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a9f92905e9704838bcd71aeb80071163 | ['9b346014661b4cc88c7dcdc9a5299978'] | "Argh!" Tiny black servos were flung in the air, their owner sticking out their lower lip in a pout. "But it's comfortable!" The femmeling protested, irritation flaring in her field as she glared at the bigger mech.
Shockwave vented heavily. The little creature before him was most adept at getting a rise out of him, and it irritated the scientist to no end. "Solis. You have to learn how to behave if you wish to..." The scientist hesitated here, as he usually did. "Serve a Lord. One day, Megatron will be emperor of Cybertron, and you will be expected to serve him."
Solis mimicked the behemoth when Shockwave wasn't paying particular attention to her, quickly fixing her expression before her guardian could pick up on it. The scientist would no doubt lecture her on being 'disrespectful.'
"I don't want to be anyone's servant!" The youngling protested, pouting again. "I want to be my own bot and do what I want! I want to explore and be a scientist!"
Staring at the young femme before him, Shockwave vented heavily again, audios flicking in irritation. "I have told you many times before, Solis. Such is not the case for sparklings like you. Sparklings are expected to obey their caretakers, and that is what you must do." The scientist held up a servo to stop Solis' oncoming protest. "End of discussion. You're arguments are never logical."
Venting heavily, Solis slumped in her seat before the scientist's console, crossing her arms over her little chestplate, grumbling under her vents as her guardian continued with his current studies.
Solis hated having to sit still. Being a lively sparkling, she loved motion and adventure, held an innate thirst for knowledge. Most of which was denied her, though many could argue that Shockwave didn't mean to deny her these things. He taught her what he thought would be necessary for her role as Megatron's mate, and the rest of it could be narrowed down to his extreme inexperience with sparklings and their needs.
Swinging her legs, Solis glared down at the ground, wishing she would be allowed up and sent off to play, maybe even with St3v3, if he was off duty. But she was in time out... Something to be expected when a certain red femme manages to mix together several volatile chemicals and cause Shockwave's lab to be filled with dangerous fumes and toxins. Therefore, restricting the mech's work to his office console.
"Solis. Stop swinging your legs. And sit up." Shockwave chided without even looking away from his screen, single optic fixed on whatever
Not for the first time, Solis wondered if Primus hated her.
Solis vented loudly as she listened to her surrogate creator drone on and on about the functions of a Cybertronian's frame and the effects of rust, wrinkling her olfactory sensor at the big mech. "Gross!" She squealed, Shockwave ceasing his teaching and giving her a cold glare. He wasn't the least bit fazed. Disgust over how rust affected the frame, particularly the more private areas, was highly illogical, after all.
"Solis. Must I repeat that you listen and stop interrupting me?" The scientist demanded, they young femme, now about 6 vorns, huffed a loud exvent, smacking her faceplates down into her arms. "But they're so _loooong_!" She complained.
Fighting the urge to scream himself, Shockwave took a deep vent before speaking again. "As I have said many times, Solis. It is important for you to learn. Your complaints are illogical and unwelcome." The mech chided from where he sat across from the femme he had raised since she began to function. "Now sit up, and listen. Then you will be able to go."
Solis sat back, not bothering to pout or scowl at the big mech. Neither had the desired effect on the cold scientist, and, not for the first time, she wondered if something was wrong with Shockwave so that he couldn't feel like the vehicons and she herself could. "Fine." She vented, realizing Shockwave was patiently waiting for her to acknowledge him verbally.
As Shockwave went on with his teaching, voice droning on and on, Solis allowed her processor to wonder. She hadn't known anything but the facility that she lived in, Shockwave having forbidden her from leaving like the vehicons did. Where they went, Solis was curious to know. St3v3 brought back the strangest things for her, and she would love to see where they came from.
"Solis. Were you even listening?" Shockwave's slightly irritated tone cut through the femmeling's thoughts, Solis quickly smiling and nodding.
Staring at the red youngling before him, Shockwave leaned back in his seat. "Alright then, Solis." He spoke slowly, seeing her faceplates light up. "What was the last thing I said?" The way the femme's faceplates fell caused a curl of amusement to wind it's devious way through the scientist, though he squashed it as quickly as it had arisen.
"That.... Um.... I don't remember." Solis finally admitted, looking up at the purple behemoth with a stricken expression.
Shockwave vented loudly, shutting down the datapad on the table between them. "Very well. Since you are so distracted, it would be illogical to continue." The scientist stated, holding up a digit when Solis looked about ready to bolt from her seat. "However, I expect you to practice your Kaonite."
Nodding eagerly, Solis all but bounced in her seat before Shockwave signalled that she was dismissed, the femmeling shooting out of her seat and racing from the room before the scientist could change his processor.
"St3v3! St3v3!" Solis called happily as she stormed the vehicon's barracks.
"Greetings, Solis." The vehicon's engine hummed pleasantly as he obligingly scooped the youngling up into his arms.
Squirming happily in the lithe mech's arms, Solis grinned at the vehicon sitting in the chair opposite her favourite vehicon's. "Hello!" She giggled. "Who're you?" | 6b56dc111fd84efca517822abf55afcb | ['9b346014661b4cc88c7dcdc9a5299978'] |
1. The Beginning Of Horror
**Author's Note:**
> So I re-read this and noticed how TERRIBLE it was... So I re-wrote it. Still the same content, just better done I hope.
> ~Dr Z
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> Orion Pax is tricked by Megatron(us) and finds himself knocked unconscious, only to wake up in the hands of his future self, in an alternate universe... he is horrified when he realizes what sort of life he is going to be living from now on.
Orion Pax walked distractedly through the maze that was the Iacon Hall of Records,deep in thought over the future of Cybertron. A future that had been fortold by a well-known gladiator by the designation of Megatronus, the gladiator mysteriously appearing at the Hall of Records to request a meeting with the little clerk... He had asked for Orion specifically that cycle, and the young mech could well remember the horrors that had been told to him during their brief time together. In simple words, the little data clerk himself, Orion Pax, would be the destruction of Cybertron... If he could, he had to stop it before it was too late... Stop _himself_.
_What if it's too late? How would I be able to stop myself from causing so much destruction and pain?_ Orion wondered absently to himself as he left the Hall and made his way towards the meeting place Megatronous had appointed them.
Venting softly as he trod along, spark heavy, Orion wondered if there was even any way to escape this fate. A way to keep him from committing the terrible acts that Megatronous had revealed he would do should he stay here. According to Megatronus, there was a way to stop it, but that meant that Orion would have to leave Cybertron...
Orion grimaced at the thought that rose up unbidden. He had never even entertained the thought of leaving Cybertron in the past, and the very idea of it now still didn't sit too well with him.
"Pax." The strong, authoritative voice caused the little mech to freeze and turn wide, blue optics up at the silver gladiator that had appeared, hooded and cloaked in the shadows, before quickly making his way over. "Megatronous." The smaller mech answered softly.
A klik passed between them where neither said a word, red optics regarding the blue before the taloned digits gestured for the Iaconian to follow him further into the alley.
Silence fell as the two moved out of hearing of any nosey mechs or femmes and Orion vented softly in relief once they were away from the main streets. Though the librarian wasn't sure where he was being taken, he trustingly followed the silver mech that had set a course towards the red-light districts.
Orion wished he could ask where Megatronus was taking him, but he was too frightened to do so. The gladiator had never once acted aggressively towards him, but he was still wary. Megatronus had spent most of his life in the mines and Pits of Kaon. Any sane mech would be nervous around him.
"Megatronous, how are we-" Orion couldn't finish his question when something hit him hard on the back of the helm, causing instant stasis lock, optics flickering out before he made contact with the ground.
*********
Orion onlined sluggishly with a soft moan, lying still in the warmth that he had awoken in, shifting after a few moments. He was warm. Comfortable. Lying in his berth? He must be, since the ground beneath his backstrut was soft, it had to be his berth.
It came back to him suddenly and without warning, how he had been making his way to meet Megatronus, the short walk through the alley ways, and the sudden blow to the helm.
Optics shot open as Orion jerked upright, a groan of regret making itself known when a wave of dizziness washed over him, his helm making it's displeasure known with an angry throbbing, the young mech placing a servo to his helm and blinking several times.
Orion waited for the dizziness to pass before he attempted to push himself out of the berth, letting out a cry of surprise when something around his intake jerked him back into his previous sitting position. Digits shot up to feel, azure optics whitening in fear when inquiring servos closed over a steel ring and a chain.
A blue helm jerked around to look behind him, optics following the length of chain to where it attached to the wall, too thick to break and firmly bolted to keep him in place. A collar? He was a captive, but where? Who? Had Megatronus ordered for him to be brought here?
"Megatronous?" Orion attempted to call, his voice coming out in a frightened squeak, blue gaze falling onto a darkened corner, the corner where the least amount of dim lighting reached, at the sound of something _big_ shifting. Fear threatened to constrict the little mech's spark when he was able to make out the massive form of a mech reclining within the darkness, red optics staring out to watch the captive mech in interest. Megatronous had red optics... But Orion was very sure that that wasn't the gladiator.
"Do not speak the name of Megatronous _here_ , little mech." A deep, cold tone hummed darkly from the mech residing in the darkness, the red gaze narrowing dangerously.
Orion's mouth opened and closed as he attempted to find something to say in response, his attempted apology fading from his lips when the sound of hydraulics hissed, the dark shape shifting upwards as the mech stood.
Fear caused Orion's energon to run cold within his lines as a massive mech stepped out of the shadows into the dim lighting, azure optics whitening as he got a good look at the black and purple mech that slowly stepped into view... The frame was different, if only slightly, but the faceplates were _his own_! |
923e7ce2f9644a858f4746e1afa3f8fb | ['9b4612b6907d4dbe9423266328da6907'] | There were hands at his hips, pulling him in closer as a tongue traced the seam of Percy's lips, requesting entrance. He obliged. Gasping and shivering as his mouth was thoroughly and expertly plundered.
It wasn't until they pulled back for air that Percy remembered that he had absolutely no idea who he was snogging.
The other-and much larger- boy leaned in for another kiss and Percy shrunk back, both hands on the boy's chest and pushing. "Wait!" he gasped, pausing before pushing once more. "Just... Just _ wait." _
He did, and the redhead took a few moments to regain his bearings, squinting up at the other boy; trying to see him through the darkness. Percy took a deep breath. "Y- you, um, you didn't put a name... on the note."
A pause, then. "I didn't."
Percy recognized that voice. How could he not? It belonged to the now seventh year Slytherin who had picked on him for years, since his second year at Hogwarts in fact. Marcus Flint.
"I knew it." he whispered quietly, hating himself as his eyes welled up with tears.
Flint jolted back, "Y-you did!?"
Percy shoved himself away from the beam, skirting around the massive Slytherin. "I knew it was a bloody joke!" He yelled, cursing himself and his foolishness the redhead starting walking briskly away. Heavy footsteps trailed behind him, speeding up as he did until one of Flint's large hands grasped his wrist, yanking him back.
"Percy! Just let me explain!" Now that they were out from under the stands the prefect could see the other boy's face, he looked almost desperate and Percy hated him. For still trying to fool him, for trying to use him... like- like that! And he couldn't help himself, Percy let out a furious half scream before lunging at Flint. Managing to punch him _ hard _ before the Slytherin grabbed his wrists. "Calm down!"
"Fuck you!"
"Percy... Please just-"
"Shut _ UP _ you unbearable wanker!"
"Just calm down! Let me talk to you."
Percy only got angrier. Thrashing against him, trying to pull his hands free and cursing all the while. After a few minutes the larger boy apparently got sick of it because in a matter of seconds Percy found himself pinned to the ground, a large weight keeping him down as Flint straddled his legs. His wrists were held above his head and Flint's face hovered above his own.
"Get off of me!" he hissed, still trying to jerk his arms free.
"No."
Percy let out a wordless wail, so angry that Flint was framed in red. Blood was pounding in his ears and he couldn't remember ever wanting to hurt someone as bad as he wanted to hurt Marcus Flint right at that moment. But no matter how hard he thrashed and pulled and snarled, he could never move more than a few inches in the stronger boy's grip. It felt like forever before Percy was finally too tried to do more than weakly twist in the hold. Flint remained unmoved, staring down at Percy with worried brown eyes as he panted beneath him.
Then, suddenly they were kissing again.
Mouths crashing together violently, fighting for dominance with tongues and teeth. Somehow Percy's legs ended up wrapped tightly around Flint's hips as they grinded against each other, gasping into the kiss as they pressed closer. Flint had one hand firmly on Percy's arse using the grip as leverage for more friction; Percy moaned and the Slytherin invaded his mouth. Taking control and leaving Percy almost boneless as they pressed together.
He reached up, fumbling with the older boy's shirt while Flint sucked on his neck, stopping occasionally to bite down, making Percy howl and arch up into him. Loving every second of it. He tore the shirt open, buttons scattering as he started pushing the fabric off the muscled body above him.
Both Percy's shirt and sweater were gone and he didn't know how or when they had been pulled off him, all he could focus on was the layers of fabric separating their cocks. Flint bit down again and he gasped, knowing that it would bruise by morning.
Their lips crashed together again, and Percy squirmed wantonly as his bottom lip was sucked then bitten right before Flint roughly took his mouth. He was panting, gasping for air and pressing impossibly close to Flint's heaving chest, he was close. His hips jerked up unconsciously. So close.
And judging by the gasping moans for the boy above him, he was too.
Flint whimpered when Percy forced his hand down his pants, grabbing his cock and stroking it roughly. Their mouths still fought, still intertwined in a harsh kiss and Percy cried out as a hand wrapped around his dick, jerking him off as they panted together.
Then Percy was coming, arching into the hand wrapped around him with a muffled scream. He dimly recognized feeling Flint come into his hand as he fingered his slit. They rode out their orgasms, still grinding together before falling into a sweaty pile as they finished.
Flint started nibbling lazily at Percy's jaw.
After a moment he pulled away, tugging Percy up into a soft, gentle kiss. He went willingly, his mouth moving carefully against the larger boy's.
"I love you." Flint whispered against his lips.
Percy froze. "W-what?"
"I love you."
"Y-you..." He said dumbly, "...But you hexed me... just last week."
"Yeah." He pressed his face into Percy's neck, inhaling deeply.
"I don't... You... What?"
"You were ignoring me."
"I was... Marcus, you can't just hex people." He suddenly realized that his hand was repeatedly running up and down the Slytherin's back.
"You wouldn't even look at me."
"Yes, I was ignoring you. Because you've been an absolute prat since the day I met you."
Flin- Marcus mumbled something illegible into Percy's shoulder.
"Pardon?"
"I, um, didn't know how else to get you to notice me." | 7ef8862951644b618044de6d8532907b | ['9b4612b6907d4dbe9423266328da6907'] | The material fell away to reveal a simple, almost crudely cut glass vial. It was small- compared to the shear amount of fabric that had surrounded it- the container could comfortably sit in the palm of his hand. The glass was thick and clear and the potion seemed to float in the centre of the vial, a large tear-drop of soft illuminant blue with subtle swirls of purple peeking through.
