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mousy-nona · 2 months

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Head-cannon for thought?

Lucifer has duck wings so they molt every spring and end of summer. Luci dealing with molting… with Alastor??

Excerpts from “Duck Care for Dummies: Hell Edition”:

Molting can be painful for your aquatic friends! Their skin can get very sensitive during this time, and some ducks may even pick on their fellow birds. Please be patient with them throughout the molting process.

Alastor looked up from the book with a grin that sent Angel Dust scurrying for cover.

“Very interesting,” he murmured, his eyes gleaming fever-bright.

The mystery started a few weeks ago. The denizens of the hotel had woken up one morning to find some mysterious prankster had scattered feathers everywhere – between the couch cushions, on the stairs, even stuffed between the kitchen cabinets and in between the radio speakers (that one felt a bit personal).

So began a strange battle, with the hotel on one side and what appeared to be the ghost of Mother Goose on the other. Every afternoon, they’d finish cleaning up the remnants of last night’s avian snowstorm, and every morning they’d wake up to find a new layer of radiant white down covering every possible – and impossible – surface.

Husk finally lost it when he found a stray piece of fluff floating in his rum. “Alright, ‘fess up! Who the hell is shaking their tail feathers around this damn place, huh?”

He glared daggers at Vaggie, whose very conspicuous wings flared wide as everyone turned to stare at her. She marched forward until she and Husk were nose to nose.

“What the hell are you implying, huh?”

“I think you know exactly what I’m implying, you overgrown chicken!”

It was mayhem. Charlie rushed to Vaggie’s defense, Angel Dust pulled out a bin of popcorn, Niffty started chanting kill kill kill kill at the top of her tiny lungs. But Alastor, who made a habit of haunting the shadows, spotted something no one else did: one of Lucifer’s hands twitching towards his back. Where his own wings would be, when he wasn’t hiding them.

“Interesting,” Alastor grinned, then disappeared to the library, where he found this book after a few hours of intense searching. Someone had moved it from the shelves and shoved it under a massive pile of papers – almost as if they didn’t want anyone to find it.

Unfortunately for Lucifer, Alastor was nothing if not thorough. Humming a swinging, jaunty tune, flipped to the last chapter.

So your duck is molting…what should you do about it?

Unlike their earthly counterparts, ducks in hell may go through a much longer molt without help. A good avian caretaker can speed up the process by helping brush out the feathers. A light touch is essential – using a soft brush or bare fingers is the best way to dislodge the plumage without hurting the sensitive skin underneath.

“Very interesting.”

He waited until nightfall to make his move. When the hotel had finally quieted down, and the only thing he could hear were the roaches in the walls, he willed himself to appear by Lucifer’s door and knocked, just once.

Lucifer cracked open the door, his eyes bloodshot and bleary. He looked as if he hadn’t slept properly in days. “Charlie, is that – oh. It’s you.” He sighed, visibly deflating when he saw who it was. Alastor’s smile widened.

Oh, he was going to enjoy every moment of this. Especially the parts where Lucifer would protest, and stutter, and turn as red as one of his beloved apples.

“I was doing a little light reading today, and stumbled upon a rather interesting passage.”

Lucifer scoffed and tried to slam the door in his face, but Alastor managed to slip his foot in the crack before he could.

“Alastor, it’s really way too late for this – “

Alastor held up the book in question, and Lucifer shut up immediately. A pink blush spread across his pale face. Alastor could have purred with satisfaction at the sight of it. Oh, how he enjoyed making Lucifer uncomfortable. It was quickly becoming one of his favorite pastimes.

“Would you like me to share a few verses with you? I must say, this portion about just how sensitive the skin grows during a molt is especially fascinating –”

“Shut up!” Lucifer stuck his head out into the hallway and hurriedly glanced around, checking to make sure if anyone had overheard him. Then he grabbed Alastor by the lapels and yanked him inside.

“Your Majesty, how very forward of you.”

Lucifer pinched his nose between two fingers and took a long breath in. Out. “So you figured it out, huh?”

“That you’ve been spreading your body parts all over the hotel?” Alastor chuckled merrily. “Quite. I found it especially interesting how fond your feathers were of my radios.”

Lucifer had the grace to look a little sheepish. “Okay, that was childish, I admit it. But you’re not exactly the easiest person to live with.”

“That’s entirely by design, I assure you.” Alastor stepped forward, his smile turning coy. “But this little midnight rendez-vous isn’t about me. It’s about you, and your rather, ah, feathery problem.”

Lucifer pouted, looking almost uncannily like one of his beloved toy ducks. “I’ve never gone through a molt alone, alright? Lilith is usually here to help me out, and…it’s a rather intimate thing to ask of Charlie.”

“That’s why I’m here!” Alastor grinned. “Alastor the Radio Demon, at your humble service.” He swept into a grand bow, ending it with a little flourish of his cane because he was a showman, first and foremost.

Lucifer blanched. “If you think I’m ever letting you within an inch of my wings–”

“And what’s the alternative, your Majesty? You’re going to fill the hotel with feathers until we all suffocate or drown? You’ll wait until Husk kills Vaggie?” He covered his mouth, feigning shock. “I didn’t realize you were so cruel! You would really stand by and do nothing as your daughter becomes a widow?”

Lucifer scoffed, but Alastor could tell that he’d hit a nerve. He paused and ran a frustrated hand through his golden hair.

There was a long moment of silence. Then finally – “I do need help.” The words were so quiet, spoken so quickly it could have been a passing breeze.

Alastor stepped forward and wrapped one arm around Lucifer’s thin shoulders. Lucifer was burning up, his back so hot Alastor could feel it through his gloves. “The night’s not getting any younger.” He leaned in so his lips brushed the shell of Lucifer’s ear, delighting in his shudder, in the bob of his throat as Lucifer gulped. A thin line of sweat trickled down his temple. Alastor’s mouth watered, but he forced himself to sit still and wait. “I suggest we start immediately.”

“Fine,” Lucifer sighed. Slowly, begrudgingly, he stripped off his coat and shirt, then willed his wings into existence. All six of them sprang out in a veritable shower of feathers. Alastor was covered in the stuff – feathers were in his hair, on his suit, stuck on his pants. A few of them even landed in his mouth, to his great displeasure.

He spat them out and glared daggers at the angel, who looked like he might burst out laughing. “Sorry,” Lucifer said, not sounding even the slightest bit apologetic about the mess.

Alastor determinedly shook off the plumes that he could find. Then he stepped forward, stripping off his gloves as he loomed over Lucifer’s wings. His smile grew as Lucifer shrunk back, staring nervously at the sharp points of his claws as they drew closer and closer to his tender skin.

“Can’t you keep those things on?” He squeaked.

“No can do!” Alastor said, almost sing-song with glee. “The book said it would be better with bare hands.”

“They probably didn’t think of the claws – oh!” He jolted upright, as if he’d been tazed. His eyes fluttered closed, a truly indecent sound ripping from his throat as Alastor rubbed the outer spot of his wings. A few feathers flew off, revealing bare skin beneath. With a gentleness that Alastor hadn’t known he’d possessed, he rubbed carefully around the frame of the wings first, working from left to right as he freed Lucifer of the worst of the molting.

Lucifer grit his teeth, his throat working as he fought to keep those strange sounds inside, but more and more escaped as Alastor finished with the edge of his wings and started working his way inward, towards the spot where his wings folded into his shoulder blades. At one point, Alastor brushed against a particularly sensitive zone near his upper back, and Lucifer let loose a long, low moan, his back arching up against Alastor’s graceful fingers.

And Alastor, being Alastor, couldn’t let it slide.

“Having fun, your Majesty?”

Lucifer turned a brilliant shade of scarlet. Like strawberries in spring. “Shut up,” he muttered.

Alastor’s hand stilled. “Why, I thought I was doing you a favor. I could stop here…”

“No!” Lucifer yelped, then buried his head in his arms, as if he wished the floor would swallow him whole. “I mean…”

“Yes?” Alastor prompted. The embarrassment! The shame! Lucifer’s humiliation was sweet on his tongue, like blood and spun sugar.

“Please continue,” Lucifer whispered, his voice mouse-quiet. Alastor chuckled.

“It would be my pleasure.”

Lucifer jerked and arched as Alastor finished his ministrations, the white pile of feathers on the floor growing into hills, then mountains. Finally, Alastor leaned back, humming with satisfaction at a job well done.

“I daresay my work here is finished.”

Lucifer sighed, shaking out his wings with a groan of satisfaction. “They feel so light! I can’t remember the last time I could move them like this. I – Alastor, thank you.”

Alastor grinned. “Save your thanks. Let’s just say…you owe me one.”

Lucifer blanched and shook his head. “I am definitely not saying that.”

As Alastor turned to leave, Lucifer grabbed his shoulder.

“My molting season…it doesn’t end for another few weeks.”

“And…?” Alastor prompted, his Cheshire cat grin stretched almost impossibly wide.

“I would appreciate it if we could do this again,” Lucifer said, too fast, as if he thought he could pretend he never said it if he said it quickly enough.

"An interesting idea! I'll be sure to give it some thought."

Lucifer spluttered, but Alastor was already gone, his radio laugh echoing endlessly into the night.

#radioapple #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel lucifer #duckiedeer #lucifer molts #prompts #asks

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wheatnoodle · 1 year

Text

back at it again lol

previous parts

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

—

the harrington mini-mansion is not a place eddie enjoys. the one good thing about it is it gave him steve. someone he knows has been through too much in that house. so, he hates it. he hates how big it is, how he knows it’s empty rooms and cold air in the vents. lights that are rarely turned off, glowing through the curtains even in the middle of the night. he hates that there’s a pool that none of them use and nobody really knows why. he hates that the three car garage has two vehicles gathering dust inside and the third in the driveway, not allowed in the same space. like a contaminant. he hates that steve is alone in this house. he hates that steve’s options in this house were to have parents around that drained and damaged his person or to have no parents at all.

he’s thinking about how much he hates it as he drives, white knuckling the steering wheel as the houses outside start getting more spaced apart, the floors multiplying, and he’s turning down a street that the neighbors surely think he has no business being down. eddie pulls into the driveway, next to the car not allowed in the garage, and kills his engine. he doesn’t want to do this here, have this talk. not in a place where neither of them feel safe, where there’s no room or item to seek comfort in. he needed to get steve out of that house, into his van.

he gets out, raises a fist to knock on his red door. no, steve won’t hear him. but he can’t just let himself in, that’s worse. is it? he weighs his options, using his hands as imaginary scales, taking out a quarter and flipping it (it rolls back up the driveway and he has to chase after it. like a loser. he fell too, did you know that? he fell chasing a quarter. his jeans have a fresh rip in them and there’s gravel in his cut up knee. that’s so embarrassing).

‘nobody saw that,’ he thinks as he stands up, pulling loose pebbles from his hair and stuffing the quarter back in his pocket. he didn’t check it. fuck.

deep breath. he takes out his key ring, flips to the copy of the harrington house key that steve gave him. steve told him only certain people get a key, special people. robin, dustin, max, and will all the way in california have a key. and so does eddie. because he was someone special.

no going back now. he unlocks the door, carefully pushing it open. he steps in, closing it behind him.

“steve?” he calls out into the empty foyer. he walks into the living room. “i know you’re here. your car’s outside.”

there’s a crunch under his right boot. eddie’s brows pull together and he looks down, spotting shattered ceramic on the floor. looking further, the stack of tapes usually by the tv is scattered across the hardwood. there’s more ceramic stuck in the white rug. he’ll vacuum that at some point. right now, concern sends his heart racing.

“steve?! where are you?” eddie’s louder now. his voice sounds frantic, shaking through quick breaths. he’s rushing through the first floor like a bat out of hell, shoving open doors and checking in cabinets. he’s yelling his name.

stairs. up the stairs. maybe he’s upstairs. why isn’t he answering? what happened in the living room? eddie runs up the stairs, taking them two at a time somehow without stumbling once. “steve? hello?”

eddie grabs the doorknob to steve’s bedroom, forcing it open harder than he needs to. his eyes are wide as they dart over the room and he’s panting.

there’s a lump under the blankets with brown locks sticking out. he sighs in relief, his shoulders dropping. his steps are soft, careful in a way eddie munson isn’t supposed to be. he makes his way over to the bed, reaching out a hand and laying it where he assumes a shoulder in. he rubs gently, trying to urge him into turning over.

steve pulls down the blanket and looks over, freezing at the sight of eddie. his cheeks are splotchy, his hair a mess from what he can assume was some rough tugging. he’s looking at eddie with these eyes that are huge and rimmed red. there’s unshed tears filled in his tear ducts and fresh tracks down his ruddy cheeks, and isn’t that just heartbreaking?

eddie sighs softly, squeezes his shoulder. “um…can we talk? like really talk. i get it if you don’t want to and would rather like never see me again, but i think we should talk and i also think we’d be more comfortable doing it at my place rather than yours, so i think we should head to the trailer first. wayne is at work so he won’t be in the way.”

steve’s eyes flick all over his face and he’s shaking his head slightly. he looks so lost. “i- i don’t know…don’t know what…”

and yeah, that makes sense. eddie should’ve realized that seeing as that’s why he was there in the first place. his face burns in embarrassment. how can he do this…think, think, think!

—

when eddie was four, he rode in the back of a police car all the way to a trailer park in hawkins, indiana. about two and a half hours away from his home. he’s woken up in the backseat by the nice policeman gently shaking his skinny, bruised knee. eddie takes his accepted hand and walks up the steps, watches as a grumpy looking man opened the door with a cigarette in his mouth and sleep in his eyes and he talks with the cop. the man lets out a heavy sigh and rubs a dirty hand over his face. eddie’s poking at the bruises on the insides of his elbows. next thing he knows, he’s curled up in a big bed and it’s so cozy, the softest thing he’s ever slept in, so much nicer than the pile of old clothes back home. the man with the cigarette sleeps on the floor next to him. he says his name is uncle wayne. eddie’s never slept so long in his life.

it’s only a day later when the withdrawals start to set in and eddie’s shaking, screaming, sobbing, hitting. wayne can’t communicate with him. he doesn’t know what to do. eddie’s gone nonverbal. he doesn’t calm down until he wears himself out, passing out asleep for another however many hours and wayne is left awake. exhausted, but awake and he searches through his old war things in a box in his closet and pulls out his book of american sign language. he had a friend back in the army who lost his hearing in battle. wayne learned for him.

he picks out a few words, like “scared”, “safe”, “breathe”. he practices them, slowly teaches eddie in the morning when he wakes up. eddie never learns much, just a few words here and there. enough to get his point across to his uncle in a moment of panic.

