#this thing scuttles and scampers
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i've drawn plane dragon. but what about train dragon.
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A head spider just for you!
#scampers and scuttles#john carpenters the thing#the thing#the thing from the thing#spider head#head spider#vance norris#Vance Norris the thing#norris the thing#my art
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for cannibal!reader how about when she found catalastor (a.k.a. cursed cat alastor) and she gave it so much attention to the point alastor was annoyed and jealous he isn't the centre of attention😂 thought it was funny and a cute idea
The Fucking Cat
Cannibal chef! reader m.list | Author profile
JOIN THE ART EVENT! :)
"(y/n) where the fuck did you get that?" Husk asks you mildly hissing at the cat in your arms.
It was the cutest little thing you had ever seen. He was colored red with black tips, funny looking eyes and a sickly grin that reminded you of a certain someone. It was of course, non-other than Alastor himself, the little feline even donned a little monocle of his own.
"Him? I was out in town for a while buying some meat and this little guy followed me all the way here. I just couldn't leave him by himself!" you exclaim hugging him tightly. You peppered the cat kisses which he, surprisingly, accepted with a loud purr.
Alastor's eye twitching your display of affection for the cat. Despite being in his image, he disliked the intimacy you had for the cat. You just met the damn thing for only 20 minutes and you've grown attached to it.
He begins to regret asking you to go to town for him.
Seeing you play with the cat on the carpet while it snuggled closer and closer to your face with a contented look on its face made him pull his ears back in displeasure.
Alastor thought that the cat would go back where it came from after a day, however, he underestimated how much the two of you had bonded. Wherever you went, the vicious little thing would follow you and hiss at anybody that tried to get close, feeling territorial over you.
It didn't help that after serving Alastor his meals, you'd also feed the cat with food similar to his. You played with it a lot. You took it on walks. Hell, you even gave it a bath! And it didn't even try scratch you once!
The following days made Alastor irritated, his ears always pulled backward when you walked beside him with a cat on your shoulder. With a tantalizing smirk at Alastor, the cat nudges you, asking for your attention. Alastor narrows his eyes then finally pulling the cat away from you by pinching the back of its neck, then flings it off at the distance then closing the distance between you.
"Ah!" you yelp initially worried for the cat, but blush heavily when you feel Alastor's body nudging yours.
The little thing comes scuttling back on his tiny legs now armed with a knife which you cooed at. However, Alastor made his shadow pick it up and cage him.
"It seems you forgot the memo, but I dislike sharing," Alastor announces, hair flaring out, "Go find something else to latch on to, understood?"
The cat huffs and gives one final hiss at Alastor before scampering back to the hotel finding other (evil) things to do.
You glimpse at Alastor wide eyed mouth pursed before rolling your lips, "Sooo, were you jealous of--"
"Do you want me to shut that mouth for you? Now take my hand, we have much to do today."
"Yes, Sir!" 💕
🔗TAGLIST:
@bonnie-02, @marxo5, @whaatttlaufey, @froggybich, @rybunnie, @midorichoco
(art: alastor commits yeet on cat)
#hazbin hotel#hazbin alastor#hazbin lucifer#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin angel dust#hazbin husk#hazbin charlie#hazbin vaggie#alastor x reader#alastor#alastor hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel fanart#cursed cat alastor#alastor the radio demon#hazbin hotel alastor#radio demon
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Quiet Nights | Legolas x gn!reader
『••✎••』
↳ ❝ Could you do Legolas with "Stop crawling in through my window!" ❞
: ̗̀➛ Legolas wants to spend the night with his significant other.
: ̗̀➛ n/a
•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•
The night was calm for once, a slight drizzle that blew towards the east and little more than that; the moon was wearing a half smile, and the birds had silenced themselves as they retreated to their nests for the night.
Not even mice dared to scamper and scuttle through the halls with their soft and playful squeaks, instead choosing to stay hidden and concealed within their nests, buried inside the walls as they slept soundly.
Foxes did not dare or care to stir, either, well hidden and concealed within their thick dens amongst the towering trees and scruffy shrubs; their tails pressed against their noses as they rested behind a coarse rope of dense brownish orange.
The night was calm, which was odd; on more usual nights, the rain would have hammered down heavily, crashing and thundering against the ground so hard that it bounced right back up again. Howling and screaming winds that were able to topple even the tallest and heaviest of trees; it could be so catastrophic, yet it was so normal.
The quiet was, more than anything, eerie.
Too quiet and too harsh that it felt overwhelming; but the quiet of the halls and the rooms was welcoming.
The soft drifting sounds of snoring and the careful creaks of the wooden floor as the occupants moved around to get food, water, to change into their night clothes.
The window on the left, near the front and overlooking the empty and desolate path, was left open ever so slightly; more ajar than anything else, although there was space for it to be pulled open.
Legolas smiled as he looked at it, holding onto the ladder that had been left out and placed against the window; gently, he hooked his fingers on the bottom ridge, and slowly pulled it open until he could get his arms in.
Wriggling and writhing until he fell to the floor with a padded thud; the sound of laughter from the king sized bed soon followed, and when he looked up, he smiled.
"You need to stop crawling in through my window!" Your laugh was infectious and loud as you got out of bed, grabbing Legolas by his bicep and helping him to his feet. "Are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?"
He shook his head, beaming and grinning at you and clinging onto your hands as his gaze slowly dropped to your lips before snapping back up to your eyes again. Biting at the inside of his lip, Legolas could only hum as he decided to close the distance, his soft lips meeting your cheek for a split second.
You could feel his breath against your skin, his hands going down to your sides so that he could gently tug you closer, your hands landing on his chest as you balled the fabric of his shirt up within your fists. A soft huff leaving your lips as you licked your lips and swallowed thickly.
"Are you going to answer my question?"
Legolas nodded, moving one hand up so that he could gently cup your jaw; his fingers were deft and tender. "My love, I'm fine. I've crawled in through your window plenty of times without so much as a bruise."
"I know," you sighed, letting go of his shirt and gently pulling hin over to the bed. He laid down, welcoming you onto his lap with eager greed for the feel of your skin against his own. "It still won't stop me from worrying, though."
"My father talked of you today," he admitted quietly, softly, almost under his breath. "He told me that I would do well to keep you near after your little... adventure with the spiders earlier. He said he had never seen someone able to sneak up on them with a sword before."
You shrugged, swallowing thickly. "I only did what I've been trained to do. Years as a soldier..."
The smile on Legolas' lips faded, and he shook his head as his eyebrows furrowed slightly. Worry overtaking him as he let out a shaky breath at the mere mention. "You mustn't talk of such a thing, now. You are not going back to that life, you know that."
You nodded, daring to press a soft kiss to his forehead. "I know, I am more than aware of that, my love. Your father's praises mean a great deal, but I would rather know that I have the love of the fairest Prince."
His grin returned as he nodded, taking your hands in his own and placing them against his chest; his heartbeat was deep and steady, a soft throb beneath the fine and thin fabric of his shirt that made all tension drop from your body upon the feel of it. A heavy sigh left you, similar to the kind of sigh that came before a deep and long slumber.
"You shall always have that," he promised gently, slowly moving you so that you were laid down beside him, his finger lightly tracing your jaw. "My heart will always be yours."
"And mine yours," you whispered, smiling as you let out a quiet yawn. "Do you think we should get some sleep, now? We have a long day ahead tomorrow."
Legolas nodded as he pressed his temple to your head, closing his eyes as he refused to let go of your hands; it was the same every night, and it never mattered much what kind of position the two of you were cuddled up in, Legolas always held your hands when he slept.
He couldn't fall asleep next to you without doing so, and as it became habit so many years ago when the two of you first got together, you couldn't either; fidgeting around a little, you wound up with the top of his head against your chin and your arms around his waist, one leg swung over his hips as he snuggled up, a small smile on his lips.
It was going to be a quiet, peaceful, night.
#mlem writes#legolas x reader#legolas x you#legolas x y/n#legolas imagine#legolas fic#legolas fanfiction#legolas fluff#legolas greenleaf x reader#legolas greenleaf fanfic#legolas greenleaf#lotr legolas#legolas#lotr x reader#lotr x you#lotr x y/n#lotr imagine#lotr fic#lotr fanfiction#lotr fanfic#lotr fluff#lotr#lord of the rings x reader#lord of the rings x you#lord of the rings imagine#lord of the rings fanfiction#lord of the rings fic#lord of the rings
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PEERING EYES OVER WROUGHT-IRON FENCES ☁︎ ANTHONY LOCKWOOD
GENRE ➺ childhood friends (to estranged friends) to lovers. angst w/ a happy ending.
WC ➺ 12.2k
SYNOPSIS ➺ to uncover the mystery of iris griffith's murder, it's time to face the music, cross the fence, and talk to a friend you never expected to become a stranger to.
WARNINGS ➺ mentions of the lockwood family tragedies, strained family dynamics, discussions and descriptions of murder
DISCLAIMER ➺ fem! reader. lockwood & co. are aged up to about 18-years-old, I try to shoe-horn forensic science into psychical investigations (I am not a professional so... it's unrealistic, sorry.), and Lockwood calls reader cherry/cherry cheeks
NOTE ➺ I can't remember if Portland Row has wrought-iron fences. In case it doesn't, it does now — this is fan fiction. Also, this is the first time I've finished a story this lengthy and I feel really proud of myself. I hope you enjoy!
The first time Lockwood had laid eyes on you, you were a set of peering eyes over a wrought-iron fence. He could barely see over it, but he could remember how round and shiny your eyes were. All doll-like and unrealistic. Honestly, it scared him. You couldn't blame little Lockwood for scuttling back to his sister.
That same day, your parents had brought you over and formally introduced themselves. Between your parents's statuesque figures, stood you.
Contrary to your encyclopaedic eyes, your mannerisms were timid. You looked miniscule in your Sunday dress. You looked like a breeze could knock you over. Anthony couldn't help but feel bad for running from you earlier.
Following introductions, a terse dinner ensued. Your parents were doctors, the kind who would scamper about in hospitals in scrubs and white coats — people who believed in science. His were researchers who dabbled in spiritual devices of different cultures — people who preferred to find the emotional aspect in the supernatural. Suffice it to say, the conversation was very one-sided.
Even then, Anthony was determined to be your friend. He thought having pretentious parents, like yours, would spoil the fun in things like spinning tops or fencing or enjoying pie with ice cream after supper. (Your parents had insisted the sugar would make it difficult for you to sleep.)
Anthony had made up his mind before you even uttered a word to him.
The instant the adults had dismissed you to the living room with Anthony and Jessica, he had snuck you a pie with extra ice cream on top. He and Jessica had their backs to the door so in the unlikely event that your parents came in, they wouldn't see you breaking their rules.
You weren't much younger than Anthony back then, but with cherry smeared across your cheek and ice cream clinging to your lip, he thought you were as cute as a button. He wasn't aware that he had been smiling at you so widely.
He missed the knowing glint in Jessica's eyes.
Across the peaceful months you'd spent as friends, Anthony and Jessica would tell you about their parents' most recent findings and you'd tell them the most bizarre concepts you learned at the academy.
At night, Anthony would sit by the window in his attic room, flagging out written messages on a sketch pad. Across the way, you would poke your head out to read it.
lots of apples are falling these days. want some?
my parents won't let me
that's because an apple a day keeps the doctors away. i think they're scared
no way... papa says he cuts people open. how could he be scared of apples?
ew... and I dunno, cherry. do you want apples or not?
stop calling me that
apples?
sure...
come down
ARE YOU MENTAL??
He was, indeed, crazy. He had tiptoed all the way downstairs and grabbed his mother and father's favorite jackets on the way out.
In the bite of night and the glow of ghost-lamps, he looked up at your house to see your head poking out of of a different window, a crazed expression on your face. 'What are you doing?' you mouthed.
"Hurry!" He yelled back. He chuckled when you'd flinched and checked behind you. He held up the jackets and took a breath, watching in amazement as fog formed from it.
All while you tapped the window sill in thought. You took one more contemplative glance behind you, then shut the window.
You were vaulting over the fence in no time. He caught you, cushioning your fall with the jackets he'd taken and greeted you with an incandescent smile. Even in greenlight, your little heart skipped a beat.
"Here. Wouldn't want you to catch a cold. We'd both be in trouble if you did."
He threw his mother's coat over your head. It was so big, it enveloped you like a gown. You tried to slip your arms through the sleeves but you only got halfway before you wiggled the limp fabric in his face. He swatted you away but folded them up enough so your palms could come through.
His father's jacket was huge on him, too, but he had the kind of air that made him look natural in it.
In his efforts to help you, his own hands had turned red from the cold. You seized them and stuffed them in your pockets, since your—his mother's—jacket had the lined pockets.
After huddling for warmth, you two grew warm enough to walk further into the backyard and pick up handfuls of apples. You found that you could only fit three apples in each pocket, so you held more by tucking your shirt into your pants and shooting them into your shirt. Anthony had done the same. You didn't realize how ridiculous your actions were until you saw how puffed his figure looked with that many apples stuffed down his shirt.
You snorted so loud it hurt, slapping your hand over your mouth to kill any more laughs that could alert the sleeping adults.
He turned his head to you, like an owl. It made more apples fall from your shirt as your shoulders shook. He shushed you, frantically glancing at the house. "What's wrong with you?"
