Hello hello! My name is Dozy, dozykisses on ao3! I don't have much posted there but I looooove to comment on fic, so you may recognize me more from that if you write for fandoms I love! I'm an enthusiastic lover of selfshipping, reader/oc inserts, and women in general. I also collect a wide variety of toys, draw, and enjoy crafting!
Recently I've been missing writing more often and being more involved in the fic community, so I decided to try a blog to interact with people again! PLEASE feel free to send any kind of ask, fic request, prompt, headcanon, or etcetera! 18+ only interaction though, and keep in mind this is a sapphic-oriented blog so I will only write x reader fic for female characters. However, I am fine writing both female and gender neutral readers ^-^
More info + fandoms below the cut!
Fandoms/characters I am interested in writing x reader fic for:
♡ Agatha All Along (particularly Lilia)
♡ Disney Fairies (primarily book-oriented, this is one of my biggest niche interests in general!)
♡ Lovestruck Voltage (particularly characters from Love & Legends, Sweet Enchantments, and Queen of Thieves, willing to do AUs + crossover shipping amongst the stories)
♡ Mary Poppins Returns
♡ Resident Evil 8
♡ Switchcraft
♡ CastleAudios' Glenwood series (particularly Rose/Rose + Abby)
Feel free to request things, share headcanons, or ask me about anything at all! I am particularly interested in doing x reader stuff with under-represented experiences like readers with sensory issues, special interests, niche hobbies and etc, and readers with nonhuman traits.
I will not write hurt no comfort, character death focused things, non/dubcon, yandere, stalker, or similar "darker" dynamics/themes, I respect people's enjoyment of them but it isn't what I personally like writing!
That's all for now, I will create a masterlist once I have enough content to justify doing so! For a preview of one of my current WIPs + writing style though, check here!
why is it that when im reading fanfic i feel like i have a fairly good metric for if something is characterized accurately but when im trying to write suddenly its like ive never seen this character in my life. would he say that. would he fucking say that. suddenly i have no idea
writing is so funny because i could write nonstop for 9hrs and then hit a block where im like "how do i transition between this moment and the next?" and then i just dont touch it for 6 months
Summary: Reader settles into life with these strangers, who are more than willing to share their home with her.
A/N: Sorry this took so long, it was actually written before I'd even posted chapter one, but my health issues got in the way of my ability to edit it ♡ Hope it satisfies those who enjoyed chapter 1!
AO3 link | Masterlist (to link once I make one)
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-
The next days passed in a similar fashion, and slowly you settled into their routine.
Since they didn’t keep farm animals, nobody in the house needed to wake up early unless they were going to the market. Kira actually tended to wake first, then Holga, then the man. They traded off who cooked, but you noticed Holga tended to be given the least amount of shifts in the kitchen.
You learned the man’s name was Edgin, and he was in fact Kira’s father. You weren’t sure about Holga, though. She seemed maternal to Kira as she guided the girl through things with affectionate teasing, the two of them playful and fond, but she was hardly a wife to Edgin. The pair ribbed each other in a manner that reminded you of siblings, crude and a little mean and so deeply loving you could see it from that very first day in their home. They often acted eerily in sync, knowing what the other was doing before they’d started doing it, and they clearly implicitly trusted each other. Edgin looked at her sometimes like he was trying to memorize her face, and those moments made you feel inexplicably sad. Kira wore that look towards Holga too, on occasion, though she was better at shaking it off.
You healed fast in their care.
Kira checked your bandage once or twice a day, apologizing each time that they didn’t have healing salve at the moment, though you assumed she did it more for herself than for you. She thought you were just a squirrel, after all. Apparently their main magical friend was still learning how to make the salve and hadn’t quite gotten there yet.
Most days were filled with a mix of chores and revelry, something you hadn’t had time for in a long while. Squirrel life had mostly consisted of foraging for food, moving from place to place every few weeks, and napping, the main indulgence you had allowed yourself. And running. You chose not to think about the running.
Kira talked to you often. She seemed to like doing it, like she liked petting your fur and watching you eat the goodies she brought you. She was a smart girl, and sweet. You found yourself quickly growing fond of her.
The other two talked to you as well, in different ways. Edgin made comments about you being an unintended guest, joked about how you’d have to start paying rent if you kept living there. You knew he didn’t mean them though. He had a kind and jovial air about him that put you at ease, and you liked his music. Holga was a little less chatty with you, but occasionally engaged in one-sided banter in the way she did with her family. Sometimes she even pet you like Kira did, chin propped on her arm as she watched you intently. You started loving those moments, getting to study the lines of her face and the color of her eyes. For a woman so burly who you knew mostly handled weaponry, her touch was always startlingly gentle.
Holga was unsurprisingly the main one in charge of the physical chores around the house. One notable day you’d perched on Kira’s shoulder as she took you outside to watch Holga chop wood. Holga swung the axe with little effort, chatting with Kira all the while and smiling faintly at the girl’s jokes, a little half smirk. Her muscles bulged slightly under her sleeveless linen shirt and you found your gaze straying constantly. Especially when she started to sweat. Her tan skin almost glistened in the sun. You were particularly glad in that moment to be a squirrel and not be caught ogling like a fool.
After the first week Holga started helping feed you, too. She seemed to like having something to do in her downtime, in the little moments she had to herself. You didn’t get the sense she was a restless person, per say, but more that she seemed to want to occupy her thoughts often. She’d sit down by the window and perch you on the sill, or sink into a dining room chair and make a little pile of nuts on the table for you to eat, watching all the while. Sometimes she’d hold them out to you one by one the way Kira did. Sometimes she was serious, often she smiled at least a little. Always, the gentleness of her touch made your heart flutter.
Eventually she let you ride on her shoulder, too. That first week Kira mostly carried you around in her hands, and you let her. Both Edgin and Holga commented on how well-behaved you were, Ed wondering if you’d escaped a circus, or perhaps some rich person’s home where you’d been trained as a pet. You supposed you could’ve acted more ‘squirrelish’ but you really didn’t want to. Being cared for like this after so long was nice. Intoxicating, at times. Once your wound had healed enough that you could move around a little more, Kira perched you on her shoulder instead, to leave her arms free. And then one day when Kira was busy, Holga put you up there too.
“I have stuff to do,” she grunted. She cradled you softly as she lifted you. “This is easier.”
So you watched her wash dishes from the vantage point of her shoulder, claws digging faintly into her leather vest. It was almost overwhelming, being so close and surrounded by the musky smell of her hair, the warmth of her skin. Listening to her faintly hum under her breath, a little out of tune. Faintly, you had an inkling in the back of your mind that this was bad. Allowing yourself to get this attached to this family. Let alone to this woman you barely knew. Except you did know her, you were starting to know her. And you were liking what you saw more and more.
Your bandage came off after two weeks, though Kira’s delicate stitches (where had she learned them?) stayed in. Oh, how you missed climbing! There wasn’t much they could do to stop you now that you had more range of movement, though it only took one overly ambitious attempt before you toned things down on your own. It did still hurt a little, especially when you flexed.
“A bug and a squirrel in my home,” Holga rasped one afternoon, eyes twinkling and creasing at the corners. She sat on a stool by the unlit hearth, carving a new axe handle. “We’re becoming overrun by animals.”