Pride fluttered up in his mind and Percy let himself grin widely as he cradled the small potion in his hands. It was beautiful, deadly and his. There was no cure for this, he knew, no cure, no replicas or sister, no name. He had made it in a small unassuming room at Hogwarts, using dangerous and deadly ingredients, some stolen from Snape’s precious collection and some found deep in the heart of the Forbidden Forest late at night. Percy had slaved over his cauldron for months, nurturing his creation until it began to glow that wonderful otherworldly blue. It was his.
Percy thought it was fitting that his potion was nameless, because- like the deadly green light of the Killing Curse- it was unknown exactly how it killed its victims. Well, he knew, but that was unimportant. And he felt that naming it would somehow add a label or create an assumption that that name was linked to how the pretty blue and purple liquid slowly stole the lifeforce of the drinker. He didn't want people to know how, because then they would be able to learn how to reverse it- to make a cure.
Luckily, it was only possible to discover the origins and therefore the cure to a poison if there was more than one in existence, or if the notes and ingredients list were available to the potions master deciphering it. But Percy was smart, and he didn't want anyone to be able to force his creation apart piece by piece.
His notes were useless fragments of ash, dust that had been spelled to repel summoning and -if somebody managed to overcome the numerous wards and curses that were present on the ash, and if they managed to find each and every individual spec- spells that resist repair and renewal charms. He had never written the ingredients down, instead deciding to rely on his memory and strong occlumency shields. And the poison was one of a kind, and it was currently resting innocently in his hands. The potion was virtually undetectable and even if traces of it were discovered, the only thing they would be able to identify is that it was the cause of death.
The cause of death will be an unidentified, untraceable, incredibly powerful poison.
Percy wasn't sorry for what he was going to do. He had no regrets. He had briefly- once or twice- entertained the idea of just leaving this world behind, of packing up and leaving. Living the rest of his life somewhere far away. But he knew that his type of pain didn't fade with distance, he knew that it would always haunt him. Eating away at his heart and soul and leaving behind only a sad empty shell of a person. This level of hurt doesn't fade.
And Percy was so, so tired… tired of all the hurt, the pain.
Slowly, he twisted the cap until it opened with a cheerful ‘pop’, a small gasp of fumes rose up, filling his room with the sweet scent of fresh grass and rain. He was still for a long time, eyes closed as he breathed it in. He could feel himself relaxing- a side effect of the fumes- and his previously straight and perfect posture relaxed as he slumped into his chair.
As he brought the vial up to his lips he glanced towards the letter sitting before him on the desk. A small hateful, vindictive side of him wanted them to hurt too. He wanted them to see how much pain they caused and he wanted them to feel it too, he wanted their guilt to eat at them for the rest of their lives, he wanted it to destroy them. But he knows it won’t. They won’t really care- not that much. They might be sad, for a bit. Mum, he knows, will cry and Arthur, he would mourn. But they’ll be ok, sooner with him than if it had been any other one of their children. He didn't know how it would affect his eldest brothers, would they miss him? The twins would pretend to mourn out of courtesy to their mother, but as soon as they could they’d be celebrating his death, probably along with Ron and Ginny.
Tears pricked at his eyes and he angrily blinked them away. It doesn't matter. Not anymore.
He moved to lie on his bed, preferring to be found there rather than a crumpled heap on the floor by his desk. The thin redhead once again brought the vial to his lips, he tilted his head back and poured the smooth blue and purple liquid down his throat.
He started to feel the effects immediately because- while it didn't work as fast as Avada Kevada- he had still designed it to be relatively fast working. He didn't want to be saved.
His vision blurred, fluctuating rapidly between the clear of his glasses and a blotchy, hazy mess. His concentration wavered, his muscles struggled to support his seated position and he collapsed back onto his bed.
His conception of time was gone he had spent what seemed like forever in the distracting haze and he could feel his life bleeding slowly away with every breath, the warmth of the potion was spreading quickly through his veins.
It was so peaceful- dying. The pain and hurt was fading, replaced by a sweet welcoming black embrace, and Percy welcomed it. The room was rushing around him, his ceiling an indescribable grey-black blur and his eyelids grew heavy, forcing them to stay open seemed to be too tasking of an effort. So he let them close. Listening to his rapidly slowing heartbeat and laboured breathing he was finally at peace. His breaths grew even more stuttered and they began to catch in his throat, his heart tried futilely to keep beating- and failed- forcing out a few final desperate beats. The warm black ate away at his remaining pain and tugged him softly- forcefully- away from the final few parts of himself that were still holding tightly onto life.
As Percy drew in his last breath and his heart gave its final beat, one thought fluttered lazily to the surface of his mind.
'I wonder how long it will take them to notice.'
**Author's Note:**
> Thanks for reading! |
bc2117b1cb0b483c876ebc53e0af5e7b | ['9b657afc094c4bd6a1670f291865b9cc'] | early winter mornings
**Author's Note:**
> hi!! im putting my own headcanons in here for kaminari and bakugou,, and just some other stuff. I was practicing how to not write so much dialogue and just write scenery. or something. not really sure,, but enjoy!
The early mornings of winter were always Kaminari’s favorite. When it was quiet, the hour too early and the sun not even over the horizon as he quietly walked down the halls towards the kitchen. His feet slid and shuffled on cold flooring, blanket dragging behind his steps. His breath just barely visible in the form of a puff of water vapor.
No one was up at this hour, and it gave Kaminari the time to think. It gave him the time to ponder over his future, his grades, his friends. He would often stare at his hands and count the scars while making himself something warm to drink. He would seethe with anger and clench his fists and curse at himself for being too reckless with his quirk again.
He was a bit of a pessimist when he was alone.
Sometimes, Bakugou would be up at the hour too. He’d come in wearing thermals and socks, yawning and whispering a goodmorning and giving him a slight hug. Once in a while, Bakugou would walk Kaminari to his room so they could both rest for a bit longer.
Bakugou wasn’t a very touchy person, but sometimes he’d let it slide.
Today, Kaminari woke up at 3 am. He yawned, brushed his teeth, slid his book bag to the side and went to venture to the kitchen. His feet were practically numb against the flooring, the wool blanket dragging behind him ever so. The only light emitted from his phone, acting as a flashlight in the dark corridors. Once in a while, he could hear the occasional shudder or creak of a pipe near the walls.
Managing to get to the kitchen, he grabbed a mug and sat.
Kaminari was thoughtless at this moment. His mind went blank, staring at the blank white mug and twitching his fingers a bit. The urge to pick the skin around the nail was strong. Just barely, he rubbed the calloused padding of the index on the thumb. So close...
The quiet clanking of the mug being taken away and a hand grasping his left pulled him out of his haze.
“Oi, hotshot, don’t go zoning out now.”
Kaminari stared at Bakugou, the sleep slowly catching up on him from waking up at the early hour. The other seemed disheveled; his shoulders were tense and his eyes were watery.
Kaminari knew he needed to comfort him. Even if it was too early for physical contact, or to even talk, Kaminari knew too well that Bakugou needed a form of comfort. So he stood, shuffling over to Bakugou and just managing to wrap the blanket around his shoulder. The wool scruffed his neck a bit.
Bakugou huffed, arm just barely wrapping around his waist. It was a feather touch, the feeling barely felt from the clothing, fingers lightly hovering over the shirt. Kaminari was tugged a bit, both leaning into each other and creating a slight warmth between them.
What felt like hours of standing and enjoying the silence was minutes of the kettle finishing and steaming. The scent of the passion flower and ashwagandha tea was intoxicating and warm; it gave Kaminari the feeling of a warm summer day with honey and bonfires. The type of day you spend with your romantic partner and do nothing but enjoy each other’s presence as the stars shine and a fire brings warmth on the brisk summer nights.
Kaminari craved that with Bakugou. He craved being able to comb his hands through his hair as they rested in his cold AC dorm, alone and silent. He wished to always be able to hold Bakugou on the nights where the nightmares weren’t able to be beat.
He wished and craved and hungered, but Kaminari had learned patience and time was the best factor with Bakugou. Even if it took his whole life and career just to be able to hold Bakugou, he’ll wait.
The arm around Kaminari’s waist tightened, and he laughed a bit and let himself be tugged towards Bakugou’s room. He grabbed his mug, sipping a bit and letting the tea soothe his slight anxiety. His feet were still frigid against the floors, but the amount of warmth Bakugou radiated was something to make up for it.
As they past the dorms and while the sky got a bit brighter, the two entered Bakugou’s room. The carpet gave Kaminari’s feet slight relief, the two sitting on the small bed and letting their weight sink it a bit. They basked in the silence, the only real sound being the sipping of their drinks and the sighs of content.
Kaminari decided to test fate and, after finishing his tea and placing Bakugou’s on his small bedside, hugged him and pulled him down to lay. There wasn’t any resistance, nor was there any shout of anger. Bakugou laid down and let himself be hugged by Kaminari, his arm lingering behind his back.
Both of their touches were feather-like, just hovering and lightly placed on each other’s backs or chest. They were calm; the wool blanket draped around their bodies and concealing their warmth. The only movement was their chests moving to inhale and exhale, eyes slowly drooping.
Kaminari felt a small kiss being placed onto his head, a smile ghosting on his face. Eyes closing, he felt a hand shift to press him close to Bakugou’s chest. The fabric of his shirt scruffed his chin a bit, but he did nothing but embrace the other.
Sometimes, the early mornings of winter were Kaminari’s favorite. | 2d7ebc53360f4638aee81ae8707f18cc | ['9b657afc094c4bd6a1670f291865b9cc'] |
1. Bakugou Katsuki - Atychiphobia
**Author's Note:**
> Atychiphobia - the fear of failure
Bakugou was brave. He was top of the class, strong as hell, knew damn well he was attractive, and overall knew he was better than the average person. However, Yuuei proved to be a challenge to that ego. From people not backing down and having a strength over him, Bakugou’s fear bit at him every time he trained or studied.
However, he was known for being stubborn. And refused to listen to it. Some could say it’s his common sense filter being blocked by his own ego. Others could say it’s a fear telling him to snap out of his daydream fantasy.
But Bakugou knew damn well he never got nightmares about failing. He hasn’t had nightmares since he was a _child_.
So, holding an exam paper with a large, neon red ‘F’ on the center was the first thing that screamed “nightmare”. Or how his vision blurred and suddenly he was in the 20th seat, his peers’ eyes turning back towards him with smirks on their faces. The eyes seemed to be empty, almost corpse-like, as they never blinked or watered.
Bakugou wanted to shout. He wanted to scream, explode everything and start to destroy the room. But he found himself glued.
Slowly, his classmates stood. The scene blurred; it was like he was just waking up from being hit on the head with a baseball bat. He watched as they crowded around him, faces blurring and features vanishing as they became husks.
They weren’t his classmates anymore. Hulking, massive Nomus stood, all bearing the vague feature of one classmate. One had glasses. Another was covered in scorch marks and looked to have hypothermia. They were laughing a dead wheeze, the voices scratching at his head and making his chest tighten. Fingers pointed, papers and exams with failing numbers on them falling around him as the room span.
It took him three fits of trying to shout for him to realize that he was sobbing.
And then it silenced. Quiet, eerily silent as he stood, wiping the snot and tears from his cheeks. He looked around, the only light barely shining on top of him. Like a candle, it dimmed and brightened and flickered, as if it threatened to go out at any moment.
A large light blinded him, Aizawa standing before him. But it wasn’t Aizawa. It had his hair, his face, his clothes, his body, but it wasn’t Aizawa.
“You used to be so smart, Bakugou. Now you’re failing and can’t even defeat Mineta. You’re losing muscle and weakening; if you can’t pick it up, I’ll have to expel you.”
Bakugou wanted to cry out, he wanted to shout, he wanted to _explain_. He wanted to wake up. So, so much. ‘Let me out!’ he wanted to shout. ‘Just let me go, please!’ he pleaded in his thoughts.
And those thoughts echoed around, mocking him and repeating as Aizawa droned the same sentence. But then it melted. The flesh and hair slowly fell off, the skin and clothes piling into another form.
Midoriya.
“You were so strong, Kacchan! You used to be able to beat me every time, and win. Win, win, win, win! All wins! But you’ve dropped. You’re no longer the best. You failed. Failed, failed, failed! Failed! You failed! How does it feel Kacchan? Knowing you’ve failed to me? Is it good? Is it sweet? Is it like…”
That wasn’t Midoriya. It wasn’t him. Bakugou knew that damned nerd anywhere, and it wasn’t _him_. It held the form and appearance, but he couldn’t see his eyes. His freckles. His hands. His eyes weren’t his. They were sharp, more yellow than green and more tired. His hands were too large. Too large for his small frame.
His freckles weren’t freckles. They were _holes_. Holes, seeping and bleeding out ooze and sludge. The same sludge that once choked him. Almost killed him. The sludge piled around its shoes, inching towards Bakugou as if trying to suffocate him in his own tears and exhaustion.
“Look at Kacchan! Look at Kacchan! He can’t even stand up!” Midoriya shouted, kicking him into the rising pile of sludge and ooze.
“Crying, snot covered Kacchan! What, Kacchan, can’t stand? Can’t move? Can’t _speak_ ? Can’t even think? Huh? Kacchan, Kacchan, wait up! I said wait up!”
It laughed, covering its mouth with its too large hand and letting the ooze slowly choke him.
And it melted. Down, like wax on a lit candle. The skin and hair piled and ashed, and standing there was his mother. It wasn’t his mother. It was. Was it? Bakugou wasn’t sure. It was but it wasn’t. It looked liked her. It sounded like her. It almost acted like her.
“Katsuki! You failed _again_! You let yourself drop and drop and cry! You weren’t good enough! You’ll never be good enough!” It screeched, spinning around the apparent room as Bakugou sobbed. He felt his eyes sting and his cheeks hurt, and his ears felt warm. Something was dripping out of his ears, and Bakugou raised a hand to feel the warm, sticky fluid of blood and puss. It stuck to his skin, almost like glue as he tried to rub it off.
“Katsuki, you didn’t do it right! You never did it right! You can never do it _right_!” It continued, reaching a hand and smacking Bakugou’s head back and forth, the blood rushing down his neck and the puss sticking to his hair as it spattered outwards.
And the spinning stopped, the room coming to a halt and Bakugou felt his body be flung backward. A sharp, nailed hand grabbed his scalp, the feeling of something dripping down his neck and down his shirt warm and sickly. |
4ed9db0b8aea4d82aa035f49e2d95d9a | ['9b7711a819564cedb4aee0afd8c87a25'] | “Isaac wait! You can’t go alone, Derek will kill me if anything happens to you.”
“Right, then come on, before I lose the scent.”
Allison followed Isaac, they were running through the woods for almost thirty minutes before she heard it. Before she could turn she was being thrown against a tree, screaming Isaac’s name as she hit the ground. The wolfs eyes were glowing a dark red, and he was bigger than any of the other full form wolves that she had ever seen before.
Isaac’s eyes glowed a golden yellow as he lashed out at the wolf, Allison was unable to really move, sure that she had a few broken ribs, sided with a concussion, she was slouched against the tree, aiming her crossbow and hitting the wolf dead on in the back, as Isaac continued to fight claws digging in every chance he got. But even that wasn’t enough as the Alpha wolf grabbed his wrist, bending it backwards, his own claws lashing out, piercing deep through the flesh of his chest.