You shook your head, riding the wave of maturity before it crashed. Little laughs and apples spilled from you. "You look like a pufferfish!"
He looked down and examined himself then, indignantly, he pointed at you. "You're literally spewing apples, you're just as bad!"
Restraint crumbled. Your hand came away and your laughs filled the silent night air. Anthony's laughs began to dance with yours until the pair of you were reduced to shaking stumps surrounded by fallen apples.
"Don't look at me! You're making me laugh!"
"Your face is funnier!"
"Stop it!"
"Cherry— You're only making me laugh more!"
It was no surprise that his parents had woken up and scolded you two accordingly. While they tutted at you, you two sat under the same blanket. Elbowing each other when they began to question who'd initated it.
You weren't a snitch. You did not tell, and they never found out who caused the trouble.
Jessica later rewarded you both with a cookie under their noses. You cracked your cookie in half to share with her. Anthony did the same to his, giving his other half to you.
—
Those memories were a far cry from the present. On some days, they felt like dreams. Now, all you are to him is a pair of peering eyes over wrought-iron fences.
Lockwood would catch glimpses of you on the way back from a case. He would nod, you would nod. Then both of you would continue on with your lives like the era of cherry pies and fallen apples had never happened.
Some days, he would turn the newspapers, checking to see if student doctor you had earned any new accolades in your scholastic journey to saving lives, but he never had it in him to say hello to you.
That morning's issue had you on the front page. You with your resplendent eyes and smile finally sporting a white coat at the ripe of eighteen, the first one of your age to earn 'Doctor' as a suffix to your name. Apparently, you'd applied your studies on forensic science to aid psychical investigations involving mummified body parts.
Seems you were doing well.
He placed the paper face down on the thinking cloth, ignoring Lucy's questioning gaze as he took a sip of tea.
"What's happened now?" Lucy asked, stretching her neck to see what made him so upset. She settled back into her seat after she set her eyes on the crossword puzzle, unable to glimpse the front page. "Kipps's crew?" she guessed.
"No, he would have his brow furrowed like this–" George turned to show his brows knitted together so hard they looked like they were drawn on with marker. "–if it was Kipps. It's got to be something else."
"Oh, right," Lucy said with bite, smacking her head like that made sense. "How could I forget?"
George shrugged, grinning like he had a secret on the tip of his tongue. "I don't know, Luce. Maybe it's the letters you've been receiving from one; Norrie White."
Lucy's chair scraped as she stood, gaping at George with anger tightening her mouth. "You went through my mail!"
"She wrote her name in marker. Red. Marker. I would have to be blind to miss it."
Lockwood kicked back and watched the drama ensue, a smile easing itself back on his face. Lucy and George's petty squabble was always a shot of espresso on a rather depressing morning. They made an excellent stopper to all his wonderings about the past.
"That was none of your business!" Lucy shrieked. In her fury, her hands itched to do something... to throw something.
Lockwood realized too late. He vaulted forward to pry the newspaper from her fingers, but Lucy's rage made her a savage. She chucked the newspaper at George with the velocity of a racing car.
The headlines collided with George's face with a resounding thud.
His glasses fell and landed with a unceremonious noise. Thankfully, unscathed from the impact.
The same could not be said for his nose.
George's face pulsed like he had been stung by the world's largest be. He splayed his hand over his nose to check for bleeding and groaned.
"That hurt..."
"Of course it did. I intended it to," Lucy huffed. She scooped up George's glasses and the paper. "That ought to teach you about looking at my correspondence."
"Didn't have to thump me that hard though," George grumbled, snatching his glasses back.
He looked like a dartboard bullseye wearing glasses. Lockwood couldn't focus on it though. His eyes were honed in on the newspaper Lucy was currently unraveling.
He bit his cheek and decided to finish his tea in one gulp. "Well," Lockwood started, fixing his collar as he stood. "I'd better see what we're taking on tonight. I'll be—"
"Hey, this is that girl next door." Lucy pushed her face closer to the paper to reassure herself that she wasn't seeing wrong. She'd seen that blouse and trouser combo on you a few days ago. "Yeah! That's her!"
George showed a rare kind of expression. A raised brow aimed at Lockwood. "She's a doctor now. How could that be upsetting?"
"Don't tell me you have a rivalry with her because she poked you in the bum when you were little," Lucy joked.
Lockwood's face flushed. He looked at the kitchen door, contemplating escape, then back to his friends. He leaned on the doorframe, attempting to look lax but coming off as stiff as a board. "Who said I was upset?"
"You were quiet over tea," George said.
"What of it?" Lockwood pushed.
George gave him an are you kidding me kind of look. "You never shut up when you can help it."
"And you did this." Lucy copied his pondering face, and Lockwood grimaced—reminding himself to school his expressions better.
"Please. For all things good, never do that again, and I am not upset at her—"
"Defensive now? You so are," George chuckled.
Lockwood's jaw ticked. "I am not—"
Saved by the bell. All three heads turned to the door with interest. It was still early in the day, so a new client was unexpected.
"I'll get it," Lockwood said. He left a prattling Lucy and George in the winds of his coat.
The doorbell rang again before he got to it. "Keep your shirt on—"
George and Lucy idled at the foot of the stairs as the door swung open. George let out a gasp, Lucy elbowed him to keep quiet.
Speak of the devil and he will appear. Though, you were more seraphic in that white dress, innocently festooned with embroidered cherries. Your smile was as disarming as ever. It was even brighter than the light haloing your hair.
"Hello."
Lucy tripped over air at the sweetness of your voice, now understanding how the word 'mellifluous' came to be.
Lockwood was indifferent.
Just staring at the back of his head, Lucy knew he was sporting an expression reserved just for Kipps and his crew. It made her want to kick his shin and tell him to get himself together.
"Hi," Lockwood finally greeted, tone bleak. "What are you doing here?"
"Lockwood," George finally intervened. Seems he was taken by how you carried yourself, too.
Both your and Lockwood's heads turned to him.
"Oh, you must be George Karim." Your smile widened, outshining the light above the door. "And Lucy Carlyle. Pleasure to finally meet you."
Lucy and George rarely agreed on things, but they spoke like they were on the same wavelength then. "Pleasure is ours."
A little laugh escaped you, just as graceful as the swish of your skirt. You introduced yourself, discounting your new title. "My parents asked me to invite friends to my celebratory dinner tonight but I don't have people I'd really consider friends." Your honeyed eyes drifted back to Lockwood, trying not to wilt under his blasé gaze. "I was thinking you three could drop by. No need to bring anything but yourselves. We have pie and ice cream for dessert."
Hope was alight in your eyes. The insider statement flew over George and Lucy's heads, and apparently, Lockwood's too. Your expression dampened as it struck you.
"That sounds nice," George said pleasantly.
Lucy nodded in agreement. "And it's not every day we get invited to a free meal."
"With pie." George was already dreaming about it.
Lockwood let out a breath. "Sorry. We have a case tonight."
"No, that's for Friday night," George interrupted. "Isn't that right, Lucy?"
"That's right," Lucy doubled down.
Both of Lockwood & Co.'s best simply blinked and grinned at Lockwood's taut form.
"Great," you quipped. Your eyes lingered on Lockwood but moved to George and Lucy when he showed no interest in being civil. "I'll see you tonight, then. Have a nice day!"
"You too!"
Lockwood gave you a sufficient nod and lipped smile as he closed the door. The moment you were out of sight, the room turned sepia.
Silence for a moment, then George.
"There is definitely something going on here."
—
Despite Lucy and George's joint efforts to pry answers from him, Lockwood did not bend. When the light began to die outside, they retired to their own rooms to prepare. Finally leaving him in silence.
Lockwood chose to wear his usual get-up. The only difference was his waistcoat. It sported a thin, stylish red stripe down it's right side; George had worn an unstained shirt for once, so he did put a bit more effort into his looks that evening; and Lucy wore her best skirt and sweater to put her best foot forward.
"Now," Lockwood said as they all spiraled down the steps. "You have to remember a few things about our neighbors."
"And that would be?" George rolled his eyes.
"They're doctors," Lockwood answered like it was a sin.
"All of them?" Lucy asked with interest.
"Yes, the entire family," Lockwood confirmed. "You have to remember that when they start getting weird about our work."
"Why?" Lucy flicked a crumb left on George's shoulder once they reached the last step. "We get help from hospitals when we need to examine post-mortem documents. It's not like our professions are worlds apart."
"You mean I get help," George corrected firmly. "Not like either of you do the grisly work when it comes to research."
"Well, you're the best at it," Lucy said placatingly.
"'Course I am," George nipped.
Lockwood shushed them. "Regardless of what they say, do not loose your cool. They think getting you worked up means they win.
"They can't be that bad. Your girl was nice enough," Lucy said.
Lockwood's brows furrowed then unfurrowed. "She's not my girl," he said, opening the door with zeal.
"Sure," Lucy grinned as she slipped past.
—
34 Portland Row looked the same as 35 from the outside. The interior decor made it clear that the home was made up of doctors. Successful ones, by the looks of it.
You greeted them at the door with the same radiatant smile from the papers. Your dress was marvelous but Lucy and George could not help but look over your shoulder, into the opulence of 34 Portland Row.
Like always, Lockwood greeted you with a nod and addressed you by name. It wasn't much but you accepted it with cheeks strained from practicing your smile.
As you lead them to the dining room, their eyes wandered at their own volition. Lockwood couldn't help but do the same.
The crystal chandelier in the living room was as decadent as ever; the doorknobs had been changed to be made of glass and silver; the bookshelves were packed with newer books—likely yours; the wall next to the stairs still held your height measurements from years ago. He caught your eye as he did so, trying not to flinch at the waves of melancholy that crashed over him. He chose to look at the back of your head as the light of the dining room enveloped them.
Like every room in this house, a chandelier sat in the middle. Everything was gleaming. Not a speck was out of place, except maybe him. Perfect, just like the family that lived here.
The table was already set with steaming meals of steak, veggies, and mashed potatoes. There was a pitcher of juice in the middle but Lockwood noticed that he, Lucy, and George's glasses were already filled with water. Your mother had just finished filling the last one when she offered her most deceitful smile.
"Anthony Lockwood and friends..." your mother greeted. Her tone was eloquent but the drawl in it sent an unwelcomed pang of anxiety through Lockwood, he tensed then forced himself to relax. "Haven't seen you around lately, Tony."
"Running a business does eat time, unfortunately." He spared her a terse smile and sat at the chair you directed him to — just across from you. Lucy sat beside you, and George had the misfortune of sitting next to your father. Lockwood cleared his throat to break the silence. "You haven't aged a day, Mrs.—"
"Doctor, actually. We've had this conversation before," she chortled with a furled smile you would only expect from the devil's mistresses.
Lucy and George found sudden interest in their food. Your shoulders sunk, but like times before, you didn't say anything. Lockwood tried not to look surprised.
"Right... Doctor. My apologies." He straightened himself in his seat. "You two look swell. How has the winter been treating you?"
"Oh, it's absolutely tiring," your father said. He had the kind of tone that suggested that he was always pouting. At least he wasn't spitting venom while he was talking about himself. "Patients coming in but rarely being able to make it out. Terrible thing, really."
"Sorrows to those who have passed because of the upstart," your mother chipped in. "Our little darling saved some lives in lieu of her recent graduation, and she's only been a doctor for a few days!"
Your mother smiled at you. You refused to look up from your dinner. "All I did was administer CPR. The hospital was understaffed that day. I work in a different department, mama."
Her smile faded before her eyes snapped to Lockwood, her grin sharpening.
"Can you imagine that? Not even a day as a doctor and she's already on the papers. Real talent gets recognized straight away, everyone knows."
Your father did not finish chewing his steak before he joined in. "Kids these days run around wasting their time on things other than their academics. What do they expect to do after their talents fade, huh? Our girl has no worries in that department."
George pushed his plate away after a blob of spit landed on his potatoes. He thought it was best to put down his utensils as well. His grip was turning his knuckles white. Lucy had resorted to pushing her asparagus to calm the anger beginning to stoke in her mind. They were beginning to see why Lockwood did not want to come. The aforementioned remained with a practiced smile on his face.
Your eyes conveyed your apologies yet Lockwood refused to look at you. You were as meek as the girl Lockwood first saw over the fence. Your voice was weaker when you used it in this house. "Mama, papa. Those kids risk their lives to make living easier for everyone. Bravery like that can't be learned from textbooks."
"No, but keeping your nose out of that business altogether will keep you alive." Your mother's expression changed, a beguiling woman turning into medusa before their very eyes.
You sunk under the weight of her stare. You might as well have turned to stone.
"Knowledge keeps you alive," your father added. "Perusing supernatural business will only end with dead kids or orphans who have to resort to psychical work to get by. Some of them work up the nerve to call it a real profession."
A resounding ring resounded from Lockwood's side of the table. He had dropped his knife. His smile had gone. His lips twitched, like he wasn't sure what to do or say. Ultimately saying nothing.
Your eyes glossed over, anger and sadness swirling together in your belly. You were ready to let loose, to set your parents straight. Yet, one look at your father's face was enough to have you curling in on yourself.
The temperature dropped like the conversation had. No one said a thing when smoke began to choke the room.
"Well," your mother cheered. "Seems like the pie is ruined. I'm afraid we'll have to end supper here."
—
Lucy rushed the door open, just itching to unload the tangle of colorful words she'd thought up in that stuffy house of yours.