—

“okay…okay,” eddie nods his head to himself before sitting on the edge of the bed, making eye contact with steve. with an unsure hand, he points to steve. you.

“umm…alright…” eddie takes a deep breath, praying to whatever god there may be that he doesn’t butcher anything. he holds out his right hand, waves it once towards himself. come.

fingers to chin, bring to his ear. home.

finally, points to himself. me.

he does it again. “i’m taking you to my house,” he says outloud as he does, hoping he’s getting his point across.

warily, steve sits up. he nods once, twice. he won’t meet eddie’s eyes as he slips into his sneakers, his shoulders shaking and sniffles heard almost every breath. eddie gives him space, watches from afar. when his sneakers are tied, eddie offers him a hand to stand off the bed. he doesn’t take it.

with a hand hovering over steve’s lower back, he walks them out of the bedroom, down the stairs, and to the front door. he hands the keys to steve. gently pushes him in the direction of the car and signals he’s gonna be another minute.

steve’s brows furrow but he takes the keys, walking to the van to start it up and sit in the passenger seat. once the front door is closed, eddie turns around to face the mess on the floor. carefully, he picks broken ceramic from the rug and hardwood, stacking it in his hand. he makes his way to the kitchen to wrap the sharp bits in paper towel before double bagging it and throwing it away. he goes back to the living room and re-stacks the tapes in alphabetical order the way he knows steve keeps them.

he makes it out to the van and climbs in. steve is already curled towards the opposite window, staring out at the darkness of his front yard. from what eddie can see, tears are still actively dripping down his flushed face. he wants to reach out, wipe them away and kiss the booboos better.

he keeps his hands to himself and gets ready to endure a more than likely painfully awkward car ride.

eddie lifts his walkie to his mouth while steve is still looking away.

“i got him. over.”

—

taggie waggies:

@depressed-gays-of-marvel @kerlypride @thosemessyvibes @sadcanadianwinter @ineffablecolors @mentallyundone @awkwardgravity1 @thev01dd @flustratedcas @spectrum-spectre @hagbaby420

#part 6?#stranger things #stranger things season 4 #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #fic wip #stranger things fic #deaf steve harrington #deaf!steve #he’s just deaf man #hoh steve #hoh steve harrington #hurt/comfort #angst

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gaybananabread · 6 months

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How about Day 30 with Lee!Mystery Twins and Ler!Stan Twins (gravity falls) as a game of hide and seek! I think it’d be super cute!

TickleTober Day 30 - Caught

AAAAA I’M DONE WITH TICKLETOBER!! HAPPY HALLOWEEN! This was a fun way to cap off the event, tapping into my roots! I’m so tired, and it’s definitely gonna be nice to not write over 1k word fics daily. I absolutely adored the event though, it really challenged me as a writer! ANYways, sorry for blabbing on, and I hope everyone stays safe tonight and that you Enjoy!

Lees: Mabel, Dipper

Lers: Stan, Ford

Summary: The Pines family are having an "intense" game of Hide-and-Seek to determine who gets to decorate the Mystery Shack for Halloween. There's an interesting set of rules, with a ticklish twist for whoever gets caught.

Warnings: none! This is a tickle fic, so if you don’t like that, scroll away!!

"Dipper, be quiet!"

Mabel whisper-shouted at her brother, sinking further into the pile of stuffed animals. It was the fiercest competition of the century, and she intended to win it.

What had her so determined, you ask? The annual Pines Hide-and-Seek Championship. Well, it was the first year they were doing it, but the technically-teen was going to make sure it carried on.

Downstairs, her Grunkles combed through the house, searching for their great-grand niece and nephew. The Grunkles had half an hour to find them. There was a twist the older men had added, just to make the game more fun. If caught, the kids would be tickled. They didn't really specify a time, figuring it would be best to play things by ear.

The mystery twins gave no argument. They were determined to win, though the sweater-loving girl was definitely taking things more seriously. For Mabel, that's saying something.

Mabel, being serious? What was so great that she would forgo her usual silliness? Well, something she greatly desired; the winner, whoever they may be, got to dictate the Halloween decorations for the whole Mystery Shack. As long as it was within the budget, anything went.

She was determined to make it the most sparkly, retro, in-your-face crazy Halloween party ever. That meant she had to win.

Stan rooted through cabinets, looked in couch cushions, even went as far as looking in the outskirts of the woods. He was putting off checking the attic, figuring the kids would be smarter than that. Mabel was always goofy, it wasn’t hard to think her hiding spot would be as well.

Using a gadget, Ford scanned the first floor of the Shack. It was supposed to detect the joy and wonder a child gave off, though he was pretty sure he calibrated something wrong. Still, he searched, hoping it would at least give him some edge. He didn’t want his home covered in glitter, or so scary that even the goat would have nightmares. If Dipper won…well, he wouldn’t actually mind that, but it was the principle of it.

Dipper was hiding up in the rafters, having used Mabel’s grappling hook to secure the spot. They hid together, figuring whoever got caught first could fend for themself. Mabel was rather proud of hers; it was simple enough that they probably wouldn’t look, yet small enough to where she could barely fit, to dissuade her Grunkles. It was pretty perfect.

After twenty minutes of fruitless searching, both old men went up the creaky attic stairs. The twins held their breath, knowing it would be moments before one of them was caught. The door opened, painfully slow, as the pair entered the make-shift bedroom. They could hear the end of Stan’s conversation as he peeked in the closet. “...it’s one of the only spots we haven’t checked, Sixer. One of them’s gotta be here.”

Ford entered a second later, checking under their beds. He was so close that Mabel went completely stiff, refusing to even blink before he stood up. “Those kids are good, I’ll give ‘em that. They’ve got your sneaky skills.” He got a pillow thrown at his head by a chuckling Stan. “Sure, sure. But they’ve got your smarts. I would’ve hid in a closet or somethin’.”

They were so nonchalant about the way they searched for the younger twins. It was like they thought it was a game. Well, everybody but Mabel thought it was.

Dipper looked at Stan, noticing how close he was getting to finding Mabel. He really didn't wanna be the first one caught, but he knew how badly his sister wanted to win. Sighing, he faked a cough, calling the attention of his Grunkles up. The things he did for her…

In seconds, two rough hands wrapped around his waist, yanking him down from his hiding place. “Gotcha!” Dipper barely had enough time to register that he was in Stan’s lap before five clawing fingers dug into his stomach. “G-GRUHUNKLE STAHAHAN!”

Ford chuckled, getting his fun in as well. He scribbled on and under the boy’s knees, all six digits doing something to get him laughing. It was unfairly ticklish. He almost regretted taking the L for Mabel. Almost.

“Hey Dippy, I got a deal for ya. If you tell us where your sister is, we’ll stop.” Oh, those cheaters! Mabel watched with wide eyes and Stan vibrated his clawing fingers into Dipper’s tum, keeping his arms above his head. She knew her brother had thrown his chance for her, but he still had to outlast the old men.

He wriggled and twisted in their arms, refusing to give in so easily; he wasn’t about to lose for nothing. “I- IHI CAHAHAN’T!” Ford snickered, squeezing his knees a bit more vigorously for emphasis. “Oh, but you can. Just say, ‘Oh, Mabel is hiding…’ and then you say it. It’s just that easy.”

So unfair… Dipper whined through his laughter, kicking as much as he could. Maybe a time limit on the tickles would have been a good idea… His Grunkles were obviously enjoying themselves, matching smirks on each of their faces. He didn’t hate it, per say, but it was much harder to stay sane when all three of them could see his reactions.

It was…actually really nice of him to do that for her. Mabel would have to let Dipper DJ for the party. Waddles might be a little upset, but she was sure her pink companion would prefer snack table duty.

Stan got a little impatient, deciding to be evil. He moved his bony fingers up to the boy’s armpit, digging into his hollows. Dipper let out a squeal that would put Waddles to shame. “NYAAAAHAHA! STAHAN! NOHO- *snrk* NOHOT THEHEHERE!”

Oooh, he went for Dipper’s bad spot. Mabel bit her lip as she watched her brother’s destruction: Ford teasing his knees while Stan went to town on his pits. She wouldn’t blame him if he gave her up, but dang it, she really wanted to win.

Right as Dipper was about to crack, the Nyan Cat theme song went off. Ford’s phone buzzed in his pocket, signaling that their half-hour was up. Mabel had won!

The girl sprung up from her mound of stuffed animals, startling both of her Grunkles. “HA! I won! Stan, go grab the basement key, I’m gonna make it rain glitter and gummy bears!”

Ford laughed, releasing Dipper’s legs as he watched his grand-niece celebrate. Stan sighed, setting the boy down on the carpet to curl into himself. “Okay, okay, ya won! Don’t need to rub it in, ya snot.”

She chuckled, moving to hug her giggling brother. “Thanks for taking the loss, bro-bro. I officially crown you Head DJ.” He pumped a weak fist into the air, still giggling away the phantom sensations. Stan shooed her away, placing Dipper in his brother’s arms.

“You go get the dork some water. I’ll handle our winner.” Ford nodded, carrying the exhausted Dipper down the attic stairs. Stan cracked his knuckles before scooping Mabel up in his arms, holding her against his chest. “Congrats, ya snot. Here’s my favorite part of your reward…”

He squeezed her side, making the sweater lover burst into bubbly giggles. She twisted and squirmed, eyes growing wide. “B-buhut Gruhuhunkle Stahan! Ihi wohohohon!”

He snorted, moving up to tease her ribs. “You did, yeah. Your brother got the worst of it; I’ll go a bit easier on ya. Congrats, you goober.” She whined, protests already forming on her tongue. “Thahat ihisn’t fahair! Sohore loser!”

Stan scratched and scribbled between each bone, acting as if it was just a normal conversation. “It’s totally fair. I don’t remember there being a rule against tickling the winner.” She scrunched up her nose, mock-glaring at him. “Thahat- youhu- uhuhugh!”

It was adorable to see his relatives’ reactions. He loved to hear their laughs, see them smile, make them forget about the crazy lives they’d led for just a second. The whole “Weirdmageddon” fiasco had done a bit of damage. Stan took any chance he could get to make them feel like regular kids again. Dipper had already gotten his go; now it was Mabel’s turn.

“B-buhuhut- HEHEHEY! NOHOT THE PIHIHIHITS!” He poked her armpit, making the girl squeal. “It’s cute how you two share everything. Makes tickling the snot out of ya a whole lot easier.” It was gonna be a long day…

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ladyartemesia · 9 months

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Hiiii

Hope you’re doing well. It’s been two years I think ? but I still keep reading the Seokjin and omega teaser again and again🤣🤣

I am doing well! Also. You know what is crazy about this…. Kim Seokjin and the Mean Omega is like… basically done. There are maybe 2 scenes left to write and honestly I should write them. I am powerfully considering it BUT—

Since you’re so nice AND you keep reading it… SO here’s a little taste of what comes directly after that teaser…

“This is NOT FUNNY!” you hissed from underneath your blankets.

As soon as Seokjin revealed his identity, you dropped the knife (and your dignity) and ran straight back to your bedroom.

Okay. Well maybe not straight back.

For some reason you also ran into Jin’s room, stole a stuffed Yoshi toy, deliberately knocked over one of his custom “busty Peach” statues, and THEN ran straight to your room.

Currently you were curled up in the fetal position cuddling both Yoshi and Toad while Kim Taehyung—your former best friend—howled with maniacal laughter over the phone.

“—and you said he was a mafia boss! Bahahahaha—”

You rolled your eyes.

“Well what else was I supposed to do?! He didn’t look related to you!” (His features were rather hard to make out in his current condition.) “He was just a strange man covered in dirt!”

“Jin’s house flooded this morning. He’s been slogging around in two feet of disgusting water trying to salvage his stuff since 7 AM.”

“I guess that also explains why he smells like a sewer.”

There was a slight pause and then—

“So you haven’t smelled him yet?”

“I could barely smell anything under that awful flood stench.”

“Good… that’s good.”

Your nose wrinkled in confusion.

“Why is that good? Taehyung, you’re not making any sen—”

“I heard a new boutique opened up on Main Street last month. Why don’t you go check it out? Just—you know… get out of the house for a while. Have some fun and stuff—out there. For a couple hours—like three hours.”

“Uh… okay?”

What the heck?

“Excellent. Jin should be gone by the time you get back—

“He what?!”

“I have to catch this flight. Love you! See you soon! Go shop!”

Then the line went dead and you went scrambling back down the stairs.

————————

“KIM SEOKJIN!”

The man in question was trying to butter some toast (in peace) when your sudden shrieking caused him to drop the knife.

He sighed wearily, watching it clatter to the floor with a depressing little clang as you charged into the kitchen—still half naked.

“You can’t leave!”

Jin didn’t bother looking up at you. He just continued to stare forlornly at his butter knife.

“Oh, I am definitely leaving,” he mumbled eventually.

“But I’ll be by myself!”

He shrugged and bent to retrieve his knife.

“You were by yourself when I got here.”

“Exactly! What if someone else breaks in?!”

You weren’t too proud to admit that the incident had shaken you.

Sure, this time the intruder was supposed to be there, but what about next time? You were far too beautiful to be murdered in your sleep, surely Jin could see that.

Not to mention… the thought of him leaving was unexpectedly unsettling. You had the oddest urge to keep him close and frankly you saw no reason to deny yourself in this situation.

(You rarely encountered situations which required denial.)

“I didn’t break in,” he reminded you, turning to fetch himself a clean butter knife. “I have a key.”

Your eyes narrowed irritably. It was time for the big guns.

“So… so you’re just going to leave me here? A defenseless omega all by herself?”

Jin’s hands froze. He was mostly angled away from you but you could see a muscle beginning to tick in his jaw.

