone in a spray of thick, scarlet blood and flying Grimmflesh. Regaining her balance, she immediately sprinted away before it could take advantage of her proximity (she didn’t want to get stomped on!), but the lost time was more than enough for the beast to twist itself around to face her.

The beast rumbled and, abandoning its stationary tactics, charged, utterly unaffected by the small hurts she’d inflicted with her pitiful assault. Ruby made to duck to the side of the beast before it trampled her but was halted by a familiar presence suddenly snared legs, growing tighter by the second. Her eyes widened in fear.

‘Doubt-shit!’ Crescent Rose dipped down to her ankles, slashing through the tendrils.

The earth around her erupted in a sea of flying stone and vegetation as even more of the growths punched their way through the streets. Another slash and her other leg was freed, and she danced between the writhing tendrils as they reached for her limbs with poisonous intent.

The ground shook violently beneath her, the Colossus an unstoppable force glaring hate through its furious crimson eyes.

Don’t just stand there! Get away! UP!

Desperate, Ruby drove Crescent Rose’s barrel into the ground and pulled the trigger, pouring her aura into her body.

Crack!

The recoil, combined with her semblance, launched her away in a cloud of rose petals, high into the air.

It wasn’t enough.

A huge foreleg, black as a nightmare and plated with armor denser than stone reached up and swatted her out of the sky, sending her tumbling off to the side as the behemoth trampled over her previous position. Ruby’s entire world tilted for a moment, her aura flaring into visibility around her as she crashed through a wall.

She cried out on impact, pain quick to follow her landing. Her back slammed into something hard – several other heavy weights toppling onto her immediately after. The scarlet barrier she relied upon for survival flickered violently around her, her reserves of aura depleting itself to repair her damaged flesh and bones.

The house she’d landed in shook as the Colossus slammed into the ravine wall with a jaw-rattling boom. Several crashes followed; the building she’d stood in front of crumbling around the beast.

For a breathless moment, Ruby lay there, bones aching, and realized something chilling.

She had to get away.

As far away as possible.

It was a painful epiphany, but nonetheless true. Her soul was even now sapping the vitality from her body in a desperate effort to replace the losses from a single blow. In just a few minutes she’d be even more fatigued - and lacking her single greatest defense entirely should she take another hit.

If it didn’t simply kill her outright.

She had to get away and warn the rest of Mistral; put together a hunting party to track the Ancient down and kill it before it could move on and inflict itself on another helpless settlement.

Ruby doubted she could hurt it in her current state, even if she tried again and again. With more of its cards shown, it had too much control over the battlefield and it was too canny to fall for the same tricks more than once. It had nearly killed her already, to say nothing about whatever other abilities it likely had sequestered away.

Get up.

Rolling over, Ruby drove her fist into the floorboards, snarling as her knuckles bruised. Every ounce of her frustration went into the punch, the pain her penance for having to abandon her mission and the vengeance Horikiri deserved.

For now.

She would return.

Resolved, Ruby pushed herself to her feet, leaning heavily on Crescent Rose. Dozens of heavy ceramic tiles tumbled off of her, the remains of the roof caved in above her. She winced as even more pain made itself known. Her legs hurt like they’d been flayed…

Wait. Her face paled and she knelt down to examine the places where she’d been held down by the vines. Her dark stockings were sticky with the resinous substance she’d seen coating the vines. She roughly tore away the material and cringed at the sight of her ankles. Where the substance had seeped through the thin material, the skin was red and inflamed, in some places blackened and dead.

She hadn’t even noticed it from earlier – too consumed by her mission to separate the pain from the expected fatigue and strain of hiking for so long.

Careful to avoid touching any more of the stuff, Ruby pressed her fingers against her leg and found that the skin surrounding the substance was numb. It was only the worst affected areas where the pain was beginning to bloom.

That settled it. She needed to get away. It was already enough without adding poison on top of it all.

Chirp!

What? Ruby perked up.

Chirp!

She knew that sound.

Chirp!

The building on the other side of the courtyard, where the Colossus had ended its bull-rush toward her, disappeared in a flurry of smoke and embers as the creature swiped away what little remained. Its massive head tilted upwards to regard the airship that now filled the air with its call with hateful, wary eyes.

Ruby felt her heart lift on seeing the Bullhead. She could escape!

Then three shapes dropped from the craft, and that feeling vanished, replaced by bewilderment and dread. What were they doing? They didn’t seriously think they could fight it, did they?