Kira laughed from her spot on the floor, high and bright, as you ran up Holga’s arm and flicked your tail in the woman’s face. She spluttered a little as your hair stuck to her lips. Hopping away before her big hand could grab you, her play growl made you nearly trip in excitement. You’d never been chased in a way that didn’t terrify you before, but as you skittered across the floor around Kira’s slippers and under the table to the sound of her continued laughter and Holga’s teasing threats, you felt warmth bloom in your gut. You were beginning to feel so at home here. You weren’t as scared by the idea as you probably should have been.
–
This sense of peace was not to last, unfortunately.
It reached the third week, when you were almost healed, before something happened.
Edgin and Holga were inside the cottage doing… something. Huddled around the dining table they talked quietly, maybe about a quest, or maybe just planning Kira’s birthday presents. Things had been extremely normal in your time with them, but from the stories they told around the fireplace you knew their life wasn’t always this mellow. Even with the things you’d been through, their excursions would’ve made you gawk in human form. The excitement radiating off them as they regaled each other (and you) made them come alive in a whole new way.
You could faintly hear their murmurs through the cracked window, but you and Kira were busy yourselves. Picking through branches and twigs in the yard from the previous night’s wind storm, tossing them into the woods or piling them up for kindling. The mess was thankfully only cosmetic, but needed cleaning nonetheless. Holga had wanted to join you when Kira brought it up that morning, but Egdin nudged her and said you two would be fine. She’d relented with a huff.
You had fun bounding around the garden. Slowly the outside was becoming comfortable for you again as you healed, and as you trusted the family more and more to protect you from the predators you feared. You knew once the stitches came out they'd likely release you back into the wild, but you tried not to think about it.
Weaving around Kira’s legs made her giggle, and occasionally you’d pick up a twig and turn it around in your fingers. You were aware to not appear too cognizant of the task at hand, but the more time that passed the less you cared. The more time that passed, the deeper you ached to turn back to- well.
The roof was what posed the most trouble. It was too tall for Kira to reach, and the branches there were too large for you to grasp if you climbed up yourself. So the girl went round the house to get a ladder.
You wondered briefly, as Kira leaned the thing against the roof, if one of you should get an adult from inside. In human form you could’ve braced the ladder for Kira, but not like this, small as you were. She seemed unbothered so you tried to shake off your paranoia, telling yourself you’d been an animal too long and worried too much. It creaked as she climbed, but held steady, so you started climbing up the wall to perch at the top and watch.
You weren’t even halfway up when, almost in slow-motion, you saw one side of the ladder crack. Whether it was caused by water weathering, age, or some inexplicable fault-line you didn't know. All you saw was the moment a break splintered through the wood and the integrity of the entire thing collapsed. You saw Kira begin to tip. You saw the way her arms flailed, the wet thatching of the roof slipping ineffectually under her fingertips. She cried out shrilly and before you could think your body shifted. Your bulk grew, fur paling and feathering out, and your tail shortened as you lunged towards the girl. You heard shouts from inside, but all you could focus on was catching her, letting your body take the hits when you stumbled and broken wood from the ladder hit your shoulder painfully. Your arms closed around Kira almost like she weighed nothing, but then again it had been a long time since you’d been able to take a form this strong. The shift in gravity tripped you up and you twisted as you stumbled again, holding her above you as your back hit the ground.
Before you could even catch your bearings, a knife embedded into your shoulder, making you screech. Your arms loosened and you could barely tell what was going on for a moment as shouts rang out and Kira was pulled away from you in a dizzying twist as pain bloomed through your body. Then the world righted again and Holga was in your face, snarling. Goddess, you’d never seen her this mad. Her eyes were wild and blazing, her entire demeanor empty of that gentleness you’d come to know (and lo- like). She and Edgin probably missed what happened, you realized. What they saw was most likely a broken ladder and an owlbear who suddenly had their kid in its claws. Holga reached towards the knife, and as you jolted back your body shifted again, like pulling back from a window when you’d pressed too close. Your feathers melted back into rusty brown fur and the knife thudded to the grass as your body shrank. As soon as you reoriented you sped off towards the house, sprinting between Ed’s legs and barely hearing Kira’s startled gasp as you skidded through the open doorway and towards somewhere, anywhere hidden. Why you hadn’t run into the forest you didn’t know, but you’d come to associate this place so strongly with safety, with comfort. Anywhere else hadn’t even occurred to you.
Finally, cowering in Kira’s closet under one of her dresses, you stilled. Your mind raced, the pain and adrenalin mixing in a nauseating concoction. Why had that happened? You thought you were stuck, nothing had even slightly shifted your form before now, back to human or otherwise. While you didn’t know the details of the spell that blasted you, becoming stuck in the form you’d had when it hit had seemed pretty cut and dry until today. You curled into yourself tighter.
The sounds of rushed footsteps overlapped each other outside the closet door, louder and softer as the other three no doubt searched the house for you. Kira called your nickname softly, desperately, while what you assumed were Holga’s steps rang heavy, like she was stomping. You couldn’t shake her anger. You’d almost forgotten she was a barbarian, here in the tranquility of their cottage life. You wondered how long it would take them to sniff you out. You tried not to wonder what would happen when they did.
–
It was Holga who found you, because of course it was. Maybe Kira’s room was an obvious place since you’d been sleeping there, but nonetheless it took a long while (was it actually long or was that in your head?) before heavy footfalls finally came close and pulled aside the curtain of Kira’s closet. Dark eyes bore into your own and you felt as if you were shrinking again.
“Little rat,” she muttered, reaching down to scoop you up with the same gentle care she always had. It confused you. She seemed mad but… was that also concern mixed in? Did she maybe feel guilty for hurting you? Her gruffness made it hard to tell, but her care in handling you remained unchanged.
Holga carried you into the dining room silently, placing you on the table in a way that sent a wave of deja vu washing over you. It almost felt like your very first morning all those weeks ago when Kira had brought you out here, sun-soaked wood and fresh bread and your nickname bestowed upon you like a kiss. Except this time there was no warm blanket bundling you, no sunshine soaking into your bones. Just Ed and Holga’s grim faces and Kira’s wide eyes, all of them focused on you.
“Cinnamon..?” Kira breathed, hands fumbling like she wasn’t sure whether or not to touch you. Her uncertainty made you ache more than your knife wound did. “What was that?”
When you didn’t (couldn’t) answer her, she turned to her father, whose brows were furrowed deeply.
“I mean, it’s got to be some kind of spell, right?” he mused, looking uncharacteristically serious. “But is she a squirrel under a spell or a person under a squirrel under a spell…”
Holga grunted, crossing her meaty arms. “How would we even tell? She turned right back into a squirrel from that other beast. For all we know she could be an owlbear.”
“I have wondered if she understands us when we speak,” Kira murmured, coming a little closer finally. You stayed still, barely breathing under their scrutiny. Your shoulder throbbed silently. “She seems so intelligent.”
Hope and fear tangled together in your chest. Fear about their judgement, what they’d decide to do with you, the ache and faintly oozing blood from your shoulder that darkened your fur in a scarily familiar manner. And hope, sparking stronger by the second in your chest. Traitorous, fragile, but goddess, what if they helped you? What if you could finally talk again, laugh again? Touch the grass with your palms and feel the warm press of Holga’s li-
No, no. You almost shook your head to rid yourself of such thoughts.