Now for the grand finale.

Tears welled up in your eyes and you whined pitifully.

Jin dropped his new knife.

“Please… don’t leave me.”

After a long moment of silence, the tall dirty man leaned his forehead onto the cabinets in front of him and groaned.

“Okay...” he ground out tightly. “I won’t leave you. Just—please—don’t say another word.”

Then he abandoned his breakfast all together and took off directly for the stairs.

Huh…

A puzzled expression settled over your face.

You got what you wanted, but he seemed almost… pained? Normally people were thrilled to spend time with you.

The smell of sausage and toast suddenly tickled its way under your nose, reminding you that Kim Seokjin had interrupted your snack.

You were just about to take a bite when a loud—vehement—shout of profanity echoed from the second floor followed by the sound of Jin’s footsteps pounding back down the stairs.

“Were you in my room?” he asked as soon as he swung back around the corner. Your eyes widened momentarily, but you caught yourself just in time.

“No. Why would you think that?”

Perhaps you should feel bad about lying, but how could you even begin to explain your actions when you yourself didn’t totally understand them.

Besides… it’s not like he could prove it.

Tae had mentioned specifically that there were no omegas in his family and a beta’s nose was far too weak to detect latent scents like yours could.

A muscle ticked in his jaw as he considered your response. After a moment his eyes began to travel slowly over your body, taking in the feigned innocence of your expression and the mouthwatering expanse of your soft exposed curves…

A strange foreign heat twisted eagerly in your belly under the weight of his regard and you shivered involuntarily.

What the—

“Are you eating my breakfast?”

Oh whoops.

#Kim Seokjin and the Mean Omega #sneak peak #honestly I love this story #kim seokjin #Kim seokjin drabble #Kim seokjin au #a/b/o fic

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shieldofiron · 1 year

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Popsicle Sticks

Billy never knew Christmas could be like this. Christmas with Neil normally meant a few small presents stuffed in his same ancient stocking, and a silent night, unless Neil started to get into the liquor cabinet. Susan tried to make it cheery, but it wasn’t like they were a family or anything.

This year was different.

“I think the smaller one is better,” Steve points out a smaller tree, leaned up against the fence.

“Yeah, it will make up for my lack of decorations,” Billy chuckles, “Smaller. She’ll like that.”

“Yeah,” Harrington is made for the cold, it seems. His cheeks are pink, eyes bright in the cold, happy and cheerful under his homemade beanie that he announced was a gift from Mrs. Henderson.

She made one for Billy too, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to wear it. It was stuffed in his pocket along with the gloves he was also too chicken to wear, even though he was freezing, and more than a little miserable.

But Harrington’s smile is better than hot cocoa or a fireplace, “Don’t worry about the decorations, man.”

Billy shrugs and picks up the tree Harrington picked, feeling the cold bite into his hands, “Whatever you say.”

Harrington grins, all teeth, “Trust me.”

Billy just snorts, “Okay, you want me to strap this to the roof of your car?”

“The roof? No way, the sap will ruin my paint job,” Steve digs his keys out of his pocket, “It’ll fit in the trunk.”

“Ah, I see why you wanted the smaller tree,” Billy smirks, “Want me to wrap it up first? Put a bow on it?”

Steve just tips his chin up, “Nah. You can do that later. Want to unwrap you.”

Billy can feel his cheeks turn pink, “We’re in public.”

Steve just raises one brow, “I meant the tree.”

Billy just huffs a little.

Steve winks, “I’ll pay.”

When they finally get back to Billy’s little apartment, Billy’s briefly happy that they did get the smaller tree. A larger tree would look sad with his single strand of lights in the tiny shitty little place, and he wants to make it feel better for Max. Like a home. Or as close as they can get it.

He carries the tree up the stairs, griping at Steve, who’s hopping up ahead of him.

“Coulda helped a little, Pretty-”

“Surprise!” Steve flips the lights on, and kids pop out of every hiding place they can find in the tiny space.

Paper snowflakes hang from the ceiling, and someone’s strung popcorn strings and multicolored Christmas lights across the bare walls. Mr and Mrs Hopper hang back in the kitchen, and when he sees them, Joyce gives him jazz hands, grinning widely.

“Fuck-” Billy chokes on his own tongue, “Is this for Max?”

And then he sees her, hanging at the dining room table with Lucas and Jane.

She smirks “No, it’s for you, obviously.”

“Why?” Billy furrows his brow.

“Because... well for a lot of reasons,” She pulls something out of her pockets and holds it out to him, “But mostly because it’s Christmas.

It’s an ornament, a picture of them in a homemade frame of popsicle sticks painted bright red. The only picture they have of them really, since Neil burned the rest when Billy won custody. They’re standing in front of their new apartment in the summer, both looking sweaty and exhausted from moving. Max is giving a thumbs up. Billy is flipping Jonathan the bird.

At the bottom in Max’s neat script it says, ‘Our First Christmas.’

He can only stare at it for a moment, before he can look at her. In fact it takes him a while to do anything really. Steve takes the tree, and he sets it up where they planned, in front of the windows in the living room. Hopper and Jane string on Billy’s one strand of Christmas lights, and the kids pull out popsicle ornaments from a box under the sofa, stars and trees and snowflakes painted every color and strung with plain white string. Will has his elaborately painted with tiny patterns, but most of them are plain or covered in candy stripes. Steve even produces a single Jewish star painted blue and adds it near the top. When they’re done, the tree looks like a real Christmas tree. Like a real home.

The last one to go on the tree is Max’s ornament. If Billy is crying a little when he puts it on, he can blame it on the lights, or that he burned his tongue on the hot chocolate.

This year, it was different. This year, it was better.

#queued #text post #harringrove #harringrove ficlet #bruh idk why I wrote this I'm just having a good time #billy x steve #billy & max #harringrove fluff #just tooth rotting #harringrove christmas #steve x billy #my ficlet

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neewtmas · 5 months

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12 days of Christmas // A Lockwood & Co Advent Calendar

DAY 3

welcome to day 3 of the Lockwood and Co Advent Calendar! today is another fic, but this time it's just a little trio-on-christmas-day thingie. This is meant to be light-hearted and should not be taken super seriously, it's maybe a little ooc at some points. It's just meant to be wholesome and christmas-y 🎄💫 (also please don't come for me bc of the food I just googled what british people eat lol)

Enjoy!

day 1 day 2 day 4 day 5 day 6

characters: Lockwood & Lucy & George

wordcount: 1.2k

advent calendar tags: @givemea-dam-break @wellgoslowly @maraschinomerry @losticaruss @oblivious-idiot @uku-lelevillain @avdiobliss @strawberryloveyyy @strawberrycowgirly @demigoddess-of-ghosts @thefriendlyneighborhoodmomfriend @boookfreeak

35 Portland Row, Christmas Day

Lucy moved down the stairs from her room, skipping every other step. She stopped on the landing, right in front of the bathroom door. There, from the other side of the door, came the sound of rushing water from the shower. Also, the melody of 'Last Christmas' played on the positively ancient speaker that George had placed on the top of the bathroom cabinet. And, much to her delight, Lockwood's voice over the water, singing with so much passion that it made her laugh a little. He was a little off-key though and not very loyal to the lyrics, so she decided to save her ears from continuous exposure and skipped down the rest of the stairs down to the kitchen.

George had been occupying the kitchen since early morning when he had come back from the shops with several bags filled to the brim with ingredients he planned on making a whole Christmas dinner out of. Lucy had already offered her help twice, only to be almost chased out of the room by George both times. George was also playing Christmas music over a speaker and singing along here and there, albeit less offensive to the ears than Lockwood's under-the-shower performance. Lucy sneaked into the room, where two pots on the stove already emitted a delicious smell.

She sat down at the table, where the thinking cloth was covered in Christmas trees and little reindeer and Christmas elves she had sketched on there in the past few weeks. "I told you I don't need help", George turned around and gave her a stern look. "I'm not here to help, don't worry", she shot back, and when he turned around again, she caught the smile on his lips. Even George could not reject the Christmas spirit. In fact, he seemed to have embraced it, seeing as he was wearing an apron with a big fat Santa in a sledge on it. On the counter sat the turkey, stuffed and seasoned, ready to make its way into the oven soon.

Suddenly, Lockwood burst into the kitchen, dressed in his usual attire of shirt and tie, though this tie was special: it had tiny little Christmas trees and candy canes all over it. It was exceptionally ugly, Lucy concluded. But the tie wasn't the main focus of the outfit. No, that was the gigantic Santa hat on his head. "Guess what I found!", he exclaimed, holding up two additional Santa hats. Lockwood could be extremely chipper and upbeat if a situation ever called for it, but somehow today it was dialled up to the extremes. "Lucy, I need your help to finish the tree", he said. "But first -" He held out the Santa hat. Lucy knew that resistance was futile, so she just took it and put it on.

It was a little big and slid over her forehead down over her eyes. Lockwood chuckled and pushed it back up. "Looking good, Santa", he said with a little grin, and Lucy just rolled her eyes, adjusting the hat so that it didn't slide back down. Lucy followed Lockwood over to the living room, where the Christmas tree stood tall and proud, already adorned with a lot of Christmas tree balls. Lockwood bent down to the box that stood on the couch and pulled out a tangle of candle-shaped Christmas lights. "We just need to wrap that around a few times", he said, shaking the tangled mess a few times. "Who packed that up last year?", Lucy asked, taking the lights from him and sitting down on the couch to start unravelling it. "Lockwood grimaced. "I don't remember." Lucy raised her eyebrows. "I think I know exactly who the culprit is."

But Lockwood was already focusing on something else again, rustling through another box in search of something. Lucy turned her attention back to the lights. Luckily, they looked much more tangled than they were, and she had already worked through more than half of the mess. Next thing she knew, Lockwood was in front of her again, tipping her on the shoulder. She looked up, mentally preparing herself for whatever he had come up now. Lockwood stood in front of her, with ugly tie and Santa hat, holding up a mistletoe branch over his head. "Whoops", he said. "Looks like we're caught under the mistletoe together. You know what that means!" Lucy couldn't even roll her eyes before he leaned down and kissed her. Not that she was complaining anyway. She quickly unravelled the rest of the lights, and together, they walked around the tree, attaching the lights as they went.

When they were done, Lockwood took a step back and pulled Lucy with him so that they could admire their work. "Looks great", he said, satisfied. Then he turned to Lucy. "Oh look!", he said, and she didn't have to look to know he was holding up the mistletoe branch. This time it was her that leaned up and kissed him. He wrapped the arm that wasn't holding the branch around her waist and pulled her closer. "I should carry that thing around more often", he said and kissed her forehead. "You know that you can just do it without, right?" Lockwood grinned at her. "But where's the fun in that?"

A few hours later in the kitchen - George had finally taken up on Lucy's offer to help - she stood there and cut up some potatoes, while George periodically checked on the turkey in the oven, only to come back up cursing each time because the steam fogged up his glasses. He looked like a very blind Santa each time - he had finally accepted the Santa hat from Lockwood, and Lucy had to try hard not to burst out laughing each time. While they finished up the food, Lockwood was tasked with setting the table.

When they were done, it looked like they were hosting a party of at least ten people. Every inch of the table was filled with either some of Lockwood's decorations - the little snowmen are adorable, Lucy! - or a bowl or plate holding all different kinds of food - roasted potatoes, honey-roasted carrots, spicy apple compote, crumbed Yorkshire puddings, and many more. In the middle of the table sat enthroned the turkey, perfectly roasted. After everyone had taken a seat, Lockwood raised his glass and cleared his throat dramatically. When he had the attention of George and Lucy, he adjusted his Santa hat and began with the poshest accent he could muster. "We have gathered here today -" "Lockwood!" "Yes! Sorry, I'll be serious." He cleared his throat again, this time for real. "I just wanted to say thank you to both of you for the fantastic year we had. There were some minor hiccups along the way-" George coughed. "Well, maybe not that minor. Nonetheless, we are on the best way to become the best and most successful agency in all of London. And I could never do it without the both of you." Lucy and George raised their glasses as well, and then the great feast started.

Outside of 35 Portland Row, the snow was falling quietly in the light of the ghostlamps, but the kitchen was brightly lit, and for once Lucy, George and Lockwood had not a care in the world.

#lockwood and co advent calendar #lockwood and co #lockwood & co #locklyle #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #george karim

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reidandweep · 1 year

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When Eddie Was...

A/N- I wrote this for a part of my writing portfolio for my master's degree. A lot has changed since then. I actually dropped out and I have found writing something really hard to do for a while, so though I may as well post it whilst I have something written.

When Eddie was five, all he dreamed to be in the world was a magician. To pull rabbits out of hats and make large object disappear and reappear. He practised and practised. Showing his friends and family all the new tricks, he had learnt. Taking in their smiles and cheers when he successfully orchestrated the magic trick. That dream was shattered when Eddie’s father told him that all magic was fake, and that magicians were all conmen, ripping money out the hands of the easily manipulated. Eddie didn’t want to be a conman. He just wanted to make people happy. He just wanted his dad to smile.

When Eddie was nine, all he dreamed in the world was for his parents was to be happy together. He spent most nights sat in his room, clutching on to his stuffed crocodile as he heard his father slam cabinets and smash plates. Hesitating to go downstairs as his mother’s cries reached all the way up the stairs, down the landing, and under his bedroom door. That dream was shattered when his father left. Sitting on the stairs, Eddie had watched as his mother pleaded his father not to leave. He sat as his father walked out the door, not sparing his son a single glance as he turned his back on his family. Eddie didn’t want to be part of a broken family. He just wanted his family to be happy. He just wanted his dad to come back.

When Eddie was fourteen, all he dreamed in the world was for his mum to wake up. Falling into depression after his father left, Eddie had to watch as his mother relied on drugs and alcohol to get through her days. He thought maybe if he became her supplier then at least he could monitor how much and what she had. But he knew that wouldn’t stop her getting harder drugs from someone else. Eddie cried for the first time since his father left when he came home from school one day and found his mother unconscious on the kitchen floor. Eddie didn’t want to be his mum’s drug dealer. He just wanted his mum to wake up.