Glass and splintered wood were shifted aside as the Colossus stepped back into the courtyard. It stilled then, statuesque and unnatural as darkness wisped off of its body.

Cringing as the action pulled at her inflamed skin, Ruby jogged toward the newcomers, taking in their appearance.

One, smaller than the rest and armed with a short sword and pistol, was obviously a Mistrallan pilot. She’d become well-acquainted with the distinct cut of their uniforms over the years she’d lived there. His aviator’s cap obscured his features from her, but she noted that he had a particularly sharp chin and his lips were pulled into a nervous frown.

His companions were huntsmen. One medium-height and stocky, the other built like a warrior of old, tall and broad-shouldered, with shining plate armor layered all over his upper body to complete the image.

She jogged over and Stocky offered his hand to her in greeting, eyes never leaving the Colossus. “Bai Long.”

Still bewildered, Ruby took the offered hand anyways, giving it a firm shake. His companion gave her a little wave. “Reed Bryce, we’re here from one of the villages up north. Saw the smoke after finishing up our mission and thought we should check it out.”

“Ruby Rose,” she answered tersely, nodding to the pilot. The man kept his silence. He was pale, like he might be sick at any moment. Who invited him?

“What’s the scoop on the Grimm?” Reed asked, smile undeterred by the menacing gaze aimed at them.

The Colossus was content to wait for them, apparently. Something in its bearing radiated smug contempt. Almost laziness, if one ignored the burning hate in its eyes. Complete certainty that it could – and would – kill them all in time, certainly. Ruby suspected that if they attempted to flee, they would be stopped anyways. Her allies would, at least.

Fine.

If these huntsmen wanted to put up a fight, then she would help them. If the Colossus wasn’t going to stop them from putting together a battle plan, all the better for their chances.

Just fine.

She took a breath, centering herself.

“It’s a Marsh Colossus. Ancient. It’s got a network of vines underground that it can use to grab you,” Ruby listed quickly, anything she could think of. “It’s big and dangerous, and it regenerates faster than I can hurt it. I was thinking about running before you showed up.”

Intending to run, but they didn’t need to know that.

Bai nodded. “We saw as much,” he said. He indicated a tiny metal contraption resting on Reed’s shoulder. A video probe. Many huntsmen used them to document their assignments. She hadn’t found a need to bring hers along this time – a mistake in hindsight. “You are okay after that hit?”

“Not really, but I can fight.”

“Excellent.” Bai drew a pair of long, curved daggers from his belt, pressing the hilts together to form a single continuous piece. With a series of metallic clicks, the piece became a bow, which he efficiently began to string. “I am a bowman, obviously. My semblance allows me to control air currents to enhance my shots, among other things.”

“I can charge up my strength if I get some time to concentrate,” Reed added, a heavy spear now held comfortably in his massive hands.

Ruby nodded, eyes flicking to the pilot briefly and receiving a hasty shake of the head in reply. He would have an aura, but no semblance, as was common with most pilots. Aura was too useful to go without unlocking when it could save a life in a crash, but semblances were rare to develop for anyone save huntsmen.

Apparently, their pilot ally wasn’t one of those precious few. Shame.

Ruby eyed Reed’s spear, mentally sifting through what strategies they could use. “How strong is your weapon, Reed?”

“Strong enough.”

“Strong enough to pierce an Ancient’s armor?”

The huge man’s grin was as wide as it was vicious. “I am confident in Clarent’s abilities.”

At literally any other time Ruby would have been interested in knowing more about the duo’s weapons, but not now. “Good. My semblance is speed. You charge yourself up as much as you can while we draw its attention. Pilot - keep those vines from touching Reed. Your sword should cut through them pretty easily if you use your aura,” she explained, all business. “Bai, you and I are going to distract it. When Reed’s ready I’ll launch him at the Colossus. If you can give us a boost with your semblance, do it. With any luck it’ll die in one blow. Any questions?”

Bai shook his head in the negative, while Reed just gave her a thumbs up, sinking to a knee and closing his eyes in intense concentration. His drone lifted itself away from his shoulder, autonomous and ready to record the fight. The pilot shuddered but nodded to her, drawing his sword.

Crescent Rose shifted into rifle mode with a flick of her finger. She’d need all the speed and maneuverability she could get this fight. “Let’s move, huntsmen!”