Ed pulled out a chair, dropping into it heavily. “We could call Simon over, I guess,” he grunted. His eyes remained on you, the usually open and jovial blue now indecipherable. “Maybe he’s got a spell to, I don’t know, scan her or something?”
“Or!” Kira exclaimed loudly, startling you all. Holga huffed in annoyance, but Kira ignored her. The girl seemed to brighten now, more eager as she leaned in close to you. Stars above, you were glad she wasn’t hurt. “We could try just asking her.”
Your heartbeat stuttered in disbelief. You felt lightheaded for a moment, almost outside your own body. Holga and Edgin shot each other skeptical looks, but Ed gestured for Kira to go ahead, leaning back in his chair. She pulled out her own chair, sitting down and scooting so her face was nearly level with yours.
“These will have to be yes or no questions..” she muttered, eyebrows scrunching in thought. “Cinnamon… are you a person in there? A human, or elf, you know. Are you not normally a squirrel?”
The room seemed to hold its breath. Even the birdsong from the cracked windows seemed to quiet for a moment. Heart pounding, you nodded.
Their reaction was instant. Ed jolted in his seat, grabbing the table like the wind had been knocked out of him. Kira was much the same, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. But Holga… Holga growled. She slammed her palms down, startling you and making you wince when your wound was jostled, but you were paralyzed under her dark gaze.
“All this time?” she gritted through her teeth. “All this time in our home, eating from our hands like you were just some animal when you weren’t? Lying to us?”
“Shh!” Kira hissed, narrowing her eyes at the woman before fixing them on you again. “Cinnamon,” she tries again. “Were you.. Cursed, or something? Did you get stuck like this with nobody around to help you?”
Your eyes burned. Yes. Yes. You nodded again.
Kira’s eyes shone. “Oh, Cin….” she breathed. She seemed... Happy? No... grateful? Her voice weighed heavily, like she was beginning to comprehend just how much trust you’d placed in them, and glad for it.
“Ok, so, what even is this curse?” Ed finally spoke up again, seeming less angry than Holga but wary, still. Like he wasn’t sure if he could really trust you or this was some big joke. “She changed into an owlbear earlier, but otherwise hasn’t changed at all.”
Kira nodded, breathing deeply. Then she asked you softly, “Do you know anything about your curse?”
You shook your head. You did, sort of, but only insofar as being stuck as a squirrel without change for a long, long time. You didn’t know why it shifted now, of all times, or what would actually break it.
“Okay,” Kira mused. “What happened when you changed…”
“You were in danger, Bug,” Holga grunted. “And we weren’t there.” She sounded regretful under the anger, her words heavy.
“And Cinnamon caught me before I could get hurt..” Kira mused, resting her chin on her palm, gaze fixed on you.
Edgin groaned and wiped his hands down his face. “Okay, this might sound cheesy. But do you think it could be something related to, y’know, love? That seems to be a common cure-all for curses, doesn’t it? And she clearly cares about you Kira, you’re the one who initially nursed her back to health.”
Holga snorted, “You talkin’ about true love’s kiss or something? You sound sappy, Ed.”
“True love doesn’t have to be romantic, though, right?” Edgin insisted. “I mean, I love you Holga, and we did that whole thing with the tablet to save your life, and that wasn’t romantic, but it was true love. Maybe Cinnamon here loves Kira like I love you?”
Holga snorted again, rolling her eyes and leaning over to punch his shoulder lightly. The force made him wince. “Yeah, yeah, I love you too.” she relented.
“If it was… true love,” Kira mumbled, seeming a little bashful about the idea. “Wouldn’t she be back to normal now instead of a squirrel? Wouldn’t that have broken the spell?”
True love, you thought. Was it really that simple? You did love Kira, you’d begun to accept it even amidst your uncertainty about your place in this rag-tag family. The young girl made your days brighter, and her wit and intelligence was certainly something you admired. She made something inside you flare protectively. And the fear you’d felt seeing her start to fall…
What had happened in that moment? In that split second your body shifted, what did it feel like? You closed your eyes, the voices of the trio around you fading slightly as you attempted to focus inwards. The adrenalin had faded and your body ached more and more from the wound that was hopefully scabbing over now. You tried to tune it all out. What had shifting felt like?
Back when you were human and shape changing was as natural as any other spell, the spark in your core always stayed the same even as your form changed. The spark that felt most like you, your true self. That spark had remained when you were stuck under the curse, but static, like it was frozen in time. Or perhaps trapped behind glass, out of your reach. Now, when you focused on it, the spark flared, bright, a little different but flickering again. Your heart fluttered. Could it be…? You squished your eyes shut tighter, focusing on it. Like a muscle you hadn’t stretched in ages, you felt your form tremble, just a little. Goddess, it had been so long.
The talking around you stopped.
“Is she..?”
“Cinnamon, are you trying to change back?”
“Put her on the ground, in case she changes into something huge again. I don’t want to have to build us a new table if she breaks it.”
Someone’s hands grasped you gently and lifted you, before lowering you to the cool wood of the floor. Your eyes remained closed, desperately trying to keep focus on that spark, trying to draw yourself out again. You felt your muscles spasm.
“You can do this,” Kira’s voice above you came soft, gentle. A whisper on the breeze, but it burrowed in nonetheless and you pushed harder.
You pictured your arms, your legs. The way they felt to move, the way it felt to stretch them. You pictured the tone of your skin and the way your hair felt against the backs of your ears. You tried to picture it all, feeling like your insides were growing too big for your outsides before something cracked, popped loudly. Someone, probably Kira, gasped, but you kept trying. It was more than you’d ever had to work at this sort of thing before.
Slowly, surely, you felt the spark flare and take hold, and your body stretched. It grew, fur retreating and ears shifting and re-forming, your claws retracting, and by far the oddest was the sensation of your face flattening from the snout you’d had for so long. It felt like hands pressing you in all the wrong ways. No, no… all the right ways. You gasped.
You gasped. With your human mouth. You heard yourself gasp.
You opened your eyes.
Blinking away blurry vision, Kira and Ed and Holga were all staring at you.
It was silent.
“Well,” Edgin said eventually, blinking. “I guess we need to get our friend here some clothes.”
Summary: You always notice the hot blonde who visits your bar. It's hard not to, with how often she comes, and how large her body count is by the time she leaves. She's sexy, confident, and always causing headaches for your manager. After the first few times, you silently made it a personal mission to keep an eye on her while you work, just to be safe. Just to make sure she's okay when she's surrounded by so many men and always on her own. She never notices you or anyone who isn't clawing at her skirt for a chance to get beneath it.
Then, one night, you finally interact face-to-face.
or
The time Panty might actually be making an authentic female friend? No, that can't be right.
A/N: This might be really out of the blue, but the new episodes really revived my love for the characters (and improved so many general issues I had with the original series) and I wanted to do some character exploration. Particularly in a fandom so lacking in fun sapphic content ♡
AO3 link | Masterlist (to link once I make one)
Warnings: This includes brief references to date rape drugs, but nothing actually happened/was used and it is not discussed in depth. Additionally, it is crude in similar ways to the show itself in terms of content.