When Eddie was fifteen, all he dreamed in the world was for his mum to have not died. She wasn’t in the coma for long. All the years of abuse was too much for her already broken heart. Eddie knew that the drugs and alcohol played a big part in her death, but he truly believed she died long before the drugs and alcohol took her life. Moving in with his uncle wasn’t ideal. But it was better than being in foster care for a few years and then by himself. A new town where no one knew him was a good thing. But Eddie didn’t want a new start. He just wanted his mum to be alive.

When Eddie was nineteen, all he dreamed in the world was to graduate. To get out of the hell hole that he had been in for the past four years. Put the relentless bullying behind him. Drive away from the run-down trailer that he and his uncle lived in. To finally be free of all the pain and hurt that he had faced. But the world had other ideas for Eddie. He didn’t think he would be facing accusations of murder and staring in the eyes of evil itself. Eddie just wanted a new start. He just wanted to run away from it all.

When Eddie was twenty, all he dreamed in the world was to stop running. To be the hero. So, he did. He stopped running from everything he had faced and fought instead. Giving his friends a bit more time. Helping them to survive the monsters they were facing. Eddie always regretted not stopping his father from leaving. Not stopping his mother from overdosing. Not staying to help when he could. But now he was helping. He was finally doing what he wanted.

#eddie munson imagines #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson drabble #stranger things #stranger things season four #angst #joseph quinn #joe quinn #joseph quinn stranger things

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rhodesrider · 1 year

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Feral Little

CG!Jon M. x Little! Fem! Reader (feat. Roman R.)

SFW! 18+! Minors DNI!

Warnings: Fluff, Age regression, little is acting like dangerous animal

“Uncle Jo!”

Jon popped his head up bonking his head as he was under the cabinet getting snacks out for his little Y/N. She opened the door and giggled hugging on the large Samoan man, he returned the hug picking her up tickling her. “Hows uncles little flower huh?” he chuckled. “Ims goods! Dada in de kitchens!” “Oh? Well thank you hun.” she got down and pulled Roman towards the way, he haand he happily followed calling Jon’s name. “Hey, Jo.” He rubbed his head as he sat on the floor. “Dada hurts?” Y/N pouts and hugged him unsure what to do. “It's ok Puddin, I'm fine. But next time I answer doors ok?” she nodded and soon got curious wanting to see what was behind Roman’s Back.

“How you been man?” Jon asked as he got the chips and her sippy cup together. “I've been an ok man. Wanted to check on you and flower. Is it close to her snack time?” he asked keeping the bag behind him high so she couldn't get it. She pouted struggling, on her toes wanting the bag whining. “Uncle! I want!” He looked down at her. “Well sweetie you ask nicely. You know better.” Jon said as he washed his hands from peeling and cutting fresh apples. She pouted playing with her fingers feeling she was in trouble and Jon sighed. “Puddin, go wash your hands for snack time and Uncle will show you what he has.” She nodded and she ran to the bathroom not wanting to cause any more issues. “Ok, what you got her this time?” Roman smiled tossing him the bag and letting him look inside. “Hm. I hope she...nevermind.” He trailed off. Roman lifted his brow in curiosity. “What?” “Oh nothing. She probably grew out of that. She's in her age cycle of 4-6 so I'm sure she's-” Jon stopped as Y/N came back with wet hands. Jon smiled giving her a towel and she ran off to the table to get her lunch. Roman was still curious but he can just ignore it for now.

After lunch and Roman helping Jon clean up, Roman dropped the bag in front of Y/N and she looked up at him. “Go on baby.” She smiled and pulled out a cheetah print onesie. “Ahhhh fank chu Uncle!!” she smiled running upstairs to put it on. Jon smiled playing punching Romans's shoulder. “Stop trying to beat Bryan at being a better uncle.” Roman just laughed.

10 minutes passed and Roman looked up the stairs calling Y/N. “Hey Jon. She's been taking too long up there..” Jon looked up the stairs as well a bit worried. “I'll go check on her.” He walked up the stairs calling her again and looked around the halls. He saw that he heard a low growl, he sighed and looked behind him feeling a presents near. “Puddin?” he called once more until he heard the growl behind him.

She's feral.

She was in the cheetah onesie ready to pounce on her caregiver. He held his hand out being careful with the wild little, she growled making a clawing motion. “Hey now...i mean no harm.” she growled more and pounced catching herself so she didn't bump her head but Jon saw it as a escape. He ran downstairs and grabbed a confused Roman. “What?! What's going on?” “She's feral. You gave her a cheetah onesie. Now she's out for our necks.” Roman soon heard the wild little come down sniffing and looking for the caregivers. They were crouched in front of the sofa trying to escape. Jon made the hush motion and told him to go the left way to the kitchen. They started to make their way there but job knocked over a stuffed animal, making them run. She growled running after them. “How did she get like this?” he asked hiding beside the refrigerator. “Onesies just make her Feral.” He sighed wishing there was a warning. The feral cheetah little sniffed around looking around but soon went back to normal seeing some cookies in a bag. “Daddy can I get a cookie?” Jon sighed happy the chase is over. “Yes puddin you can.” she smiled taking the hoodie off and going to the sofa with the bag of cookies. Roman just looked at Jon sighing as he laughed some.

“Warn me next time ok?”

#aew one shot #jon moxley #wwe dean ambrose #wwe one shot #sfw agere #age regression

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thekimspoblog · 8 months

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One-Shot "I'm really starting to hate the Simpsons"

She felt like a monster, her shadow looming large over the sleeping cherub. Kim’s daughter was five years old now. The mop of auburn curls, the ruby red lips, the dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks; the last thing Kim wanted to do was disturb this peace. But she had to. She perched herself on the edge of the twin bed and, gently as possible, started to rouse her.

“Iris?” she whispered, “Iris, baby, wake up”

Reluctantly, the dark blue eyes opened. Already, a bewildered scowl was on her face.

“Sweetheart, we need to leave home. I…”

“Again?”

“... Yes.” Kim replied flatly. Iris only sounded moderately frustrated, but it was still a knife in Kim’s heart. “Take some time to wake up, but in thirty minutes, I need you downstairs with your suitcase. Dad and I will worry about your clothes and toothbrush, but pick out four toys you want to take with you. No more than four, okay? The rest have to stay here”

“I want daddy,” she whined.

“He’s downstairs. Come on, get dressed”

Iris pouted and Kim couldn’t help but feel judged. Sometimes it felt like it was written in the stars, that things between them always had to be just that little bit difficult. And it wasn’t for lack of understanding one another.

She jogged back downstairs, almost out of breath; the day had already been long enough and now night seemed insurmountable.

“How many changes of clothes do you have?” she shouted to Jimmy from across the kitchen.

“Four. Two pairs of jeans and two pairs of sweatpants”

“Do you think you could get by with only two outfits? We can buy more once we figure out where we’re going”

“No, we can’t”

“What?!” Kim hollered back while sweeping the contents of the downstairs medicine cabinet into a plastic bag.

“We’ve been frozen out of our accounts!”

“Son of a bitch!” she slammed the cabinet door closed.

“It’s fine. This is what the rainy day fund is for'' The three year old had already fallen back asleep on Jimmy’s shoulder. He passed Fille to his wife, then scurried down to the basement. He pulled back the fiberglass insulation to reveal bundles of cash stacked like bricks.

Kim anxiously bounced the toddler on her shoulder while trying to rifle through the fridge with her free hand. Where were the snacks? There were never any snacks in this house! She went shopping constantly and still whenever she was hungry, the fridge was empty. All she could find was a large glass jar of applesauce, a jar of peanut butter, a bag of shredded three-cheese, and the leftover pepperoni from a pizza kit; it would have to do.

“How much is there?” she interrogated her husband when he returned to the kitchen.

“A little over five thousand? I didn’t have time to count it”

“Then we’re better off than I thought. Ok: Your clothes? Check. My clothes? Check. Iris’s clothes?”

“They’re in my suitcase” Jimmy shot back.

“Fille’s clothes?”

“They’re in your suitcase”

“Ok. Meds? Check. Cash? Check. Jewelry? Electronics?”

“If the FBI is involved, I’m probably going to have to throw my laptop in the next river we drive past”

“We’ll worry about that later,” Kim yelled up the stairs, “Iris! Ten minutes!”

“What about IDs? We don’t even have any paperwork for Fille yet”

“Good thing she doesn’t make much noise then”

Still no reply from upstairs.

“I’ll go check on her,” Jimmy offered.

“No. I’ll do it. Please finish loading things into the car,” Kim said, taking off before he could answer.

Iris was pathetically fishing her stubby arm down the crevice between her bed and the wall.

“What’s the hold up?” her mother asked.

“Chirin fell down and I can’t reach him,” she explained.

Without skipping a beat, Kim dropped to the floor and crawled under the bed. She fumbled around in the dark until her fingers found something fluffy. She shoved the stuffed lamb in Iris’s hands and exasperatedly asked, “There. You have your lamb. Anything else? Think hard; once we leave this house, we can’t come back”

Iris shook her head. Clearly, the level of worry her parents were showing was not lost on her.

“Good. Then we need to go”

When the two came outside into the driveway, Jimmy was strapping Fille into the back seat of the sedan. Kim hoisted Iris into the car, the five year old still clutching her toy with both hands. Kim heard the trunk slam closed and as Jimmy buckled himself into the passenger’s seat, she heard him mutter something under his breath.

“If this ends with us singing B-I-N-G-O in the woods, I’m going to blow my brains out”

“What was that?” she asked her husband.

“Nothing”

They were a mile down the road. The clock on the dashboard read 2:13 am. Kim stole a glance in the rearview mirror into the passengers seats. The sisters had already fallen asleep again, their heads slumped together. That ratty little lamb. If Kim had lost any childhood toys in this way, she must have been too young to remember. But she remembered the one science project that she had been forced to abandon during a move. It was on solar power; it would have been an A! But on the morning it was time to throw everything in a cardboard box and flee the landlord, she couldn’t find it in time. Kim’s mother never would have dropped everything to help look for it. If Kim had even been stupid enough to ask, she knew her mother would have told her to leave it; it didn’t matter. It did though! That stupid little stuffed sheep mattered. Kim would just have to take some meager reassurance in the fact that she had gotten down on her knees to look for it.

“Iris, you know that I love you, right?” she confessed, waking the girl up.

Iris didn’t respond. She just glared back into the mirror skeptically.

“And I’m sorry, if stability isn’t something I can give you. But you know, a lot of kids’ parents have to move around for work. It’s the hand they’ve been dealt, and they just have to deal with it”

Still no reply.

“But I tried. We both tried. Your father and I have both tried so many times to be people other than ourselves. But we can’t. The masks always slip eventually. And I don’t know if it’s exactly a bright side, but look at it this way: if I was any good at pretending, you wouldn’t be here. I wish I could give you the perfect life. But I have to trust that this is still better than nothing”

Another awkward pause.

“I’m rambling. I guess my point is… sometimes, being yourself comes at the expense of other people. And I want you to know that wherever you go in life, all I want is for you to be yourself. And if it hurts me? Fair’s fair; I’ll owe you that much”

Jimmy put his hand on her leg. The squeeze he gave her was enough to communicate, “Kim, that’s enough. Please stop”

@richeeduvie @2entangledworms @mcwexlerscigarette @chainsawsangel

#mcwexler #blue irises #kim's bad mom character arc #jimmy x kim #better call saul fanfiction #one shot

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justagirlwholikesadam · 1 year

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Tenant

Summary: Moving into New York is never easy especially with rent. You see an ad for a studio. You meet Jude who’s renting it out. Money is short, Jude has an idea how you can make it up.

Jude x Chubby! Reader

»»————-　♡　————-««

You knew living in New York would be hard. Especially with rent so when you found an ad in the newspaper for a small studio near where you worked you were all for it. However, when you saw the price of the rent; you felt your heart fall out of your ass. You didn't care though, it would be a dollar slice of pizza and ramen noodles for breakfast, lunch and dinner. You just hoped the owner would be nice enough to give you a better deal.

"Hello, I'm Jude." You met a tall guy in front of an apartment complex. You had called him about the studio, and he agreed to meet you on the same day.

"Y/n. Nice to meet you." You said with a smile shaking his hand. You blushed under his gaze.

He opened the door for you and let you walk inside first into the lobby. He told you it was on the third floor as he shut the door. You walked up the stairs not noticing Jude staring at your behind. He bit his bottom lip as he looked at you. He quickly ran his hand through his hair as he followed behind you. It's been a while since he's been with Mina and with everything going on with the baby. He was on edge. He watched as you looked around in the studio, your round cheeks glowed in excitement as you opened the door to the closet to see how much space it was. He stood by the entrance.

You wore a pair of black leggings showing your ass, he gripped the doorframe when you leaned down to open the kitchen cabinet under the sink. Your cleavage showed as well. You are a pretty thing, he had to admit. He almost moans at the sight of your camel toe when you walk across the room. The leggings hugged your mound. You were nice and plump. So full in all the places he liked. His eyes went up to your face again to look at those round cute cheeks. His fingers were aching to pinch them.

"I do have one problem, though." You told Jude nervously. You stood across the room and looked at him. He quickly stuffed his hands into his pocket. Hoping you wouldn't see his half-hardened cock through his jeans.

"The rent. I just got here and I'm kind of new to this part of the city. It's a bit out of my budget for the moment." You told him.

"I will be looking for another job though. If I can get this place and pay the rest later." Jude just looked at you but didn't say anything. Something stirred deep inside of Jude that moment. Something very mischievous. His hands were already sweaty at the thought of it. His cock twitched under his jeans. He has seen it done once in a porn video before. He would jack off in the bathroom at 3 in the morning while Mina was sleeping.

'Girl pays rent with her pussy.'

The images flooded his mind of the girl in the porno riding her landlord's cock. The landlord pulling the girl's hair as he fucked her from behind.

"You're going to live here alone? You're single or..." Jude asked. You shook your head.

"I'm single. It'll just be me, here alone."

Good, Jude thought to himself.

"We can work out a deal perhaps." He said as he walked inside then shut the door behind him.

"A deal?" You questioned.