Allison screams again as Isaac falls to his knees, he wasn’t dead but he was wounded enough that he was down for the count, the cuts from the Alpha being worse than if from a beta or an omega, taking much longer to heal. She was working on reading her crossbow again when the wolf turned full attention to her, eyes wide as she shot out the last arrow, pegging him in his left shoulder, he lets out a small howl, and Allison smirks because she knew she wasn’t going to make it out of this, but she had at least hit him.
She’s not scared when she is jerked up from the ground, she doesn’t even flinch at him, “Just do it.” She says through gritted teeth, the Alpha’s grip on her neck was tight. She wouldn’t give him the pleasure of showing him any fear, knowing that’s what he got off on, maybe even more than the kill itself.
The next moments she is thinking about her dad, she worries how he will handle this, and she knows that he is going to need all the help he can get, but she also knows that the pack will be there for him. Then she thinks of the pack, Stiles first, because next to Isaac, he was her best friend, and the one she could tell all her secrets. Then Scott, he was her first love, and even to this day, a small part of her still loved him, but in the same way she loved the rest of them. Derek and Erica, each of the three had come a long way, and they were going to have so much to worry about in the next few days with the baby coming. Stiles and Derek were going to be great parents, Jareth was a very lucky baby.
Then there was Isaac, she could see him laying on the ground to her left, and a single tear falls for him. After four years, they had come the farthest, she had never thought she would be as close with anyone as she was with Isaac. And she thinks just for a moment that she could have even loved him, and then she isn’t thinking anything anymore.
———————————————
It was dark and he was almost cold by the time he came to, groaning and hand lifting to where it still stings across his chest. He mutters something about kicking the wolfs ass and he is rising to his feet slowly in the next moment. That’s when he realizes it, it’s quiet, too quiet, Allison, he looks everywhere, turning and twisting until his eyes land on her all too still body. Stumbling as he runs to get to her, landing on his knees right beside her head, his head is already shaking no.
No, nononon, no. He quiets himself for a minute, straining his ears, maybe it’s just too faint and he can’t hear it because he is breathing too heavy. So he stops all together, holding his breath, eyes closed as he listens, waiting, but there is nothing, the only heartbeat he can hear is his own.
Eyes fly open and they are already glowing golden, as he is shaking her body, “Allison, come on. You can’t— You can’t be.. I promised Stiles.. I swore to him that I would bring you back.. You can’t make me a liar can you?.. Please.. please.. Allie.. don’t do this..” He is begging, his words coming out in a rush, half choked sobs as he can feel the sting of the tears behind his lashes.
His hand is darting out, he remembers that time in Deaton’s office, maybe he can take it away, maybe he can make it better. He is clutching to her chest, willing the veins in his arms to pop, begging for them to change to black, “Dammit, work.. just work.. please, I promised.. Allison just let it work..” The tears are now staining his cheek, nothing is happening, just the wind blowing through the trees causing the leaves to rustle and fall around them.
“I’m sorry.. Allie I’m so sorry.. I was supposed to protect you.. Me, that was my job.. I’m so, so sorry…”
All he can do is lift her in his arms, her limp body falls against his chest as he carries her from the place where she died. He holds on to her so tight that he is scared he is going to break her, loosening her grip on her, his face is blank as he walks from the woods back to her car. Fumbling with the door, he lays her in the back seat, his hand lifting to brush her dark locks from her face, her skin was icy under his warm fingertips, “I’m sorry.” he whispers once more.
——————————————————
When the car pulled up at the house hours later, he sat outside for as long as he thought he could before someone would come out and check on them. He heard them all inside, accompanied by a new sound. The baby. Jareth had been born while they were gone, and now he was here and he had to go in, he had to go inside with Allison in his arms.
He pushed open the front door, Allison lifeless in his arms, as he walks down the hall and in an instant the noise in the other room stops, except for Stiles. He’s asking what’s going on, because he unlike the rest can’t hear. He can’t hear that there is only one heartbeat coming into the house, and he can’t sense the pain and sorrow and anguish coming off of Isaac as he makes his way into the opening.
Stiles immediately hands the baby to Derek, his eyes drifting along Allison’s body and then to Isaac’s face. Horror spreads across his features, the tears are evident as he pleads, “No. Isaac, no.” And all Isaac can do is shake his head as Stiles comes closer, but Isaac pushes past him, clutching her tight until he is in front of the couch. Slowly he is kneeling down, laying her as gently as he can down onto the soft cushions, once again moving her hair from her face.
It shouldn’t hurt this much, but it should also hurt worse, his mind keeps playing the past 5 years. From when they hated each other, and it took all everyone could do to get them to even sit together at lunch. To the night she would sneak into his bed and he would wake up because she had taken all of his covers. And in that moment, he thinks he could have loved her.
He stays there, his hand gripping tight to hers, head hanging against his chest, he just wants to make sure she isn’t alone, before he finally looks up. The faces staring at the two of them are full of sadness, and he feels as though it’s his fault, and he catches his breath, the only words falling from his lips are small and he knows they will never be enough.
”I’m sorry.”
**Author's Note:**
> I don't know what is wrong with me and killing characters. But I had feels and then this happened. Kuddos/Comments would be greatly appreciated. | fbe66c51543e42638e0eb8dab6e3ceb0 | ['9b7711a819564cedb4aee0afd8c87a25'] |
He's Just Sleeping.
**Author's Note:**
> This is my first fan fic, and I want to continue it but I guess that all depends on the feedback! Also, I think I broke something within myself writing this.
Stiles was sitting on his porch waiting for Derek to come over just like every other night this week. Except tonight he was late, and Derek was never late. Pulling out his phone to check for messages and seeing he had none, he sent a quick "where are you" text to the alpha. He was probably just caught up in some werewolf drama with Jackson or Issac. Those two were always in need of "Derek Attention" as Stiles liked to call it.
He was getting kind of chilly so he went inside to grab a small blanket to take back out with him. As he went out to the porch swing there was still no sign of Derek. Checking his phone again, he was over an hour late. Debating whether to go for a walk or not, because if he did and wasn't here when Derek got here he might just leave, but he was bored. and had nothing to do. and it was Derek's fault for being late anyways. "Stupid sourwolf" he mumbled to his self. Leaving the blanket on the porch swing and zipping his hoodie up, he decided for the walk.
He had walked about 2 blocks and something inside him had felt weird. It kind of stopped him in his tracks, something he had never felt before. "What the..what the hell is wrong with me?" He started walking again slowly and the pain hit him again. He had stopped at the end of the street, himself having to lean against the lamp post that was planted there, something was really wrong, where was Derek when he needed him? When he needed to tell him to calm down, it was probably just that sandwich he ate earlier, the cheese didn't look all that great now that he thought about it.
Turning around quickly, he thought he heard his name, he looked around but saw nothing, nobody was there. His heart rate quickened and his breathing got heavy, if this was someone playing some kind of prank, he was going to kill them. He kept walking, almost back to his house by now when he heard his name again, this time fully stopping to turn around looking into the complete dark behind him, "H-Hello? Who's there, Scott? Dude if this is you trying to screw with me, its so not funny." He shoved his hands in his pockets and started to turn when he heard it once more, this time a little louder, enough to recognize the voice, "Derek! Where are you creeper wolf? I know it's you, I can tell your voice."
He waited for the wolf to answer but heard nothing for a few minutes, "Come on Derek? Wh-where are you? It's getting past the point of creepy now." He huffed out a breath and mumbled something about Derek paying for this later, he shrugged and decided to continue walking back towards his house. He walked about another block before he heard his name again. "Sti-less.." His heart felt a panic, and that's when he saw him, Derek, laying on the ground, he was curled over on his side, and Stiles could see that his shirt looked wet, but wet with what? "What are you doing on the ground?" He walked over to the man on the ground kneeling down beside him and he smelled it, it was so strong even his human senses could pick it up, blood. "Derek? What's wrong? Are you bleeding? What happened?" He panicked flipping the wolf, grunting as he rolled him to his back, only then did he see the two holes in his shirt, the source of all the blood. "What the fu-" His hands moving to lift the wolfs head from the ground and sliding him onto his lap, the wolf hissing from the pain, "Hu-nnt-" He seethed out through his teeth, grunting with each movement, eyes closing from the pain.
There was so much blood, more than Stiles had ever seen, he lifted one side of the others jacket and his shirt was soaked in blood. What the hell happened to him?! "Derek, come on wake up, DEREK?!" Seeing that his eyes fluttered back open, Stiles let out a relieved sigh. "Hey you, what happened, where is all this blood coming from?" Trying to hide the worry in his voice, but knowing it was no use, fully aware or not he knew Derek could sense it. "Wolfsba-ne. Hunters" he grunted, and by this time Derek had started coughing up blood. There was no telling how long he had been laying here, trying to get to Stiles house, and he thought he was just being a dick and being late. The wolf grunted at the pain as he spoke, his body clenching and arching at the same time. Gritting his teeth and grabbing the teens arm, trying to find any sort of relief he could, taking in the boys scent, his mate's scent. "Hey, hey, calm down, I'm right here, I'm going to get Deaton, look I'm calling him right now" he mumbled as tears were starting to form in his eyes.
Seeing his mate in pain was not something he was used to, and he didn't like it. But he knew from the last time that Derek was shot with wolfsbane that it was serious. He didn't know what to do, where were the bullets? Could he find them, would he be able to find them in time? Should he leave Derek, what would happen if he left him here alone? "Derek, where are the bullets, huh, I need to know. Where were you when this happened?" Running his hands through the wolfs hair, he tried everything he could to ease some of the pain.
Coughing from the pain, Derek didn't want to tell Stiles that the bullets were gone, and there was no way to save him, he knew that he was shot near the water, and with the current, there was no hope in finding the hunters who had done this or any bullets. He didn't want to scare him, he had already been laying here for a few hours and the wolfsbane had already made its way through his body, he could feel it pulsing through his veins and he knew that he was dying. He knew it wouldn't be long before he was gone, but his mate had found him, the one person he needed to see, and that in itself had taken some of the pain away. Feeling Stiles body warmth against him one last time, hearing his voice, was more than he could have asked for in his last moments. The last few months had been the best of his life, he even found himself laughing again. So no, he couldn't do this to him, he couldn't tell him there was no way to save him. But he couldn't lie to him either.
He reached up and grabbed Stiles hand in his own, breathing quick shallow breaths, trying to mask the pain. He felt the sting of tears in his eyes, and the wet roll down his cheeks, "Stiles, I can-" coughing again more blood coming out of his mouth this time. He could see the boy trying not to freaking out more and more. "Gone, they are gone. no bullets." He managed to get it out. He could feel the poison working its way deeper in his veins, feel his body weakening, starting to lose its grip on life.
Stiles tried to wrap his mind around what he had just heard, what did he mean they were gone, that there were no bullets. There had to be bullets, without the bullets he would die. "No, Derek, there has got to be bullets, please, there has to be" the tears were falling from his eyes blurring his vision. He squeezed the alphas hand, and wiped his face with his other hand, not caring that he got blood all over himself. "Please tell me you are wrong, tell me you have the bullets." The sobs coming from his chest could no longer be masked, not having bullets was not an option, he had to do something.
Derek looked up at this kid who had taken his heart, knowing this would be the last time he would ever see him. See his golden brown eyes, the tiny freckles that splash over his nose, the way his nose scrunches up when he smells something funny, the sound of his voice when he is talking, laughing. The placement of each and every mole along his skin that he had memorized by now. The laugh that at one point had gotten on his nerves, yet now it made him smile every time he heard it, now made him smile knowing that he was part of the reason the boy would laugh. He gritted his teeth once more as he felt the poison from the bullets working its way deeper, he could feel it when it reached his heart, feel his pulse as it began slowing, this was it. It took everything he had to lift his hand to the boys jaw, "Hey, it's okay, I found you" he coughs, "I--Stiles, I lo-ve you. I need you--" Gritting through the pain, trying to breathe while he talked, "To be strong, take care--take care of everyone." He knew the boy most likely wasn't hearing his words, but he had to tell him, tell him that he wouldn't change one moment in since the day they met, "I love you, you're my-" he coughs once more, "my mate-" he breathes out the final word, eyes closing as his hand falls, slowly dragging down the boys shirt and landing in his lap, he was gone.
"Derek, no, please god, Derek, wake up, no no no, come on get up, don't do this to me, damnit Derek, PLEASE GET UP." Stiles was crying so hard he could hardly breathe, his whole body was shaking. He gripped both sides of the leather jacket, shaking the wolf in his lap, screaming at him to wake up, to open his eyes, to start breathing again. "PLEASE DEREK, YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME, YOU HAVE GOT TO WAKE UP. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH, JUST GET UP" He was almost beating him in the chest, he should run, he should go and try to find help, but he can't leave him here alone, outside on the cold ground. So he does all he can think of, he screams for help, "HELP, Somebody PLEASE HELP ME, -Oh god Derek, please hold on, please, I love you, god please, I love you so much, you cant do this-you're the freaking Alpha, ANYBODY PLEASE, I NEED HELP." He is wiping at his face, mixing the blood with the tears.
Not caring that Derek's face is covered in blood, he is leaning down, planting kisses along his jaw, over the tear stained cheeks, over his lips. Hoping it will wake him up, he has never been able to resist kissing him back, but nothing is happening. "Please Derek, I need you, your pack, oh god, your pack they need you, please wake up, just open your eyes and look at me, please." Pleading with the wolf, begging him to wake up, he can barley see out of his eyes, the tears burn and he feels like he is fixing to have a panic attack, leaning over and laying himself halfway over Derek's body, he couldn't move.
The next minutes are all a blur, as he hears the voices around him. He can make out Scott.. and Issac is that Issac? His hands are tucked in around the wolf laying there, holding onto him, not letting him go. There is another voice, one he can't quite place, he doesn't care, he must have called them, but he doesn't remember. Jackson, that's the third voice, he hears them all around but he doesn't take his eyes off of the alpha laying in his lap. He can't move, his body wont move, he doesn't want to move. But then the hands are on him, trying to move him, to take him away. Why are they touching him? Why do they want to take him away? "Stiles, you gotta let him go, we have to move him, no body can see him like this." Scott? Why is Scott pulling Derek away from him? Why is Issac pulling on his shoulders, telling him to let go? Derek is his, his mate, his wolf, he promised him he would always be there, and now they want to take him. They can't have him, he belongs to Stiles, both human and wolf, in the next moment words are coming from his mouth, "Stop! Let him go! Let me go! Why are you doing this?! What are you doing? He is mine, MY mate, go away and leave us alone!!" He all but screams out and the tugging on him almost instantly stops.
Stiles is looking at his wolf, laying in his lap, his face is peaceful, there is no more pain, no more hurting. Even tho there is still blood all over, the bleeding has stopped, and he looks so comfortable now, like he is just sleeping. Sleeping! That's it, he is just sleeping, he needs his rest, that way his body can fight off the poison, Stiles just needs to get him home. He needs to get into bed, he needs to sleep, then he can heal, and he will wake up, and he wont be in pain anymore. He looks up at the three standing there, why are they just standing there, why aren't they helping him, "Stop just standing there and staring at me, help me get him up, we have to get him home, so he can sleep this off, he needs to sleep, so he can get up the energy to heal the right way."