-
You thought you knew who she was. Maybe. You’d seen the news about the local angels fighting ghosts just the same as anyone else in this godforsaken city had (or not godforsaken? nobody could agree if the angels really were godly). Yet part of you wanted to brush off the similarities and assume the woman you saw frequenting the bar you worked at was some other blonde. The city was full of them, after all. You’d never been close enough to hear her introduce herself, and most of the time all she needed anyway was a flutter of her long lashes and a flash of thigh and men were falling at her feet. And who could blame them? If she directed her nearly glowing skin your way, you knew you probably would’ve folded too. Just your luck she seemed criminally straight. Never had she seemed to go after the chicks, though she was more than fine going after their boyfriends. Actually, it was probably best you didn’t get tangled up in all that.
You still cared though. You weren’t sure why, really. She seemed like she slept around a lot, didn’t give a fuck what people said about her, and only occasionally managed to actually reach the bar to order drinks. Mostly men ordered for her. And then she took them back to the restrooms to.. well. More than once your manager had sent someone to bang on the door and remind her she couldn’t use it as her own private sex hotel. She’d merely saunter out half-dressed and flipping your poor coworker the bird with a smirk, some poor fool stumbling behind her with drool (and likely other fluids) dripping down his face. She seemed to particularly go for hunky muscular types, which always made you wrinkle your nose. Maybe you were just too gay to understand the appeal, but the idea of being pressed up against those men made your skin crawl.
You kept an eye out for her regardless, the way you did for all the other female patrons who came through. The way your coworkers had long since given up with that particular woman, muttering and groaning about the cleanup when she’d come through, fucking shit this broad can squirt! Can you believe this, man? What I’d give to get to mop this up with something els- That type of chat always earned them an unforgiving snap on the wrist with your hand towel. It was poor taste to talk like that about patrons, even the more promiscuous ones. Even the ones who caused so much hassle for your closers with their.. mess. (And if you’d had any salacious thoughts about the woman yourself, well, that was nobody’s business.) A part of you just couldn’t shake the concern. Even if she was an angel, surely that didn’t mean she was immune to men with ill intent? To people taking advantage of her? Anyway, she didn’t even have to know you were doing it. It’s not like you were stalking her.
-
She found out you were doing it. One late night, the first night you had any kind of extended interaction.
It was a busy night, too. Patrons seemed to be nearly spilling out the windows with how many there were, mostly men slapping each other on the back and the occasional girlfriend clinging to their burly arms. Maybe there was a sports event you didn’t know about , you thought as you bustled behind the bar, pouring and mixing drinks like it was your last day on earth. The air was thick and sticky with beer and sweat. It became even thicker when you noticed a blonde head saunter through the doors out of the corner of your eye. You saw her pause, then cock a hip out with a smirk as she took in just how packed it was. God, she probably felt like a kid in a candy store, didn’t she.
She yelled something you couldn’t make out over the orders barked your way, but suddenly a veritable wave of men was sluicing down towards her, practically panting like dogs as she was lost in the sea of bodies. You made a mental note to keep tabs on her as best you could, before turning away to slide five different drinks down the bar with only minimal splash over. Your main other coworker on shift for the night had at least four baskets of fries balanced on his arms as he scooted around you to bus tables. No use calling out names on a night like this when you could barely hear yourself think. God, you wish your manager would staff better on busy nights like this. There were only two of you.
The numbers slowly decreased as the night went on though, and at first you thought it was patrons getting tired and calling taxis home. Then you realized, as you were wiping sweat off your brow with the edge of your shirt, that no, that wasn’t fully it. There were a few sleeping back there in the corner. Their shirts were mostly unbuttoned and their belts were gone. And then another came stumbling through the maze of tables and people, not even trying to pull his pants back up enough to cover his flaccid-
Okay. The herd was thinning for other reasons. Jeez, she really did get around. You decided you were too busy to scold her and turned away to wipe down the bar for its fifth time that night.
-
Thankfully it begins to clear out around midnight, and by the time it hits 1:00 am your coworker is ushering out the last few stragglers, as you go around mopping tables and gathering glasses. He then shouts that he’s going to head out too and you shoot him an exhausted thumbs up, too tired to argue with him about helping you close. You never noticed the infamous blonde leaving, which concerns you a little, but given how busy it was you figured she left on some Chad or Brian’s arm earlier in the night.
Your arms ache from all the scrubbing, and you can tell the sleep tonight will be a deep one. God , you practically want to make out with your pillow at this point. But as you make your way to the back to get your bag and clock out, you realize the storage closet by the staff room is ajar and the light is still on inside.
You groan and roll your sleeves down, your forearms slightly flushed from rinsing glasses with hot water. Then, you shuffle closer and knock. No answer. You really hope nobody fell asleep drunk in here, but there’s no way to tell what happened in all the ruckus. Wiping your hand on your pants, you push the door open.
Immediately, the smell of sex makes you want to gag. It’s thick and cloying as you peer into the poorly lit room (maybe you could get Cody, a different coworker who was much taller than you, to replace the bulb soon.. he was scheduled to come in this week, you think). Nose wrinkling at the liquids you can already see splattered across the floor, you groan out loud at the idea of having to clean this mess. So disgusting, maybe you could get your manager to install a lock on the - you swing the door open wider and see her . Your thoughts grind to a halt.
The blonde you’ve become so familiar with from afar is sprawled across a couple of packing boxes, seeming more high-definition and real than she’s ever been. Her head is tilted back and her eyes are closed, makeup glitter smeared down her cheeks and collarbone, and the collar of the dress she’d come in (no pun intended) is rucked all the way down past her pert- You cough and try to lower your gaze.
It doesn’t help. The silky black hem of the dress where your eyes fall is also rucked up, her thighs hanging open and one knee bent in a way that gives you full view of her-
You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. This is fine. You can handle this. It’s not part of your job description, but you can handle it. You’d been looking out for her, after all. (You ignore the fact that you apparently hadn’t done that very well tonight with a small amount of guilt.) When you crack one open just a little, you scan the space and find her panties (black, lacy, absolutely matching the dress she has on) hanging from the top of one of the nearby shelves, the one with the fresh stock of drink mixers. Okay. This is fine .
Adjusting your sleeves again (it’s become a habit you use to calm yourself, something innocuous patrons wouldn’t notice) you make your way over to grab her underwear, pinching them awkwardly between your fingers and trying to ignore that they’re visibly damp. Then you shuffle over to her to delicately pull her dress down and up so she’s…. well, not modest , but at least covered. Taking a deep breath (and almost gagging again at the smell permeating the space) you attempt to shake her awake as gently as possible.
Almost immediately her hand shoots out to grab your wrist, tight . You flinch slightly and then cringe at the realization that her grip is sticky .
“Whazzup?” she mumbles, eyes not even cracked open yet. Her voice slurs heavily, which makes your stomach sink. Just how drunk is she? Or worse? Had something happened? You shove that worry down.
“We’re closing,” you murmur, in your best customer service voice. Never let it be said you haven’t dealt with drunk people before, even though this situation is certainly.. different.
The woman lifts her head, squinting at you as she smacks her lips. Blonde locks fall into her eyes and she puffs them away. “Already?”
“It’s past 1:00,” you tell her, prying her hand off of you and rolling your wrist. After a moment of hesitation you ask, “How do you feel..?”