Ruby felt a warm flare of aura behind her as Reed began charging his semblance. The Ancient seemed to sense their intention, as below them the ground erupted with dozens of thrashing vines, each seeking to incapacitate or cripple.

Praying for the pilot to pull his own weight and keep the spearman safe, she fixed her attention on the Grimm. Crescent Rose dipped forward, barrel pointed at the ground in front of her.

Crack!

She launched into the air, taking potshots at the Colossus as she began to circle around the edges of the courtyard. Every time she lost momentum she’d land on some crumbling piece of architecture, careful to pick spaces that would hold her weight and to never stand still long enough for the Grimm to catch her out.

Opposite her, Bai peppered the beast with shining arrows. Forgoing a quiver, the bowman pulled each arrow from the air itself. Each shot flew with an eerie shriek unlike anything Ruby had heard before; a mix of wind in the mountains on a freezing winter’s day and nails on a chalkboard.

While he didn’t have the same luxury of speed or recoil to boost his leaping that Ruby did, Bai made up for it by creating translucent platforms of solid air, gracefully leaping from one to the next when he couldn’t find a safe foothold to land on.

Together they harried the Colossus, each shot blowing holes in its hide or chipping away at its formidable armor as it swatted at them like tiny flies. Houses were reduced to flinders, smoke and embers amidst the action as the Grimm rampaged through the village, organized streets of cobblestone quickly turning into a churned-up mess as the beast’s heavy footfalls tore them apart.

For all their efforts, they failed to inflict any real damage on the Colossus – it regenerated too quickly for that - but they were persistent enough to keep it distracted and agitated. Like any Ancient it was intelligent, far superior to its mindless lesser brethren, but it was still limited. Consumed by the chase, it was seemingly content to leave Reed relatively unmolested while it pursued the more interesting prey.

Not to say it didn’t try to eliminate the prone huntsman. Vines constantly erupted from the ground to interrupt Reed’s concentration. The pilot was quick to dispatch them though, his aura-empowered strength more than enough to cut through the tough fibers.

It wasn’t all smooth sailing, however.

They had to buy as much time as possible, but it was obvious that they were running out. With the destruction of so many buildings, Ruby and Bai were left with fewer and fewer places to land safely.

She worked furiously at the bolt of Crescent Rose to keep herself airborne, but with every second Ruby knew she would soon have to touch the ground and risk even more of those tendrils leaping out to restrain her.

Without warning, her luck ran out and a piece of masonry collapsed beneath her.

‘Shit!’

Heart leaping in her throat, she prepared to hit the ground running when she was saved. A transparent platform appeared beneath her suddenly, glowing with the telltale sky-blue of Bai’s aura.

Ruby aimed a mental ‘thank you’ at the huntsman, staggering a little at the unexpected landing but quickly finding her balance. She leapt away before she was crushed beneath another swing of the beast’s colossal arms.

Still more seconds passed; they were falling behind.

Blows edged ever closer as their reflexes grew less sharp and fatigue conspired to make their movements more and more sluggish. The underground tendrils became more of a serious threat as safe landing spots grew scarce. Too much more of this and Ruby knew she’d have to dip back into her aura reserves…

Ruby could see Bai tiring as well. He used his semblance ever more sparingly, stretching his aura to last as long as possible. Neither of them were built or trained for long sprints like this.

They just needed a little more time…

The bowman was the first to make a crucial mistake, reacting just a second too slow to leap over a sweeping forelimb. His arms flew up in front of his face, forming a misty barrier between the behemoth and himself. While it did absorb most of the momentum, the blow still sent Bai reeling.

Ruby cursed internally, Crescent Rose’s bark accompanying her leap toward the huntsman. She hit the transformation switch, swapping out for its scythe form and swinging downwards.

The Colossus reeled back in pain as a massive gash appeared along the length of its foreleg. She somersaulted on landing, twisting her body to come up sweeping her scythe in a low arc, parallel to the ground. The tendrils that had instantly risen to encircle her limbs fell away, thrashing on the ground.

She ran over and cut Bai free of the bonds that had already pulled and anchored him to the ground. Her worried eyes lingered on the resin covering his arms and legs as she pulled the bowman to his feet, before she grabbed him around the waist and blurred them away with her semblance a split second before they were crushed by the Colossus.

She stopped at a relatively safe spot on the other side of the courtyard, several houses down from their allies on top of a relatively-intact roof. Her legs ached horribly, taxed by the sprint and her passenger.