"They were horrendous," George said, throwing his flannel aside. "I thought that junior doctor was nice but now I know she's Medusa's spawn."
"She is. And have you seen her dad?" Lucy doubled down. She considered going downstairs to release her pent-up emotions but thought better of it. "Terrible, the lot of them."
Lockwood had thought the same cruel thoughts but hearing it from them made him defensive. You weren't bad. You were just a bystander. Your lack of responses hurt as bad as your parents's passive-aggressive jabs, but you weren't even close to being half the evil your parents were. He felt his stomach churning as they began to drag your name through the dirt.
"We are never going back there," George declared. "You were right, Lockwood."
"I need 24 hours of sleep to recover from it. I've never felt so murderous before." That was Lucy's way of saying goodnight. She started for the steps right after.
"I think we should go back. So you can finish the job," George said, following Lucy up the stairs.
Lockwood stumbled ahead, throwing his coat on the newel and collapsing at the foot of the steps. From where he lazed, he continued to hear Lucy and George bicker.
"Maybe you could call up that Norrie White to help you get away with murder," George said encouragingly.
"Don't even start on that, George," Lucy warned.
Her door closed.
"Fine," George said despondenty. "It was just a suggestion, geez."
His door closed, too.
Lockwood let out a breath. It felt like his soul had left his body for a moment of reprieve. He didn't have even five minutes of silence before he heard urgent taps reverberating through his ears. He sat up, alarmed, trying to assess where the noise could have come from.
After a quick sweep, he swung the kitchen door open and discovered you on the other side of the garden door, knuckles raping against the glass with a pained look on your face.
He contemplated leaving you out in the cold but decided that he wasn't that kind of person. He opened the door and wasn't all that surprised that your habit of forgetting a jacket stayed true. You were shivering.
"Anthony—"
"Give me a moment," he interrupted. He turned, walked back to the steps to retrieve his coat, then returned to drape it over your shoulders. "Come in. Sit. You never remember to bring a coat at night, stubborn girl."
You smile despite the frost on your face. Your face turns pink as the warmth of 35 Portland Row thaws you. He sits you on his usual seat and takes George's cushioned seat instead.
"Old habits die hard," you chuckle, holding his coat tighter. If you bent your head enough, you would get a whiff of him on it. You could have tried to do it inconspicuously but he was sitting right there, he would know. "I'm sorry... for everything. I thought they wouldn't– I really should have known they would say things like that. I apologize for them. I really do feel bad. If Mr. Karim and Ms. Carlyle are still up, I'd like to tell them as well."
"They've retired for the night," he reports. He redacts the part that they were discussing the demise of your family. "but thank you for coming to say that."
"And I'm sorry I didn't say anything," you add.
Lockwood doesn't say anything to that. In his mind, you would have stopped them if you were really sorry. "Why did you come here? And please don't say you're inviting us to another dinner."
"Goodness, no." You snort. "I... have a case. I don't know who else to surrender the evidence to."
His brows jump. "You're asking for psychical service? From me? Us, I mean."
You nod. "I hear that Ms. Carlyle is particularly gifted. What I think we're facing is something special. Something no regular agent can feel out."
"Why hasn't Fittes or Rotwell been put up to this if it's that important?"
"Because it's a personal study of mine." You drop a manila folder on the thinking cloth. Lockwood didn't even notice you were holding it earlier. "It's a closed case. An unsolved one. The autopsy is gruesome and justice was never brought to the victim. I searched her property myself and found the source. I tried to communicate with her but I can't do it."
"And you think Lucy is the Listener for the job?"
"Yes. I don't just want to get rid of a ghost, Anthony, I want to lay her to rest. To give her peace."
He leans back in his chair, drinking in the information while he raked a hand through his hair. "You investigated the area of the haunting alone?"
"In daylight," you said in your defense. "My sense of touch is useful enough for me to know if something is a source. Problem is, I can't get any psychical resonance to find out who had killed her."
"Amazing..." he breathed. He didn't know you had that level of sensitivity. Still, he had to think of this as an official case. He righted his posture immediately. "I'll ask George and Lucy in the morning. Can you come by at nine?"
"Yeah. My parents are at work before then. No worries about them."
"Good."
You nod, not knowing what else to do. "Good."
You stared at each other. Possibly taking in how much time had changed you; The scars he'd earned through the years, the callouses on your hands from studying, blemishes, changed mannerisms—and then the unspoken reminder that you had drifted apart after the Lockwood family turned from four to one. You were completely different people to the children who used to laugh through these halls.
"I better get going," you said. You couldn't handle Lockwood and his expressive eyes. You don't know if he was doing it consciously, but it was like you could see his sadness bleeding into the world just by glancing at them.
He nodded like a puppet on a string, pulling himself up and leading you to the garden door once more.
"Goodnight," you said, mustering a friendly smile that was, thankfully, returned.
"Night... Cherry," he replied.
You smiled for a moment more before you snuck back home. Neither of you remembered that you had his coat until morning.
—
You were knocking at 35 Portland Row at 8:55. You stood stiffly, not knowing how to conduct yourself after last night's catastrophe. Lockwood's coat was folded over your arm when George answered the door.
Opposite of the day before, his face was flat. If you turned around and left, you'd be doing him a favor. Unfortunately for him, you were there with intention.
"I need the help of Lockwood & Co."
George opened his mouth, probably thinking of some creative way to say 'shove off'. Lockwood's voice from the kitchen bellowed over his train of thought. "It that her? Let her in, Georgie."
George was mumbling something but he stepped aside and didn't stab you with a nearby rapier. You believed that meant there was a chance to redeem yourself.
You were lead to the receiving room where you were shortly joined by Lockwood and an either groggy or bloodthirsty Lucy. George had retired to the kitchen to bring in biscuits. You hadn't earned the respect to have cake in the vicinity.
Lockwood lead the conversation, eyes trained on you. It made you conscious enough to shuffle and pick at the frayed seams of his coat.
"You only gave us a few details about this case. Evidently it was murder but it was closed and unsolved for two decades."
"I have the rest here," you said, revealing another manila folder. This one was thicker, packed with all you knew about it. It was the real deal. As you passed it across the table, the three of them ogled at the vivid red 'confidential' stamp slanted across the front. "Her name was Iris Griffiths. She was a forensic scientist who cracked several unsolved cases in her time. She had sensitive hearing, from what her colleagues said. She wasn't working on any new cases before her housemate reported her dead on a random night."
"Was it during winter? She could have been ghost-touched." Lucy suggested with a clipped tone. She just wanted to close the case and never see you again.
You shook your head, reaching across and guiding Lockwood's hand to another page in the folder. "Her autopsy shows several lacerations and bruises but no remnants of ghost touch. Her body was already decomposing when she was found."
"And her flatmate? They could be a suspect." George pitched.
You shook your head again. "Celia Rodney was out of town with her fiancé. Several colleagues were interviewed and confirmed it."
Lockwood looked up. "Then we have to assume that it's someone from Griffith's personal life. Did she have a lover?"
"This is like the Annie Ward case all over again," Lucy groaned.
You continued nonetheless. "She did have a lover, actually. Howard Gasley was her co-worker and boyfriend. They had a good relationship, according to the interviews, so I don't suspect any foul play between them."
George leaned against the right side of his chair. There was a creak from the old thing but he ignored it. "What if their relationship was rocky behind the scenes?"
You looked down at the evidence file and sighed. "I guess we will find out when Ms. Carlyle's able to speak with her. All our suspects have solid alibis. To obtain justice for Iris Griffith, we'll have to be her witnesses."
George turns stiff. "We? Lockwood."
Lucy does the same. "You're asking me to communicate with a ghost?"
Lockwood tries to settle them down with a relaxed smile. "It's high time I stop scolding you for being good at what you do, Luce. Our client is explicitly asking you to exploit your talent and find us a killer. The client is always right. Isn't that right, George?"
George grumbles a reply you don't hear, and Lucy nods limply, like she can't comprehend the fact that Lockwood was being so lax about this. What happened to the dangers of communicating with ghosts?
Regardless, they realize that arguing with him was going to be a losing battle. He has that look in his eye—one akin to an adrenaline junkie who's about about to jump from a cliff, and his eyes are set on you.
Lucy and George watched as you returned his coat before they shot each other looks.
What happened to hating you and your white-coat family? Lockwood marched to the beat of his own drum, apparently.
They had their kits ready before dark and met you on the street you'd told them about. Lockwood saw your peering eyes over the run-down house's picket fence and quickened his pace.
"Lovely place," Lucy drawled, eyeing the chipping paint with faint curiosity. Two decades could do so much to a nice house.
"Very lively," George seconded with bite, side-stepping the corpse of a rat.
"I have the source inside, under a chain net," you inform them. You push open the door, wincing as the hinges break and send the wood slamming to the floor. "I hope the house holds long enough to finish this investigation."
"Finally," cheered Lucy. "something we can agree on."
Lockwood was contemplating over how to behave himself. One second, he was keeping pace with you, then walking ahead the next, then falling behind you. He cycled between all three, ignoring George's rolling eyes and Lucy's sighs until all four of you reach the second-floor's lavatory. Luckily, no one had fallen through the floor.
"Do tell me we're not dealing with supernatural turd," George begged.
Lucy wrinkled her nose. "I'll be the one doing the Listening so you can take your complaints outside, George."
"This might be worse," you answer them when you pull off the chain net from an odd looking thing. It looked like a starfish wrapped in ripped and yellowed tissue paper. Lucy gagged when she took a second look.
"Mummified hand," Lockwood said aloud, trying to keep a placid smile on his face. "I always tell you to never mess with mummified body parts but we'll have to make an exception."
"Mummified parts bridge the forensic and psychical field, unfortunately." You cover the source back up as a mercy to Lucy. "They couldn't find her hand before they autopsied her body. Found this under a plank in her bedroom."
"Handy," George said dryly.
Lucy glared at him. "Not the time."
"I'm not sorry," he replied.
"You could have mentioned this sooner," Lockwood interjected, turning his head to you.
You gave a smile in response. "I think it's just another piece of evidence that proves someone had been very angry with her."
"Did the academy teach you to smile so morbidly?" George questioned.
"No, that's just her face." Lockwood said gravely.
George spared you a look that resembled concern. "Pity."
You dropped your smile and walked passed a chuckling Lockwood.
—
Lucy couldn't hear a thing while there was light out. Even with the chain net off, all she could hear was George's heavy breathing.
Lockwood had everyone sat in the disparaging kitchen to have tea and some biscuits before night fell. All the courtresy of Lockwood & Co., of course. Papers spread across the table, rehashing the details in hopes that it would help Lucy discern which questions to prioritize once she made contact with Griffith.
George squinted his eyes at the court transcripts. "There's an awful lot of witnesses."
"It was a big case. Griffith did wonders to connect the world of science and the psychic." You dipped a biscuit into your overly sweetened tea; it was not so coincidentally your favorite brand, and took a bite. "She inspired me to study. It's been a dream of mine to solve her case."
George nodded with the most plastic smile on his face. "Wonderful. We're fulfilling childhood wishes while Lucy experiences rediscovered trauma."
You sighed and sunk into the rotting seat. There was no salvaging an acquaintanceship with George at this rate. You lulled your head to look at Lockwood. He spared you a smile but looked away just as quick.
"Don't interrupt me, that's all I ask," Lucy said as the clock struck six.
Papers were put away, circles were drawn, several more candles were lit, and Lucy hunkered down in the lavatory. The door was closed to give her room to work, leaving you to stand between Lockwood and George. You hobbled from heel to heel as you eyed their rapiers and their weary wandering.
The silence reminded you too much of home. Words poured out of you to chase away your parents's images in your mind. "How strong are Ms. Carlyle's talents? I've only heard heresay about her abilities."
"None of your business—"
"She's the best Listener in the field," Lockwood answered. Even in the dim light, you could see his smile pull higher. It made your heart do funny things while your stomach dropped. "I ought to think she'd be on parr with Marissa Fittes, given enough time. Maybe even better."
George nodded in agreement, turning his head as the ghost-lamps outside flickered to life. The green hue bled into the room, dimming the atmosphere even more.
You leaned against the wall as a chill crept out from under the lavatory door. "I have no doubt that we'll be able to get our answer then."
"Oh! Ow!" George exclaimed.
You didn't have a rapier or any form of weapon but you turned to him like you could help, just to find he was simply hugging himself.
"Got really cold all of a sudden. Felt like something passed through me," he said. He looked down at his thermometer. "Temp's dropped significantly. This visitor is a force."
"That's why she got the best of the best to do it," Lockwood boasted, winking your way and changing his stance as a spectral glow began to flicker under the door.
"Do we have a guess on what we could be facing?" you asked, backing away.
Lockwood didn't miss the tremoring in your hands. "No, but where where is a lack of knowledge, there is faith. We'll make it out this alive."
"Oh," you laughed unhumorously. "how reassuring."
"He's good at that," George added flatly.
Lockwood held out an arm, guiding you to stand between him and George. Their backs turned to you, their rapiers raised and at the ready.
"Here," Lockwood didn't look away from the dark as he unclasped a salt-bomb and a flask of lavender water. He held them out and you took them with shaking hands.
Malaise stalked in on you three, making the hairs on your arm stand. You gripped the salt-bomb and lavender water for dear life. Pressure squeezed down on your chest and your heart raced for a danger unseen.
"This much activity before ten? Griffith must have had qualms about dying." George said.