She sighs, then groans, trying to sit up. She seems visibly dizzy and you reach to support her back as she hauls herself upright. “Fucked out ,” she breathes, smugly, then she groans again. “But my… my back is killing me..”
You refrain from commenting on her apparent sexcapades in a room that was absolutely not suited for such activities. Instead you ask if she feels hurt anywhere. Then, with more hesitancy, you ask if any of her drinks tasted off.
She shakes her head, stumbling upright finally. Your hand remains on her back as you watch her sway a little.
“Nah, nah, nobody..” she smacks her lips again. “Nobody did anything, and besides it wouldn’t do anything to me . I’m built different.”
“I don’t know about that… Uh, do you have anyone I can call? Or should I get you a taxi?” you ask, handing over her panties and supporting her as she tries and fails several times to get her feet through the leg holes. The imagery of a baby deer comes to mind as you watch it.
She finally manages to get them on, but then almost tips over as she shimmies the fabric up over her hips. You ignore the way her smooth thighs glint with sweat as her dress rucks up briefly.
“My.. my car is just.. outside..” she mumbles, pushing her long bangs out of her face impatiently. “Just let me,.. Let me get my fuckin’ key-”
Immediately, you shake your head, pulling your phone from your pocket to check the time. 1:40am, too late for you to still be clocked in, and definitely too late for her to be awake this drunk.
“Not happening. I’ll drive you,” you decide, slipping your phone back into your pocket as she slumps down onto the boxes with a huff. “Just let me grab my bag and clock out and I’ll be right back.”
She mumbles something that sounds contrarian, or could just be an amalgamation of curses, but you ignore it, leaving to grab your stuff from the staff room (and scribble a sorry note to tomorrow’s opener for the mess that you definitely won’t be able to clean up, which you stick on the storage room door when you come back).
Panty is exactly where you left her, looking half asleep again in a way that, for a moment, makes your heart soften. She may be a mess but nobody can deny how pretty she is. Her sharp edges and the prowling, sometimes catlike aura she holds when she walks into the bar seem somehow softer under the closet’s dim LEDs. Or maybe you’re just exhausted from your hellish shift.
You approach and murmur to her that it’s time to go, helping her up so you can sling one of her limp arms over your shoulder. Only then do you realize she’s muscular . She always seems so slight in the tight little dresses she wears when she visits the bar, pressed up against men sometimes twice her size, but pressed against you like this now, you can feel how firm her arms are. She’s still slurring curses under her breath but surprisingly doesn’t fight you much as you guide her out of the room and slowly over to the bar.
“I just need to grab the keys to lock up,” you mumble as you help her lean against the polished wood. She melts into the surface like she’s never seen the bar before, cheek squished against the lacquered top. You think you hear something about “keys can suck my angel di-“ but you can’t quite make it out as you bend down to grab your stuff where you’d stashed it during closing. Here’s your keys, your jacket, and, oh perfect, there’s a small bag of trail mix you hadn’t had time to eat amidst the rush.
When you straighten, you offer it to her without thinking.
“Whazzat?” she lifts her head to blink at you sluggishly. Her hands grab it anyway, fumbling to tear it open.
“Something to help get your blood sugar up,” you offer, checking your phone again as you come back around the bar. “And maybe help sober up your system a little.”
“Shitty fuckin’ hangover food…” she grumbles, though you can see her shove a handful in her mouth anyway.
“Come on,” you huff, reaching to help her stand again. Her skin is warm though the silk of the shiny black number she’s wearing, and you can tell her torso is just as muscular as her arms. What does she do to maintain core strength like that? You swallow dryly. “My car is just around the back, in the staff parking.”
She clenches the packet of trail mix in her free hand, letting you sling the other around your shoulders once more. The heels she has on probably aren’t helping, but you’d rather her have shoes on than walk through a bar parking lot barefoot. You know for a fact at least two people have dropped and shattered their beer bottles out there tonight, probably more.
“Why are….” she stumbles and you grunt as you catch her weight a little more. “Why are you helpin’ me…?” Her voice is still slurring, though now she’s also speaking through a mouthful of nuts and chocolate chips.
“I want to make sure all our patrons get home safe,” you say, hoping she’ll take a simple and technically true answer. You’d never gone this far for a patron before, but that was irrelevant.
“Bullshit,” she grumbles. Her long hair sticks to your skin with your combined sweat as she leans on you. “What are you, a saint? I come here all the time and I’m fine .”
You shuffle so you can push the bar’s front door open with your arm, bracing you both as she almost trips on the stoop. “Excuse my skepticism, but you seem less than fine tonight, ma’am.” You huff, fumbling for the right key to lock up behind you.
She makes some sort of gagging sound, head flopping against yours. “ Ma’am? What am I, a grandma? Gross . The name’s Panty.”
Panty… you think. So she is the blonde angel from the news. Your hands get a little sweatier, and you mentally give yourself ten points when you’re still able to lock the bar door and not drop the keys.
“Well, Panty,” you say, as level as you can with your heart palpitating and her practically boneless against you, and your car still at least a few yards away and around the corner. “It’s nice to formally meet you. Think you can walk to the car for me?”
“What am I, a dog?” she grumbles, but she’s already stumbling next to you as best she can as you navigate around the side of the bar and towards the staff lot. It’s a small lot, thankfully, and your car is the only one left under the buzzing streetlights and flies.
You manage to unlock it and get her into the passenger seat with minimal issue, though you end up having to buckle her in. You’re careful as you lean over her, not wanting to press against her very generously exposed cleavage, but this close you get a clearer whiff of the perfume she must have sprayed there. It smells heady and sweet, if not a little over-applied. And of course mixed with the smell of sweat and sex and all the other things rubbed against her that night. You feel simultaneously entranced and a little disgusted by it.
By the time you close the door for her and trot around to slide into the driver’s seat, she’s already got her heels kicked off and her feet on the dashboard. You realize her toenails are painted to match her manicure. They’re a bright, shiny red.
“You live in that church, right? The one up the hill?” you ask as you buckle in, just to be certain. Supposedly people do use it as a church, and it benefits the city that way, but you’ve never actually talked to anyone who has. You think the idea might be fabricated to excuse the fact that the angels who live there are always costing people damages.
Panty nods, mumbling something half-heartedly affirmative through her trail mix. You can’t help but roll your eyes, but obediently start the car and pull out onto the silent street. Much more silent than it was earlier in the night, especially since this area of town isn’t a hot spot for nightlife. The bar you work at is popular mostly during the day and mostly with young adults getting drunk with friends. A fact you found yourself grateful for now, since you didn’t have to keep as close an eye out for pedestrians as you do in busier parts of the city.
Panty’s head lolls against the seat as you drive, and you think she might be looking at you. Your hands clench slightly on the wheel but you don’t turn your head.
“I don’t usually get… get along with other women,” she mumbles, and you note there might be less of a slur in it than before. Just how quick do angels recover from these sorts of things?
You hum a questioning sound as you turn on your left blinker.
You can hear her stuff another handful of trail mix in her mouth, and her next words come out muffled between crumbs. “Yeah, I’m usually fucking their boyfriends. Or dads. Or husbands. God, husband dick hits different, the way they-“
You try to tune out what she says next but you can barely make it out anyway around her chewing and the way she’s almost grinding on your seat in apparent excitement. You make a mental note to sanitize the passenger side later.