Scott, Isaac and Jackson all look at each other, then down to the boy holding the wolf sitting on the ground. He can't be serious, he has to know, he has to understand right? What are they supposed to do, how are they supposed to tell Stiles that he isn't sleeping, how do they help him? |
9d29e688d3224fa9939990213ca898fa | ['9b7db6a7f36a4f92bdbcca84e98467e5'] | He knew Jake was well-off but this, this was borderline performance art rich. This was celebrity/son of a billionaire rich. Also is that a fucking koi pond in the garden? And did it have sharks?
Even getting here was hard enough. He had to go through heaps and mounds of security posts only to get to another security post. And another one, and another one, and another one.
Upon further consideration, he might've just gotten lost....which may have gotten him three hours late to whatever Jake invited him to. This thought really bothered Rich because whatever Jake was planning it was probably pretty important.
_I hope he doesn't think I stood him up._
This thought was quickly shoved to the back of his head because there wasn't a chance in hell that this could be a date. Nope. Sorry. No. Not happening.
Although he couldn't help but think about it over and over.
**I WANNA DANCE WITH SOoooooOMEBODY**
_What the fuck._
Rich heard distant scream-singing of what sounded like a drunk girl, but that couldn't possibly happen. Jake couldn't have thrown a party, he's barely even had the house for three months.
**SHUT UP AND DANCE WITH ME!**
Okay. It's either that there was a party going on, or a drunk girl broke into Jake's house and is forcing him to dance with her.
For some reason, Rich hoped more that it would be option two.
_Great. Just great._
There was also blaring music anyone could hear just behind the door, but Rich really didn't want option one to be true.
Before Rich could even process possibly backing out of this, someone's clearly fiddling with the doorknob and opening the door and Rich think he might've just experienced a minor heart attack.
A young, pretty, possibly drunk, girl comes out with an outfit that was way past the word "revealing". She looked like a combination of pissed off, sad, confused and was holding a pair of pants for some reason. She was also branded as the second hottest girl in school. Her name was also Brooke.
"Rich?"
"Brooke?"
"What are yo-"
"Hey it's that guy that burned Jake's house down!" An unfamiliar voice intruded.
Just like that everyone in the room dramtically turned their heads and looked at the psycho that burned down Jake Dillinger's previous house. Everyone was staring at him.
Their eyes felt like they were piercing Rich's skin and it made his blood boil in the most uncomfortable way possible. Their faces were only filled with unsavory grimaces of disgust, fear, shock or a combination of the three. The cool, ambient, party-hard atmosphere was replaced by an eerily quiet, uncomfortably awkward silence and probably negative thoughts that were solely focused on the designated party crasher.
He could've sworn the music stopped too.
Rich didn't have to be a mind-reader because he could already tell what everyone was thinking, and it wasn't pretty.
"I-I....uh...hnng....." Now Rich was experiencing a major heart attack.
Just when Rich was about to run away and regret this night for the rest of his life, a curious but confident teenager made his way through the crowd diverting all the attention towards him.
"Heeeeeeeyyyyy! You made it!" Jake was practically shouting
"I got a little....sidetracked."
"But you're here now though."
"Right..."
And just like that, everything was back to the way it was. The music was turned up high. People were dancing and laughing again. Everyone went back to enjoying themselves. The party was back on, and all the focus on Rich melted away as if was never there in the first place.
Rich took this moment to breathe a tremendous sigh of relief and praise whatever divine deity that was out there for helping him out. Also to bask in awe of what a spectacle Jake Dillinger was because holy fuck, that was some black magic shit right there.
"I'm soooooo glaaaad yuuuoouu could maake it" Jake was hugging Rich, why the fuck was he hugging Rich. "I was afraaid yoou were gonna stood me uuuupp dooood."
It was an awkward moment for Rich only, as his clearly shit-faced friend was grasping at him for dear life and basically grinding on his torso right now and- _ **holy shit did he just sniff me?**_
"Yuo smell niceeee."
**_Oh fuck, he did._ **
Rich would be lying if he said he wasn't blushing.
"C'mooon let's gooo get you a dreink" Jake was pulling on Rich's hand dragging him to one of his probably 5 living rooms
Rich was actually pretty impressed with the turnout, more than the house itself, which is really saying something. Literally everyone he knows and doesn't know his here. There were probably around seven hundred people here, maybe even more. He even saw some freshmen running around, having the time of their lives! Did Jake invite the entire highschool?
Before he could even think about this, Jake led him to something he called "the gaming room" which was just a bunch of gaming consoles on one side of the room with gigantic screens. Another side with a VR setup in another end, and a large pool table in the middle. This room was considerably less filled with people though, which was kind of a relief to Rich.
"Lemme get us-you some booze? I'll be rihght back."
"Sure man. I'll stay here."
As Jake left, kind of stumbling around a little bit, Rich looked around, scanning for some people he could talk to. There were two guys playing a competitive game of pool in the middle, there were potheads who were enjoying their high on one end of the room and there were the people who were playing videogames on the other. | 88eb91f494714d6781ade61aa7642536 | ['9b7db6a7f36a4f92bdbcca84e98467e5'] | "What do you wanna watch?" Jeremy said, twiddling on his computer
"I dunno, you pick."
"Hmm. Teen titans?"
"Too serious." Michael protested
"How about....Steven Universe? I heard that it's good."
"Too emotional."
"How about Avatar then?"
"Too serious and too emotional."
"Gravity falls."
"Still too emotional." This was getting ridiculous
"Pokemon!"
"That's funny."
"Spongebob?!"
"Only when we're high."
"Gah! What then?" Jeremy said, irritated
"Fine scooch over, lemme pick."
"I've been letting you pick the entire time..." Jeremy says, half mumbling, half groaning
He does as he says though, and gives way to his indecisive friend, who casually jumps on the bed. He began scrolling down on the alphabetically organized folders as Jeremy watched with slight impatience and irritation. For a moment, he scrolls past a suspicious folder titled 'x' and Jeremy has the faintest idea that maybe they should watch that together instead.
He doesn't do any of that of course, mostly because the moment he realizes what he was thinking about, he's blushing. His eyes widen, his hands grip on the covers, and a jolt of ' _whateverthefuckthatfeelingis_ ' shoots throughout his body and to somewhere he'd rather not talk about.
Jeremy wasn't okay.
"Alright, Voltron season one." Michael chimed in
" _ **GrE** AT_ ~~_tH **A**_~~ _TS_ _Gr_ **e** ~~AT~~. **MM** ~~ _m_~~ - **HM** ~~ _ **MM**_~~."
"Hey Jer....are you okay? Michael questioned "You look kinda red."
"NOTHING LET'S JUST GO WATCH THE COOL SPACE-CATS."
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> Haha, he has a boner.
3. Chapter 3
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> The rest of the night (early morning) went pretty tame actually. They hardly got three episodes in, when Jeremy's beat-up laptop decided to finally die on them, enciting a collective groan of annoyance from both of the two impatient teenagers.
>
> It was less than what they were hoping for, and they'd rather just fall asleep in the middle of an episode or something, but it was a sort of long shot to rely on a computer that was barely charged to last them the entire night.
The rest of the night (early morning) went pretty tame actually. They hardly got three episodes in, when Jeremy's beat-up laptop decided to finally die on them, enciting a collective groan of annoyance from both of the two impatient teenagers.
It was less than what they were hoping for, and they'd rather just fall asleep in the middle of an episode or something, but it was a sort of long shot to rely on a computer that was barely charged to last them the entire night.
~~At least it was enough to distract Jeremy from the thought of watching porn with his best friend.~~
At least it was enough to distract Jeremy from whatever unholy thoughts were running through his mind.
It was already past 3 AM, which was a bit later than they'd usually stay up, so they'd figured that it was finally time to do the one thing sleepovers were made for, sleep.
Michael says something about brushing his teeth and goes in the bathroom while Jeremy burrows himself under the covers. It felt pretty uneventful and Jeremy can't stop asking himself why he felt that way.
Instead of overthinking it like he did to everything these past hours, he shrugs it off, ready to finally sleep off all the tension he **definitely** wasn't feeling from earlier.
He almost manages this, when an equally drowsy Michael joins him in the bed, climbs under the covers, and just nonchalantly positions himself as close to his best friend as humanly possible.
_Fuck. FuckFuckFuckFuckFuck._
Jeremy wasn't thinking about this of course. He totally isn't focused on the intense sheen of body heat his best friend was producing that was both intoxicating and welcoming. Or how his arm was casually slung around Jeremy's stomach, with fingers that reached dangerously lower than it should. Or how his face was warmer than it ever had been in his entire life.
.....
Okay maybe he is thinking about it.
But he doesn't say anything, in case it makes Michael move away. That's selfish, and he knows, but it's not like he's doing anything wrong.
He isn't sure if Michael is this close because he has no choice or if he's more comfortable like this. Either way, it's made him all the more aware of every single inch of skin that was touching. Which was a lot.
"Hey. You awaaaake?" Michael's not so subtle whispering was thankfully enough to shake him off his thought process.
"Nah, I'm already dreaming. Try again never."
Jeremy added an exaggerated snore for extra effect and Michael mock punches him in the arm. He turns around and is greeted with half-lidded eyes and the same toothy grin he's seen for years. It was as genuine and as dorky as ever.
"C'mon, this is the part where we talk about deep shit, like we always do."
"I'm not up for talking about how the 80's was the pinacle of human society and how nothing else could ever compare."
"Then let's talk about something else you dork." Michael sort of squeezes him in a hug, and Jeremy is torn apart from enjoying it too little or too much.
A short, comfortable silence overtakes them as they both stare at the ceiling, waiting for someone to say something.
"Where do you wanna go for college?"
"I thought you didn't wanna talk about this today?" Jeremy asked
"Well today is technically tomorrow and I'm kinda curious."
"Well..." Jeremy sighed "I don't really know Michael."
Like every other teenager who had less than a year to graduate high school, Jeremy was one of the many who were freaking out about what to take up in college. He had no idea what to go for, and this uncertainty was punctuated with the fear that he might end up picking a course he would absolutely loathe in the future. It was a clichè type of fear, and Michael thought as much. |
8b74407fe4ad40ff8d9e58967bbce07b | ['9b850d9054da44e3a3b600c5d691d766'] | Hange moaned, pulling him down into another heated kiss, nipping at his bottom lip. Levi began to rub her nipple between his thumb and index finger, Hange arching her back. Levi pulled away from the kiss, kissing down her neck and collarbone, reaching her breasts. He began to kiss her breasts teasingly, kissing around her nipples
"F-fucking tease..." Hange said, tugging on his hair.
He smirked against her skin, opening his mouth and enveloping the swelling bud in the warmth of his mouth, nipping and sucking as Hange writhed beneath him with pleasure.
"Ohh fuuck… Damn, Levi. That feels so good!" She moaned, nails digging into the nape of his neck, leaving small red crescents marring the pale skin stretched tightly over slim muscle.
He switched to the other one, giving the same treatment as her back arched with a low moan of his name, sending blood rushing to his lower half. His hands ran down her sides, catching below the hem of her jeans.
"May I?" He purred into her ear. She nodded vigorously. He pulled off her jeans in a singular smooth motion, dumping them on the floor along with the other discarded articles of clothing.
Her legs were long and beautiful. Smooth and toned, tanned skin pulled taut over the form of her legs, a few small scars peppering the skin.
She leaned up to kiss him, moving along to his jaw, then to his ear. "You can do more than look…" she whispered huskily in his ear.
She ran a hand down his muscled back, along his spine, slipping under his jeans and beneath the waistband of his boxers, giving his firm ass a squeeze.
"Oi. Someone's getting handsy." He chuckled.
"Can't help it. I love your ass." She smirked, squeezing it again.
That statement sent blood rushing downwards. "Shit, say that again."
"Captain Levi Ackerman, I love your ass."
Hange said giggling, squeezing his ass once more. Levi moaned quietly, nuzzling his nose against her neck. She removed his pants, Levi helping her remove them, kicking off the jeans.
Hange rolled them over, running a hand from his torso down to the top of his boxers, ghosting a finger around the bulge. Levi raised his hips to her touch, watching her carefully as she removed her panties and sat on him, grinding lightly.
"F-Fuck~ I can feel how wet you are.~" Levi said, sitting up and running his hands along her thighs.
Hange moaned quietly, grinding against him faster before he pushed her back down, grinding against her harder and faster.
"N-nice tease, oh fuck~" Hange moaned out, wrapping her arms around his neck, her legs wrapped around his waist, pushing down his boxers.
He removed them in one movement, moaning as she lightly scratched his nape.
Hange giggled then pouted as Levi slipped from her grasp, kissing down her body. She moaned when he gently bit her nipples, and arched her back when he kissed her thighs and knees.
Hange's face turned beet red when he parted her legs, looking away from Levi.
Levi hummed contently.
"You shave?" He asked curiously, running a finger along the slit of her vulva.
"F-fuck~ only for the occasion." She arched her back, as he leaned down and kissed the top of her vulva, spreading her legs out more.
Levi kissed her labia, nipping and sucking on them gently.
"Wh-who knew a clean freak c-could be so dirty?~" Hange moaned out, grasping his hair, tugging gently.
Levi moaned, pushing his tongue between her folds, dragging it from her entrance to her clitoris, spreading her legs further. Hange held onto his hair tighter, moaning his name. He pulled away from her, licking his lips.
"L-Levi~ Don't stop..." Hange whined, trying to push his head back down.
"I had to see the face you make with such cute sounds coming out." Levi said, chuckling, pushing finger into her folds, rubbing along her vulva.
"Th-there! Touch there a-again!~" Hange moaned out, arching her back.
Levi pinched her clit slightly, rubbing it between his fingers. "Right there? You like that?~" his voice was low, teasing and unbearably sexy.
Hange moaned lewdly, nodding as she pushed his head down roughly. "Fuck yes~ "
Levi chuckled, spreading her labia with his fingers, flicking his tongue against her clit. He then opted to sucking gently, feeling her writhe under his hold.
He curiously pushed a finger into her, Hange tightening around it. Levi moved his mouth away slightly. "Relax a bit, I don't want to hurt you."
Hange moaned, nodding as she slowly relaxed. Levi leaned back down and went back to sucking on her clit, thrusting his finger into her, adding another finger, stretching her out slowly.
"Sh-shit Levi~ I'm cl-close!" Hange moaned out, moving her hips.
Levi sucked on her clit harder, thrusting his fingers deeper and faster, her walls tightening around his fingers as she orgasmed, arching her back and calling out his name.
Levi sat up and pulled out his fingers, licking them as Hange panted, looking up at him with a dazed look in her eyes.
"Holy flying fuck… that was…"
Hange panted. Levi smiled at her, moving over to kiss her gently, hand circling the back of her neck, treating it as if it could kill her, like with the titans. She could taste herself on his tongue and she wondered what would happen to Levi if she returned the favor.