Lockwood chuckled, nodding along. "Wonder how nobody reported this much activity if the source was hidden all this time."
"Nobody wanted to visit this place when the killer was still at large," you answered, struggling to keep your tone even. "Some kids started some rumors during the court proceedings. They said someone just wanted the house badly enough to kill for it."
"That would be unfortunate," George said. "Imagine all that commotion over a killer who simply wanted real estate."
You tried to stiffle a laugh but failed. "It does sound ridiculous."
Lockwood chanced a glance at you, catching your faulty smile before a scream shook the Earth.
"Lucy?"
"Lucy!"
"Ms. Carlyle?"
She came bursting out of the lavatory, two fingers pinching the mummified hand, and looking quite disgruntled before she stood in the boy's protective circle.
"We might need Little Miss Doctor to stand in the iron circle," Lucy said, fumbling for her rapier and holding the source a ways from her body. Frost was gripping at her gloves.
The plan was scraped with one glance to the circle. It had been thrashed by Griffith from the time Lucy came tumbling out of the lavatory.
"Type two," all three of them agreed.
"What happened?" asked George. His eyes darted down the hallway with more apprehension than before.
"She got angrier and angrier the more names I mentioned," she answered. "I felt like she was about to drown me."
You took the mummified hand from her grasp. The sigh she let out was laughable. "Did she say who killed her?"
Lucy shook her head as she readied herself. Miasma was building. Fear gripped you like nothing you'd experienced before. When you touched the hand, that feeling multiplied. You heard murmurs but nothing substantial.
Shell...
Kill me...
Secret...
You couldn't stitch those words together to come to any conclusion. You were crossing your fingers that Lucy could. The possibilities kept you up at night. If you weren't thinking about your estranged friendship with Lockwood, you were thinking of getting justice for this woman you didn't even know. The cold pinching your skin from the source was a reminder that it wasn't over.
Like a light in the dark, Lucy looked at you and said, "She kept nodding her head whenever I asked if some person killed her; She said yes to Rodney. She said yes to Gasley—"
"So even she doesn't know who killed her?" George laughed emptily. "Brilliant."
"We might have to investigate more on our own to find more details." Lockwood nudged your side. You thought it was to shield you from the cold but that would be too presumptuous. He had bumped into you to swipe away the apparition of Iris Griffith.
She came and went like a zap of electricity. Frantic and unpredictable. Every time you caught sight of her mauled face, your heart picked up. How these three hadn't double over from heart failure was a mystery. Your knees gave up when she'd appeared beside you.
Your eyes watched her in slow motion. The rippling gashes in her plasma, her sneering face, her slashed dress... She was a hairsbreadth away from you before your instincts kicked in.
Your blood fell to your feet but your hand reached into your pocket in a panic, saving yourself as you pulled out a silver button. You threw it at her face and, fortunately, it was enough to disperse her ghost.
Lockwood let out a loud breath of relief but jumped back into the rhythm when her apparition reappeared. "Was that my mother's button? Nevermind. Time to make our exit! Luce, where's the chain net?"
She clicked her tongue. "Dropped it. Her manifestation appeared right in front of me."
"Go get it then!" George rushed, swiping at the air and setting off the first salt-bomb of the night.
"I would if I could," Lucy replied with a bite in her tone. She grimaced at the hand in your vice. "It's in the toilet."
"Pick it up! You've held worse." George backed into Lucy. They switched places.
"It's best if you don't," you advised. "This place has been deserted for years. Who knows what kind of bacteria's been growing in the bowl."
"Oh, you have to know everything, don't you?" George hissed.
Lucy didn't snap at you this time. "Listen to the doctor, George! Did we bring any more chain nets?"
Lockwood reached for your shirt, tugging you towards him as Griffith bit the air where your head would have been. He held you between his arms as blood rushed to your ears and cheeks. Lockwood's breath tickled your ear. The warmth of your face was a juxtaposition to the cold encasing your hands. "My bag! It's a bit away. We'll have to split up."
"Try not to die," George said with false sweetness. He and Lucy ran the opposite way you and Lockwood had.
Griffith chased them. The farther she got, the more you remembered how to breath.
"Calm down, cherry cheeks, ghosts can feed off of your fear," he tried to pacify you. The rasp of his voice evened your heart rate enough for you to get your brain turning again.
"Right. You're right..." You looked ahead, through the darkness and could barely make out the lumps on the ground. "Chain, we have to get the chain net."
"I've got you," he assured.
Even if your pivotal functions had returned to normal, your legs hadn't gotten the memo. Getting up made your knees buckle and legs feel like cooked pasta. As if the cold eating your fingers weren't bad enough.
Lockwood caught you around the waist, holding your weight while he held his rapier at the ready. "Hold on to the source and remember the salt-bomb."
You nodded firmly, clutching both to your chest as you two made a joint effort to get to the bags.
You were almost there, just passed the iron circle that Griffith had broken through, when she appeared above you like an unwanted mistletoe.
You screamed, Lockwood said something to console you, you threw the salt-bomb without taking off the clip, and Lockwood quickly sliced off the top to set it off. Salt sprayed over you two. His body folded over yours as it showered down.
Griffith's yells faded for a moment, a moment long enough for you to slide forward and grab the chain net that clung onto the side pocket of Lockwood's kit. Your hand wrapped around it, Iris's spectral glow kissed your skin, you felt the chill of it — she was colder than her source.
Suddenly, Lockwood had tugged you back towards him. His pull was strong enough to knock you onto your side. It would bruise but at least you weren't ghost-touched.
You wrapped the mummified hand in the net and sighed as the glow faded away and the screaming ceased. The frostbite on your fingers were worth the pain. You were alive.
Silence and heavy breathing ensued.
You rolled the rest of the way on your back, heaving for breath you won't get back. Not while Lockwood remained hovering over you.
The candles had been blown out in the earlier attack. The only light came from the ghost-lamps that sifted through the broken windows. Everything was in that ugly shade of bottle green... but that didn't make him any less magnificent.
Sweat collected on his brow, his mouth was agape—chasing for breath, and his lips were curled in that kind of smirk you could only dream about. Holding your breath did little for your racing heart.
"You okay, cherry cheeks?" His lips moved like their one purpose was to enrapture you.
You nodded dumbly, unable to find your words.
—
Portland Row was cloaked by the night when you four made your escape.
The three of them headed for the 35th while you bound up the steps to your parents' place. George and Lucy gained enough respect for you to wish you a good night before heading in, successfully tuckered out. Lockwood remained, staring at you with his hands in his trouser pockets.
He raised his brows at you then motioned to your front door. "Head on in. It would weigh on my conscience if I don't see you home safe. Your parents would have my head."
"You..." you paused at the fog before you. It was colder out than you thought. "You called me cherry cheeks earlier."
His stance turned tense. He rocked on his heels before he mustered a smile. "Old habits die hard... Sorry if it made you uncomfortable."
"It's okay," you reassured, returning the smile. "I missed it."
"You don't mind then?"
You shook your head. "Never did."
His smile broadened, teasing a glimpse of his pearly whites before he looked at his shoes to hide it. "See you tomorrow then, cherry."
You bit the inside of your cheek as you stared at him. These days, both of you were tall enough to see each other clearly over the wrought-iron fencing. You missed the days you had to tiptoe to show him a smile.
You had no problems shooting him a smile from over the fence. You had no problems coming home to your perfectionist parents. You had no problems imagining your world without Lockwood in it... but you missed him.
Now that the events kept replaying in your head, all you could think while you looked at him was I miss you, I'm sorry. I miss you, I'm sorry. I miss you, I'm sorry.
Lockwood had the talent of knowing when you wanted to say something but couldn't bring yourself to. He forgot how when you had grown apart. Now, in the quiet of the night and the privacy of the stars, it came back to him like the memories he tamped down by closing his window.
"What's wrong?" He asked, setting his hands on the freezing iron fence.
You feel the knot in your throat and the tears in your eyes. It hurts to hold back. Your lungs are lined with spikes as you take a breath. It feels like you're cracking your ribs open as you cave and admit to him, "I don't want to go home to them."
It may have been a trick of the light, but you swear there were tears in his eyes, too. His smile had changed. It was the same one you were accustomed to—the one he used to welcome you into his parents's house all those years ago. Like no time had passed at all, he beckons you. "Come on in then. 35 Portland Row is always open for you. It's your home, too."
—
One night's sleep on 35 Portland Row's most uncomfortable couch was worlds better than the comfy bed in your own cold home. You stretch like a cat to work out all the kinks in your joints, smiling at the air for no reason other than the happiness that filled you the moment you realized you were at the Lockwoods'. Your frosted hands had been wrapped up over a very sleepy catch-up the night before.
Ambient music was playing in your head as you took in your surroundings. The browned books and the disarray of trinkets left all around you were more home than anything you were used to.
It felt like you were wading through the most pleasant dream.
It all screeched to a halt the moment you swung your foot down and stepped on something squishy and loud—it groaned like a beast.
Terror clawed out of your throat in the form of a scream. Juttery legs hopped onto the back of the couch to gain height, and weary eyes looked down at the monster under the bed— er, sofa.
The lump inflated, made of patchwork quilt... until that fell away to reveal a very disheveled and very grumpy Anthony Lockwood.
"Ow," he simply said.
Your soul returned to your body. You offered a little laugh as you eased back down on the couch. "Sorry, Anthony."
"Don't worry yourself," he assured, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "I was the one who snuck down here."
You were a kid when you admitted to being afraid of being alone. It was thoughtful of him to come down here to keep you company when he had a perfectly good bed upstairs.
With a fluttering belly and a sheepish smile, you reached out and patted his sleepy head. "You've always been good to me. I should be more grateful."
He opened one eye to look at you while he rubbed the sleep out of the other. A corner of his lip tipped up into a lazy smile. "You can start with a 'thank you', darling."
"Thank you," you said all too quickly. The deeper octave and the rasp in his voice had finally hit home. It made your cheeks warm.
Judging by the growing smile on his face, he had accomplished what he was intending to.
Your shoulders jumped. A knock broke through the calmness of the air. You turned and saw George in an apron and kitchen mitts. "Are you two going to give each other goo-goo eyes all morning or are you joining us for breakfast?"
—
The investigation resumed as soon as the breakfast plates had been cleaned.
You split into two groups. George and Lucy were off to the archives to work out all of Griffith's social connections, and you and Lockwood were off to the hospital to look for documents that contained the same M.O. or similar timeline to Griffith's case.
"I thought police were the only ones allowed to hold information like this," Lockwood admitted as you two shuffled through files upon files in the hospital archives.
"Most of it, they do. I just hope there's something here relevant to our case," you reply. "If we have to hand this off to detectives, DEPRAC will get involved. They'll just close the case and leave it be."
He nudges up to you after a good three hours of finding absolutely nothing. "Let's look at the last few cases she solved. Could have a clue."
"All of those are solved though," you respond. You were biting your nails at this point. You had to find something before questioning Griffith's ghost again—for Lucy's sanity and for the group's safety.
Lockwood took you by the shoulders just as you began to imagine the worst. "Cherry," he said to snap your attention to him. "If we can't find anything, I don't want you joining us on this one."
"What?" You back away from him in your incredulity. "I helped last night, didn't I? This is my investigation as much as it is yours, Anthony."
"This visitor is a type two, cher. It's not as simple as solving a case. This means lives are in the balance—"
"I'm aware." You put your foot down. You slapped his hands away and shimmy a thick stack from under the desk. "I'm aware of the risks and I consent to them." You pick up the one at the top of the stack and shove it into his chest. He had always liked the curiosity in your eyes, so he was taken aback by the void in them as you looked at him. "I have enough people treating me like I belong at home or behind the safety of iron fences—I do not need you to coddle me like that. My parents do it enough."
He watched your back as you look through the second file in the stack. "You know I don't mean to coddle you..."
"You're doing it right now." Your tone carries a point. "You're telling me to sit this one out because it's too dangerous."
"It's risk assessment—"
"You're underestimating me—"
He slams his hand down on the paper you're idly reading. Bringing your attention to him. "I do this because I don't want to lose you."
Your anger falls away.
The reminder of how how much he'd lost occurs to you. It makes your arms grow limp and your heart to shrink. You can only stare at him with those same eyes he can't unsee even when his are closed. He hates the way he's made sadness swim in them. "Anthony..."
He said your name with the same caution. "You want to know why I became distant?"
"People grow apart when they grow up, Anthony. It's not your fault—"
He knelt beside you, laying his heart out right then and there. "I couldn't stand watching you with your perfect family. They always said any field tampering with the supernatural was a death sentence. I hated how they were right. I hated how they made you so small. I couldn't watch you like that. I hated that you turned into a doctor, just like them. I hated how they were so bad and so cruel, but they were always right."
You were quelled into silence. Biting your lip to keep the tears in. He held your hands delicately, careful of your injury. His touch was light but you knew you would feel it for hours. You held his hands with as much strength as you could muster, even as your skin burned and screeched for reprieve, you did not let go. "They are wrong about you..." you whisper to him.
He went on, plastering on a smile you knew was fake. It sheared your heart to know that. "I knew they were right when they said you would do great things... But they said so many other things that hurt. I couldn't stand being around. It just made me remember that no one was around to defend me anymore. I'm sorry that I had to leave you out, too. Seeing you reminded me of everything they said and I... I couldn't shake it."