“Anyway usually women don’t like me,” she says after she swallows, clearer this time. “Sometimes they want me, y’know like my banger tits and banger cooch, but I don’t swing that way. And I think mostly women get jealous because I get so much dick, y’know? Pisses them off cause I’m sexier than them. Not that I care. Anyway” she repeats. “This is weird, is all. Usually if Stockin’ helps me she’s cursing me out the whole time.”
She turns to you more fully then, taking her feet off the dash as you pass the police station and circle a roundabout towards where you know the outskirts of town are. “Call me a slag or a bitch, it’ll help.”
You can’t help it. You snort a little, flicking your gaze to her briefly before looking back at the road. She looks unfairly pretty in the semidarkness, her sex hair and smeared gloss both a little shiny. Still smells bad though, like alcohol and bodily fluids and men’s cheap cologne.
“Not really my style,” you huff, smiling faintly all the same. She groans dramatically and pokes you on the arm.
“Come onnnnnn I can take it, call me a floozy or tell me how insufferable I am. Or are you a prude who doesn’t curse.”
“I curse just fine,” you say, “and don’t poke me, you’ll make me swerve.” Finally you pull off onto the long sloping drive up to the church. You can see it rising in the distance, like some sort of holy joke. You know nobody in there is pure and saintly.
Panty huffs and flops back into her seat. “Square…” she mumbles, picking through the trail mix for the nut pieces. She’s more or less silent the rest of the drive up the hill.
The car rumbles lowly as you pull up and stall in her driveway. Lights are on in some of the windows in the building attached to the main chapel, but the rest of the hill is silent and dark, like the surrounding graves had sucked up all the sound normal animals made at night. You finally flick the car into park and turn the key to silence it, almost jarred by the following stillness.
Clearing your throat, your hands drift to adjust your sleeves again. You turn towards the other woman slightly, who’s slumped and licking her lips. “Do you need help getting inside?”
She tilts her head back as she pours the last of the trail mix into her mouth, and you try not to look too long at the bob of her throat as she swallows. Then she crumples up the bag and tosses it into your back seat. Great.
“Y’know usually I’d say go fuck yourself, but..” she stretches and you hear something pop. Her faint moan at the sensation makes your face flush. You know she doesn’t notice. “Yeah, actually I feel dead on my feet. Just help me to the couch or something, I don’t care. I just need to fuckin’ crash .”
“You got it,” you mumble, pocketing your car keys and undoing your seatbelt. When you step out of the car, you’re shocked at how nice it smells out here. Like grass and wind, and faintly like someone had been frying something good. Leagues above the stink the city carried at night. Though as you made your way around to help Panty (already you can hear her cursing trying to undo the seatbelt) you realize it’s probably also because of your eight hours in a stuffy disgusting bar paired with the twenty minutes it took to drive here in a car with someone who absolutely reeked of sex.
You lean down to push her hands away, clicking your tongue in amusement (you can’t help it, she really is uncoordinated right now) to undo the seatbelt clasp for her. You get a whiff of her perfume again and have to remind yourself to ignore it and focus . Stepping back to let her slide out, her arm goes over your shoulder without asking, and you grab her shoes which you realize she hasn’t put back on. They’re less important now anyway.
The church steps are a bit of a hassle, but you also get the idea that she’s stumbled drunkenly up them before because she doesn’t trip once. Just shuffles like she can’t be bothered to lift her feet more than she’s already doing. The huge front doors are the same, she shoves her way through them on your shoulder like she’s annoyed they’re there in the first place. By now you realize she’s mostly using you for balance because she’s guiding you both where she wants to go without really needing to tell you anything. The chapel itself is exceedingly dim, but there’s candles on the altar that let you see, and Panty stumbles the two of you through a door towards the back.
A surprisingly twisting flight of stairs and long corridor later, Panty’s led you to a homey living room space. It’s warm, and smells better than the woman currently using you as a crutch. Nobody’s around but the light is on, so you can see their eclectic bookshelves, the tv set (which features several dents, as if heavy objects had been thrown at it), and the exact amount of mess on their coffee table, including several conspicuous bottles of lube.
“Just drop me on the couch, barkeep,” Panty groans as you stand there. “Feel free to let yourself out the way we came in or whatever.”
You do as asked, though you make sure she’s got a pillow under her head before you lower her down, and you set her shoes politely by the coffee table. She’s out almost immediately, snoring loudly and already drooling into the pillow.
You retrace your steps as quietly as you can, shivering at the vast silence of the chapel and the sense of being watched. It almost feels like a walk of shame, except it isn’t shameful to help a woman out , you reminded yourself.
When you get in the car, it still carries the smells of sweet perfume and sex, and though part of you wants to be annoyed at the way it’ll likely stick to your seats for a few days, another part is relieved. Relieved you were there to help her home and she didn’t try to drive and crash, and relieved she let you help and didn’t fight you on it. You’re sure she could. And win.
You drive home with the radio on to fill the silence, and when your head hits the pillow you fall asleep with faint dreams of dewy skin and hot breath against your neck.
Summary: A wayward curse traps reader in the wild shape she took to escape an angry warlock, and life is less kind to small creatures. Injured, cold and alone, she seeks refuge amongst people she hopes will be kinder, not anticipating how quickly and easily she slots into their lives.
A/N: I could not believe the lack of Holga x reader content so I'm taking matters into my own hands! Unsure how much audience there is for it but for those who read, please enjoy ♡
AO3 link | Masterlist (to link once I make one)
Next chapter ->
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Gods above, it was so fucking cold. The branch beneath you wasn’t frosty, but the rain and the night chill combined had sapped any warmth left in your tiny body. You crawled forward slowly, trying to ignore the way your side throbbed and the sensation of your toes going numb. Your fur was so soaked at this point that you felt more like a dishrag in a washing basin than a small mammal, and it made the wood beneath your claws dangerously slippery. Usually storms like this found you curled relatively dry in a tree knoll somewhere, or in a nest, or inside someone’s shed nestled into the hay. But tonight hadn’t just brought rain. It brought stray dogs.
Your side twinged again. You knew it wasn’t just rain making it feel so wet.
Finally you reached the edge of the treeline, clinging to the branch as a strong gust of wind shook it beneath you. The faint lights you’d been eyeing during your trek turned out to be glowing from the windows of a small cottage. They had no shed and no barn, but they were relatively far from where you’d started, and away from the dogs. They might have an eave you could take shelter under, or a hole in their roof to take advantage of. Searching for an empty knoll or nest in this weather risked running into bats, or other squirrels, and besides that you could feel your strength weakening more and more. You desperately needed rest.
Breathing slowly, you crawled down the tree trunk, wincing when the ground squished beneath your paws. Your muscles were wound so tight they almost cramped, ears straining for the telltale sound of panting or footsteps in the dark. It was hard to hear over the wind and rain, and the loud rustling of trees all around you, so you cautiously crept across the span of grass between the trees and the cottage’s garden. The closer you got, the faster you moved, before you were running at a slightly crooked gait towards the thatched walls and warm glow inside. Your heart beat so hard it made your throat close up. You kept going.
When the walls loomed close, you jumped, climbing up and cursing in your head as the bundled siding scraped your face and scratched at your wound. The roof was easier though, neat and well-kept. Smoke billowed lazily from the chimney. Now what? It was so well kept there weren't any holes you could see. Maybe they left a window cracked open?
