captain yes jonny

anonymous asked:

red 37 please and thanks :)

You have landed on witchblood!Kaner–i.e. we enjoy giving Patrick inhuman, supernatural friends with no sense of boundaries, and also sometimes putting him in mortal peril.

“I’m dreaming,” Jonny mutters under his breath, watching the bright streaks of light shoot around his living room. One of them is still standing on the coffee table in front of him, a miniature humanoid figure dwarfed by the remote he's—she’s?—standing next to. “Definitely dreaming.”

One of the streaks of light darts in at that, and Jonny has just a moment to process another tiny body landing on his arm, light enough that he’d barely even know that it was there if he weren’t looking directly at it. Then a delicate hand is sneaking up underneath the sleeve of his shirt and—

OW!” The thing flits off again with a chorus of chiming laughter, leaving Jonny with spots in his vision and a rising welt on his arm from where it pinched him. “What the hell?”

“Not dreaming, Captain!” a tiny voice chirps out.

“Hmm. Too short for braiding.” There’s a tsk from just above his right ear and another feather-light weight that settles on the top of his head. “Should grow it out, we can make you look beautiful.”

“Okay. All right.” He lowers himself unsteadily to sit on the edge of the couch. “You’re … pixies.”

“Yes, yes, pixies, that’s us!” The one on the coffee table darts up, joined by another as they perch on Jonny’s knees. There must be half a dozen of the things still flying around the place. A dozen? Two? They’re moving too fast for him to keep track. “And you’re not supposed to know about us, so shhhhh, keep it secret!”

“Don’t tell anyone you saw us here,” another one adds, and Jonny chokes back a laugh.

“Really not an issue. Jesus.” He scrubs a hand across his face. “There are pixies in my apartment. I’m losing my fucking mind.”

“I told you we should’ve made Patrick come. Wouldn’t think he’s dreaming Patrick.”

“Maybe he would.” A tiny, upside-down head peeks over his forehead. Its hair, long enough to float against his nose, glows like early-morning sunlight and feels like down. “Do you dream about him, maybe? Can we watch sometime?”

Patrick?” Jonny leans to the side, trying to see around the pixie face looming in his vision, and it grabs handfuls of his hair to haul itself back up. “Wait a second—the … what the fuck did you say, the ‘witchblood'—that’s Kaner?”

“Yes! A Kane, Kaner, yes!”

“He has a special name for him!”

“Very promising!”

“Very very!”

“You’re saying there’s something after him?” Jonny demands, and every diminutive, not-quite-human head in sight starts nodding intently.

“Big bad, very old.”

“Hungry.”

“Hunting.”

“Needs a heartmate, Patrick does. Patrick, Patrick Kane, Kaner Kaner Kaner!” There’s a high titter of laughter. “Fun to say.”

“Heartmate’s the only way.”

“Gotta be realtrue love. Keep him safe.”

“Or it’ll eat him aaaaall up.”