Your eyes hurt so much. You gave up somewhere along the way and let the tears fall. "I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to fight them. I wanted to say so many things but they've always been so- so..."
"Scary?" he supplied with a pathetic laugh. "I know. Don't blame yourself."
You bobbed your head, sniffing as tears went. "You don't have to apologize for all that, Anthony. I'm so sorry, I didn't stand by you when you needed me. But I am going to see this case through to the end, I've dedicated my life to it."
Even when you were hiccuping and heaving for air, you wiped away the tear that tracked down his cheek. His heart surrendered to you then.
"Okay... And I'm sorry, I shouldn't have ignored you like I did," he said again, just because he felt like you needed to hear it.
"No. I'm sorry," you reply. Vehemently wiping his eyes. "Anthony, come on. Don't cry. I'm not worth crying for."
"Oh, don't say that," he said lightly. "You're worth everything, cher."
Both of you manage a smile but neither of you are well enough to hold it. You laugh at each other's attempts.
You came clean to him too: How your parents had made you the sun of their solar system; How they poured their knowledge into you like you were a cup meant to hold their images in vivid color; How they moulded you into being the projection of a golden girl—their magnum opus. You carried the weight of their world. Most days, they acted more like teachers than parents. It got worse the older you got. Trophies and medals took the places of photographs until all you became was your achievements.
"They were so hard on you..." he said slowly. It was just sinking I just how trapped you were. You were cornered in a place that was supposed to covet you.
"Still, I should have defended you. I hate that I didn't," you said, wiping your nose with the back of your sleeve. It was the most ungraceful thing he'd seen you do but it brought him back to the cherry pie incident, and he found that he couldn't even think of you in a bad light.
"It's water under the bridge. I hate your parents, but there is one thing we can agree on," Lockwood said, cracking a semblance of a smile.
You cocked your brow at him. Teary eyes and all, he still found you as cute as a button.
"I would make you the sun of my solar system, too. They got that right."
With a snort, you said, "You're good at buttering people up, you know that?" You shoved his shoulder to shut him up but he caught the red on your ears and the smile you hid with a tilt of your head.
—
When you rendezvoused with George and Lucy, it was around 5:40 in the afternoon. The sun was dipping and the ghoulish were about to walk the earth. If George or Lucy noticed the redness in your eyes, they said nothing of it. You hurried along inside the stranded house and relayed newfound information.
"The last case Griffith reviewed involved a woman named Shelly Carson. She immigrated from America and died at 17 while she was interning for Hayes Inc." You flipped the file open on the kitchen table over tea. "They profiled the case to be a suicide but I don't think Griffith agreed." Your finger pointed to the lower left corner where Griffith would put her stamp of approval. The line was void of it. "She wrote 'Garrote not rope??' on the unofficial report. Carson's case could have been a murder."
The information set off a spark in George. He was rubbing invisible dirt from his glasses and finished doing so as you concluded your assessment. "We found a Shelly Carson in our search too," he said. Everyone lent their ears. "She was friends with Griffith in childhood. Alongside Rodney and Gasley. The four of them were close friends from well-off families."
"Ah, they're rich. Explains a lot," Lucy snorted. George ignored her quip.
"Turns out Rodney and Carson were both interested in Gasley. Rodney moved on with some bloke named Jerome Holt, but she suspected him of having an affair with Carson. Holt proposed to prove her wrong."
Lockwood tilted his head. "Sounds like gossip, Georgie."
George brandished an old leather diary. "We tracked down Howard Gasley. He gave us this."
Lockwood lit up. Sitting up with renewed energy. "How did you manage that?"
Lucy grinned. "The death of his girlfriend weighed on his conscience. All I had to do was tell him that her ghost can't be put to rest. Spilled like a waterfall after that."
"So, he did kill her?" You asked.
"Well, that's the difficult bit... The rest of the pages were ripped out and he didn't explicitly say he did. Maybe he did do it, he likes ripping things." George revealed, pointing the diary at the mummified hand in the net. "I think he's involved, one way or another."
Lockwood looked at it, then looked at Lucy. "What do you think, Luce?"
She looked at all three of you with a gleam in her eye. "I think we're about to find our killer."
—
The set-up was same as last night, except the iron circle had been extra fortified to fit all four of you in case things get out of hand. Lockwood stuffed lavenders into your pockets as Lucy lit the the candles.
"If you die tonight, I will not forgive you," Lockwood said as he put a salt-bomb in your hand.
"Same goes for you," you retort with a smile.
He returns your grin, tapping your sides and making your heart flutter before he sets off to help George with inventory.
You cross the chains to help Lucy in the lucky room chosen to host the seance in. With all the furniture pushed to the walls, the sitting room was the epitome of morbid. The carpet was patterned in a way that made it perfect for summoning and the cobwebs embellishing the place contributed to the unsettling ambiance. Lucy herself was lighting candles around the source. You took a pack of matches and helped light the rest of them.
"How are you feeling?" you asked as you lit the last candle and killed the match.
"Confident," she replied. She even spared you a smile. "And you?"
"Scared. Excited, mostly."
She bobs her head. She had a far-away look in her eye before she asked, "Your room is an attic room, correct?"
The nature of the question surprised you. "Yes. Why?"
A smile teased her lips. "I knew it." She looked at you like she saw right through you. "Lockwood was loitering near the window this morning. Just thought it was odd."
You hear him in your mind then — cherry cheeks. Warmth crawled up your neck as Lockwood and George entered the room.
"What are you two blabbering about?" George questioned, off-put by Lucy's smile and your flushed face.
"Nothing," you said together, one more pitched than the other.
George didn't look convinced.
Lockwood spoke up. " You ladies ready? Let's catch ourselves a killer."
The door was left open with an heavy stopper, giving you ample room to run to the iron circle in case things took a turn for the worst. Though, you doubted it would. The other three shared the sentiment. Some kind of energy buzzed between you four and livened the room, something that wasn't there the night before.
Lucy looked between you and Lockwood with a knowing expression you only ever saw from Jessica Lockwood. It was gone as quick as it came but the brief blast from the past made you dizzy. The resemblance must have been what made Lockwood so comfortable with her.
Lockwood had crossed the room and stood by you. Close enough to catch you if you stumbled forward in your daze.
He glanced at his wrist to check the time. "7:30's a good time. Ready, Lucy?"
"Ready," she confirmed. With a tug, the iron net came off of Griffith's mummified hand.
George and Lockwood reconsidered their stances with their rapiers as warmth was immediately sapped from the room. It was akin to jumping into a lake without testing the waters. Blood rushed to your ears. The whispering began again.
"We're here to help you," Lucy said calmly.
Wind began to pick up despite the windows being closed. Lucy persevered. "Iris Griffith, I know that you're experiencing a great injustice. Let me help you. Talk to me."
Lucy closed her eyes. You trust that she was establishing a connection with Griffith. The chill subsided by a fraction, her eyes were moving rapidly like you do when you're in the middle of a dream.
"There's a spectral glow behind you, George." Lockwood caught that faster than you. He was glaring down at the opposite corner of the room.
George's face remained impassive. "You'll tell me if she gets too close."
"Shush!" Lucy threw a hand up in the air. "Shell... Shelly? Yes, what about Shelly Carson? She died before you. You saw her case. They got the autopsy wrong, didn't they?"
A faraway scream interrupted the silence. You fumbled forward. Lockwood caught your arm. "Careful there, cherry cheeks." You lived up to your nickname.
"They all kept... Secret...?" Lucy murmured. "They all killed you to keep a secret?"
If this were a cartoon, you imagine everyone to have exclamation marks above their heads. Finally, some of the mystery began to come into focus. Who are 'they' and what secret were they so desperate to keep?
"Secret... Shelly Carson?" Lucy's expression lightened and the room grew slightly warmer. "Yes! Their secret is Shelly Carson. No? Oh, then what— They killed her to keep the secret... then paid people to say they were innocent."
"Rich people," George tutted.
The anticipation was killing you. All those nights of research, pouring over case files and autopsies were boiling down to this. You gripped Lockwood's sleeve to ground yourself. He glanced at your hand, worried you were seeing something he wasn't, but felt a smile twitching on his lips when he noticed the elation on yours.
Lucy'a voice pierced the air. "They killed her to keep what secret?"
The silence, the anticipation, and the chill in the room melded.
"Rodney pregnant? With Gasley's—" Lucy shut herself up. It was like a bad episode of a telenovela, but this was real, and someone had died because of it. "And when you were about to uncover the truth about Shelly... Rodney and Gasley they got you, too? I'm sorry to hear that. Gasley must have regrets. He had left a diary and... your, ah, hand so we could uncover your story."
It wasn't the most peaceful way to end a talk with a ghost. As soon as Lucy finished the conversation, the apparition of Iris Griffith had appeared once more. Contrary to your hypothesis, finding out the motive and her killers did not put her to rest at all.
She wailed louder than the previous night and zipped about even faster than before. Nothing Lockwood & Co. couldn't handle though. You showered the room with lavender and salt as Lockwood & Co. danced with a ghost.
—
You all appreciated a bit of silence after getting your ears blown off by a visitor. The world clearly didn't like you enough to grant the request, judging by the hunched and fuming figures of your parents blocking the door to 35 Portland Row. They sported crossed arms and crossed expressions. Your mother, specifically, was blowing steam from her ears.
Seeing your sweaty and worn form only confirmed their suspicions: You'd been running around with ghost hunters.
"You ungrateful brat..." your mother muttered.
Lucy stepped forward, blocking her way to you. She was hardened by her own experiences and least expected the horrid woman to turn on her own daughter for simply doing something outside of white-tiled establishments. You were grateful for it.
That only stirred the pot for your parents.
"We sheltered you, spoiled you, and educated you to be the lady you are today. You are our legacy." Your father harumphs forward. "We made you what you are and you would throw that all away by risking your stupid little life for some miniscule ghost adventure!"
George is the next to block their way. He wasn't that protective type, but he did look the part when he wanted to. "It was her childhood dream. Let her live." Leave it to George to be forward.
Your mother stamped her feet. The display was so awfully childish you had to look away. "You are children who don't know a single thing about building a foundation for a good life! You are going to run my daughter to ruin!"
Because of her display, Lockwood & Co. weren't so intimidated by her anymore.
Lockwood had stepped ahead, completing the wall that prevented your iron-fisted parents from getting to you ever again. "We're the best psychical agents in London. We expect a little more respect, doctor."
You could hear the smile in his voice. You couldn't help but smile, too.
With a last burst of anger, your father yelled to you. "You either come home or you find your own way. I'd rather live without a daughter than live with a disappointing one."
It shouldn't hurt as much as it did, but you had given your whole life to live up to the version of you they were dreaming of. Even if you had achieved all that, all it took was having a moment of autonomy for them to turn against you and disregard your sacrifices.
Lockwood had turned to you with a face so full of hope, it brought you back to the other night at the horrid dinner party and the night you snuck out to pick apples. After all that's happened, you found it in yourself to steel your resolve and face your father with bravery that felt unnatural but oh-so addicting.
"I'm going home," you told them.
You walked passed a stunned George and a speechless Lucy. Lockwood was far bluer than the two, but you shot him a smile that put all his worries to rest.
When you were kids, he was the one to take you by the hand and drag you off on a new adventure. This time, it was you so took his hand and pulled him passed your parents's skyscraping figures and into the comforts of 35 Portland Row.
Home, at last.
The first thing you saw as you pulled Lockwood through the threshold was his smile, radiant as ever. He didn't give you much time to admire it. He swooped down and stole your first kiss before you could even blink.
You could hear Lucy and George laugh over your parents plights. You were tired, sweaty, and covered in salt but all you could think of was; you should have done this sooner.
The next morning, you submitted the evidence and psychical report to the relevant authorities, convicting Celia Rodney and Howard Gasley for their crimes. Griffith's source was relinquished from your possession and burned at the Fittes Furnaces, marking the end of Griffith's case. It was the best thing you could do to bring her peace.
Shortly after, Lockwood and Co. welcomed you as the company's official forensic consultant, and in 35 Portland Row, you were finally comfortable in your own skin.
You and Lockwood now stand on the same side of the fence. There is no need shyly avoid your peering eyes when he could have the satisfaction of seeing them flutter close as he kisses you.
Thought, it is nice to remember that all this started with those peering eyes over wrought-iron fences. You and Lockwood reminisce those days over a cherry pie with extra ice cream or an afternoon picking apples from the backyard.
Every now and again, Lockwood would toss an apple over to your parents's side of the fence to scare them.