The Colossus slowly began to turn itself back around. Throughout the battle it had proven to be deceptively fast, but it took its time when repositioning itself.

“Rose! Bai! I am ready!”

The two huntsmen looked at Reed, whose aura was flaring brightly. It was gold, a little more on the tinny side than yellow, but bright and shining amidst the gloom and haze.

So similar to –

Not fucking now.

Ruby turned to Bai. “Get it to face us. This is either going to work, or it isn’t.”

He nodded, grasping her wrist before she leapt down. He had very subdued blue eyes, Ruby noted. “Thank you for my life.”

Her lips quirked upwards wearily, feeling the bite the rescue had taken out of her aura reserves. “Anytime.”

Reed had levelled Clarent at the Colossus by the time Ruby joined him, the spear surrounded by the same nimbus of light as its wielder. On the other side of the courtyard, Bai was already shooting away at the Colossus, keeping its attention fixated on himself while the two prepared to execute their gambit.

The pilot was still busy hacking away at the vines. He was doing a pretty good job. The ground was littered with dead vegetation. Ruby levelled a serious look at the spear-wielder. “You’re ready for this?”

He shot her a wide, almost-manic grin. “I was born ready, Rose!”

“Let’s do it then,” Ruby said, giving a tiny smile of her own. Her blood, already pumping from exertion and excess adrenaline, seemed to burn hotter near so much concentrated energy. Aura practically bled off the man. She took a step back, setting her feet and pooling her own aura into her body, readying it for the burst of speed.

Then she moved. The world blurred around her as she wrapped her arms around the huntsman and drew him into her bubble of pure velocity. Ruby’s aura briefly strained after the hit from earlier, her legs trying to heal, the day’s exertion and now carrying this huge man, but it was a short journey.

The scarlet tint around her eyesight, touched blue by Bai’s semblance aiding her, vanished and she let go of her passenger, landing laterally on the Ancient’s shoulder and flipping away before the true attack could land.

She landed in a crouch as Reed connected with a roar and a sickening crack, rose petals sweeping past her. The Colossus’ impenetrable armor splintered around Clarent, the spearhead driving deep into its chest, seeking vital organs. Skidding backwards from the force, the Grimm carved a new divot in the cobblestone, only slowing to a halt against the remains of a decorative fountain.

The monster shrieked.

Powerfully, loudly. Excruciatingly for her poor eardrums, which threatened to burst despite her aura’s best efforts.

It was a sound unlike any she’d ever experienced, and one soon joined by the comparably faint sound of crunching bone and metal. Ruby dropped to her knees, clutching her ears as they cried out in protest of the needles driving deep within. One second. Two.

The roar intensified, pressing against her skin as a tangible presence. Ruby grit her teeth, enduring the onslaught just like the others.

Five. Six. Seven…

Just. Stop. Screaming…

Ten.

Eleven…

…

Eventually, it did, to her sweet relief.

Letting her hands fall from her ears (and ignoring the slow trickle of blood and tingle of her aura as it went to work repairing her eardrums), Ruby looked up to see the result of their strategy.

Her heart dropped.

Reed was dead, his skin already blackening in the Colossus’ fist. His armor had crumpled like tin foil in the beast’s horrifically strong grip. Bone protruded from his ruined flesh in several places - where they hadn’t been pulped together already.

Clarent remained deep inside the Grimm’s body, the spear protruding from its chest amidst a gruesome morass of shattered armor and charred Grimmflesh. The wound bled a steady stream of scarlet tar, the Colossus twitching and shuddering randomly, obviously enduring incredible pain.

From a great distance, Ruby heard Bai scream in horror and grief, and belatedly realized that her gambit had failed.

They’d broken the Ancient’s primary defense – that wouldn’t be restored fully for centuries to come. But its flesh was already sealing closed around Clarent, leaving the weapon permanently impaled inside.

It was vulnerable now, and more hurt than it had probably ever been in its life, but it still wasn’t enough.

The Colossus flung the desiccated corpse in its grip to the ground, turning to face the rest of them. Its eyes burned like hellfire, promising slow death for they who dared to truly wound it.

The earth shook with the force of its furious, cold snarl.

Ruby began to slowly back away, her heartrate beginning to hasten once more into panic mode. They were out of options now. The Ancient was done toying with its prey. They needed to run.

“Bai!” she shouted over her shoulder, voice rising with her emotions, “Pilot! We need to run, now!”