Come to think of it, the concept of humanity's strongest buckling under her touch, whining and begging for more was an extremely appealing thought. But she had to wait until had regained enough energy.
Levi pulled back for air, smiling at her.
"My turn." She grinned. His expression shifted from pleased, to confused, unsure of how to interpret her statement.
"What-" his sentence was cut short by a low, most likely involuntary, groan as Hange grasped his cock gently. | 751a7a3a9bad4fef8b83d3deabff205c | ['9b850d9054da44e3a3b600c5d691d766'] |
Happy New Year, Four Eyes
**Author's Note:**
> I would like to say i had fun with this, and well i'm sorry this is five days late...
Hange sat cross-legged on Levi's bed, looking over at him. "Are you going to spend the entire evening cleaning, or are you going to sit down and enjoy yourself?"
Levi sighed, setting down his feather duster and walking over to her. "You just want some of my rum."
"I want your rum...and you.~" Hange said, her voice hinting at her usual playful nature.
Levi smiled, pouring two glasses of rum before he sat down, Hange scooting over. He handed her a glass and smiled.
"Thank you, cutie.~"
Levi raised a brow. "Are you trying to flirt with me?"
"Maybe I am, Maybe I'm not?~ The world will never know."
Levi scoffed at Hange's reply. "The world doesn't have to know, I do..."
"If the world doesn't have to know then you can't either, Levi."
"Why's that, four eyes?"
Hange smirked, taking a sip if her rum. "Because you're my world.~"
Levi blushed brightly, flicking her forehead. "You are flirting with me...I strangely like the shit your mouth keeps spewing..."
Hange let out a laugh. It was a clear, happy sound which some may have found obnoxiously loud, but Levi found it kind of adorable. "Then maybe I should carry on." She smirked, setting down hers and Levi's glass before moving over to sit on his lap.
"Or maybe you should shut up." Levi muttered.
"I thought you liked it." She pouted.
"I did." He leaned over to kiss her, chuckling softly.
She kissed him back, moving her arms around his neck and snaking a hand into his cropped raven hair. The kiss deepened, Levi slipped his tongue into Hange's mouth, exploring it, causing her to moan in response. Breaking briefly to take a breath of air, she pulled him back and kissed him hotly. His hands toyed with the hem of her blouse, slipping up the material to feel her flushed bare skin beneath. Her hands reached for the buttons on his shirt. Their skin felt like it was on fire and-
"That was fast." Chuckled Mike leaning against the door.
"Yep. You now owe me-" came the smug voice of the commander Erwin Smith.
"I know how much I owe you, commander asshole." He ground out through gritted teeth.
"Uh guys, you may have pissed off humanity's strongest…" interrupted Nanaba.
That, was a clear understatement. Hange had gotten off of him, blushing and slightly dazed. Levi drew one of his blades, the cold look of a seasoned killer in his steely grey eyes. "Alright. Which one of you eavesdropping fuckers gets to die first?"
"Erwin does! He started it!" Yelped Mike, running down the hall.
"Oh, and I'm the asshole? Way to go, traitor." Erwin shouted down the hall.
"Excellent. Erwin. Time to fulfil the promise I made almost ten years ago." Levi said pleasantly, running one of his calloused fingers along the edge of the blade.
"Now, how to kill you? I could slit your throat, decapitate you, stab you, impale you, break your neck, rip open your chest, disembowel you… Hm. So many choices. How about you choose?" He mused, pointing the blade at Erwin's throat, the edge of the blade millimeters from the tall mans Adam's apple.
"I-I choose life!" Erwin yelped, running down the hall. Levi turned his gaze to Nanaba.
"I warned 'em." She shrugged. She closed the door and headed down the hall.
Levi slid the blade back into its sheath. Now that the war was over, he had no use for them. It was a strange concept for him, having next to no purpose. The title of "Humanity's Strongest Soldier" a legend, to be passed down from generation to generation to come.
"Sorry about that." He mumbled, flopping down on the bed next to his girlfriend of six days, Hange.
They'd had feelings for each other for the past seven years and hadn't told the other out of fear of rejection. How stupid, right?
"S'fine." She mumbled, stretching out her long limbs.
"Are you sure?"
"Erwin doesn't know when to stop sometimes. Mike too." Hange smiled, nodding.
"It's a good thing that they have Nanaba to keep them in check." Levi mumbled as he muzzled his nose against her neck
Hange laughed again. "Yeah. She tries her best."
"Go apologize to him Mike." Came a muffled voice. Nanaba.
"Nuh-Uh." Mike said, his voice echoing in the hall.
"Why not?"
"I'm very happy with keeping my balls thank you very much. If I step near the guy, he'll either castrate me, kill me or both."
"Well then you and Erwin shouldn't have started this whole dumb bet five years ago."
"Yeah, maybe we shouldn't have. But I am not going in there. And you can talk nana, with the mistletoe and the door locking last week."
"Just doing my part. A one off to shut you two up."
"He's still gonna kill me."
"Calm down you titan-sized wimp, I'm not gonna hurt you." Levi said, sighing as he rolled out of bed, standing near the door.
"How can I trust you?"
"Because you've known me for almost a fucking decade Zacharias."
"Fair point, but you've threatened to castrate me at least twenty times."
"It's not like I'd actually do it."
"Okay... Phew."
"I'd get Hange to do it."
A sharp yelp came from the other side of the wall. "NOPENOPENOPENOPENOPE."
"Mike! No, don't go running down the hall again. Ugh, come back here!" Nanaba yelled, chasing after Mike.
"They're idiots." Levi said, smiling at Hange.
"Idiots in love." Hange giggled.
"Who, us or them?"
"Both."
"You're an idiot."
"You're my idiot. Now can we get back to what we were doing? I think it was something along the lines of me drinking your rum.~" Hange said smiling at Levi, pulling him away from the door, closing it behind them. |
e4dc5ef9100b424982bea50048878264 | ['9b8c74c734e2444d99646c0e7f4d5b2f'] | Katsuki stared blankly at the green haired boy and let go of his arm. He shoved his hands in to his pockets and looked away with a ‘tch’. “I fucking hate you, you know that.”
“I love you too Kacchan! Now come on! Class is about to start and we shouldn’t be late!” Izuku went ahead to get to his class of 1-H. Katsuki flowed behind, growling at everyone in sight.
When the two reached Izuku’s class, the blonde surveyed everyone in the room so far. Some students were already in groups talking to each other while others were sitting at their desk on their phone or something.
“Kacchan. Stop being a mom and go already. Homeroom starts in ten and I don’t want to be the reason why you’re late.” Izuku shoved Katsuki out of the rom and smiled at him in reinsurance, as to say he’s going to be alright.
“Fine. I’ll go. Just make sure to text or something if anything goes wrong, got it?”
Izuku smiled. He always found Katsuki’s pouting face to be so adorable. “Yep. Now go already. Let me make a friend or two in here! I swear you’re starting to scare them!”
With Katsuki now gone, Izuku found his seat and sat down. He didn’t want to show it in front of Katsuki, but his entire body was screaming out at him.
He was lying earlier when he said he was joking. Izuku actually did forget to take his medicines this morning. Inko was called into a morning shift at the hospital, so she had to leave before Izuku even got up.
Izuku slumped his head against the desk. His head was pounding furiously while small beads of sweat were forming on his forehead. His eyes went out of focus and he felt overall dizzy. He wanted to sleep.
_‘Maybe I can just close my eyes for just a second…’_
* * *
When Izuku opened his eyes again, he noticed he was no longer in his homeroom on his desk, but instead laying on a bed with curtains surrounding his sides.
He could immediately tell where he was.
_‘Oh shit. Kacchan’s never going to let me out of his sight ever again if he hears about this.’_
“Damn right you shit head.”
Izuku jumped at the voice next to him and turned to look at his left. His face paled even more at the view.
“Oh-Oh hey Kacchan…fancy meeting you here…haha…”
Katsuki had on a sickly sweet smile that made Izuku want to crawl into a ball and hide under the sheets.
“I was on my way to get you during lunch when I found out from your teacher that you were found unresponsive at your desk during homeroom and wouldn’t wake up. Now, care to tell me why you were like that?”
“Well…you see…um- _funny story really_ -when I said earlier that I forgot my meds…and said I was messing with you, well, turns out, I-um, actually _did_ forget…to take…medicine… _pleasedon’tbemad_!”
Izuku brought his arms up to cover his face and hide from Katsuki at the same time. He shut his eyes to avoid the shame.
A warm hand plopped on top of Izuku’s head. He opened his eyes and looked up at Katsuki.
He had eyes that Izuku’s only seen a few times. They held concerned, yet contained relief.
“You dumb Deku.”
Those three words were enough to make Izuku reach out for a hug, and Katsuki obliged.
“I’m sorry Kacchan…but I knew if I told you the truth, you would make me go home and you would go with me and miss your first day in the hero course.” Izuku buried his head in Katsuki’s chest as small tears formed.
The curtains surrounding them suddenly were whisked to the side as another person joined the three. “Bakugou, how’s our patient do- oh, should I come back at a later time?”
The two high-school students separated immediately at that comment, faces going a bit red from being mistaken like that.
“Th-That’s not necessary!” Izuku covered his face with his hands and looked away.
“Yea. Just check him over. Lunch is gonna end in a few.” Katsuki stuck his hands in his pocket and plopped his gorgeous ass on the nearest chair.
Izuku came out of his hiding to see who was really in front of him.
“Oh my gosh! It’s Recovery Girl! Kacchan, why didn’t you wake me up earlier! I’ve always wanted to meet a hero who doesn’t specialize in villain takedown or civilian rescue! You’re a one of the kind hero that mainly dealt with healing than fighting! It’s an honor to meet you Recovery Girl! Ah! Where’s my notebook! I need to get an autogra-!”
“What you need his to relax and let me do my job! Now lay back down while I adjust the bed!”
Izuku shut up at the retired hero scolding him.
Recovery Girl pressed a few button to the side of the bed to raise it up so Izuku could comfortably sit.
“Now Midoriya, I took the liberty to look over your medical file and I’ll tell you what you probably heard a million times but I need to it once more. It’s not pretty. And it was quite foolish to leave for school without taking any of the prescriptions! Luckily for you, U.A. has those types of medicines here and I was able to administer them through IV.
“You’re free to go back to class after the bell rings. Just take it easy for the rest of the day. I’ll notify Power Loader of the situation and not to let anything crazy happen. Take some of these gummies and sit tight while I take care of other matters. Seriously, a school filled with injury prone heroes and students and yet only one nurse! Take care now Midoriya! I don’t want to see you in my office again for something like forgetting to take your medicine!” | eeb18cb8704644d78371dbb6cf86485b | ['9b8c74c734e2444d99646c0e7f4d5b2f'] | Bakugou entered his classroom, the extras avoiding him like usual, not wanting to associate with his temper. His lackeys had laid off of him 3 weeks after the vanishing as well. But that’s not what he was focused on. Nope. The thing that caught his eye the most was the bloom placed on Deku’s desk.
_A white chrysanthemum._
He could hear snickering behind him. Bakugou turned around to face the culprit.
A girl in his class he recognized to be a snotty brat. And that was saying something considering it was coming from Bakugou himself.
She and he didn’t get along well. The bitch had asked him out a last year and he said no. Ever since then, she tried to spread false rumors about him not being as great as he said he was. The statements died pretty quickly for no one wanted to be caught spreading them in fear for what the blonde would do to them.
Back to the present, the girl had the audacity to look at him dead in the eyes when she was sure he had seen the flower. She swerved her head to face her friends again and spoke in a loud voice to purposely make sure the whole class knew what she was saying.
“Who has time to wait seven years? The weak nobody probably perished already from tripping! Remember how he would pathetically just fall in the middle of the hall out of nowhere?! Talk about pitiable! Society’s better without someone like _Deku_!”
Laughter rang out the room as 23 kids didn’t even try to hide the fact they were making fun of their missing classmate. What hit him in the heart the most was knowing if Deku was still here, Bakugou would have been laughing along with them.
The door slammed open to reveal their homeroom teacher come in. “Now now everyone. Settle down. Class is starting soon and I have to take attenda-oh.”
Bakugou knows why he stopped talking. He traced he teacher’s eyes to see him looking at the flower. A sign escaped the exasperated man’s mouth.
“While the flower is certainly a nice gesture for your missing classmate, I do actually have quite the concerning statement to share with the class that was announced today in the morning by the police.”
_‘Statement? What statement?’_ Bakugou was getting a feeling he didn’t want to hear what would come out of the man’s mouth.
“Because of the increasing need for more officers on the hero killings by the villain Revolution- _yes I’m sure you all heard of him before_ \- the police force decided if they cannot find Midoriya-kun by the time within the next five months, they would stop searching. It is quite unfortunate really. I hope they find him soon.”
He said unfortunate, but Bakugou could tell the man couldn’t give less shits about the announcement. And only one year?! They were going to search of him for only one year and give up!? He didn’t have much veneration for the police up before, but now he doesn’t even have half an ounce of respect for them.
“With that being said, I must continue with attendance. Anjeki Touma-kun?”
Roll call happened as if the teacher hadn’t just stabbed Bakugou in the chest. As much as he wished he could storm out, he couldn’t leave and ruin his perfect attendance record. U.A. would see shit like that.
But a lingering thought invades his mind for the rest for the day.
_‘How will Auntie take the news?’_
* * *
Midoriya Inko had a schedule to follow. Wake up at 6 to prepare breakfast for her son ~~even though he’s not there~~. She would then eat in solitude, pretending that her beloved baby boy would burst through the hall worrying about being late for school. He would then quickly eat and try to head out, but she would stop him to give a bear crushing hug and kiss on the forehead. They would wave goodbye and she would wish him luck in school. Once he leaves, she would try her best to ignore seeing the red marks on the back of his neck shaped like handprints and get going on the house work.
Every day she would go to his room first and tidy up ~~although it’s been all neat and organized for the past 7 months~~. Once done, she would get going on clearing the table and washing the dishes ~~seeing the uneaten food go into the waste bin.~~
Sweeping and vacuuming came next, something to distract her mind from worrying if her baby was being hurt at school at the moment ~~it never worked~~.
Once all was done, Inko sits on the couch, having two hours before she needed to get to work. She would float the T.V. remote to her and turn it to the news. Just a few tidbits of material to keep her informed.
But the difference of that day compared to the 210 before it sent her to the floor, blank face with tear softly streaming down.
A loud knock on the front door could be head a few minutes later.
* * *
Bakugou Mitsuki ran out of her house as soon as he heard. Practically hopping into her car and driving like a madman in the neighborhood streets, cussing at anyone in her way. The fierce woman managed to make it to her destination in less than three minutes. Impressive when Google maps say it would have taken six.
Mitsuki ran her way up the flight of stairs; the elevator was taking too long. She knocked repeatedly on the door to her friend’s apartment as she wished to just kick the obstacle down.
“Inko-chan? Are you in there? It’s me, Mitsuki!”