⌠ @novelizt 2023 ⌡
LOVELOCKED (PEOWIF BONUS CHAPTER)
NOTE ➺ Thank you to everyone who made it through to the end! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing it. It's the first time I completed a project this big so I hope it brings you some joy. To everyone mourning the seasons we'll never get, I'm with you. To my fellow writers, I'd appreciate a tip or two to improve my stories. To everyone in general, may you continue finding fics that comfort you 💙
#— ❨ 🌺 ❩ 𝐋𝐈𝐙𝐙𝐈𝐄'𝐒 𝐔𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐀 ₊˚.༄#anthony lockwood x you#anthony lockwood x reader#lockwood and co x reader#lockwood x reader#lockwood and co fanfiction#anthony lockwood angst
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munkuposting (metastrap?) for the jellinclined (i am so sorry)
you tell me i'm insane but i know my truth and my truth is that munkustrap wants to help her. he wants to reach out and help her up like he just helped jennyanydots during her song. he leans down and it's not just so he can look at her better. it's not just cause there's no point to his defensive stance here except for her to see, for him to communicate she's unwanted, and he knows it. shit dude the guy can't look her in the eyes for longer than 5 seconds.
like come on. munkustrap's running after old deuteronomy and the rest of the older/less agile cats so much in this goddamn film he might as well be Munkustrap the Mobility Aid Cat. man knows what he wants in life and that's going on as many walks with senior citizens hanging off his arm as physically possible and neither god nor the heaviside layer will stand in his way.
his responsibility's a whole different thing, though. look at the lad puffing up when grizabella shows up. that's a guard he uses against perceived threats like macavity and it's well and warranted then, but what in the name of ye olde cat gods is the old lady gonna do? garbage stink them all to death? it's performative as hell on purpose. both of them know she's not gonna jump him and he doesn't need to protect himself or his fellow cats from her physically.
in the macavity scares, odd as it might look on a person, The MunkuStance™ is a genuine threat. he's up above everyone else or he's one of the few cats on the stage, he's spreading himself out to look bigger, he HISSES lmao.
look at the lad. hissssss lmao i love him.
not only is he saying i won't hesitate bitch he's also establishing himself as The Guy You Fight. if you're an outsider looking in, you're probably not gonna notice Mr Mistoffelees Scampering Through The Pipes Again, but you sure as hell are gonna see the Snarling Tabby Fresh From Hell hopping around in the middle of the stage with his legs 16 kilometers apart at all times. and okay, doing that for the entire musical sure is a Choice, but it's a Character Choice, and mr michael gruber the man you are. the star that you are. i want to send him flowers and chocolate and a card. i would greatly like to do that.
with grizabella though? jesus christ she's about as threatening as a patchy sock. it's not even his first instinct to go Tall Big Puffy when he's trailing after her because there's genuinely nothing to defend against there.
he just sort of slowly stands into it as though he's forgotten he was supposed to be Protecting for a second. the stance, the threat, all that's only there to set a dynamic. it's there to say you're not one of us, we don't like you, please go away, but he's half-assing it so much it loses all its i won't hesitate bitch and turns into i have never hesitated so hard in my entire life. he still establishes himself as The Guy You Fight, but it's obvious grizabella isn't about to fight anyone, so now he's just The Guy She's Staring In Incredulous Longing At, and he can't even hold her gaze for long enough to pretend it's not getting to him because at his core he's not a bad person and he knows that all this is kind of a Dick Move.
this is what makes munkustrap so dummy god tier as a character to me. he may wish he could help grizabella. hell he may even want her back, if not as openly as old deuteronomy does. when all the cats scuttle away and turn their backs to grizabella before memory reprise, munkustrap never even fucking bothers ?? like he's straight up just watching her, and then later watching old deuteronomy watch her like with the most somber wee eyebrows up so can we finally do something about this expression i've ever seen on a performer lmao.
but that means nothing without the approval of the entire tribe! absolutely nothing! because munkustrap, in that regard, is exactly like old deuteronomy: what he wants comes second to what the jellicles want. it's harder to see in him because old deuteronomy is mostly up on the tire being cat jesus and munkustrap mingles with the rest of the ensemble way more, but it's really obvious when you look. they defer to his leadership, but he defers to their collective decisions.
he moves mistoffelees away from grizabella (just like the rest of the older cats) because mistoffelees doesn't know any better and grizabella is untouchable, but then he stalls and waits when demeter reaches out to her. like, i'm pretty sure he would've just let her touch grizabella right then and there. had demeter been a little less aware of the fact that this was the first 30 minutes of the musical, i'm pretty sure she would've just taken grizabella back in right then and there and memory wouldn't have even been necessary. munkustrap sure wasn't about to do shit about it.
he's actively leaning back to give her space!! (i know logistically that it's mr michael giving an opening for ms aeva to execute her Conflicted Scuttle Away but munkustrap is still leaning back however you put it so i'm right automatically. haw yee)
i'm fascinated by it specifically because this way it's almost as though munkustrap is an extension of the jellicle collective, if that makes sense. obviously he's the narrator so we can't give him a complex emotional storyline if we want to keep the aryas in single digits, but in turn this means that now he's a character who chooses to forgo his own feelings in favour of those of his community, and that's just, man, that's just. man. ca(s)t of all time for real. a guardian and a weapon and a storyteller and a teacher and not one of those for his own sake. Man.
tl;dr, old deuteronomy can be hella proud of his kid, and i can eventually stop crying. also here are the gifs of him finally getting to comfort grizabella a little. experience emotions with me.
unfortunately i have similar (if slightly less rambling) thoughts on tugger and why he's constantly being such a massive cunt to grizabella lmao. if you guys are unfortunate enough i may subject myself to the giffing and writing of that post too. toodlepip ✌️
#jellicle cats#cats 1998#cats the musical#munkustrap#grizabella#cilly.txt#because lets be honest this isnt much in terms of art or writing lmao#woe. long post be upon ye#but tumblr usually shortens these one these days anyway
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Parenting: A TiPo microfic
(No I have not seen Kung Fu Panda 4 yet)
You know, looking back on it, maybe letting Lei Lei invite friends over to the Jade Palace was a mistake. Not that Po would ever say so out loud, mind you. But a veritable litter of kids rallying around one very capable, very mischievous leader was always a recipe for disaster.
The birthday celebration hadn’t been this out of hand at the start. There were no less than seven Kung Fu Masters just in their immediate surroundings, how hard could watching the neighborhood kids be?
As it turns out, very hard. As soon as the celebratory noodles had been eaten, they all scampered, scarpered, and scuttled away in every direction. Crane had to be dispatched to provide an aerial view, Mantis was busy checking small spaces, and Monkey was furiously taping down every breakable item the Hall of Warriors had. (The Urn of Whispering Warriors was the sole exception; it had already been broken before the party started.)
Where Tigress and Viper were, Po couldn’t say. Neither did he know where Master Shifu was, but he was sure they were doing their best.
———————————————
“Inner peace,” Shifu breathed to himself, trying desperately to ignore the sole pig child gnawing on his shoe.
———————————————
Really, Po reflected as he turned the corner, his real mistake had been teaching Lei Lei how to do Kung Fu. A smart kid was dangerous. A dangerous kid who’d been taught to be dangerous was dangerous-er. But most danger-est of all was a kid who was smart, strong, and adorable.
A fact reflected by the sight before him.
Lei Lei waved at him innocently from across the hallway. “Daddy!” She called.
Po felt a moment of relief. Whatever chaos was ensuing the rest of the Jade Palace, at least his daughter was safe. “There you are. Ah, I was starting to get worried. Didn’t hear a thing.”
Lei Lei smiled with satisfaction. Po’s heart was warmed for a moment, before he noted the shadows slowly opening the doors on the hallway.
“What’s going on?” Po asked, not very sure if he wanted to know the answer. At the very least, he knew now where the kids went.
Lei Lei still smiled, but it was the smile of victory. “Destwoy him my awmy!”
————————————————
Viper savored the smooth warm comfort of her tea. “You think it’s all right letting the guys watch the kids?”
Tigress waited to answer, finishing her own cup. “If Po is good at only three things, it’s cooking, Kung fu, and kids. I’m sure he has-“
They were cut off as a familiar cry of distress rang across the Jade Palace. Tigress heaved a deep, long suffering sigh before finishing her thought. “-. . . Absolutely nothing in hand.”
Viper have a sympathetic smile. “Want me to check on them?”
Tigress stood. “It’s fine. I’ll save him.”
————————————————
A few minutes later, Tigress found Po. Or more accurately, she found the mass of hyperactive children currently smothering him.
“Am I interrupting anything?” She asked rhetorically.
“Tigrehf?” A muffled voice called from beneath the squirming playful mass. “I don’f mean to scare you, but I fhink our daufter is drying to take ofer the world. And I don’f know if I can ftop her.”
Tigress smirked. “I guess then I’ll just have to catch her!” Her announcement came with exaggerated menace and showy growls near the end. The mass of fur and feathers fled in delighted terror.
Tigress spared a moment to look at the Dragon Warrior in all his overwhelmed, completely unprepared glory. “Want to tag out for a bit?”
Po waved away the suggestion, still panting for breath. “Nah, nah, it’s fine. I’ll be chasing them in a second.”
Tigress huffed in amusement. “I’ll be herding them for a bit. You join me when you’ve caught your breath.”
Po’s head collapsed “I love you so much.”
Tigress smirked as she squatted down to look Po in the eye. “Oh don’t say that just yet. You’ll be making it up to me later. After she’s gone to bed.”
“Eh,” Po said in lieu of a question.
“I’ve been thinking,” Tigress continued. “It could be nice to give Lei Lei a little sister. Don’t you think?”
Po’s face turned red. “Eh-Heh. Like we don’t have enough to do, right?”
Tigress theatrically pulled herself up to full height. “Of course, if you don’t feel like you can handle another. . .” She started to walk after Lei Lei and company.
Po pulled himself to his elbow’s “No no, I can totally handle it. It’ll be fun!”
Tigress smiled as she started to run. “Then come on; we can’t let our daughter take over the world just yet!”
Po was laughing in full as he sprinted after her.
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“So these creatures scuttling about, the gentle bantam guar warking away beneath that overhang, the vvardvarks scampering in the surf, the netch floating gently overhead as you cross that canal bridge? Those aren't for you, my friend. They're for the nobles and masters of House Telvanni. And woe betide any who mess with a wizard's things.
"Watch what critters you crush lest a fireball ruin your day. Pet the vvardvarks, though. They're adorable."
--An excerpt from Critter Dangers, which claims that the entire Telvanni Peninsula ecosystem and landscape is a living art piece created by and for the Telvanni nobility.
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choast and bluesky (that i admit i havent used so much) linked here. for reasons of course entirely impossible to discern in tumblrs current climate.
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WAIT ADDING ONTO MY LAST POST I didn't even touch on the tasty fear factor of a tiny literally running into a giant
Maybe the tiny was being pursued by someone/thing else and in their blind panic, too busy looking over their shoulder at their attacker, they slam face first into the leg of a giant. They're dazed and fall flat on their back, allowing them to look up and up and up at something that is much worse than whatever was originally chasing them
Maybe they know there's a giant around, and they're either trying to bravely avoid it or stupidly seek it out. They try to set up baits and traps, keep their steps quiet, anything their lure the giant out and grant them an opening to scuttle away undetected. But when they turn the corner, the see the trap they had placed has now been moved to where they stand. Horrified at the implication, they back away, only to bump against the chest of the giant waiting for them
Maybe the giant has been after them since the beginning, chasing the tiny around in a futile game of cat and mouse. The tiny thinks they're doing pretty good, no matter how exhausted they are, always managing to keep enough distance between them. Until the giant starts getting crafty, secretly manipulating how and where the tiny can scamper off too like a maze they're too small to full see. It's not until the tiny triumphantly bursts through the doors, think they've finally made it out, do they realize they've been cornered into falling into the giant's awaiting hands
Maybe the tiny is finally acting on their escape plan that they've been working on for a while. It's risky and getting caught surely means being punished, but they have to try. And they try so damn hard, but it's all for nothing when the giant unexpectedly changes their routine in the midst of their escape, causing the tiny to panic and accidentally crash against the giant who barely catches them in time before they fall
Maybe the tiny is sprinting as fast as their little legs will carry them, knowing the giant is hot on their tail. It shouldn't be possible to lose sight of something so huge, but they've somehow lost visual and have no idea where the giant could be. They can't see or hear and feel any trace of their giant pursuer, which makes it all the more startling when the giant suddenly appears in front of them before they can't slow down, winding themself when they collide into the giant
Maybe the tiny knows it's a suicidal idea in the first place, but fuck it, if they die they die. They need protection from whatever is chasing them and right now, the giant minding their own business is their best option. So they run full speed in their direction, slamming themself into the giant and quickly burrowing against them to remain hidden, silently praying that whatever fate the giant gives them for the interruption isn't any worse than what they were already facing
Maybe the giant is aware of the tiny, but the tiny isn't aware of the giant, so they follow behind this oblivious little thing out of curiosity and amusement. It's fun to see how many close calls the tiny has to realize they're being stalked, but they never fully figure it out, not until they get themself into a sticky situation that has them dangling from a precariously high place. The jig is up when the tiny loses the strength to hang on, only falling a few feet before landing in an open palm
#g/t#macro/micro#giant/tiny#gianttiny#size difference#g/t fearplay#fear play#fearplay#whump#g/t whump#g/t community#i could literally sit for hours and come up with scenarios like this#in a very fearplay mood rn lads
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There's a knock on the door, soft an timid, a sound Zeb almost misses from his haven hunched in the corner of his bedroom.
Surrounded by garbage and half eaten food, he stiffens, fingers bitten and bleeding.
The walls are smeared in blood.
Deeply arcane symbols scrawled across bare white walls creating a morbid lattice of protection and warding.
The Knights told Zeb that blood magic was a dark and dangerous thing only to be used in times of great emergency.
The Knights can happily go to Hell as far as Zeb is concerned.
The knock comes again and Zeb flinches, darting under his bed to hide amongst his stash of holy water. The half empty plastic bottles crinkle and crunch as he writhes against them, shoving his little body as far away from the door as he can get.