"Yes." Jude said, walking towards you. He stopped a few inches in front of you. You just stood still as you looked up at him. You got a good look at him now. He was towering over you. He was handsome, with a pair of nice lips, head full of dark locks. Beauty marks were scattered over his face. His eyes were light hazel. You saw him tuck a stand of hair behind his ear and you noticed a wedding ring.

"You're a pretty girl. Beautiful, to be honest." You blushed at his words.

"How about you pay half of the rent for the studio?" He said making your eyes widen at his words.

"You're serious?" He nodded at you, loving how your eyes lit up.

"What do you want in return?" You asked him.

Now Jude was a sweet guy before he met his wife. He loved his wife, and he loved his child even more but with everything going on with Mina. His wife was horribly irritating and had completely gone mad. Jude hasn't touched his wife in a year, no kisses, no hugs, no sex. He stayed with Mina for his child's sake. He even picked up more hours at his job to stay away from Mina.

He had this small studio to get away from Mina. He just used it in the weekdays whenever he got out early from work. He even snuck in food so he can eat since Mina didn't allow meat or any kind of food that was up to her standards. He thought he can get some extra cash by renting it but today when he saw you walking towards him with a bright smile, you looked so cute. You looked alive, your eyes and skin practically glowing. He couldn't help but think of you as the girl in the porno. You would be on your knees sucking his cock, batting your pretty little eyes at him as your mouth is full of cock.

Your cheeks would be full of cum just to pay the other half of the rent. Jude never told anyone, but he liked a girl with meat on her bones. Since he was tall and bigger he liked a girl who could handle him. When he met Mina, she was on the skinner side and he didn't mind it until now.

"I want to fuck you." Jude told you. You raised your eyebrows at him. He froze when you started to laugh.

"Yeah, right." You said between laughs, but he stood silently making you stop when he gave you no reaction.

"Oh shit. You're serious?" You asked as Jude looked up and down at your body.

"You're married." You said pointing the ring on his finger.

"I haven't touched my wife in over a year. It's complicated but the offer stands. I find you so attractive, Y/n. The moment I saw you. I couldn't help myself to think of you under me. Or you on top of me." Jude said as his eyes roamed over you once more.

You gave it some thought. You weren't a homewrecker, but fuck half of the rent is the only thing you will have to pay. It would help you a lot. You haven't slept with a guy in so long, you were getting tired of using your hands. You thought it was a joke, you weren't a skinny person. You were chubby. Bigger and fuller than most girls but the look he gave you made you pussy clench.

"Ok." You told him, making him grin.

"When?" You asked him.

"Possibly once or twice every month. Maybe when you pay me the rent. I'll come and pick it up and I'll fuck you." Jude said, making you look around the studio then at him.

"Deal." You said holding your hand out to him to shake on it. He shook your hand. You noticed his hands were much larger than yours. So warm and big. Fingers longer than yours.

You saw him lean down to your face. His nose touched your cheek. "You're so pretty." You heard him mumble as he gently pressed a kiss on your cheek. You turned to meet his lips. You whined in his mouth as he cupped your face with his hands as he continued to kiss you.

He quickly pulled away, making you frown. "I have to stop before I take you here on the wooden floor." You chuckled at him.

"Don't hesitate to call me if you need help bringing your stuff in." He whispers to you then gently pinches one of your chubby cheeks.

He gives you a pair of keys. "Until next time." He said then started to walk away. You quickly followed him to the staircase. He looked over his shoulder around in mid step when you called out to him.

"No deposit? No credit check?" You asked him. Jude shook his head. "I'm getting something much better in return. I don't need to check that."

You smiled as he told you goodbye and continued walking down the stairs. You walked back inside of the studio and looked around as you shut the door behind you. You let out a sigh and leaned back against the front door.

It took you almost a week to finally bring your stuff into the studio. You didn't text Jude to help you out, you didn't want to bother him especially after him giving you an amazing deal. You were a bit nervous as well. You were cooking when you looked over at the calendar you hung on the kitchen wall.

It was rent day.

You spend the whole morning cleaning the studio trying to make it look presentable. You even shaved and did your hair. You picked out some comfy clothes to wear. You were thinking about sending him a text to ask what time he was coming but didn't go through it.

You looked back at the steak you were cooking. It was evening already. A part of you was happy he hadn't come.

Maybe he has forgotten, you thought to yourself when you checked on the potatoes that were roasting in the oven. You shut the oven door closed when you heard knocking on the door.

Fuck. You cried out mentally.

"Coming." You yelled then lowered the heat on the stove to not burn the steak.

You quickly fixed your hair as you walked to the front door. There he was. Jude stood in front of you. He had a black peacoat on, a book bag over his shoulder. He wore a gray sweater with dark pants along with a pair of crew dress shoes. He looked very handsome.

"Hi." You said letting him inside.

"Hey." Jude told you as he walked inside. He saw you close the door and lock it. He saw you had little pjs shorts on. You were showing your bare legs, the shorts barely covering your ass.

You had little ankle socks on your feet. You had a sweater on with a design of a cat. He looked away when you turned to him and told him you had the rent money. He saw you walk over to the living/kitchen room and grab your purse. He blushed when he saw your shorts riding up. The back of your plushy thighs was on full display. He was hit by the smell of your cooking. It's been a while since he smelt meat.

"Here. That's half of it." You told him handing a white envelope. Jude didn't bother checking, he put it in his backpack

"Did you just got out of work?" You asked, trying to make small talk to ease your nervous mind.

"Yeah. The office was a bit busy today." He said. You were about to ask him something when you heard his stomach rumble loudly.

You let out a small laugh as he placed a hand on his stomach and blushed. "I'm sorry about that." He told you.

"I was making dinner. If you like, I can make you a plate." You said pointing at the kitchen. "I don't mind. Maybe we can talk more about our arrangement."

Jude nodded. "Sure." He placed his book bag on the small futon you had in the living/kitchen room and walked behind you to the kitchen. "Please sit." You said pointing at chair near the table. He sat and watched as you gather plates and sliver ware from the drawers. He liked watching you walk around the kitchen to serving him.

Your cheeks were pink from the heat of the cooking you did. He watched as you brought a plate. He thanked you profusely. He waited for you to sit across from him with your own plate. He looked down at his plate. Steak, roasted red potatoes and cheesy asparagus. It's been a while since he had a decent meal.

You thought dinner was going to be a shit show but Jude seemed content. He looked happy as he ate his steak. You had a few conversations about work and he told you he had a son. You noticed how much he loved his son by the way he talked about him. You smiled at him when Jude looked up from his plate at you.

Six months later.

"Fuck..fuck." Jude cried out as he rammed inside of you over and over again. You were on your back with your legs spread out. Jude likes to watch how his cock splits your pussy. He has to stops himself from cumming at the sight of his shaft disappearing in your puffy folds. Your walls feel so warm around him, he had a hand resting on your pudgy stomach as he rubbed your throbbing clit with the other hand.

You looked up at him as you played with your breasts. Squeezing them and pulling your nipples.

"Perfect pussy." Jude moans as he leaves from your clit to grab your plump mound, making you moan when he gives it a good shake.

"Mine pussy. It's fucking mine, right?" He moans, making you nod as he uses it to move your lower half up and down on his cock.

"Jude!" You cried out as he rammed deep inside of you. He stood still for a moment enjoying the feeling of the head of his cock kissing your cervix. He leaned over to kiss your breasts. Drooling over them, nipping on them. Your hands gripping on his hair as he feasts on your breasts. Shoving his face between them. The first time you slept with Jude you were nervous. He made you feel comfortable throughout the months. He would lick and kiss every stretch mark and cellulite on your skin. He would moan when he grabbed your tummy, your rolls and thick thighs. He would praise your body; each word would make your pussy drip wet for him.

"You're so pretty, bunny." He would say as he fucked you.

He started calling you bunny as well after the second month. "You're my cute little bunny. My god. Look at bunny's plump little pussy." He would moan as he fucked you.

He would fuck you from behind to see your ass bounce up and down on his cock. Loving the harsh smacks your ass would take when it hits his hips as he thrust into you. He loved the fact he would go hard, and you could endure it. You were the only one who took his entire cock.

You have lost count how many times you came. Your legs were becoming numb as you held them open for him.

Jude groans as he kisses your chest then brings his lips to yours. His hands went under you, holding you close as he began to fuck you in harsh and short thrusts making cry out.

"Juddeee.. please. It's too deep." You cry to him as he gently nip on your chubby cheeks on your face. You were feeling tears in your eyes by how much pleasure he was giving you.

"I know..I know...I know bunny. Take this fat cock." He pants against your cheeks. Your hands wrapped around him as he fucked hard you down on the mattress. You can hear the springs of the mattress starting to squeak again at his harsh thrusts.

"This pussy so fuckin' good. I swear. You were made just for me." He tells you, making you clench around his cock as you hear his praise. Jude's cock hit your cervix repeatedly. You felt so full of the cum from his previous orgasms and his cock ramming into you.

"Look at me, bunny." He moans, you obey and turn your face towards his. He gives you a sloppy kiss making you cry as you cum over his cock again.

Jude let out a heartily moan as he felt you cum on him. Lewd sounds of his balls slapping against your ass echoed in the bedroom. The air was beginning to feel hot and heavy. Cum dripping down to your ass to the bed sheets. You could feel the sweat rolling down his back. You were so sweaty; your bodies were sticking together. Jude had you in his favorite position, the mating position.

"Oh fuck.. bunny.." gasped Jude. He released a grunt as his thrusts became harsher and deeper. His face tucked in the crook of neck as he spilled inside of you. He held his hips up for a minute enjoying the feeling of cumming deep inside of you. You had one hand in his hair as the other was on his back. You couldn't feel your legs anymore, you didn't care at this point . You enjoyed the feeling of his body on top of you. His full weight on you felt so good. The feeling of your pussy being filled and the burning sensation of your pussy being stretched from his cock made your mind go blank for a second.

Jude hummed as he enjoyed his orgasm and the feeling of you under him. His eyes closed at the feeling of your fingers combing through his hair.

"Oh my god." He says softly pushing himself up to kiss your neck then at your face to your lips again.

With a wince he got up and sat on his legs looking down to see his mess. Your poor pussy was battered with cum. He looked at you to see you breathing heavily as you bit your bottom lip. He looked over your body, chest going up and down. Love marks covered your body, your pudge tummy looked so good on top of your mound. You let out a whine when you felt him pull out.

Every time Jude would leave you breathing heavily. With hickeys and drool all over your body. Leaves your pussy sore and dripping with his cum.

Over the few months that had passed, he asked you if he could come over to your place more times. You didn't deny his request. You liked having him around. He would wake you up with his head between your thick thighs. He would drown himself in your pussy. Morning would start with rough sex, headboard banging against the wall. Sweaty sex after dinner. He would eat you out on the dinner table. Bend you over the kitchen counter, and table.

He started to spend nights with you after sex, he liked cuddling with you. Jude would mindlessly knead at the fat of your thighs or your rolls, other times he'll squeeze your tummy when cuddling or when he's just standing behind you as you cooked dinner or breakfast. He liked when you sat on his lap. Your back against his chest as his hand goes between your legs. He would always let out a moan as he feels cups your plump mound and plays with your clit through your pants.

"You're so bad, Jude." You tell him as you drop your mouth open when you feel his tongue lick your dripping slit.

You don't know how he gets so much energy half of the time. You noticed Jude had a breeding kink. A very big one. You didn't mind it since you took care of yourself but the things, he tells you while fucking your pussy raw always made you go crazy.

"Imma cum in you, bunny. Gonna give me a baby. Right?" He would ask you while fucking you from behind. His hand pressing your head down on the mattress as you drool at his words.

"I'm gonna put a baby in this tummy." He would tell you as he grabs your stomach, squeezing your fat. You would just nod with an empty mind because all you could think about is his cock sliding in and out of you.

You cry out when you feel Jude push the cum back into your gaping hole with his fingers.

"Jude!" You whined out making him chuckle as he gave a gentle slap on your cunt. Loving the way your puffy pussy bounces back after his slap. Satisfy with what he has done. He lets your pussy rest for now.

"I had to taste you." He tells you laying next to you as you stared up at the ceiling trying to catch your breath. You feel him get closer to you after a while. Kissing your bare shoulder and arm.

"Y/n, can we cuddle?" He asked you after a moment of silence. You look over at him and nod. "I'm sweaty though." You commented to him. He shook his head.

"Don't care." He mumbled as he made his way to lay against your chest. He laid his head on top of your breasts with an arm over your stomach. You wrapped your arms around him then shut your eyes. You didn't mind it one bit of Jude being in you or over you. It was a small price to pay to only pay half of the rent.

#jude x reader #jude hungry hearts #hungry hearts #hungry hearts smut #hungry hearts 2014 #jude x reader smut #chubby reader #cheating #smut #sex for money #sex for rent

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inkwell-and-dagger · 5 months

Text

[Silence Speaks Louder.]

Synop: Madison breaks into Foster's home to rescue Rayan, but not all goes as expected. Turns out not everyone is tired when the sun goes down.

CW: home invasion ig, implied team whump, failed escape / rescue attempt, lady whump, stabbing.

—> —> —> —> —> —>

Frigid midnight air seeped into Madison's hoodie as she picked the lock in the backdoor; infinitely thankful she'd remembered how to do it from when she'd watched Vanté do the same. As she nudged it open with her shoulder, careful to make as little noise as she could, she could only pray everybody in the house — except for Rayan — was asleep.

Quickly peeking around the corner, the photographer sighed in relief when she was certain that the house was silent. Silence was good. Silence meant nobody could watch as she fetched Rayan and got out of this hellhole. Carefully slipping past the door and closing it behind her so the wind wouldn't slam it shut and alert the inhabitants, Madison winced as the floorboards creaked under her weight; her jaw set tight as she blindly made her way through the eerie, dark building. It was clean and strangely normal looking inside, but despite the serenity of each room she felt a looming sense of dread in her stomach, growing more prominent with each step. Not enough for her to change her mind and not rescue her own brother, though.

Madison looked through every room she came across, hands feeling around every drawer and cabinet, every surface, trying to find anything that gave away that Rayan hadn't been moved somewhere else. She eventually found his phone, cracked and bloodied, which was something. Stuffing it in her pocket, she made her way back into the hall and to the staircase that led to the basement.