Mitsuki tried the door handle and found it unlocked. Pardoning herself, she enters the apartment to find her friend just staring at the T.V. |
ed219b4d59024ef58cb5c81c4c6cf462 | ['9b8fedddafa24fe4858ca7c8caf21014'] |
The Empty Grave
The first thing that Veth noticed was the man. It wasn’t exactly easy to miss him. His purple skin stood out disturbingly well against the dark forest background, and the horns curling around his head had bright gold and silver caps on them. Tattoos, complicated and swirling, curled around his arm and across part of his chest.
The second thing that Veth noticed was the grave. The man was buried up to his chest in dirt, and seemed to be in a pit of sorts. A simple wooden pole placed above his head confirmed her suspicion. He was lying in this manner, unconscious, when Veth first found him. His arm was flung across his chest in such a way that, without the current circumstances, made him almost look as though he was sleeping.
Veth clasped her hand to her mouth, a scream caught at the base of her throat. The basket of herbs she had been collecting tumbled to the ground, where it scattered its contents among the forest floor. She rushed over to him, bent over and quickly checked for his pulse. He was alive. For now. But the slow pulse of his heart and his ragged, raspy, breaths told her that it might not be for too long.
Veth lifted his body up, and finished digging him out of the grave. He wore no clothing, save for a simple pair of pants, and was buried with no possessions. Nothing to piece together his identity. She turned away from his body, unable to look at it any more. She would return to Felderwin as soon as possible, tell Yeza and the Crownsguard. They would know what to do with the man. As she picked her basket back up, he stirred behind her. She tentatively looked back.
His eyes blinked open, revealing not pupils, but a pair of entirely red eyes, like none she’d ever seen. She reached a hand out to him, to touch his shoulder.
“It’s okay,” she said. The man sat up, and turned to look at Veth. “I’m here, and there are people coming to help you. It’s going to be alright.”
He said nothing in reply, only stared at her, eyes unfocused. He looked in a haze, barely hanging onto his life, walking a tightrope between unconsciousness and clarity. Veth stepped away from the man _. I’m just going to get help. We can do this together. Yeza will find a way to help him. The crownsguard will know what to do with him, who he is. It will be fine. _
She swallowed.
“I’m going back to my town to get someone to help you. My husband, Yeza, he’s an alchemist. He can heal you. Just be patient and wait here, okay.”
The man stared blankly at her, then lay back down on the forest floor.
Veth ran all the way to Felderwin, as swiftly as her short legs could carry her. The bell on the door of the Brenatto Apothecary jangled wildly as she burst in, out of breath and ragged.
Yeza looked up almost instantly from his worktable, where he was talking to a customer. He gave a look of surprise, and then recognized his wife. “Veth, what’s wrong?”
“There’s a man - in the woods - he’s injured and weak and needs help - there was a grave. I don’t know - ”
Yeza motioned to the customer to wait, and jumped off his chair to meet Veth.
“Where is he? How far? What kind of healing does he need? What the hell is going on, Veth-”
Her voice came in panicked fragments. “I found this man in the woods north of here, about twenty-five minutes if we hurry. I - I don’t know what’s wrong with him, but he seemed incredibly weak. He was lying in some sort of - some sort of grave when I found him. I’ve gotten him out, but he’s not breathing right, and he seemed hazy-”
Yeza, stared at her for a second, then nodded. He immediately grabbed several bottles off the shelves behind him, and stuffed them into his bag.
“Go get all the medicinal herbs you can find from the back room. I’ll help this man here, and then go get the cart and the horse so that we can carry him back.”
Veth turned without a second thought and ran past him into the store room. She pulled potion bottles and bundles of dried plants off their cubbies and tossed them into the basket by her side, without any thought of care. Her mind raced as she tossed item after item into the bag, trying to recall any type of plant that might help the man.
Yeza was waiting outside with the cart, and the two drove all the way to the grave site in panicked silence.
The man was still laying there, partially conscious, when they arrived. Yeza jumped off the back of the cart and rushed to the man, uncorking a healing potion and pouring it into the man’s mouth. He tested his pulse and breathing signals, before looking back up at Veth.
When he spoke, his voice strained with nervous urgency. “Give me everything you brought, and start prepping the cart to carry him back. I’ll see what I can do.”
Veth obliged, and then nervously watched as her husband set up his tools, and began the process of tending to the man.
Her hand drifted to her pocket, and she found herself nervously fidgeting with a trinket in her pocket: a small brass button she had taken - stolen - from a customer of the apothecary the week before. Veth felt ashamed at having taken it from her, but the feel of its smooth surface brought her comfort, even as a man lay on the brink of death before her. | 548ee0670a8a4649b3b926fcf466cc80 | ['9b8fedddafa24fe4858ca7c8caf21014'] | Fjord pushes the door to their house open, sword at the ready for any intruders that might have come wandering in, but any semblance of stealth or caution is ruined almost the second the rest of them step in the door. They immediately set to work, picking up Yeza and Nott’s chemicals, locking doors and windows, cleaning the kitchen, and setting their bags in the war room.
Amidst the chaos of packing, he feels a hand grip his shoulder. Essik. The drow man smiles down at him,white hair framing his face. “Get packed as quickly as possible, Caleb, then meet me in the garden. I want to talk with you. In private.”
Either Essik’s hardcore flirting with him, or he’s absolutely clueless. And Essik is by no means a stupid man.
He quickly drops his one bag in the war room, tells Beau where he’s headed and then, ignoring her bitter glares at him, ascends the staircase to the Xhorhouse’s garden.
Though the sun still shines over Rosohna, the enchantments that keep the city in its eternal night are being slowly lowered, as though watching a sunset be spread like a blanket over the Corona district. But though the night begins to shroud the city once more, he fears it will not be enough. The Scourgers and beasts are already here, and the forces from the Garrison will soon descend on the capital city.
Essik is standing there, solemn and stoic, watching the sky. His face is softly illuminated by the lanterns dangling from the tree.
“I am worried, Caleb,” he says. “I’m worried for the fate of this city and for what will happen to the tens of thousands of innocents who live here. When the Empire arrives, they will not give us the honor of discrimination. Between those who fight and those who watch in fear. You know they will not. We’re all just monsters to them. All _cricks._ ”
A tear falls down his cheek, illuminated in the glow of the _daylight_ enchantments.
“So I will help you, I will teleport you to safety. But remember that my duty is first to my people, and to my city.”
"Why?" Caleb asks. The question cuts through the quiet.
"What do you mean?" Essik replies.
"Why are you helping us? You're a child of the Dynasty. You have every right to be mad at us. Many of us are sons and daughters of the Empire ourselves. The dens are at war, there's armies marching on the city, beasts and Scourgers are coming through the rifts. It would be just as easy to throw us to the wolves. So why are you helping us run?"
"Because I believe that the eight of you, with your strength and your knowledge, could help us turn the tide in this war." He fidgets with the collar of his cloak, not looking at Caleb. Thinking. Eventually he speaks again. "Mr. Widogast?"
"Yes, Essik?"
"This might seem a bit forward, but I have a question to ask you, and I want you to answer me honestly. Do you know that woman? The one who- who killed the Umavi?"
Caleb is silent for a moment. Thoughts rush through his head. How much did the Shadowhand know? How much did he suspect? Did he know of Trent and the _Völlstreckers_? "Why do you want to know?"
"Just a simple hunch."
Did he trust Essik? Maybe. Maybe not. At the very least he wants to believe that he can. And that's the first step, isn't it?
Caleb swallows, sighs. "I did not just know her. I loved her."
_Or Bren did._
A look comes across Essik's face. A look caught somewhere between surprise, anger, and understanding.
"We worked together. When we were young. She and I, we were both young, prodigious mages, servants of the empire. I thought that I knew who she was. I thought that I knew who I was. But I suppose that I was wrong on both counts.”
Essik lowers his gaze. “Ah, I see.”
“That woman - she is dangerous. She will not flinch at doing what even the strongest, most capable of men would hesitate at. She is a mage, a wielder of blades, and if she wasn’t - insane before, she most definitely is now. If you ever cross paths with her again, be very careful.”
“Thank you. I will.”
_Just enough to satisfy his question. No more._
Essik takes a seat on the garden bench. "Sit." Caleb sits down beside him.
"I have been the teacher of many students in my time, Caleb. Students just like you. I have seen hundreds try-and fail-to grasp the intricacies of such a complicated school of magic. So this makes your case a very interesting one, Mr. Widogast. You, a child of the empire, have learned more in just a week of lessons than many learn in a month. Your affinity for this magic is unlike anything I've ever seen. Some might even say _prodigious_."
"Thank you, Essik. I have had the privilege of an excellent teacher."
Essik chuckles to himself. A slight blush forms on his cheeks. "I would be no such teacher without such an eager student." He stands up, reaches into the folds of his embroidered robes and pulls out two elegant, leather-bound books. He hands them both to Caleb. "These two books contain everything you need to know about the basic principles of Dunamancy. Including your beloved _fate spells_.There is only so much I can show you. The rest, as you have proven to me, is already up there."
Caleb opens one of the books and flipped to the inside front cover. "From the Library of Shadowhand Theylas" was crossed out, replaced by the message, "Property of Caleb Widogast, with much love from the Shadowhand." " _Danke_ , Herr Theylas." Caleb smiles. I think i will enjoy these very much." |
5100e6702bcb4223a44fe98673e19b7d | ['9b9da077702f4ebba22e860e51cecfea'] | "I still can't believe we have to spend the rest of our lives with _Malfoy_ at every family function, though," he complained. "Can you just imagine what a nightmare Christmas is going to be? I bet he'll hate all our traditions. Can you imagine not having the annual Weasley turkey race just because Malfoy thinks it's for – what does he call us? _Plebes_. He'll make us go for a fox hunt or something instead." He cackled.
Hermione climbed off him, lowering herself back to her own chair again and trying to swallow around the emotion threatening to envelop her.
"Well, anyway. Hugo and I are heading out to the pitch." He stood and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "You want to come?"
She shook her head, giving him a tight smile. Shrugging, he turned and strolled off, calling to Hugo from the hall.
As soon as she heard the door slam behind them, Hermione was no longer in control of herself. The floodgates opened, and she sat at her kitchen table with her hands over her face as she choked down her sobs. It was selfish of her, _so selfish_. It had to end. It wasn't about her anymore; it was about Scorpius and Lily. They deserved to be happy, free from the mistakes of their elders.
"Mum?"
Hermione's heart jolted, and she quickly wiped her face, turning. Rose looked stricken, hurrying into the kitchen and wrapping her arms around Hermione from behind. "It's nothing," Hermione insisted, even as her chest heaved. "Just got emotional about... oh, I don't even know, honey. Don't worry about me. It's nothing."
But Rose, for all her intellect, had always been an intuitive child. All she said was, "Okay," murmured against Hermione's hair, and then proceeded to hold her tight, letting Hermione cry until she couldn't cry anymore.
***
Hermione didn't see or hear from Draco for two weeks after the engagement. She knew they needed to talk, but she couldn't face him yet. The fact that he seemed to be keeping his own distance both comforted her that they were on the same page, and disappointed her terribly.
She wondered if she was going through some sort of stages, like after a death: anger, grief, envy, despair... She rolled her eyes at herself at the very thought. It was silly of her, she told herself. She was a married woman. This must be happening for a reason, right? Draco was not the man she was supposed to be with. It only took Lily's engagement to make her see it.
She sat at her desk one lunch hour and closed her eyes. If only she actually believed that.
After a moment, she dug around in her desk drawer until she found what she wanted. Closing her eyes again, she squeezed her fist around the key.
" _Paris_ ," she whispered.
After a whirling moment, she landed on unsteady feet in the middle of a flat. _Their_ flat, Draco had told her. It was actually rather unremarkable. There were no furnishings, so her shoes echoed on the hardwood floors. It was spacious enough, with a modern kitchen, a nook carved out for a small den off to one side of the living room – oh, her aunt's antique desk would fit nicely there – and certainly enough space under the broad windows for her sofa and maybe a new armchair.
She wandered back to the bedroom, twisting absently at the ring on her finger. Not much closet space, but honestly, Draco probably had more clothes than her. They could miniaturise anything that didn't fit. There was a little terrace with room for a herb garden. Basil. That was what she'd always wanted to grow. She didn't cook enough to use it, but it always smelled so nice. Back in the kitchen, she opened and closed a few cupboards. There should be enough space in the far corner of the counter for a wine rack, and –
Oh God, what was she _doing_?
She slumped against the kitchen counter, rubbing her eyes. Coming here was a huge mistake. As she looked around one more time, though, she noticed something affixed to the side of the fridge. Stepping closer, she put her hand to her mouth.
It was a photograph of her.
After her initial surprise wore off, she squinted at it, trying to figure out when it was taken. It must have been a couple of years ago – no, more than that, because she was wearing dress robes that hadn't fit her since Hugo was young. They were a deep red, not really her usual style, but she remembered Ginny convincing her to try them on – and then not letting her leave the shop without buying them. It was a Ministry function of some kind, maybe a holiday party. The camera must have been hidden somehow and had caught her unaware, standing by herself with a glass of wine. She nervously sipped it, glancing around, and then turned towards the camera and laughed at something, someone, on the other side of it.
She carefully took the photo off the fridge and held it in her hands, her fingers sliding over the worn edges. It must have been a time when they were between affairs. If Draco had been at that gala, she hadn't spoken to him. She'd probably avoided him rather carefully, in fact. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, falling in dark waves, and the neckline of the robes was more extreme than she usually wore. She watched herself on a loop, sipping the wine and then turning to laugh, not even aware she was being photographed.
She replaced it on the fridge with trembling hands and left.
***
**
**_Phase III: Cold Feet_ | 4cebee1b2f854da699c24d62f83271a5 | ['9b9da077702f4ebba22e860e51cecfea'] | "She doesn't think that." He gazed off across the shop, his brow creased. "She knows I love her."
"Does she? You should probably prove it to her."
His gaze snapped back to her, his mouth falling open a bit. "She _knows_."
Pansy slid off her own stool and stood before him. She reached up to cup his cheek before leaning back against the counter. "If you were eavesdropping that day at the hospital, you miserable brat, you know that Harry was prepared to tell your father – the worst possible person – that the reason he'd come to the hospital to see me was because he's in love with me." Her voice caught only briefly on the words, and she had to pause to take a breath. Even after months had passed, she had trouble believing it, no matter how many times he insisted it was true. "You need to show Rose that you're prepared to do the same thing. To fight for her."
"That's not fair. I'd do anything for her."
"Doesn't look that way."
He deflated, leaning his palms on the counter and lowering his head. "Why are you doing this?" he asked after a pause, his voice small.
"Because someone has to," she said softly. "And because this has gone on far too long, for both of us. I'll make you a deal, darling." She put her hand on his shoulder until he looked up, his expression miserable as he waited for her to speak. "I'll tell if you do."
He huffed out an anguished laugh, burying his face in one hand. "It's not the same!"
"Why not?"
"Because no one, not even my father, can actually hold it against you that you're shagging _Harry Potter_. Are you mental? You'll be the envy of every witch in Europe!"
She considered that. "Mm. I hope so."
"What if her parents forbid her to see me?" He really did look inconsolable at the thought, poor thing.
"Then prove they're wrong about you!" She threw her hands up. "Are you a Malfoy or not?"
"That's exactly the problem!"