A voice in your head screamed that nobody would leave a window open in this weather but you ignored it. What else could you do? Nothing was audible from inside the cottage, but shapes occasionally flickered past the windows, casting shadows on the pools of light outside. So people were home, at least. You prayed to a goddess you didn’t believe in that this house harbored people who liked small animals and not crotchety individuals who threw shoes at them.
Hauling yourself as carefully as you could down to the closest windowsill, you peered inside. Several blurry figures sat around a flickering shape you assumed to be the hearth. One was talking, perhaps, while another sat at their feet. The third sat across from them, holding something. You scratched at the windowpane, ignoring the dizzying rabbiting of your heart.
No movement.
You tried again, eyes aching in a way you would’ve associated with held-back tears had you been in human form. This time, the smaller figure shifted, as if turning. Then, it stood up, and you held your breath as the figure grew larger and reached towards you. You squished yourself against the edge of the window frame, unsure which way the pane opened. Thankfully when it creaked, it swung outward and away from you. Peering at you from the warmth inside was a girl, her brow furrowed and lips pursed. You shivered.
“What is it, Bug?” came a raspy voice from inside. The girl replied without turning around, still studying you.
“A squirrel…” she said. “Poor thing, it-”
A crack of thunder split the air and made you jump, falling from the sill into the cottage and landing with an unflattering plop on the floor. Exclamations burst out from everyone in the room as you quickly flipped upright and scuttled into a corner. You turned and huddled there, heaving, struggling to make out the figures around you in the sudden brightness of the firelight.
“Oh there’s, there’s blood on the floor…” The girl gasped softly, eyes flicking to you as she bent down.
“It’s hurt? Why did it want to come inside our house?” came a third voice, more masculine than the former two.
The girl got on her knees, shuffling forward minutely. You stayed where you were, eyeing her. Unable to take your eyes off her when she was approaching, but also unable to summon the strength to run away just yet. Your heart pounded in your ears as you hoped again that these people were the kind sort.
“Maybe it saw the fire and was cold?” the girl murmured. “Holga, can you get me a towel?”
The one who must have been Holga grunted, standing and plodding out of the room obediently. While she was gone, the girl didn’t move, simply sitting on her knees and watching you. The fire flickered prettily off her voluminous curls and the soft cream color of her dress. Her demeanor certainly seemed kind?
Holga returned after what was likely a few seconds, but felt like minutes in the silence. Your heart rate had slowly calmed but your body felt tense, still. The girl took the towel and began scooting closer again, this time offering a sweet smile.
“I won’t hurt you,” she cooed. “You’re okay, you’ll be okay..”
The larger figures in the room simply watched, one of them crossing her broad arms and shifting on her feet. When the girl got close enough, she reached out just as slowly with the towel, and then waited. This close, you could see the deep brown of her eyes. Yes, you thought with a certain sense of relieved finality. They’re kind.
You crawled forward slightly into the cradle of her grasp. The towel was soft and dry, and near immediately your body melted into it.
“Trusting creature,” muttered Holga, finally going to sit back in her chair.
The girl lifted you carefully, murmuring something about taking a look at you. Her voice swam in and out of your focus, your mind retreating slightly as if in a fog.
Curses and spells were finicky. As a druid you knew that well. But this one really made you want to scream. For months (was it more or less than a year now? time slipped past you so strangely in this form) you’d been stuck. Nothing you’d tried had yielded any result, and you didn’t know how or where to find some expert to help. In a land so vast, not everyone had connections, and it was easy for people like you to fall through the cracks. There were no friends to look for you, no family members who cared enough to seek you out. You still remembered in vivid detail the hot shock of sensation hitting you, curling around your thoughts and making them hazy as it melded the squirrel shape you’d taken to your soul. The warlock who cast this was a cruel bastard.
A similar haziness washed over you now, though instead of a curse, you knew it was the adrenalin fading and blood loss catching up. You felt the girl stand, the towel folding over you slightly as if to stave off the cold. In the hands of this gentle child, you let the world go dark.
–
The next morning you woke up warm, which was unusual after a storm, and dry, even more unusual. You blinked. There was faint pressure around your middle, but the ache was less strong now than it had been. Your body felt relaxed too, no crick in your neck or bugs itching your fur. As the world swam into focus, you could see you were placed on someone’s bedside(?) with a blanket, perhaps a rag or cloth scrap, tucked carefully around you. You must have been in a basket, or perhaps a small box, and someone had tucked in more rags or scraps as padding. The slanted sunshine through the windows seemed to you to indicate late morning, falling across the bedsheets in warm flickers. The room itself was empty.
Not for long though, because you’d barely sat up before the girl from last night trotted in, almost as if she sensed your alertness. Her eyes lit up when she saw you, hurrying over with a wide smile on her face.
“Hello,” she cooed when she reached the bedside, reaching out to rub a finger softly between your ears. Usually you didn’t get close enough to allow people to full-on pet you, but this was fine. She’d helped you, so it was fine. (You ignored the part of you that craved physical contact so much it hurt.)
“You seem to be doing alright,” she continued, sitting down on the (her?) bed. “We cleaned your injury, poor thing. Hungry?”
You weren’t sure if she actually expected answers from a squirrel or not. You just blinked.
She didn’t seem to, since she just smiled brightly. “I bet you are! Want to come with me?” With this she leaned over and reached towards you, and you fought not to flinch. She simply used the makeshift blanket to bundle you up carefully and carry you with her. It was warm, and nice, and so far seemed safe, so you allowed yourself to ease into it a little. You would be okay.
The kitchen was just as sunny as the bedroom, with the usual wooden cabinets, table, chairs, and cookware you’d expect to see. A little messy, but in a lived-in sort of way, especially with the smell of something in the air. Herbs? Fresh bread? Whatever it was, it made your stomach clench. It had been so long since you’d been in a place like this that the domesticity of it almost felt foreign.
The man you’d seen last night looked up from the table as you entered, a loose and easy grin on his face. He appeared to have been tuning an instrument, by the looks of it. An apple sat by his elbow, half-eaten. “How’s our guest doing Kira?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.
“Good,” the girl, Kira, said. “Do we have anything she can eat?”
“I asked Holga to get some nuts and uh, some more fruit when she went to go to the market a while ago,” the man replied, reaching to take another bite of his apple. “She should be back soon.”
“That’s good,” Kira mused, setting you down gently in your little bundle on the table. The man peered at you but seemed unconcerned, just curious.
“Awfully calm, for a squirrel,” he mused, taking another bite. Your stomach clenched again. When was the last time you ate?
“Maybe we’re just really nice,” Kira smiled at him, petting between your ears again. “Maybe she really needed help and now we’ve helped her.”
The man (her father? caretaker?) smiled at her. “Yeah kid, maybe.” He aimed and tossed his apple core out of the window near the front door. You realized many of the windows in this room were cracked open now, the outside breeze cool against your fur.
Just then, the front door swung wide. The women from last night (Holga? your memory was a little foggy) stomped in, her arms laden with sacks. “You almost hit me,” she grumbled, as Kira trotted over to help her set her items down, which earned the girl a faint smile and a pat on the head.
The man smirked. “I’ll try harder next time.”