The door opens slowly, the cherry yellow snout of an umbrella poking through the widening gap followed by chunky rain boots and someone dressed in a slicker. The long ears of his captor twitch beneath the tightly drawn hood.
Zeb scuttles forward on his belly like vermin, with a bottle in his teeth.
Before he can even crack the lid, the umbrella is opened and held out like a shield.
Zeb doesn't move, still on his belly, eyes full of hate, teeth clenched so tight they're threatening to rupture the plastic.
Two black and gray eyes peek over the rim of the umbrella and stare down at Zeb with the same expression one might give a feral dog that came too close. When the eyes soften, shame and disgust weigh heavily in Zeb's guts.
How dare this monster pity him?
How dare it tear him away from the only home he'd ever known only to keep him locked up in this horrible place like an animal, feeding him nothing but garbage and obvious poison. The bottle of holy water creaked and crunched in the boy's teeth as he bristled, hands gripping the filthy carpet until the fibers came loose.
The monster stayed very still.
Zeb scampered out of his hiding place and lunged, biting down on purpose so the plastic split and sent water shooting everywhere as he tackled the fairy to the ground.
Where the water hit wall or floor, the material blackened and shriveled, crumbling away into dust and nothing.
Where water hit flesh, it sizzled like quenching metal; skin bubbling and steam rolling off the wounds it made. The umbrella buckled beneath the weight of the boy, but the fairy did not. All at once all the air was driven from Zeb's body as he collided with a full 750 pounds of metal and magic at full force.
He immediately bounced right off, fell, and smacked his head on the floor.
He lay there wincing for several moments, cradling his skull.
The fairy made no move to help him and instead looked very amused.
Anger flared in Zeb's chest and he snatched another bottle from his arsenal, ripping off the cap and throwing it like a grenade. It hit the umbrella with a splash, the vast majority of the liquid landing harmlessly on the fairy's rain gear or their surroundings.
"Are you done?" Said the monster fairy thing from behind its very broken umbrella.
Zeb threw another bottle in way of a reply.
"...is that all you know how to do?" it said, shaking droplets off of itself and the umbrella, flinching when a few stray drops landed on skin.
"...what?" Zeb's voice sounded dry and alien, his throat fucked from constant crying and near dehydration (self imposed mind you, it was very important not to drink any of his possible weapon ingredients)
"Is that all you know how to do," The fairy gestured at the bottles on the floor. "Make splash potions."
"...splash potions?" He repeated, eyebrows furrowed.
"Potions meant to be thrown or splashed on something."
"...they're not potions, they're holy water." Zeb sat up slowly, face still scrunched in confusion. "Knights don't make potions."
"You're not a Knight anymore, and holy water is totally a potion, not sure who told you it wasn't." The fairy monster thing tilted its head ever so slightly.
Zeb flinched as if struck.
Right... he wasn't a Knight anymore.
The Knights just... gave him away to this creature without a fight and he hated them for it, so why did it hurt to remember that he wasn't one of them anymore?
The creature looked at him with those soft stupid eyes full of pity and something else he couldn't name but knew he hated. The boy drew his knees against his chest and fixed the monster with a glare.
"I can do lots of stuff!" He said, voice creaking and crackling like plastic bottled between his teeth. "I know how to do miracles, and fight with a sword, and tame falcons, and take care of horses and armor, and everything!"
Zeb expected the fairy thing to sink to its knees, to meet him 'on his level' like grownups always do to people who are smaller than them, but it didn't.
It just tilted its head the other way and looked at him with those same soft eyes it had given him the day it took him from the Tower.
"Then show me."
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quil u say so many fascinating things
Omg you get it...you get me...she's so so beautiful. Look at those foot fingers...she can scamper and scuttle with the mediocre of them
Ty for providing this stunning visual, a feat of modern man, a relic of our time. I will treasure it forever you're so so talented <33
Everyone look at this!! Look at the foot fingers!! See the masterpiece mellie has created and deigned to bless us with!!
#kotlc#foot finger alicorns#quil's queries#lemontarto#i love it thank you <3#keeper au where everything is exactly the same but the alicorns are like this#imagine. silveny brushing away sophie's tears....
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Heard you were doing Headcannons for Jack that may or may not include animals? 👀
Well I have a cat and his name is Teller (like the magician) unlike the magician Teller speaks his mind. All his mind can think about is attention and food. He's a little attention whore but his cuteness makes up for it. We like to call him a "homie hopper" cause he'll hop between people's laps constantly bdhsbxns
Behavior: as I said he's an attention whore and needs it all to himself (much like me) he loves meeting new people (more attention) but he's also very skittish... Something must've happened with him before we got him but he really doesn't like loud noises. Usually it's more "sudden" noises that scare him. Stomping, maybe a high pitched laugh, something clanking/banging, ect... Also if you don't give him the attention that he wants? He'll get in your face and keep bothering you till you pet him. Once you start petting him? You stop on his terms. He'll even grab your hand and shove it back towards him.
So that's my quick summary of Teller my little attention whore baby ❤
HOW CUTE!!!!
tell Teller I give him a huge hug and he's a very cool little kitty >:3!!!
~ JACK HORNER AND YOUR PETS HEADCANONS! ~
~ 'Stupid animal, always makes me look bad!' ~
☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
God forbid.
His lover have a cat.
...
God forbid this cat be the way he is.
Every second of the day, he wanted attention.
When he first came into your home, he was met with a feline sitting upon a table across the room.
The cats tail flicked, back and forth, as the, once, slits of pupils suddenly dilated in size. A gentle hop off the table and he was toddling towards him, meowing at him.
Jack was confused, you never told him about a cat?
But, you shrugged it off and sheepishlyngiggled, hoping he wasn't allergic.
"His name is Teller," You smiled, as your hands clasped together. You crouched down, knees popping only slightly as you greeted the feline you loved very much.
"... Like the magician?" Was the only thing you got out of Jack's mouth.
Oh, yes! You told him, he was named after the magician.
Of course, you didn't truly warn Jack about how Teller acted before you brought him over.
Of course, you forgot to tell him that Teller was afraid of loud noises, as he began to pull his coat off. He slid it off his large arm, as you let out a 'wait-!'. But it was too late.
He dropped it upon the table by the front door, as it made a clattering sound to announce the fact it even dared fall that loud.
Teller scampered, paws scuttling across floor as he went to hide away from the loud sound of the coat and buttons hitting the wooden table.
Jack was confused, a brow raising and his pupils snapping to click onto you.
Heh.
As if you knew why he was so skittish when it came to loud sounds.
Jack underestimated this cat, however.
While you were busy, cleaning, cooking, showering, whatever you had to do, Jack had planted himself upon one of your couches. His weight causing it to sink in, the boards of it letting out a squeak from the pressure.
Teller, however,
Wanted attention.
And you were busy.
He strolled over towards the couch, as he crouched his front half down, his back half extended out as he suddenly pounced. Landing right beside Jack.
Jack only glanced, a brow raising towards the feline, but he aimed his attention away. He inspected every area of the room, so he knew exactly where and what everything is.
But, Teller didn't like that.
A meow escaped from between the lips of Tellers little snout, but Jack simply ignored it.
...
Meow?
Ha. Someone should've told him Teller loved attention.
Jack felt two little paws press against his thigh, standing on it, as he tilted his head down. The feline now standing on his thigh.
His back paws brought themselves to Jack's thigh too, so he'd be fully standing on it. Two little front paws placed themselves upon Jack's belly. Only taking a moment before rocketing himself up to stand on Jack's belly, balancing.
Jack gasped, as his eyes widened and his body tensed. Wha?! What the hell was this cat doing!?
The cat only took a moment to glance around, before he brought his face to Jack's, letting out a small mew to the large male he had just met.
Wha...?
Did this cat want him to pet him?
Jack rolled his eyes, as he brought his stained thumb to the cats head, softly patting it with his thumb, only for a few minutes. Before he stopped petting him.
He went to lift his hand away, but felt the two paws suddenly grab ahold of his hand, one paw near his thumb, the other near his pinky. Before he felt a gentle pull from the cat.
Wh.
Wha.
Are you serious?
He let out a scoff, as he rolled his eyes. He continued to pet the cat with his thumb, awaiting the time the cat was ready to jump off and away from him.
Of course, Teller was eventually done. And, he bounced off of Jack, easily strolling away from him.
...
What the fuck.
Eventually, getting ready for bed, Teller jumped in, ready to snooze and cuddle.
Jack wasn't too happy, but he let it go, he knew you loved that damned cat.
...
And, you woke up the next morning.
Sun shined through the curtains, coating the floor in rays of yellow, the sun announcing you a good 'goodmorning'.
You felt your eyes practically crusted shut, as you blinked away all the yuck in your eyes. You turned your head to Jack, as you could only take a moment to understand what you saw.
Teller laid upon Jack's belly, his eyes peacefully closed as Jack lay on his back, snoring, yet he wasn't loud. Typically, his snores could shake a whole house. A hand of his rested upon Tellers back, it looked like he had tried to pet him in the middle of waking up but couldn't keep himself up..
Awee..
How cute...
You knew they'd get along.
...
And now you gotta go run and pee-
☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
ENJOY!! I wasn't too sure on how to write Teller, pls tell me if I did good!!
#big jack horner#jack horner#puss in boots the last wish#puss in boots#jack horner x reader#jack horner is so bbg#big jack horner x reader#jack horner and your animals
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Cranky PSA: Children and Hardware Are Unmixy
I never thought I’d have to say this, but apparently some people really haven’t clued in. Hardware stores are not grocery stores. They are not child-safe. They’re barely adult-safe. Do not let your toddlers out of grabbing range.
Ace, Home Depot, Lowe’s, wherever - hardware stores are full of things that even adults have to treat with caution. Kids are ignorant. Kids that can’t read “Danger - Flammable” are in even more trouble.
Start with the hardware. These places are full of shiny things. Nuts, bolts, nails, magnets, bits of railing, you name it. Kids are like ravens, drawn to shiny; and young kids are further drawn to putting everything in their mouths. Picture the large, very large, section of nuts and bolts. Picture them vanishing down a kid’s gullet. It’s happened. Or, and more likely, picture them upending entire drawers to create the ultimate trip hazard. Very possibly yanking them down on their own heads.
Move to the cleaning supplies, many of which are meant for cleaning businesses, and so industrial-strength. As in strong enough and nasty enough stuff you don’t want to handle it without gloves, eye protection, and possibly hazmat clothes. Think muriatic acid. Think pool chlorine tabs. Think ammonia-based cleaners that all say “use with adequate ventilation” at the very least. Think.
Look outside to the plants. Many of them are toxic. Fertilizers can be toxic, or at least harmful to skin and eyes. Herbicides and pesticides are definitely toxic. And they’re all there on the shelves in easy grabbing range.
Let’s not even get into the paints, oils, kerosene, gasoline, and so many sharp objects throughout the entire building. All of which are packaged to be safe to handle... if you don’t drop it. Or puncture it. Or climb on it. Or sling it at someone. What do kids do? Right.
Last but not least, think about the business of the store itself. There is a lot of stock. Much of it is heavy items. All of it has to be stored, and then accessed when customers want it. Which means heavy equipment. Forklifts. Other lifts. Things where the users have to be strapped in, because it’s dangerous to have any part of your body outside. The whole store is outside, and while employees try to set up barriers, they try to keep customers out of hazard zones....
Well. You’ve never seen a toddler scuttle so fast as when they’re scampering right under a safety gate, heading straight for the big black-striped yellow machine with all the blinking lights that can squash them like a watermelon dropped from a hundred feet.
Fortunately she slowed down when I yelled. Fortunately, she listened to her father when he called her to come back out. Absent those two pieces of luck, she was heading right toward a lift that - if something went wrong - could have easily dropped something heavy enough to kill her. And the safety employee wouldn’t have seen her because he was watching for idiot adults trying to come through or around the gates into the working aisle. Not a pink blur at ground level.
These are hardware employees. They’re doing their best, but they’re busy, they’re overworked, and they are not trained to look after children.
If you take your kids into a hardware store, keeping them safe is your job. Think it through. Please.
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My Knight | Kim Horangi Hong-jin x m!reader
『••✎••』
↳ ❝ You're all doomed (damsel in distress!horangi x knight in shining armor!m!reader) - @satan-incarnate-666 ❞
: ̗̀➛ You should really blame Kortac for what happens when you and Horangi end up at a cabin, even though you know you can't.
: ̗̀➛ GORE, torture, graphic depictions of eye horror, graphic depictions of gore, graphic depictions of blood & dead things, fighting, swearing, technically autocannibalism
•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•
The water of the lake was a dull olive colour, riddled with algae and broken sticks from the trees nearby that stood so tall; their leaves were still green, even with the snow covering the thick branches in a thin white sheet.
You weren’t sure why Kortac gave you and Horangi time off so late in the year, and if you were honest, you kind of resented them for it; the winds were harsh and icy, the ground slick and unstable with mud that suctioned against your shoes, it didn’t help that the heating system within the cabin was absolutely fucked, either.
It was odd, though, as one minute, Horangi was with you, and the next, he was gone. You figured he probably went off to chop firewood, though, and for the first few hours, you didn’t really think much of it.
But deep within the woods, in a worn down log cabin’s basement, Horangi was screaming your name; tied down to an old and neglected wooden table, he screamed as the splinters slowly pushed up into his back and the woodlice scuttled into his ears.