With an exasperated sigh, she threw her pack of fags in her purse and gathered her cloak. "Fine, fine." She waved her hand. "Make yourself miserable. See if I care." She headed for the door. "Lock up when you're done feeling sorry for yourself, would you? I've a dinner date."
"Pansy."
She glanced back.
"I just... I _can't_."
She regarded him for a long moment. She knew exactly how he felt, exactly what it was like to feel trapped like that, but she also knew the other side of it now, the breath of air she could take now that she'd stopped giving a fuck what anyone thought. They still hadn't made any major announcements, but they weren't hiding, either. It was so liberating she could cry. "Yes," she said slowly, giving him a pointed look. "You can."
***
"I like this bed, you know," Harry murmured, one arm draped over her waist. "We should sleep in it again sometime when Daphne's actually home."
"Baby steps, Potter," she muttered through a yawn. "First, we stay at mine when no one knows we're here. Next, we stay at yours when no one knows we're there. Then–" she waved her hand, snuggling up against his chest – "I don't know, we tell one person a year until the end of time."
"Can you stand me that long?" She could feel him grinning against her hair.
"No, probably not." She sighed. "A flaw in the plan, then."
He was quiet for a moment, but then his hand came up to stroke her hair. "Come on. I've got to be in to torment the new trainees by nine. Let's go get breakfast at Seamus's."
She wrinkled her nose, and he leaned down to kiss it, grinning.
"I ate your French pastries and ordered a coffee I couldn't pronounce last week," he pointed out. "Today is steak and eggs day."
She sighed and tried to protest, but he only pulled her up and stumbled with her into the shower. It was strange, having him in her own space, watching him close his eyes and tilt his head back to rinse his hair in _her_ shower, her lavender soap sudsing over his chest. The nozzle was too low, making him have to duck to get underneath it, but she found that oddly appealing as well. He kissed her as she wrung the excess water from her own long hair, one of his hands smoothing over her bare shoulder as he stepped away, grinning like an idiot, to wrap one of her lilac and mint towels around his hips.
She waved him off with a playful shove and lingered for a moment to collect herself, still uncertain whether or not it was wise to get used to this. It was probably far too late to be worried about that, though. She was already used to it and already looked forward to it – to _him_ – every single day.
In twenty minutes, they were seated in a cosy booth at Finnigan's, the worn faux-leather of the bench seeping up over her thighs and the chipped table surface catching the sleeve of her jumper every time she stirred her (stale, bitter) coffee. She gave Harry a petulant sigh, wiping her thumb through the lipstick on her cup, but he only grinned at her.
Finnigan himself looked just as goofy, wiping down the bar and shooting Harry terribly non-covert winks every few minutes. He sent over plates of ridiculous breakfast items for them as if they were giants who hadn't eaten in weeks – flapjacks, sausages, fried tomatoes, runny eggs, some sort of potato concoction, and piles of toast dripping with butter and jelly. The burly waiter gave a mock bow as he set down the last plate, his sleeves rolled up to reveal a pair of hairy forearms tattooed with bright colours and shapes. |
b4fb5d87051947caaede5d4221afcc7a | ['9bada461c42046e480d225a3b506a673'] | Chloe made her stronger. Better. She stopped being so fragile, and afraid. She started standing up for what she wanted. She was no longer guarded. Beca was better. Their wedding took place two months after the proposal. It had been mostly left to Chloe to plan, as Beca would have just have them get married in Vegas or something. It’s a quiet wedding, with Beca’s dad crying into a handkerchief and Chloe’s parents beaming from ear-to-ear. No one has a protest when the guy officiating says “Speak now or forever hold your peace.” And everyone cheers when he says “You may now kiss the bride.” The afterparty is awesome, with everyone dancing and having a good time. Of course Aubrey cuts in at one point, stealing Beca from Chloe with a small smile and “I promise I won’t damage your wife.”
They danced sort of awkwardly for a moment, before Aubrey suddenly blurted, “Listen. I… wanted to tell you… I’m happy for you and Chloe. Please… Take care of her. For me.”
Beca simply nodded and smiled, before saying “I will.”
* * *
Two years later, nestled on the couch, they were talking quietly when Chloe snuggled a bit closer to Beca and asked a quiet question.
“Becs? Do you remember… Do you remember our first date?”
Beca simply nodded and offered a quiet, sleepy hum as a reply.
“I meant what I said. I didn’t want to fix you, because you weren’t broken. I love you, Beca, and I am so happy I have you in my life.”
“I love you too, Chloe.”
**Author's Note:**
> follow me on tumblr at USER! | 981cbbe0128446158f906e5ed1d270b5 | ['9bada461c42046e480d225a3b506a673'] |
Can We Try That Again?
It was a typical day for the two of you. A few classes you couldn’t stand, lunch, a few that you adored, and then free time. Usually, you and Hermione would spend it one of two places: The commons room, attempting to study amidst the chaos, or the library, quietly talking and pouring over notes. Classes were a lot harder for you this year, and while you were by no means a lazy student, you definitely needed as much help as you could get. Tonight, you were in the library.
A few sixth year Gryffindors walked by. Most of them just nodded respectfully, but two of the meatheads in the back looked at the pair of you and smirked. Their whispers were stage whispers, allowing both of you to hear the words they were exchanging. You could only make out a few slurs before you decided to stop listening. You looked over to Hermione and saw a curious blush creeping up, before your attention began to wander. Not every Gryffindor was a good person, and this was something you had started to learn in the past few months.
You and Hermione were just friends. Good friends. It wasn’t that you weren’t attracted to her (that had been a sort of dilemma for you since the beginning of your friendship.) It was more that Hermione wasn’t into you. You didn’t even think she was gay, at first: She seemed awfully preoccupied with that twit, Ron. However, a late night chat when neither of you could sleep had her confessing that she wasn’t attracted to Ron at all, or even attracted to men.
No, you hadn’t asked if she was into you. But why would she be? There were lots of other girls at Hogwarts, all of whom you thought were a better fit for her. Maybe just asking her would be a better way of figuring all of this out, but... You just hadn’t had the time. Or the nerve.
Even so, anyone who wasn’t a close friend of yours seemed to think there was more than met the eye with the two of you. Older boys in particular seemed to like to make comments about it, disgusting ones that had Harry rolling back his sleeves and brandishing his wand often. He was the only one who knew about your little crush, which led him to become increasingly protective of the two of you.
“Hey, are you listening to me? Everything okay?” Hermione said, bringing you out of your reverie. You blinked, shaking your head slightly, and looked at her with wide eyes. She seemed concerned, her hand dropping back to the table as she looked at you with a slightly bemused expression.
“Sorry, I… started to daydream there. Er… What did you say?” You replied, stretching slightly and scratching your head. She shook her head, giving you her small characteristic smile.
“Er, nothing. It… It wasn’t important. Should we get back to studying? Or would you rather go back to the commons?” Hermione asked. She leaned back in her chair, gazing at you with an expression you couldn’t identify. You knew her like the back of your hand, so the look she was giving you threw you off a bit. You took a minute to consider your options. Studying was wearing both of you out, but going back to the commons meant going where lots of rude and noisy people were.
“Let’s go to the commons. I keep going over this, I might go loony. Besides, it’ll be time to go back soon, anyways. If you want somewhere quiet to be, we could just go to the dormitory and talk.” Your reply was nonchalant, but you sincerely hoped she’d pick the latter.
Sure enough, she did.
The walk back to the dormitory was quiet, the two of you walking in sync completely unintentionally. You walked close enough together that your hands would occasionally touch, shoulders brushing, and in that moment you wondered if it would always be like this. If you would always lack the nerve to tell her how you felt. You turned your head slightly to glance at her, and to your surprise, found her looking back at you. She blushed, and so did you, but she had a soft smile and you couldn’t help but smile back. Hermione Granger was more and more beautiful every time you saw her.
When you finally arrived at the portrait hole, the Fat Lady looked at the two of you and giggled. She was always doing that, and it was ridiculously annoying. Hermione quickly gave her the password, attempting to quiet her. She smiled awkwardly back at you after going through the portrait hole, offering you her hand to help you through. You took it. After stumbling through the hole, you nearly tripped. Luckily Hermione was there to stop you from falling. It became painfully obvious to you how close you were once you were sure that you were steady. You blushed, and backed up a bit, still holding her hand. Hermione looked down at your intertwined hands with a small smile, then turned to walk to the dormitory, tugging you along too. She kept a tight grip on your hand, like if she relaxed you’d slip away. Harry and Ron both tried to get your attention, but Hermione waved them off. |
b583c92485a848b3a16d008772603c9d | ['9bbd3a1675ea486ab22a3b5c4a4203ba'] | Bail flinched from the action, cringed at the heat, and covered his ears to block out the noise. When the final set of starfighters unleashed their rockets, the explosion had Bail blinking the spots out of his eyes. The starfighters swept around, preparing for the next assault. Bail inhaled the metallic stench of destroyed durasteel mixed with the salt from the ocean and the freshness in the rain. He checked the sky, searching for Padmé’s signal.
A new sound drew Bail to the platform’s edge. The water bubbled in a new and alarming way. He watched, overcome, as the ocean waves slid off the object underneath to reveal a durasteel hull. The hull rose, slow as Alderaanian honey, the water spilling from the crevasses and over the viewport itself. Bail’s jaw dropped. Anakin sat at the controls, Padmé stood next to him, and clones in white panel armor filled in the deck positions. The cargo carrier lifted clear out of the water, the thrusters burning blue.
The V-wing starfighters finished their round and unleashed the next attack.
* * *
Qui-Gon held his own, his defensive skills apt for this kind of battle, but as Obi-Wan held his own and the battle moved from the incubation room to the hatchery, he worried about whatever tricks the Sith had up his sleeve.
That’s when Maul’s foot struck Obi-Wan in the face.
The blow came out of nowhere. Maul had Qui-Gon’s lightsaber pinned, and then he struck, spine contorting and leg reaching up and back like a numian snake. Obi-Wan felt the pain after his head snapped back. And then he staggered, his foot slipped off the edge of the platform, and he fell. Terror lurched into his throat, but he twisted in midair, aimed for the platform below him, and landed hard on his shoulder. He gasped, then rolled. Obi-Wan’s hands instinctively reached out to save himself from another fall. He dangled off the edge of the platform, his shoulder radiating waves of pain, his lightsaber lost somewhere, and the battle resuming overhead.
When Obi-Wan went over the edge, Qui-Gon stepped back in shock. He saw the terror on the younger Jedi’s face, the grin on the Sith’s. So he punched Maul in the chest followed by a backhand across the mouth. It felt so good to watch the Sith plummet to the platform below. Maul landed on his back with a loud _thwack_. Even from his vantage point, Qui-Gon could see Maul’s grimace and how his body curled in on itself. Qui-Gon considered ending it, jumping down and finishing this battle once and for all. The need to check on Obi-Wan is what stopped him.
Qui-Gon spotted the younger Jedi on a platform below the Sith. The hatchery stood empty; the pods had moved during their battle, but being so preoccupied he only acknowledged it in passing. In fact, the oppressive silence and the sickly green glow from a backup generator hinted that something was amiss. So still, he felt the building rattle around them, but he didn’t have time to consider the implications. Maul had climbed to his feet, the dual red blades bright points in the dimness. His red-and-black face looked up at Qui-Gon, then down at Obi-Wan, and he leapt down to the platform below him.
Qui-Gon jumped.
Obi-Wan struggled to pull himself up and his shoulder gave an audible pop. He gritted his teeth against the pain. When he managed to heave his torso onto the platform, he heard the thud of booted feet landing beside him and the _humm_ of a lightsaber. He looked up. Maul’s teeth were barred in a demonic grin, his red blades raised to strike. Obi-Wan figured his odds, whether or not he could release the platform and fall to a set of broken legs, or roll upwards and away from the Sith’s strike.
He didn’t have to do either because Qui-Gon plummeted through the air like a boulder, lightsaber parallel to where Maul stood. He would have sliced the Sith clean in two if Maul hadn’t twisted away. Qui-Gon landed in a crouch, the green blade smashing into the platform. The impact echoed, the lightsaber scarred the platform black. Qui-Gon rose out of his crouch and stood between Obi-Wan and the Sith.
Maul sneered. He swung his lightsaber, and Qui-Gon blocked, then Maul pressed his advantage, pushing with punishing blows that drove Qui-Gon back. Soon, they were out of reach and Obi-Wan still hadn’t regained his feet. He gritted his teeth and pulled himself up. His shoulder throbbed; a bacta pack would heal it, but he couldn’t allow Qui-Gon to fight alone. The red and green lightsabers _humm_ ed and flashed in the distance. Obi-Wan spun, searching for his lightsaber. He spotted it further down the platform. He held out his hand, the hilt smacked into his palm, then he turned and broke into a run.
Obi-Wan put on a burst of Force-speed, making every single step the equivalent of two, but he wasn’t fast enough. Maul drove Qui-Gon against the wall. Maul feinted with a blow to Qui-Gon chest, exchanged it for a blow to Qui-Gon’s face, stunning the Jedi. Qui-Gon’s lightsaber fell out of his hand, Obi-Wan’s heart lurched into his throat, and Darth Maul thrust his lightsaber through Qui-Gon’s abdomen up to the hilt, pinning him to the wall.
Obi-Wan heard a scream. He stumbled to a stop and the scream echoed, anguish, denial, and anger. Qui-Gon’s shocked expression gave way to slack features. Maul withdrew his lightsaber and whirled, leaving Qui-Gon to collapse with all the gracelessness that death permitted.
Obi-Wan inhaled in shallow gasps, his hands shaking with rage. Another Jedi was dead. A Jedi he could have saved. Another who died at the hands of a bloodthirsty Sith who had laid a trap for Obi-Wan and killed the one who had nothing to do with it.
His shoulder burning, his vision whiting out, Obi-Wan ignited his lightsaber and charged. | 6ade022b413a401f8f368ca937ad4a68 | ['9bbd3a1675ea486ab22a3b5c4a4203ba'] | Qui-Gon’s blue gaze did not waver. “It is obvious to me this war is wearing on you, Obi-Wan, and I’m not surprised. You weren’t a Knight long before you were a Master. Padawan Skywalker is strong in the Force and his talents should not be squandered. The Jedi Council will agree with me.”
Obi-Wan felt his mouth gaping like a beached fish. If he had been expecting anything, it wasn’t _that_. “What gives you the right to take my Padawan from me?”
Qui-Gon tipped his head to a spot just over Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Your apprentice is in love.”
Unable to do more than obey, Obi-Wan turned. Anakin and Padmé were dining together, heads close, whispered conversation. Obi-Wan blinked, but that was normal. Anakin and Padmé had made a quick friendship and their closeness was residual because of the war. It didn’t have to mean anything. As though reading his mind, Qui-Gon said,
“It means everything. Attachment is forbidden.” One of the tenets of the Jedi Code. “Passion is forbidden. And there is much anger in him.”
Obi-Wan returned his attention to the Jedi Master, his own anger simmering under the surface, building on the concussive blast from that opening salvo. “None of us are much different.”
Qui-Gon sat back, gaze narrowed. “That’s your excuse?”