The darkness was unsettling her by now, so she hastily sneaked down the creaking stairs. But the closer she got to the door, the more the air grew cold and the putrid smell of decay lingered around the woman more than ever. She rattled the doorknob when she was in arms length of it, only to realise it was locked.

"Crap," Madison hissed, rattling it again to make certain that it was locked and that her arms didn't just felt shaky and weak. Foot tapping on the ground nervously, she fished in her pocket for whatever lockpicking tools she'd brought with her.

But Madison's body went rigid when she heard a low chuckle from behind her. "Are you having trouble there, милый?"

Madison couldn't stifle a yelp of pain as she was pulled backwards by her hair and pressed flush against Esrana, who was suddenly holding a kitchen knife dangerously close to the older woman's throat; as expected, Madison stopped fighting against her grip. "Move a muscle and I will give you and Rayan matching neck scar." Esrana warned in a low, dangerous tone, her broken English prominent and accent strong. Pulling the knife away, she moved to unlock the door and shove Madison in. The latter whipped around after she stumbled, eyes wide before squinting as the swaying, hanging light in the room flickered on.

"Now, ah," Esrana sighed, shutting and locking the door with a grin. "What's this little intruder doing here at night, hm?"

Madison couldn't respond, too distracted staring at the trembling, curled up form of her little brother against the wall. A blanket, dried blood coating its once probably fluffy surface, was tugged tight over his shoulders, his prosthetic discarded somewhere where he couldn't reach. It's not like he could reach too much, anyway, since his wrists were bound together with rope that rubbed against his pale skin, and a short string of it came down in a noose loosely around his neck, tied to a hook attached to the ceiling. Rayan couldn't move unless he wanted to risk being choked. He looked like a trainwreck; probably why she couldn't seem to look away.

"...Maddie...?"

"Quiet, thing." Esrana snapped back, causing the poor boy to flinch away and fall silent again.

That regained Madison's attention. She glared over to the shorter woman, hands tightening into white-knuckled fists. "Listen, I don't wanna have to hurt you, kid. Let Rayan go."

Esrana just smirked. "Why should I? It is monster, for God's sake."

"No he isn't! He's trying to be better, plus the whole incident was years ago. This has gone on for too long, Esrana, just let him go. This is petty."

"Incident? It is serial killer. It ruined the lives of so many people, and you're calling the ordeal an incident as if it were all some accident?"

"He wasn't in the best mental state, but he's getting better. He's improving, but this—" She gestured broadly to the basement, shoulders tensed. "Isn't helping. Let the guy go."

"And what do you propose I do with you?" The knife pointed to Madison's chest. "I'm not letting both of you go."

"I..." Madison was stumped. On one hand, she wanted the best for her precious little brother; even at her own expense. But on the other hand, she had a wife now, not to mention she wanted to be there for Vanté, and Tadhg growing up, and to keep Zuriel and Aarin company on sleepless nights, and to welcome the newly revived Vesker back home. But...

"..Cat got your tongue?"

"I- No, just take me instead."

"What?!" Rayan exploded, voice cracking and weak. "You can't take her! I—"

"Shush!" Esrana hissed angrily through gritted teeth, and that immediately quietened the immortal down again. Raising one hand, she held it out to Madison, who reluctantly shook it. "Deal. We will keep you."

Madison was going to respond, before a sharp cry was ripped from her throat as she felt something sharp stab into her leg, piercing through the fabric of her trousers. The knife was ripped out again, and Esrana managed to hold her up against the wall as she stabbed it back into her other leg. "I'm glad it hurts, Madison." She said cheerily, relishing in the teary glare Madison gave her in response.

As soon as Esrana let her go, she sank down the wall with a whimper. She grunted as the looming figure of her captor kicked her in the ribs, clutching onto her injured side with a scowl.

As Esrana sauntered across the room and placed the bloodied kitchen knife on some sort of drawer, Madison held her distressed brother close to her chest. "We will let the creature go tomorrow," Esrana stated in an almost reluctant tone, before flashing a grin as she flicked off the light. "If we remember."

The door closed and locked within a matter of seconds, and Madison groaned in frustration as she rested her head back against the bloodied wall. She gently pulled Rayan against her chest, rubbing his arm soothingly.

"She's not gonna remember, is she...?" He managed to mumble in her ear.

No, she wanted to reply. But she just shrugged in response, biting back another pained noise as the wounds in her leg throbbed painfully. She fished in her hoodie pocket and placed Rayan's phone in his lap as she felt her consciousness slipping.

—> —> —> —> —> —>

(Vantè and Vesker both belong to @er0s-1s-whump1ng / @paranoia-exe!!!)

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bishop-percival · 5 months

Text

The Rat

[[Hii I wrote another fic. It's about Sherri Jr. Why am I posting it on this blog? You'll see...]]

“Gute Nacht, Sherri!”

Bert gave a few pats to the green three eyed rat curled up on his bed. When she closed her eyes, Bert turned off the table lamp to his side and crawled under the blanket. He was snoring just minutes later.

Sherri Jr. opened her eyes. She turned and looked at the digital clock on the side table. 12:03 AM Skullship time. She then got up and poked her head under the blanket to see if Bert really was asleep. He was indeed. It was go time.

Taking delicate steps, Sherri crawled off the bed and pitter-pattered over to the door. She stood on her hind legs and twisted the lock on the handle to unlock it. She then wrapped both her front paws and her grabby tail around the handle and slowly pulled down. The door opened a crack, enough for her to squeeze out. She pulled it shut behind her with her tail, then took off scampering down the hallway.

Sherri made her way into a stairwell. She jumped up on the railing and slid down each set. Some night owl watchdogs who happened to be using the stairs got quite startled when she slid past them. Others were a bit more accustomed to the sight, saying “see, I told you a giant green rat with three eyes slides down the stairwell railing around this time!” Sherri did this for quite a few floors. Finally, she reached the door for one of the lowest floors- Floor B.

Leaving the stairwell led her to a very long, tall, dark hallway. It was quite basement-y there. It smelled rather musty and the ceiling exposed piping and wiring. The walls were dotted with electrical boxes and large steel doors, but Sherri darted past them all until she reached the very end of the hallway. And at that end were the beautifully crafted wooden doors of the Glornch, surrounded by stone siding on the wall. It looked like a far cry from the very hallway it was nestled in. Instead of pushing the doors open, though, there was a specific stone close to the ground that looked ever so slightly out of place. Sherri pushed against this stone, which caused an even larger stone nearby to completely pop out of the wall, revealing a small secret tunnel. Sherri crawled in backwards, dragging the stone back into place.

Deep inside the Glornch, the priestess Reverend Miriam was busy in her personal ritual chamber and brewery. The space was crowded with shelves and cabinets full of all kinds of strange ingredients and artifacts. In the center was a giant cauldron boiling over a fire. She was brewing some refills for the potions that were running low.

Miriam perked up at the sight of her large potted henbane plant slowly shifting away from the corner it was in. Sherri Jr. emerged from behind the ceramic pot, exiting the secret passageway.

“Ah. There you are…” Miriam said as she approached the rat. She then scooped Sherri up and hefted her into the air. “...My little familiar! How are you sweetie pie? Did you have a safe journey here?”

Miriam set Sherri back down and ruffled the top of her head. “Are you hungry? I got a brand new can of your favorite…”

With Sherri following behind, Miriam walked to a nearby cabinet and retrieved a big tin. She set it on the ground and opened the lid.

“Fresh raisins!” she said with a smile. Sherri eagerly dug in and stuffed the raisins in her cheeks. She was also sure to pick up a few and hold them out toward Miriam.

“Oh, are these for me? Why thank you, sweetie pie.” She popped the raisins into her mouth.

Then came a knock at the chamber door. The air of joy completely drained from Miriam as she dropped her smile for her usual resting scowl face. She quickly picked up Sherri and the canister of raisins and shoved them both under a table draped with a cloth. “Stay. Here.”

With the giant rat hidden, Miriam went over to the door and ripped it open. “What do you want?” she growled.

Her brother Mike was on the other side. He was unfazed by her hostility, but there was a look of confusion on his face.

“Uh… Percy asked me to give this to you,” he said as he handed his sister a piece of paper. “The schedule for this month.”

Mike then leaned to his side, trying to peer into the chamber. “Am I interrupting something? Are you talking to someone?”

Miriam snatched the paper with one hand and with the other shoved her palm into Mike’s chest. “Buzz off. I was praying to Mother’s Eye.”

Mike took a step back and dusted off his chest. “And… Giving her raisins? And calling her sweetie pie?”

Her eye widened with rage. “You damn eavesdropping creep! I- I… Was. Yes. I was offering raisins to Mother’s Eye.”

Mike stood and flatly stared at his sister. He did not believe her. He tried to push past her into the chamber, which predictably resulted in her trying to push him out, and the situation quickly turned into a fistfight complete with name calling.

Startled by the commotion, Sherri Jr. poked her head out from the table cloth. All she saw was some guy beefing with her friend, so she scurried over and joined the fight. She bit Mike’s leg.

“Ow! What the fuck is this thing?”

Miriam quickly pulled Sherri off of Mike's leg and into her arms. She then slammed the chamber door shut.

“Wait, I’ve seen that before… is that… Is that that one scientist guy’s rat? The one you’re always saying you’re gonna hunt down because it's a rare and powerful witchcraft ingredient?” Mike questioned as he squinted at the rat. “Wow, good job! You actually caught it! It’s a lot bigger than I remember it being…”

“Uh huh. And as you can see,” Miriam pointed at the boiling cauldron, “I’m busy preparing her for a potion. So can you stop bothering me and get out of here?”

Mike sighed and rubbed the spot on his head that got punched during the scuffle. “Fine…” He then perked up and shot an inquisitive glare at Miriam. “Wait. Her? Were you feeding the rat raisins? And calling it sweetie pie?”

Miriam stammered. “I- No- Well-... Ugh, she’s my familiar, ok?!” She hugged Sherri close to her.

Mike’s eye widened. “But… The ingredient potential… You really binded this rat as your familiar instead?”

She averted her gaze and remained silent.

“...Did you not even perform a binding ritual?”

Miriam finally exploded. “SHUT UP! Just shut up and leave me alone, ok? This thing is so freaking cute I can’t bring myself to kill her! And if I try to keep her for too long, she gets horribly anxious and depressed, so I let her go back to that damn scientist guy in the morning! But she keeps coming back at night!”

Mike gawked at his sister for a moment before bursting with laughter. “HAH! You gotta be kidding me! My oh-so evil cold-hearted sis, softened by a rat! Acting like you have joint custody over it!”

Miriam kicked his shin.

“OW, fuck!” Mike sharply inhaled before speaking again. “... You know, Percival hates that thing. If he finds out you have it he’s either gonna make you kill it or kill it himself.”

Scritching Sherri’s chin, Miriam narrowed her eye at Mike. “That’s why Percy won’t find out. And if you dare tell him, I’m gonna dismember you for my potions. Though you’ll probably make lousy batches.”

Mike rolled his eye. He was actually kind of glad to see his sister care so much about another living thing. But if this rat got taken away from her, who knows what kind of consequences her grief would bring.

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell Percy. Though I am surprised you’re betraying his wishes like this…”

“I’m not betraying him. It’s not like he ever told me specifically to go out and kill her.”

“Whatever. So what’s this thing’s name? Sherlie or something?” Mike pointed at Sherri. She tried to bite his finger but he pulled it away in time.

“Mir Junior. That’s what I’ve named her. And she’s not just some dumb cute animal. Watch.”

Miriam set Sherri on the ground. “At attention, Mir Jr. Retrieve for me the ingredients for a simple Scorching Serum.”

At once, Sherri scampered over to a group of cabinets and pulled the doors open with her tail. She grabbed bundles of herbs, a jar of red lizard tails, and a bottle containing powder. She managed to waddle all of it back over to the priestess. Miriam gave her some enthusiastic pats.

“Good job! See Mike? She’s more competent than you.”

Mike scoffed. “How long has this th- …Mir Jr. been coming around?”

Miriam stood up and retrieved the canister of raisins from behind the table. “A few weeks…”

“What’re you gonna do if that scientist guy finds out and tries to put a stop to it?”

“He won’t find out,” Miriam flatly stated as she shoved the canister towards Mike until he took a hold of it.

“You say that, but…” Mike looked down. Sherri had come close to him and was looking up at him expectantly. He took a nervous step back, thinking she might gear up to bite his leg again. She stepped towards him.

“Hey uh, Mir Senior? Why’d you give me these?...”

“Feed some to her.”

“What? No! It’ll bite my hand off!”

“Coward. Scared of a rat? Like Percy?”

Mike wordlessly sneered at his sister before looking back down at Sherri. He scooped a few raisins into the palm of his hand and cautiously held it down to her.

Mutually cautious, Sherri sniffed and sniffed his hand before coming to the conclusion that, sure, she’ll accept these raisins. They were safe, passed inspection. She grabbed them out of Mike’s hand and stuffed them in her cheeks.

“Alright. I fed your rat. I’m leaving now. That’s what you want, right? For me to leave?”

“Wait,” Miriam commanded. “Now pet her.”

“I’m not petting her.” Mike handed the canister back to his sister.

“She’s soft. Softest thing I’ve ever felt.”

Mike shifted. “I’m just really not in the mood to lay my bare hand on a rat…”

“She’s clean.”

After a few moments of deliberation and looking over Sherri, Mike finally slipped a glove off and slowly reached down towards her. He froze when she stood to sniff his hand, but she soon leaned into it. Trying to suppress a smile, Mike continued stroking the side of her face.

“She is soft…” he muttered.

Miriam sighed and put the raisins back in the cupboard. She then picked up the ingredients Sherri had fetched for her and took them over to the cauldron. She went to work making her brew while Mike sat enthralled petting Sherri in different spots. It was a peaceful moment. A rare, peaceful moment.

—

The clocks struck 5:00 AM. Mike had left a few hours earlier, so it was just Miriam and her so-called Mir Jr. organizing the new potion bottles into their designated cabinets.

Sherri's antennae perked up, as if she could sense the time. She waddled over to Miriam and stood up.