The Colossus thundered, truly enraged now, and moved, building the momentum to trample her once again. Ruby twisted and ran, chilled by the realization that she had very little aura left to fuel her semblance.

The earth trembled behind her.

The world started to bleed scarlet and she jumped forward just a few feet, but then the world shook around her, and she staggered out of her semblance prematurely.

Ruby turned to see Bai, aura flaring white-blue, stop the Ancient in its tracks and hold it behind a massive, concentrated barrier. Not even seconds after its creation, jagged fractures had begun webbing across the polished face, the huntsman straining to his limit against the rampaging beast.

“Go!”

Thu-ump.

Ruby blanched. “What? No! I am not leaving you!”

“I will not leave my brother behind!” Bai snarled, a vein throbbing in his temple. “The drone! Take it, the pilot, and get as far away from here as possible! Our ship will reach the city before you. Find it when it returns and get back to Mistral…! Tell them what has happened, form a team… Rgh…! Come back to kill this abomination!”

Her mouth worked soundlessly around a denial, but Bai was set. “We have lost! Make sure our sacrifice is not in vain, Ruby Rose!”

Something within her quailed, but after a moment’s indecision she accepted the huntsman’s choice. It was the same conclusion she’d come to earlier, just more painful and accompanied by even more death.

They had lost.

She could still make it worth something, though.

She would.

Ruby blurred forward, thankful for the lack of vines to trip her up. Sidestepping the Ancient, she cringed as the barrier shattered with a sound like breaking pottery. The beast snarled, its forelegs crashed into the ground, rattling the village, and Bai was forced to roll away to avoid being splattered beneath the rampaging Grimm.

The huntsman brought his bow back up instantly and began shooting away at the vulnerable flesh they’d exposed. It was soft and weak after so much time spent covered by the impenetrable armor, but the wounds still closed faster than Bai could reopen them.

They were painful, vicious thorns to the Colossus though, and kept its bloody gaze fixated on the bowman.

She slid a halt next to Reed, gagging on the foul odor rising from his body when it reached past her veil. The drone had returned itself to where she’d seen it earlier, attached to his shoulder pad and only slightly worse for wear amidst the chaos. Ruby pocketed it, hoping that the information it had recorded would be enough to give the next party a chance.

Touching his forehead briefly in the most rudimentary blessing she knew of, Ruby stood and blurred toward the pilot. He’d drawn his pistol and was shooting at the Ancient while it was preoccupied chasing down Bai.

He lowered the weapon as she stopped near him. “We are to go?” the man asked shakily.

Ruby nodded, steeling herself for her next action.

The pilot looked back at Bai. “I do not like abandoning him; he would not have done the same to me,” he admitted.

“I don’t either,” Ruby agreed curtly. She wrapped an arm around the man’s waist. “But we need to get away – as far as possible – and get word out to Mistral. I’ll use my semblance for as long as I can, but after that we’re running.”

He nodded weakly, and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, giving her a better hold to work with.

He was lightweight compared to Reed. It was a small blessing. Ruby projected a heartfelt mental apology to the two huntsmen before pouring what little aura she had remaining into her semblance.

One foot in front of the other. Faster. The world took on a scarlet tinge, blurring for more than one reason as moisture spilled down her cheeks.

They accelerated. Past the ruined buildings, through the gaping hole in the village’s wall, across the ruined fields and out into the forest.

‘I’m so sorry…’

As far away as she could take them.

Keep moving.

Her body protested, but she would have none of it while they were so close.

Keep. Moving. Forward.

They rested a minute when Ruby’s aura finally sputtered out, several miles away from Horikiri. Her chest heaved, unable to draw enough breath. Her face glistened with sweat in the last light of the day, streaked with grime and tears and filth. She couldn’t feel her legs, save for the faintest of twinges where she knew the poison was working its way into her flesh.

Despite the reprieve, all she could taste was ash.

They started moving again when they heard the crash, faint and muted by distance.

It was succeeded by a piercing cry of victory. She forced herself to ignore the painful ache in her chest as she ordered the pilot to his feet, swiping at her eyes. Ruby’s legs burned as she set a punishing pace for them both, but it was nothing to what she felt whenever she pictured the death she’d borne witness to that day.

They pressed onwards, no matter the pain. They had a job to complete.

Just keep moving forward.

#RWBY #That Last Rose #The Last Rose Chapter Two #Valasania the Pale #My stories #Ruby Rose

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