Holga rolled her eyes, then stretched her arms over her head and turned back to Kira. “How’s your little friend?”
“Good!” Kira repeated, pointing over at where you sat, still bundled up on the table. Your wound ached too much to want to move around much, and the warmth was nice besides.
Holga glanced at you, raising an eyebrow. “Did you tie it up to keep it so still?”
Kira rolled her eyes, and it struck you how similar the gesture was to the way Holga did it. “No,” she said, huffing. “She just likes me, I think.”
“Awfully trusting,” Holga grunted, similar to what she’d said the night before. “I got some stuff for her, by the way.”
“Yes, thank you!” Kira clapped, leaning forward as Holga pulled some items out of a sack. You sniffed, but couldn’t tell what they had over the smell of fresh bread. Behind you, the sound of strings being plucked and adjusted started up again.
“Here,” Kira came over and offered you a nut pinched carefully between her fingers. When you took it in your mouth her smile was so wide it nearly split her face. Warmth bloomed in your chest at the sight, as she sat down to feed you more, mostly nuts and berries, from her hand. You ate each one ravenously, much to the amusement of the man at the table.
“We need something to call you,” mused Kira as she offered a sunflower seed. Behind her, Holga slowly put away the rest of her bounty, occasionally shooting a fond glance towards the table where you all sat.
“What about Bushy Tail,” the man grunted, twisting a peg on his instrument rather harshly.
Kira wrinkled her nose as Holga snorted. “No way.”
“Big Teeth,” Holga chimed in, leaning against the counter now with her arms crossed. Her face split into a smile when Kira groaned.
“You guys have terrible ideas,” the girl groused. You leaned over for another nut, which she easily offered. “How about... Cinnamon? Because she’s got this pretty cinnamon-colored dusting on her fur.” Here she reached out with her other hand to pet down your back.
Holga pushed off the counter to ruffle Kira’s hair. “Good one, kid.”
Cinnamon, you thought. Not bad.
Sorry for being so quiet, I’ve been stumped on where to go with the Lilia WIP I have 😭 I think I might post the first chapter of the Holga fic and then brainstorm what to do with the Lilia idea… see what gets the ball rolling again..
I got bit with the inspo bug and have been wanting to write something for Holga anyway since the DnD: Honor Among Thieves fandom is annoyingly small, and content for her in particular feels sooo sparse! IDK if there is much of an audience for this but it makes me happy to write :) So this is a tiny excerpt from a wip I'm working on wherein the reader can shapeshift but has remained as a squirrel for a long time for reasons, and is taken in after an injury by Edgin's family.
Holga was unsurprisingly the main one in charge of the physical chores around the house. One sunny day you’d perched on Kira’s shoulder as she took you outside to watch Holga chop wood. the woman swung the axe with little effort, chatting with Kira all the while and smiling faintly at the girl’s jokes, a little half smirk. Her muscles bulged slightly under her sleeveless linen shirt and you found your gaze straying constantly. Especially when she started to sweat. Her tan skin almost glistened in the sun. You were particularly glad in that moment to be a squirrel and not be caught ogling like a fool.
After the first week Holga started helping feed you, too. She seemed to like having something to do in her downtime, in the little moments she got to herself. You didn’t get the sense she was a restless person, per say, but more that she seemed to want to occupy her thoughts often. She’d sit down by the window and perch you on the sill, or sink into a dining room chair and make a little pile of nuts on the table for you to eat, watching all the while. Sometimes she’d hold them out to you one by one the way Kira did. Sometimes she was serious, often she smiled at least a little. Again, the gentleness of her touch made your heart flutter.
Eventually she let you ride on her shoulder, too. That first week Kira mostly carried you around, and you let her. Both Edgin and Holga commented on how well-behaved you were, Edgin wondering if you’d escaped a circus, or perhaps some rich person’s home where you’d been trained as a pet. You supposed you could’ve acted more ‘squirrelish’ but you really didn’t want to. Being cared for like this after so long was nice. Intoxicating, at times. Once your wound had healed enough that you could move around a little more, Kira perched you on her shoulder instead, to leave her arms free. And then one day when Kira was busy, Holga put you up there too.
“I have stuff to do,” she grunted. She cradled you softly as she lifted you. “This is easier.”
So you watched her wash dishes from the vantage point of her shoulder, claws digging faintly into her leather vest. It was almost overwhelming, being so close and surrounded by the musky smell of her hair, the warmth of her skin. Listening to her softly hum under her breath, a little out of tune. Faintly, you had an inkling in the back of your mind that this was bad. Allowing yourself to get so attached to this family. Let alone to this- this woman you barely knew. Except you did know her, or you were starting to know her. And you liked what you saw a little too much.
Rewatched the DnD movie with a friend today and I might try and cook up some Holga ideas because the fandom really really skimps on her and I have no idea why 💔 She has such a specific and enjoyable aura to me
Rewatched the DnD movie with a friend today and I might try and cook up some Holga ideas because the fandom really really skimps on her and I have no idea why 💔 She has such a specific and enjoyable aura to me
Very interested in writing fluff for AAA since as much as I adore the smut everyone creates (delicious), I keep having a comfort fic itch that's been hard to scratch. Might brainstorm some ideas once I'm done with the Lilia wip!
She likes those tins of cinnamon candies and mints
She stocks a personal jar of candy at home just with stuff she's taken from free sample jars at other places like cafes and dentist offices (she's cheap after all)
She rubs perfume on her wrists and prefers solid or oil perfume as opposed to sprays
We know she owns a sewing machine, I like to imagine she sews and alters a lot of her own clothes and knows how to mend things
Dumpster diver on occasion, she wants that good free shit
Reality TV and sitcoms are a guilty pleasure, but she prefers the older stuff to the more modern stuff
Enjoys playing card games, especially when money is on the line
I have a lot of little things in the works, but to help with engagement with this new blog, here's a wip of a current Lilia fic I'm working on! Domestic non-road coven AU, and inspired by the pet name she calls Billy two times because I wish that was me <3
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The first time you heard it was when you arrived back at the house just as the teen was leaving, nearly bumping into him as you tried to navigate yourself through the front door juggling the bags of groceries Jen had requested for dinner.
“Remember, baby,” came Lilia’s voice, soft. You froze, tingles spreading through your stomach as your wide eyes shot up to the elder witch standing in the entryway. She had a hand on the teenager’s shoulder, her lips pressed into a firm line. Oh, you thought, your heart pounding. She wasn’t talking to you, it was- right. Her expression was serious, though the effect seemed significantly lessened by the fact she had to look up at the boy.
She continued. “Look beyond the literal and trust your intuition. The more you listen, the more you can hone your ability to do so.” The teen nodded eagerly, and that’s when Lilia’s eyes flitted past him and landed on you. They wrinkled at the corners when she smiled at your (you hoped not visibly flushed) expression. “Do you want help?” She asked, her hand dropping back down to her side.
“No, thank you,” you coughed, and managed an awkward wave with the bags in your arms, quickly toeing off your shoes and shuffling into the kitchen. A faint pulse of jealousy tingled in your chest, which was embarrassing. But the butterflies also hadn’t stopped. Playing in a loop in your mind as you unpacked Jen’s veggie burgers and frozen smoothie mix was baby in that soft, low tone Lilia had used. Baby, baby, baby, baby.