“Ah, is it time for you to go? Okay. One moment, sweetie.”

The priestess grabbed a few raisins from the cupboard and handed them to Sherri.

“Thanks for your help tonight. Come back soon, ok?”

With that, Sherri Jr. slipped back behind the potted plant, into the secret tunnel, and eventually out of the Glornch. She made the trek back up the flights of stairs, down this and that hallway, before finally arriving back safely at Bert's room.

Again exercising caution, she quietly opened the door and even had the brains to lock it after closing it behind her. She crept into the bed, weary, and closed her three eyes.

Then Bert’s alarm went off at 6:00 AM. He sprung up from the blanket.

“Yawn!! It’s a new day!” He nudged Sherri. “C’mon schätzchen! Time to get ready for work.”

She let out a few irritated squeaks and repositioned herself before closing her eyes again.

Bert smiled. “Hehe… you lazy girl.”

#long post #fic #animal death m

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weavewilled · 6 months

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@nerimoi the alcohol liberator: She is contemplating, half a shelve's worth of wine bottles in her arms & inspecting the label of one firmly held in free left hand; not all could be taken, that much was certain. Decisions therefore had to be made & one was not the best to do so. Not without thorough planing & proper consideration that is. " you know what would vastly improve camp moral? " Gale is just passing by, own bags full. She doesn't wait for him to offer, nor does she care to; just puts the bottle in hand into his, nevermind the extra weight. " Red in the sauce. Bet you could even trick Astarion into thinking it's blood. "

THERE WAS A DAY WHERE HE WOULD HAVE TURNED HIS NOSE UP AT LOOTING PLACES LIKE THIS. And, for the first time or two, it made him uneasy —— like he should be looking over his shoulder, like he was just waiting for someone to come along and take offense that he was picking their cabinets and drawers bare.

Funny, how long enough on the road —— through hardship and privation and hard nights and harder days —— can so swiftly make one reconsider one’s moral reservations.

He’s mostly quite pleased he found a lovely mortar and pestle, and two books he hasn’t read yet besides. That along with a host of other trinkets —— an enchanted pair of vambraces, a well-knitted and new-looking pair of socks, a drawer full of dried herbs, amongst other things —— make his bag rather stuffed, and he’s mostly just moving to squeeze past and head back up the stairs.

He’s neither a small man nor a stealthy one, and so he finds a wine bottle plopped in his hands before he can blink. To his credit, he just takes it; he doesn’t even fumble it much. " I think he’s smart enough to question why, " he chuckles, but he rolls the bottle over in his hand to inspect the label anyway. It’s sort of awkward; his other hand is full, and he shuffles back to get out of her way besides.

" A Calishite red, " he says, and it’s uncertain what he thinks, but he considers. " It’s —— flavorful. " It’s said like one may call a bonfire cozy, or a black dragon just a little cranky. " But it may go well if we can get some good red meat or a roast. " He decides one way or another, and tucks it under an arm, and sighs the sigh of the world-weary. " We need a bloody packmule, " he sighs. " Are there are good whites up there? "

#nerimoi #( this got #excessive i'm sorry LKDJFSD LMAO )#;; & a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness. ( main v. )

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xxiamtiebrousxx · 2 years

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Chapter 3 "Reminisce" (Tough Skin | Crocodile! Sniper x Reader)

“How’d you break your leg?” I asked Mick.

“Fell down the porch too hard,” he replied. We walked down the school hall. I held his back for support. Kids were trying to kick his crutches, but I wouldn’t let them. I’d kick them back in the shins. The only problem was that Mick’s backpack was weighing him down.

“Here, lemme help you.” I grabbed his pack and put the strap on my shoulder. His backpack was gator themed like everything else he owned.

“Hey, hey, hey! Oi can carry it!” Mick exclaimed, reaching for his backpack.

“No, you’ll hurt yourself,” I replied. “I can handle it.”

“I can handle it.” I limped back to my apartment, Mick and Crocky followed. I told them to keep their distance, but they didn’t listen.

“Are you sure Oi can’t help?” he asked, trying to hold me up. I started to get tired, so I leaned against the wall, holding my hand up.

“No,” I said. “You may have caused this but I can handle it.”

“Gator, you’re hurt.” I started walking again.

“Don’t call me Gator,” I spat. I tried to keep my tough act. I didn’t want to seem like a desperate child.

“Then what should Oi call you?” he asked.

“Y/n,” I replied. I used the wall as my support as I walked up the stairs. Mick picked up his pet. We made it to my room. I kicked open my door with my bad leg. It was a terrible idea because I doubled over in pain, cursing loudly. I groaned, getting up. “First aid kit’s in the cabinet,” I said pointing to the kitchen. I limped onto my couch, laying on it. Crocky immediately crawled over and started rubbing against my hand like a cat.

“Hm, means he loikes ya Gator,” stranger Mick said, grabbing the kit. He walked around the kitchen island. I lifted my leg up on the couch.

“I said call me Y/n,” I growled, raising my voice and pant sleeve. “Gator’s not my name.”

“Could’ve been at point.” I threw the pillow at him.

“I don’t answer to that name anymore!” I yelled. “He can only call me that, not you! Just cause you share the same name doesn’t mean you have that privilege.”

“Gat-, Oi mean, Y/n, calm down,” Mick said. “Oi didn’t mean to anger you loike that.” I scoffed.

“Yeah right,” I muttered. “Where’d you come from anyway?”

“Oi’d rather not say.” He pulled out the alcohol wipes and gauges.

“So, you could be an escaped convict?” I asked, resting my head on the pillows. “Or a loose maniac?”

“Do you want me to fix your leg or not?” he asked. I made him mad. I smirked, resting my arms under my head.

I was going to push every button.

“I’m testing how far your patience can be stretched out,” I answered. I reached out for his mask but Mick quickly pulled back. Fortunately I was able to get his hat. His messy brown hair was revealed. “Got’cha.”

“What’s your deal, hmm?”

“I don’t like you,” I answered. “Bad first impressions I guess.” I ruffled his hair. “Now, do as you promised.” Mick shoved the supplies into my hands.

“One minute you wanna give me your name, the next you’re treating me like dirt,” he spat. I sneered at him.

“Well I’m not the one who let a dangerous animal loose!” I shouted.

“He’s a reptilian, not an animal!” he yelled back.

“Does it look like I care?!?” I stood up.

“You used too!” Mick stood up, hovering over me.

“What makes you think you know me?” I yelled, raising my fists.

“Y/n? Who’s this?” I looked over to the doorway. Lily was standing there, holding her stuffed animal. Even though she was fifteen, she was still young. Innocent. I calmed down.

“Lily, can you wait outside?” I asked softly. “I was about to show this man where the door’s at.”

“Oi know where it is,” he replied, snatching his hat back. Lily moved out of the way as I followed my new nemesis out.

“Stay out,” I whispered at the door, “and don’t ever come back.”

“Gator, you’ll be begging for me to return,” he said. He pulled out a key chain, dangling it in front of me. It was one that I hadn’t seen in ages and thought I’d never see again.

We were sitting at the edge of the river, Mick and I. We let our feet dangle in the cool water after finally getting his cast off. I was snacking off some chips when he pulled out a present. “Oi made this for you.” Mick held up a tiny keychain. It was a small, simple alligator made of wood painted green. It had small black eyes and was smiling. I gently grabbed the figure.

“It’s adorable,” I replied, taking it. “So little.” I attached the keychain to my backpack.

“Oi have one that goes with yours,” he said. He held up another keychain. It was a small crocodile, painted a yellowish-green. It had the same smile and eyes like mine. I smiled. “It’s a symbol of friendship.”

“Friends forever?” I asked. Mick nodded.

“Friends forever.”

I reached for the crocodile keychain, caressing the smooth wood. The paint was chipped, but it was the same one Mick owned. The one this Mick had in his hand. “Are you really him?” I asked. “Are you the one who disappeared so long ago?” I reached out for his mask, but Mick pulled away.

“Oi’ve gotta get going,” he said, turning to leave.

“No, you’re not leaving me again,” I said, grabbing his hand. I pulled off his glove. I gasped at the sight.

His hand, that scaly, green hand. It was slightly bigger than the man’s average hand size, but the way it matched the skin of a crocodile. It scared me.

Mick pulled back, grasping his hand like it was wounded. I could see the fear in his eyes.

“What are you?” I asked.

#Team Fortress 2 #tf2 #Tf2 x reader #Team fortress 2 x reader #tf2 Sniper x reader #tf2 sniper #romance #Sniper X Reader #Supernatural #long post

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akillysheel · 2 years

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❝ Well, That’s on You. ❞ ( 3/75 )

Summary: Kip learns what is meant by “a rotten assignment”. Characters: Kip, Jagger, Basil. Prompt: ❝ Well, that’s on you. ❞ Warnings: Drugs ( fictional ).

A/N: A direct continuation of the previous chapter because uhhhh I said so.

“Wakey wakey.”

Kip stirs when Jagger nudges her shoulder with a gloved hand. He’s fully dressed, excluding his coat, and is clearly already prepared for the day ahead. Hung over his arm are her freshly washed clothes, offered to her with an unexpectedly cordial patience.

"Okay," she mumbles, not knowing whether to thank him or not. She may have just woken up, but she recalls how that had panned out yesterday. Her poor forehead. "Um–"

"You've got twenty minutes to make yourself…" He pauses, looking her over, his mouth curling into a spiteful sneer. With evident disdain: "... vaguely presentable."

Kip squints before kicking her blanket aside and standing up. She snatches her clothes from him with a sour scowl before trawling off to the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind her. If there’s one thing she can’t understand above all else, it’s why some people make the conscious choice to be unpleasant. Jagger must have one hell of a reputation to protect. After how they’d met, that wouldn’t surprise her in the slightest.

The second that the cold water hits her face, Kip breathes out a sigh of relief. She’s never been a morning person, but she can always count on that icy jolt to kick start her day. She washes as efficiently as she can without a designated flannel or sponge, and after hunting in a couple of cabinets for a toothbrush and subsequently feeling bad about it, draws a stripe of toothpaste across her finger and attempts to brush as best she can. By the time she’s finished, hands washed and hair arranged as neatly as she’ll get it without the use of a hairbrush, she feels semi-confident.

With gusto, Kip points at her reflection, a determined look flashing across her face like lightning. “Today’s a new day,” she tells herself with a smirk. “And you’re not going to let Jagger ruin it. You’ll keep your cool, and you’ll kill him with kindness.” Her smirk becomes a sheepish smile then, shoulders sagging a little. “... well, maybe don’t kill him.”

Not even in a hyperbolic sense can she imagine hurting somebody that bad.

With pep in her step, Kip leaves the bathroom and, after stopping to slip her boots on, descends the stairs.

“Just in time.” She turns her head to see Jagger watering one of his house plants, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Against her better judgement, she feels the corners of her mouth twitching upwards. “What?”

“Nothing!” Her hands wave defensively as she looks away from him. It’s not her fault; the image of a ruthless drug lord sparing time to water his house plants every morning is just a little too adorable to fly under her radar. She shouldn’t be swayed by such normal tendencies, but she certainly doesn’t expect them from someone like him. Just like the candles and the soft blankets, it feels so out of left-field that it’s almost laughable.

He puts down the spray bottle with more force than necessary and bridges the distance between them. “Share with the class.”

“What’s his name?”

Jagger’s eyebrows raise. “... huh?”

“The plant’s,” Kip elaborates, arms tucked behind her back as she beams wide.

“What’re you talking about? It’s a plant.”

“I name my stuffed animals,” she replies with a shrug, and her smile widens until she’s positively glowing. Jagger backs away, looking a little disturbed. “It’s only the same.”

“We’re not the same,” he states bluntly, nose wrinkling with displeasure. “What are you, ten?”

Kip clenches her fists tight, sharp fangs pinching her tongue until she feels the urge to insult him back pass her by. Not once does her smile falter. “Try naming them. It’s free therapy.”

“Don’t need therapy.” His voice is uncharacteristically light as he sticks out his foot and kicks a rug aside, revealing a trapdoor beneath it. "Need money."

Kip stares wide-eyed at the secret entrance, suddenly feeling light-headed. They can talk about house plants and gratitude all night long, but come the end of things, Jagger is a man she knows little about. If his occupation is anything to go by– which it most certainly is when she's face to face with a hidden door in a house that he uses only to lay low in– then she can only imagine that there's something nefarious going on down there.

Her eyes follow the broad sweep of his arm as he unhooks a latch and opens the door, eventually settling on that black hole in the floor. Humid air reaches them like the breath of a beast, a faint hint of something spicy reaching her nose. The longer she stares, the darker it seems to become, until it's so black that she thinks it can be nothing other than a gateway to hell. She’s trying so hard not to let him get under her skin, but she won’t lie: this makes her nervous.

If he has anything to say in response to her apprehension, he doesn't make it known. Instead, he drops to a crouch and finds the first prong of the ladder that'll take him down into the basement.

"Come. And pull the door shut behind you," is all he says before vanishing into the dusty depths.

Her options are limited. She gets the feeling that if she climbs down that ladder and enters that room, there’s a good chance she won’t come out of it the same, but what else can she do? The last thing she wants to do is upset the man who has already proven that he’ll do some nasty things to the people that inconvenience him. She doesn’t want to land herself in any more trouble, nor does she want to put Basil on Jagger’s map.

I’ve got a truly rotten assignment for you tomorrow.

Begrudgingly, Kip lowers herself down into the dark, her knees feeling wobbly and weak.

A soft squeak of shock leaves her as the place is suddenly awash with ugly fluorescent light. Its sickly yellow glow illuminates the basement, and Kip gets her first real taste of anxiety. It comes not from something abjectly horrifying, rather the knowledge that she’s been exposed to something that she otherwise would never have seen; a side of life that she was content to know of only from newspaper clippings and crime novels.

Packages. Packages, packages, packages. No matter where she looks, head turning this way and that, the basement is little more than a bunker full of these hand-wrapped bundles. There’s nothing in the room excluding the table they sit on, and hot blazing lamps arranged in a row along the brick wall. In comparison to the house above, the basement is a hole; a bleak, stuffy, vacant void that smells overwhelmingly of pepper, smoke and ash. Kip’s nose wrinkles, creases forming beneath her eyes as she fights back stinging tears. They find Jagger at the far end of the room.