Yowling your name as he felt the cold blade against his thigh, caressing it as if it were examining a piece of meat; his chest was rising and falling drastically, his breath running out, his voice going hoarse and raw.
Even when the blade clattered to the floor, and a moulded and dirt caked hand pushed thick and long brambles beneath his fingernails, pushing up the nails as they tried to grasp onto his flesh with soft stringy bits of skin, Horangi still desperately tried to call for you; his tears flushed down to the table, creating small pools of salt beside his head.
With his vision blurred, Horangi glared at the masked man above him; towering over him, donned in a ripped and torn set of green - or at least they looked green - overalls, and a beaten and bloody old hockey mask, there was only one word that could leave Horangi’s mouth: “why?”
The masked man didn’t answer, leaving the brambles embedded in Horangi’s nails as he picked up his machete, and pointed over to a rotted skull; it was stained with dirt, turned nearly black with it as maggots and beetles scuttled over it, in through the eye sockets and out between the breaking teeth.
Gently, the skull lulled from side to side as beetles scampered over it and picked off bits of dirt to eat; Horangi felt physically ill, a deafening static ringing in his ears as he shook his head.
But the masked man wasn’t done with him, approaching and standing at his side; Horangi shook his head, soft whimpers of panic leaving him as he choked on his own tears.
“My boyfriend’s gonna be here any minute, and he’s gonna kick your ass!” Horangi howled, although the anxiety and the trepidation was so thick in his voice that it almost made him stutter.
The masked man didn’t seem phased, still moving slowly, every spasm of every muscle had a purpose as he grabbed a rusty and blunt needle from behind Horangi’s head, turning to the skull for a moment before nodding curtly and turning back to his victim; Horangi’s breath hitched, and he violently shook his head in protest until the masked man was forced to use one dirty and mouldy hand to hold him still.
Slowly, the masked man sunk the needle into Horangi’s eye, waiting for it to pop with a spurt of white fluid before he pushed it in further; it leaked down Horangi’s face, landing on his lip before slipping between them, making him gag.
He could feel it happening, the soft pop followed by the retraction, the blunt force of the needle yanking out his own flesh as he screamed in agony; stunned in horror, Horangi whimpered as the masked man pulled out his eye, letting it sit at the top of the needle before giving it a firm tug so that the thick string of flesh snapped audibly.
The masked man turned back to the skull again, waiting for something, and then nodded slowly once more before forcing Horangi’s mouth open and shoving his eyeball in; gagging, Horangi fought against it, but the masked man made him chew, and eventually, swallow.
It wasn’t right, Horangi had been gone for hours and he hadn’t answered his phone even when you rang him time and time again; maybe he got lost and dropped his phone, maybe he was attacked by a bear - they were, after all, just and just going into hibernation.
You were riddled with anxiety and panic as you trudged through the snow covered woodland, howling his name at the top of your lungs until your voice cracked and gave way.
Your voice was completely gone by the time you stumbled upon the cabin; it was muffled, but you could hear Horangi’s voice calling, howling, screaming. Instinct settled in, and you crouched down by the basement’s window, looking in.
He was tied down to a table, writhing and sobbing; you clenched your jaw tightly, blood boiling as the heat rose up through your body, breathing getting heavier and your hands starting to shake. You had to put an end to whatever was happening, so you scrambled up to the roof with the aid of the pile of fallen trees nearby, trying not to slip on the ice.
You crouched on the far side, and grabbed some of the broken tiles; with all your strength, you threw them against a bunch of cans that had been laid out on the fence. Hoping, waiting.
When the cunt walked out, completely unarmed, you swallowed thickly, and pulled your kukri from the sheath on your hip; with a deep breath, you waited until the cunt was close enough, and jumped on his back.
You plunged the kukri into his skull, able to feel the flesh quiver and ripple beneath the blade as you tugged it from side to side. He groaned loudly, flailing beneath you as you wrapped your legs around his neck, battering and cutting at his skull desperately.
He smashed himself against a tree, and grabbed you by the leg when your grip slightly faltered; you slashed his arm, watching as he recoiled and moaned.
“You fucking bastard!” You screamed, getting to your feet and brandishing your kukri as if it were a longsword. “You fucking hurt him! You unwashed cretin!”
The masked man grunted, lunging to grab you, but you were quicker, and easily used the handle of your kukri to bend his fingers backwards until they let out a howling snap; a highly trained soldier, the masked man had never encountered something like you before.
Highly trained, highly skilled, and pissed off. He didn’t know what was coming for him. You pushed the blade of your kukri into his eye when he got close enough, sinking the blade so deeply into his skull that it didn’t surprise you when you felt his eye pop, and heard the crushing of his skull beneath the weight of the blade.
He fell to his knees, hate filled and soulless eyes staring up at you. His final words mere noise.
“Ki ki ki, ma ma ma…”
With the disgusting brute slain, you pulled your kukri from his skull, and ran towards the basement, not even caring when you slid down the stairs; quickly, you rushed to Horangi’s side, and undid his bindings before gently helping him to sit up.
“Merlin?” You asked softly.
Horangi shook his head, coughing and spluttering. “You saved me…”
You smiled as you nodded slowly. “Always.”
“Excalibur,” he joked weakly, pointing to your sheathed kukri.
“C’mon,” you whispered softly, helping him down from the table before ripping your shirt sleeve and tying it around his face. “We’ll get you to the hospital, alright?”
Horangi agreed, holding onto you tightly every step of the way; even when you managed to get him into the car, he never let you go, and when he was taken to surgery for his eye, you could do nothing else but break.
Sitting outside of his room for hours, sobbing and cursing yourself; blaming yourself for what had happened to him. If you had just gone with him, if you had gone looking for him instead of waiting and thinking that nothing was wrong.
It was all your fault - your boyfriend nearly died, and it was all your fault. You had allowed him to get hurt, allowed him to be-
“He’s ready to see you now,” the nurse told you. “What were you doing at Crystal Lake, anyway?”
“We were given time off of work,” you muttered, pushing past them and heading into Horangi’s room. Immediately, you sat at his side, holding his hand tightly. “Hong-jin?”
He mumbled, nodding slowly. “Pendragon?”
“Merlin,” you said with a sigh of relief. “I’m so sorry I let this happen to you…”
“You saved me,” Horangi rasped, shaking his head. “He would’ve killed me, if you didn’t…”
You frowned, licking your lips. “I’m no knight in shining armour, you know that.”
“You are to me,” he chuckled softly. “Makes a change, though.”
You laughed softly, clearing your throat as you sniffled. “Maybe it was time you played the damsel in distress…”
“My love,” he whispered, gripping your hand a little tighter. “I’m gonna be okay - it’s not like the doctors took one look at me and said you’re all doomed. I’ll be let out within a week.”
“I’m taking the time off,” you murmured. “However long you need to heal properly, I’m taking the time off.”
“You don’t-”
“You did it for me,” you pointed out. “When I got fucking torn to shreds by that bayonet - you did it for me.”
“I love you,” Horangi told you quietly, biting back a yawn. “You’re the best knight I could ever ask for... you're my King Arthur."
#MLEM writes#horangi x reader#horangi x you#horangi imagine#horangi mw2#kim horangi hong jin#horangi#cod x reader#cod x you#cod x y/n#cod x yn#cod imagine#cod fanfiction#cod fanfic#cod fic#cod horangi#horangi cod#cod mw2#cod mw#call of duty x reader#call of duty x y/n#call of duty x you#call of duty x yn#call of duty imagine#call of duty fanfiction#call of duty fanfic#call of duty fic#call of duty horangi#horangi call of duty#call of duty mw2
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oh, here's a fun eswap Sausage fact that I think you'd appreciate— the tunnel to Dawn was one of the first he established. It both gives him opportunities to visit Dawn more frequently than he would without the tunnel system in place and gives him ample opportunities to bother Katherine at times.
He has learned that she Will Not Respond if he shows up when the sun isn't up, so he will occasionally check the sky for these purposes alone. Everyone else will have him show up whenever he feels like showing up, though.
ABJSDBKHAGJHE I LOVE that!!! He takes his gossip tunnels to go bother his bestie <3
I just. Imagine him showing up at midnight. It’s fine!!! He’ll just wake her up :) and after five minutes of trying to wake her up she yawns, rolls over, and doesn’t wake up
he’s got a clock above that tunnel fr fr
The caves of Gobland were always alive with sound: the humming of the forges, the crackling of lava, the rattling of the minecarts—and, currently, the soft pitter-patter of small goblin feet. Sausage scrambled over the pipes, checking them for any leaks. It was a simple but important thing, just something to keep himself busy. He wasn’t tired, and it was time for a routine checkup on the pipes anyway. A lava leak could be disastrous.
He was bored, though, and he was almost done checking them. Sausage took great care to keep the pipes up, and he hadn’t found a single leak the entire time. He still hadn’t found any when he finished observing the length of the pipe, leaving him nothing else to do.
He could go bother another emperor, maybe? Actually, he quite liked that idea. He hopped off the pipes, darting to his gossip diplomatic tunnels. He hovered before them, trying to decide which one to choose. He could visit Scott? He didn’t really want to visit Jimmy. Maybe…
He turned slowly to his favorite tunnel—which also happened to be the longest tunnel. Longest meaning it took several hours for him to finally arrive.
But it was the tunnel to Dawn, the kingdom of his good friend Princess Katherine.
He hopped over to the track to Dawn, checking the minecart to make sure it would run fine. He hoped the track didn’t have any holes in it—it was a hotspot for creepers due to the low light levels, and it would be a pain to deal with any issues in the track.
He should probably grab some rails and slabs to fix it, just in case. Actually—
Sausage scampered to the entrance of the cave, peeking around the entrance arc. Perhaps he didn’t need to go that far, but it would at least help him to get a closer estimate of the time.
The sun was completely absent in the sky, save what the hopeful might call a hint of pink at the edge of the horizon. The moon, at least, hinted more towards the arrival of day, hidden by the mountain on its way to sink below the horizon.
So, basically, it looked like it would be night for a while.
But Sausage was hopeful, and wouldn’t it be day by the time he arrived at Dawn? Probably?
Yeah, that sounded right. He scuttled back down into the caves to the tunnels, hopping into the cart without a second thought. He reached forward, pulling the lever to send himself shooting off down the track.
It was not quite morning when Sausage arrived. By which Sausage meant the sun was not yet visible; only her radiance shone slightly over the edge of the horizon, like a knight preparing the way for its queen.
And perhaps the sun was a queen. Or perhaps it was a princess.
Either way, he knew which one he’d come to see. And he knew the one he’d come to see wasn’t awake yet.
Well, the sunrise was pretty.
After a moment, Sausage began heading towards Katherine’s castle. Even if she wasn’t awake yet, he could still make the trek ahead of time. And the view of the sunrise would be better up there.
The sunrise was nice. There was just something special about seeing the dark of the night sky fade into a color not far from the pink of Katherine’s dress before bursting into ginger reds and pumpkin oranges and golden yellows.
The sun was fully visible when Sausage began scrambling down the tower, meaning that Katherine was almost certainly awake. That was good. There wasn’t really a point in visiting a friend if you never saw them.
If Sausage had to guess, he’d say it was about the time Katherine usually had breakfast. Taking that knowledge, he found his way down to the kitchens to indulge in whatever was for breakfast. And talk to Katherine, he supposed, but that wasn’t as important.
He was just kidding. Partially.
It didn’t matter anyway, as his guess was correct—Katherine sat politely at her dining table, slowly eating what smelled like warm cinnamon rolls and was sure to be even better than it smelled. It was also certain to have a least some form of honey in it—Sausage was pretty sure that sunborns were literally allergic to making anything without honey at this point.
Sausage tapped his way over to Katherine on soft feet, pausing a distance from her chair. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he teased, his face crinkling into a smile. “I don’t suppose you’re willing to share that?”
Katherine startled with a gasp, her head turning so fast it looked as if it hurt. Sausage winced in sympathy. “WH—Sausage! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” Katherine spluttered, turning to wipe her mouth in her napkin. When she’d properly recovered, she turned to him with an exasperated expression on her face. “Is there a reason you’re in my castle this early?” She asked.
“Of course, Kath. Breakfast?” Sausage added innocently, eyeing Katherine’s cinnamon roll. Her face clouded for a moment with confusion before clearing as she laughed.
“What did I expect?” Katherine teased, pushing her chair back to stand up. “C’mon, little goblin man. Let me get you some cinnamon rolls.”
Sausage perked up at that, following her excitedly. His eagerness grew as he watched her dish up the plate, even going so far as to drizzle it with honey. Then again, that was very much Katherine—it had to be presentable; so presentable it was almost too pretty to eat.
It was good that Sausage didn’t have that problem. Within seconds of Katherine placing the plate on the table next to hers he began devouring it. Katherine stifled a laugh at the little goblin—he hadn’t waited for Katherine to get the special chair she had for him, so he stood with his feet on the chair and his head just peeking over the table.
Sausage was too busy enjoying his cinnamon rolls to notice Katherine’s fond expression. And perhaps that was better, because Saint Oli knows he’d bother her so much more if she let on that she enjoyed his presence. He was already enough of a menace, he didn’t need any more reason to annoy her!
#eswap#eswap katherine#katherine elizabeth#eswap sausage#mythicalsausage#oh my goodness i love them sm <3#they own my whole soul#they r so silly#and the new customary SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG
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