He’s smirking wide, looking the most excited she’s ever seen him look. “Beautiful, ain’t it?”

“It stinks!” she exclaims, watching as he pats one of the bundles with a surprisingly hearty laugh.

“It’s not that bad once you get used to it. And you will be getting used to it. 40,000 paals is a lot to owe, little lady.”

She grits her teeth, refusing to bite. In as neutral a tone as she can: “This won’t cover it? How can eight tiny tabs be worth more than a basement full of stock?”

The look he gives her is one he might give a sulking child. There’s a genuine inkling of pity there. “Y’know, I was still on the fence about you being a massive cheat, but you really don’t know squat about the business, do you?”

“I told you I don’t!” Suddenly, she remembers her mirror pep-talk and how determined she was to have a good day. The contents of this room may be testing her, but she isn’t about to let it break her that easily. Her smile is forced, corners twitching at the grim nature of it all, but it’s a smile nonetheless. “... but I can learn.”

He’s watching her intently, so intently that she feels a little scared to move beneath such a watchful gaze. A gloved forefinger and thumb rub gently together, as if he’s calculating something unseen to her, before he breaks the tense silence with a thump of his palm against the closest package.

“No need!” he exclaims, disarming her with a good-natured grin. She’s never seen him quite this happy, and she can’t decide whether it’s endearing or unnerving. “At least, not yet. All I want you to do is move this stock for me.”

Kip blinks. Of all the things he could have said, this hadn’t even made the list. Slowly, her brow furrows. “Sooo, that super spooky job you said you had for me… this is it?”

“I believe the word I used was rotten,” Jagger replies, stroking his chin as if deep in thought. The light stubble there makes a quiet, scratching sound, and Kip feels momentarily mesmerised. “And yes. This is it.” He picks up one of the many parcels and hands it to her. “How’s that feel? Is it heavy?”

Kip raises an eyebrow at him before tossing the package upwards a short way. It’s as light as can be, hardly a problem, even for a girl her size. “You’re kidding, right?”

Jagger lets out a low chuckle before placing a second one on top. She may not be able to toss it anymore, but they sit comfortably in her hand, weighing no more than the average phone. He repeats the process until she begins to struggle; she can hold about fifteen of them in both arms before it becomes uncomfortable.

“Well, now you need to go upstairs.”

Kip’s smile dims a little. “Huh?”

“Mhmm.” He’s barely holding back a smile of his own. Contrary to what she thinks, Jagger doesn’t hate her. He doesn’t want to cause her unnecessary strife, if only because he has deadlines to meet - but he does feel as if he’s being challenged. This new-found positivity she’s wielding like a weapon only makes him more keen to take her down a peg or two. “I have a van parked out front. It’s painted like a mail truck. You can’t miss it. That’s where they need to go.”

He watches the wheels in her head turn, the full extent of what he’s asking her to do dawning on her like daybreak. Petulantly, Jagger glances at his phone before tucking it back into his pocket.

“It’s just gone five-ten. I need this moved by, ohhh… six?”

“A-All of it?!” Kip exclaims, feeling the life drain from her body. She has no idea how she’s going to lug all of this up and down the ladder in fifty minutes. There's an ungodly number of these things sitting around. Thousands upon thousands of them, if she had to guess.

Jagger says nothing for a moment before mercifully shaking his head. "No. The van won't be able to carry all this in one trip - and it's not all going to the same place anyway. I need two-hundred and fifty of them to go."

“But how am I supposed to move that many on my own?”

“Well, that’s on you to figure out.”

"Okay." Kip breathes in deep through her nose before nodding, a mix of trepidation and determination filling her face as she tries to work out the best way to proceed. To her astonishment, Jagger offers some support.

"You're holding fifteen there. Shed however many you can't carry under one arm and we'll start from there. I will count them."

“Really?”

“Yeah. I don’t trust you to do it right.”

Kip deflates noticeably. It’s the first outward chink in her armour today.

After much trial and error, she finds that if she tucks seven under her arm and two in her jacket pockets, she can move about nine at a time.

The first trip is a breeze. She wriggles her way up that ladder and out of his front door with hardly a pause. This emboldens her - which makes her steady spiral into exhaustion that much more painful. By the twelfth trip, she comes to fear that ladder. She’s a healthy young woman; she was a track runner in college and has lived a life full of secret bases in trees and leaping over rivers as opposed to taking their respective bridges. She still skates with her brother on most evenings and she runs to every gig she gets. Even so, that awkward, one-handed shimmy up the steep ladder leaves her lungs burning and her gut clenching. By the time she’s clearing the last of it out, her legs resemble jelly and she’s trying not to pant for air too obviously.

“H–Here’s… the last of it…”

Jagger is leaning against the side of the van with a yoghurt in his hands. He regards her shaky legs with the ghost of smirk on his face before feeding himself a complimentary spoonful of strawberry, tiny plastic utensil lingering against his lips long after he’s finished. She’s undoubtedly tired (and he knew she would be), but she managed. Despite their contentious relationship, he’s impressed.

“Good job, little lady. And here I thought you’d pass out.” He turns, tossing his now-empty yoghurt cup over her head and into his general waste bin. “What did I tell you? A rotten assignment.”

Kip gives him a smile that reminds him of a switchblade. After a big, stubborn inhale: “That’s the second time you’ve underestimated me, Jagger. You ought to start learning I can take it.”

“Well damn,” he replies, eyebrows raised high. “Check out the attitude on this one. One job strong and feelin’ fine.” He can’t say it isn’t earned though. He really has put her through the ringer already, and the sun has barely risen. He’ll allow her an ounce of victory.

An arm reaches through the rolled-down window of the door nearest before it withdraws with a second yoghurt cup in tow. “Here.”

Kip blinks at it, as if she’s never seen one before in her life. He must not have taken it out of the fridge long ago for it’s cool to the touch. She all but snatches it from him, only realising in that moment how hungry she is. The pink carton is about the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

“Now get in,” he orders, patting the door with a gloved hand before circling the van and climbing into the driver’s seat. She obeys him without question, already halfway through tearing the foil lid from her snack. The passenger seat has quite the incline, but she’s more focused on trying to pull her seatbelt on with one hand as the other feeds her plastic spoon into her mouth. If Basil was here, he’d be criticising her lack of patience something fierce.

“Where’re we going?” Kip asks as the engine hums to life. Daylight is beginning to paint Leylan in its usual golden glow. Soon enough, the early risers will be starting their morning routines, readying themselves for a day of work. Given the type of goods Jagger is moving, it makes sense why he'd want to minimise his chances of being seen.

"I'm taking you home," he answers as he pulls out of the side street and onto the main path. Leylan's roads are narrow and not entirely clear, far better equipped for bikes and skateboards, and the idea of a van this heavily loaded making some of the turns to her house has a knot forming in her stomach. "Tell me your address."

It's pointless, but she still holds her tongue for a moment. Her place of residence feels like the last personal thing she has left. Sacrificing it means letting him into all aspects of her life, and she isn't keen to have that layer of separation broken.

"I can walk it…!"

Jagger glances at her out of the corner of his eye as he fiddles with the radio dial. A smooth, thumping bass line fills the space between them.

"I don't want to trouble you! I–I made it here on foot, I can–"

"Just tell me your fucking address," he interrupts tersely, and Kip stops talking. It seems that no matter how she tries to play it, she's going to have to capitulate. She does so with a heavy heart, settling on finishing her yoghurt in silence. She needs to find a way to explain to Basil exactly where she's been without letting him know about Jagger. If he finds out about the steaming pile of shit she's found herself in, he'll worry himself to death– or worse yet, attempt to save her from it. He means well, but Basil has never been a fighter; she can only imagine the kind of mess that Jagger will make out of him if he tries to play the hero. He'd almost broken her arm without so much as flinching. She dreads to think what he'll do to someone who swings first.

The roads gradually become more and more familiar as time rolls on, and Kip finds herself soaking in the feeling of a car ride with just a little too much willingness. She's never ridden in a vehicle like this before. It differs a lot from a monorail ride, and even more so from rollerblading. There's something intimate about sharing the passenger seat of a van being driven by somebody else; a display of trust she's really quite conflicted about, given her less-than-stellar opinion of the man sitting beside her. As usual, she tries to put a positive spin on it, tries to tell herself that she's not in danger. He might be a little prickly, but he hasn't done anything grievous to her beyond their first meeting. In fact, he hasn't so much as laid a finger on her again since their unfortunate meeting. He could've left her for dead last night but he didn't. He could've let her go hungry but he didn't. He could've physically forced her to do any number of tasks for him at this point, but he hasn’t. No matter how sour he's been with her, there's some good in his heart. She believes in that, if nothing else.

Eventually, her house comes into view. It's a tiny one-story building nestled between two others identical to it on a hill.

"Hold on," Jagger says as she unbuckles her seatbelt, and she pauses obediently. His hand dips into his pocket before offering her her phone. Her eyes widen immediately.

"Oh shoot!" Hurriedly, she accepts it, unable to believe she forgot about it completely. It's definitely seen better days. The screen is cracked and the stickers on the back are fading, but it still works fine. "Thanks… I didn't even think about–"

"Hey. How old are you, Kip?"

The shift in tone all but gives her whiplash. After fumbling over her words for several seconds, she stammers out a confused, "Th–Three thirty…? Why?"

Jagger taps his fingers against the steering wheel, the sound of leather squeaking quietly as he sucks in a breath through his teeth. She looks adult to him, but definitely too young to be caught in the crosshairs of criminality like this. She’s supposed to be full of promise; studying something convoluted that didn’t exist when he was a boy. He can’t understand why a young woman like her, so bright and full of life, is hovering on dirty street corners, robbing people and getting herself into trouble. He can’t just let it slide, not when she’s cost him so much money, but part of him wishes he could.

“You’re too young to be caught up in this shit-storm,” he admits, giving her a sober look. “I’m gonna get you out of this mess as quickly as I can. I don’t want you caught up in this scene for too long.”

The words take her aback. There’s that consideration he keeps denying he has. It reaches into her core, elicits a form of gratitude that she’s never felt before.

“I’m okay. It was an accident, but… it was still my fault.”

“Still. I don’t want you to start liking this life.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever like it, Jagger.”

“You’d be surprised. That’s what we all say,” he says with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. It disturbs the gelled back strands enough to leave some loose, and she looks away as if she’s walked in on him naked. It’s just too strange, seeing him as anything other than the perfectly composed businessman. With a smile that could just as well be a grimace: “Just, be prepared to work your ass off for a couple of months. Then we can wash our hands of each other, deal?”

“Deal,” she replies, returning the half-hearted smile.

“Good. Now go on. Ske-daddle. Get the hell outta my van.”

Kip exits the vehicle, yoghurt cup and all, and stands on the white pavement that leads to her house as the van roars to life once more.

“I’ll be in touch,” Jagger calls over the purr of its engine, almost looking devious against the glare of sunlight that pours in through his window. “I don’t ask for permission. I call, you answer. It’s that simple.”

“Got it.” It’s said through her teeth, pinched and tight, but with a smile that could absolutely class as agreeable. In spite of his tone, he’s made it evident that he’s at least sympathetic to her circumstances. The best she can hope for is that he’s telling the truth– that he really will find her enough work to absolve her of this bothersome life as soon as possible. Her eyes follow the vehicle until it rounds the corner and disappears from sight.

With a sigh, Kip drags herself up the hill and to her front door, unlocking it and shuffling inside.

“Basil?” she calls as she walks into the cramped living room, all too aware of the time. She can’t imagine that he’s left for work yet, but when she pokes her head into his room she discovers that it’s empty. With a frown, she makes her way to her own and plugs her charger into her dead phone. The moment it sparks to life, she discovers that she has seven missed calls and fifteen unread texts from her brother.

Hey, where are you? Kip, it’s getting late. Are you coming home soon? I’m at the platform and the last tram just left. You weren’t on it. Where are you?!

She lets out a groan and dims the screen with a click of the power button, guilt washing over her in waves. Her brother may be an anxious mess by nature, but it’s hardly an over exaggeration to be worried about her not coming home. In her heart, she knows that he won’t have done anything foolish-- that he won’t have attempted to brave nightfall-- but she can’t imagine how sick to his stomach he must have been. It’ll be a wonder if he’d slept at all.

The latest message is a haphazard string of capital letters; incredibly out of character, for he’s a stickler for grammar.

KIP. IF YOU DON’T REPLY BY TOMORROW AFTERNOON I’M CALLING THE POLICE! CALL ME.

“Damn iiiit…”

His last call was at 5:34AM. Her phone must have already been dead, because she absolutely would’ve picked it up otherwise, whether Jagger had been breathing down her neck or not.

Quickly, she hits the speed dial and brings the phone to her ear. It barely rings once before it’s picked up. “Hey, Basil–”

“Where were you?! I’ve been worried sick!”

“I know, I’m sorry, I…” She pauses, feeling overwhelmed by guilt and grief and anger. As much as she wants to blame Jagger for this entire fiasco, she knows that she’s the one that landed herself in it. This is what she gets for being a thief. It was always only a matter of time before she got more than she bargained for. “Um… I… lost track of time with my set. Ended up staying over in the bar I played in. My phone died. I’m okay!”

She hears him tut, pacing so viciously that she can almost envision a trail of fire being left behind him.

“I’m sorry, Basil! Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad, I’m–” His words abruptly stop, and she hears the muffled voice of his boss barking orders at him. Her brother mutters a timid “sorry, sir…” before he comes back to the phone. “We’ll talk later, okay? I have to go. I’m glad you’re safe. I love you.”

“I love you too, Bas.”

When the line goes dead, she only feels marginally better. With a defeated huff, she puts her phone beneath her pillow before laying face-first on her bed. She’s been awake for no longer than three hours and she already wants to go back to sleep.

#writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #short story #drabble challenge #oc story #original cast #fandomless oc story #drabble #writing ;#drabble challenge ;#kip ;#terrence ;#basil ;#tomorrow ;

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