Obi-Wan sighed, the emotion flowing out of him as quickly as it came. He waved a hand, suddenly tired. “We’re in a war — in case you haven’t noticed. Let him find some happiness.”
Qui-Gon’s brows canted in query. “What will happen when he can’t have what he desires?”
“What do you mean?”
“What will happen when all of this is over? When Anakin is reminded of his vow to the Jedi Order, will he give her up? Where will all that anger go?”
Obi-Wan blinked, the words like a laser blast excoriating the hull of his mind. Was he … failing his apprentice — so wrapped up in his own disaster he had been failing his duties? Part of him wanted to deny the accusations outright, to run and keep running until his legs gave out on him. But that wouldn’t be very Jedi. Granted, Qui-Gon’s lack of tact had put Obi-Wan on the defensive, yet, Obi-Wan’s lack of introspection would have reinforced it.
Obi-Wan tugged on the end of his beard, his frustration mounting. He needed to meditate, he needed to concentrate, he needed to release his emotions into the Force. He needed …
When he could register the man in front of him, Qui-Gon had a cast to his blue eyes, concern wrapped in alarm. “Master Kenobi, come with me.”
The large body swung up with a grace unwonted in his age. Obi-Wan watched the wide back retreat, a presence in the Force whole and stable. Then he followed.
They entered an empty conference room, the long table in the center scratched and dented. The blast doors closed, and all at once, the deluge washed over him. Obi-Wan gripped the edge of the table, the square lip biting into his palm, a pain that flared and distracted him — a blessed relief. Anger snapped and clawed at the edges of his being, the most forbidden of emotions. Breathing and releasing into the Force eluded him. How could he call himself a Jedi if his earliest lesson eluded him? Master Yoda would be ashamed.
The table’s surface wavered, the worn metallic dulled to a pasty sheen. Obi-Wan blinked, then gasped, the tears landing with a _splat_. Cloth rustled and a large hand landed on Obi-Wan’s shoulder.
“Find it. What is the source of your anger?”
The voice made him obey. Not Force-touched, but just enough of a suggestion not to be ignored. The recycled air eddied in his nostrils, the stale quality a lingering odor found just under the surface. An old filter system, too, the layers revealing themselves as he inhaled. Cooking fumes, fuel stench, body sweat. Obi-Wan shut his eyes and allowed his lungs to expand.
The anger had a source … and he found it.
Obi-Wan exhaled, his shoulders loosening, his spine straightening. He opened his eyes and pushed himself away from the table. The wetness at his eyes trembled in his vision, the room twitching in response. He allowed them to fall, the warm tracks running into his beard. At last, he turned to face Qui-Gon, the Jedi Master’s blue eyes steady and calm.
Obi-Wan released his emotions into the Force. His confession needed to be free of turmoil. “I wanted to kill him.”
Qui-Gon blinked, his aquiline features pinching in surprise. The Jedi Master opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Obi-Wan stepped away, the space giving him clarity.
“I know, I know. It’s a mortal sin for a Jedi to kill not in defense.” He paced to the opposite side of the room, the bulkhead decorated in blaster burns. Then he turned, unsurprised to see that Qui-Gon hadn’t moved. “When that beast attacked my Padawan, I couldn’t think. I only wanted him dead. I envisioned him impaled on my lightsaber … ” Obi-Wan looked down at his hands clasped in front of him, the fingers straining the way he would hold his lightsaber. “ … and I welcomed it.”
Qui-Gon lowered his gaze, the blue eyes hidden behind heavy lids. In the heartbeats that followed, Obi-Wan watched the Jedi Master hold to his serenity, his face unreadable. When Qui-Gon spoke, he addressed the ground. “Your apprentice had a similar slip. He couldn’t bear seeing you in pain and reacted poorly. His recklessness led to his injury.”
Obi-Wan blinked, his first time hearing that. Another place where he had failed.
Then Qui-Gon dropped a bomb shell: “Shaak Ti volunteered to be captured.”
Every nerve, from the roots of his hair to his fingertips, sparked to life. His hard-won peace unraveled like a poorly spun robe. “What?” |
269be33cb2a1488d847128a665514283 | ['9bc1489c9dba4eb8b4d40aba9562cc91'] | The tension made it feel like ages passed before the Cloud Guardian cracked his eyes open and replied, his voice so quiet it was barely audible.
" _Come here._ "
Gokudera didn't need to be told twice, he instantly shuffled closer to Hibari and, kneeling behind him, wrapped his arms around him tightly.
"You really missed me that much?" he whispered, pushing the collar of Hibari's yukata aside a bit, so that he could kiss his shoulder - not to tease, provoke or initiate anything, it was just a casual, tender kiss... and maybe a way to check how tense exactly his lover was.
He forgot to register that though, as he spotted something dark on Hibari's chest under the kimono; at the first glance it looked suspiciously alike to the markings he bore since the last September, but considering it was Hibari there was no way...
Unless...
"Kyoya..." he spoke up cautiously, one of his hands slipping up and resting over the other's heart - he was all too pleased noticing his heartbeat accelerated slightly. "What do you have here, hmm?"
"See for yourself," Hibari just huffed in response, turning his head away.
Gokudera complied without a word and tugged the top of his yukata open - only to gasp in shock as he did so.
This fucker really had gotten a tattoo.
A falcon, not only in the same spot, but also in the same style as his skylark.
"Why falcon?" he whispered into his ear. He had a pretty well idea of why, but he wanted to hear it from him.
" _Because your name would be too pretentious and this is close enough_." Hibari's voice was so jaded as he mocked what Gokudera said to him months ago, it was ridiculous, he loved it.
"And falcons prey on skylarks. So it's fitting, isn't it?"
_Oh._
That he didn't expect.
For a long while he just stared at the picture of the falcon utterly shocked, he simply couldn't believe that _Hibari Kyoya_ just openly admitted to being _his_ prey. It was so surreal - but it really did happen, right?
He noticed Hibari turned his head back and was now glancing at him; he made an incoherent noise and buried his face in his shoulder.
"God damn it, Kyoya."
"I love you too."
**Author's Note:**
> So, for the "falcons prey on skylarks" part
> I'm pretty sure everyone knows that Hibari's last name (雲雀) means indeed skylark
> Less common knowledge is that Gokudera's given name contains the kanji for falcon (隼)
> And falcons do in fact prey on small birds, including skylarks
> And I honestly have no idea how was I the first one to notice that symbolism | d52a134a4d894ef3897dab81d3302e9c | ['9bc1489c9dba4eb8b4d40aba9562cc91'] | If he was to guess who'd he end up spending most of that day, his bet would be on Gauche, maybe, eventually Chris—never in the world would he expect that it will be Thomas who would be holding him when he needed it the most.
It was maybe a little bit awkward, but it was also... nice. He didn't ask about anything, he just held him close; at first he tried to distract Kaito with some silly chat, but he seemed to quickly get that the blond wasn't really in mood for talking, so he just proceeded to rub his back reassuringly, letting Kaito just snuggle into him desperately and burry his face in his shoulder.
_When I come undone you bring me back again_
"You're cute when you're needy," Thomas whispered, resting his head against Kaito's. The smaller duelist glanced up at him briefly—he was actually a bit surprised with how content and how... _peaceful_ he looked. For a brief second he thought he should spend time with him like this more often, just so he could watch him relaxed like this.
"I'm not cute," he whined only, hiding his face once again in the other's shoulder. He couldn't tell if Thomas actually understood what he said—honestly he wouldn't be much surprised if he didn't, it was likely rather muffled anyway, thus probably incomprehensible. The Arclight didn't really help him in figuring it out, as the only answer he gave him was a soft laugh.
But soon Kaito realized that it didn't really matter, as it struck him that, weirdly, he didn't really mind that much when he called him that. He couldn't understand why—but he didn't care, at least not right now. He closed his eyes, tightening his embrace around the younger male and eventually smiling when he felt one of Thomas' hands travelling up his back, to absently play with his hair.
_Back under the stars_
Later on that day, Thomas came to him again—he seemed rather awkward when he just stuffed a small package into Kaito's hands, then quickly turning his head to the side.
"Happy birthday," he muttered, somewhat embarrassed—but honestly, Kaito was too shocked to wonder about that, or even notice it.
"You remembered," he blurted out, just as awkwardly, as he stared at the box in his hands, eyes wide in shock. Actually, he was surprised that Thomas _knew_ it was his birthday in the first place, he wasn't sure if Chris even knew that—but soon he brushed it off, assuming it was probably Haruto who told him.
"Well—duh. I—um. You seem to wear the same jacket all the time and I just... thought you'd maybe like some variety," the Arclight mumbled, obviously troubled, as he scratched the back of his head; his cheeks covering with a dark shade of red. The blond couldn't help but think he looked clearly adorable.
"I actually have several—" Kaito started to explain, but eventually he shook his head lightly, deciding to brush it off. It wasn't a moment for that, right? "Thanks."
Eventually he proceeded to unpack the box, every once in a while glancing up at Thomas; honestly he was curious as to what was inside, especially after what he said now. It wasn't much longer until he took a first peek inside of the box—and instantly he chuckled, upon seeing the galaxy patterned fabric.
"You're such a dork..." he whispered, shaking his head lightly as he carefully picked up the garment—it was a hoodie as he soon found out, a little bit too big, but it didn't really matter. He didn't expect him to actually know what size of clothes he wore anyway.
He stepped closer and wrapped one arm around Thomas' neck, pulling him closer and quickly pressed his lips to one of his still reddened cheeks—he'd swear they flushed even more when he's done that.
"Thank you," he said finally, as he leaned back—and in response he got the most beautiful smile he could ever imagine.
_Back into your arms_
* * *
He couldn't understand himself anymore. Not so long ago Thomas was someone so distant for him, someone whose existence he barely acknowledged and now he craved his company so desperately. He wanted him to be around and it hurt whenever he wasn't, he wanted to be touched by him even though he was so averse to physical contact—several times he even caught himself wishing for Thomas to actually kiss him.
It wasn't until Haruto started teasing him about it that he realized he might in fact feel something for Thomas. Honestly, it scared him how much sense it made; it would explain why he wanted him around so badly, why he was so open to Thomas touching him, why his eyes so often lingered on his lips, imagining how it would be like to feel them brushing against his own...
_Wanna know who you are_
"I'm taking you out," Thomas said, casually wrapping an arm around Kaito's shoulders, scooping him up. Kaito just blinked several times, almost nervously, as he looked up at the other, feeling his heart beat accelerate instantly. Why did he all of sudden...?
"I—o-okay," he stuttered eventually, looking off to the side. It was so stupid, it wasn't like it was an actual date, right? Or maybe...? He bit at his lower lip, frowning lightly. He should stop thinking so much, probably.
"But... next time I'd prefer to know about things like that a bit earlier," he added, looking back at the other—and instantly he felt his heart skip a bit and his eyes widened lightly when he saw Thomas' face; he looked like he was melting inside—but at the same time, he seemed weirdly... sad?
"What now...?" he asked, tilting his head to the side lightly. Honestly, he was worried now. Has he done something wrong? Did he offend him somehow? He truly hoped he didn't, he really didn't want to lose whatever there was between them, he didn't want to lose _him_. |
c976dae254d04355ba7130cfbc4e0c86 | ['9bfbc1f6a2e94e96945566b3186a8aa4'] | Her fingers shook holding it, and it wasn’t until she received a slight nudge from her partner she realised she’d been dwelling for far too long. Sure enough, when she opened the box she found a ring studded with tiny gems.
“Marry me, (Y/N).”
“I-I can’t!” Most brides-to-be would be pleasantly surprised but (Y/N) only felt the deepest of dread in her stomach. She wasn’t prepared to be bonded to this man for her whole life, not when she had so little knowledge about him.
“Why is that? I thought we agreed you would give me your heart?” Those words snapped (Y/N) back into reality, as she was reminded that with Taehyung choice was a mere illusion with the power he wielded over her.
“I mean, I can’t accept this ring! It’s way too flashy, you know I don’t want to be a show-off!” Taehyung bought into her bluff easily enough, smiling as he slid the band onto her finger ad pressed a soft kiss into it.
“I think it’s perfect. It can remind everyone of who your heart belongs to, because only I can provide this for you.”
Never had (Y/N) hated Jimin more than in this moment.
✨
“I’ve got to talk with the venue owners about payment. I’ll only be an hour at most.” Taehyung placed a kiss on his fiancé's cheek before leaving the apartment, locking the door behind him. Such simple things only reminded (Y/N) how much she was under his thumb, yet part of her was somewhat accepting of it. She couldn’t help but try to normalise their relationship, try to pretend he was the caring partner he presented himself to be whilst brushing aside his more possessive and dominating personality traits.
Today was one of the days she was experiencing a bout of acceptance and love for him. Now that she had the apartment to herself she wanted to explore and find out something about her fiancé that he’d hidden. Childhood photos, a stuffed toy, a diary even. Something that showed his more humane side so that she could fall in love with him like he wanted.
What her search uncovered was quite the opposite. Sure, she’d found some pictures of a dog that he’d owned at some point which made her smile, particularly in the he held the Pomeranian as if it was a baby. Whilst (Y/N) dreaded to think of a future beyond their imminent marriage, the sight comforted her with the suggestion he could be a caring father.
However, hidden amongst other photo albums in his desk drawer was a box, labelled with her name. She forgot all about her search I favour of digging out the box and opening it up. Inside were hundreds of photos. Of her.
Some she could remember being taken. A picture of her sat on their balcony in the morning when he’d asked to capture the moment. Some were less consensual - pictures of her asleep in his bed, hair neatly fanned out around her as if we was being posed for a museum portrait. The worst part was ones that were definitely not taken with her permission. Pictures of her out in public with friends, family - memories of a time before she’d known of Kim Taehyung’s existence.
She emptied out the box with terror running through her veins. Some of the pictures were from months, even years ago showing her with different hair and at different work places. (Y/N) was on the verge of vomiting seeing that they’re connection hadn't begun on pure coincidence through a mutual friend. He had been stalking her for years, awaiting to opportunity to arise for him to swoop in and trap her in his web.
Among the photos was a small USB drive. She picked it out amidst the chaos and booted up Taehyung’s computer, a sick want to see just what he was storing away overriding her instincts tell her to hide everything and pretend she didn't know before escaping at the first chance.
The drive contained many files. As she looked further she realised each was an evidence file, not fully filled out but detailing DNA evidence. The person pinned under every piece of evidence? (Y/N) herself.
He had never truly covered up the murder. Rather he’d hidden it away until further notice, until he wanted to expose her. Blackmail. Just so she could never get away.
It was too late to try to think when she heard the apartment door closing, implying he had returned. In a blind panic she switched off the computer and hid the USB under the mattress before scrabbling to pick up every picture. The blood rushing through her ears was enough to block out his voice calling out for her. She was much too terrified to function, the vinyl photos slipping out from her as she tried to pick them up with sweaty hands leaving the box only half full when Taehyung entered.
“I can see you’ve been up to no good whilst I’ve been gone, love.” The iciness of his voice cut through the room like a knife as (Y/N) stared up at him with a look akin to a sheep staring down the eyes of the wolf. He sat on the floor next to her petrified body, taking the photos out of her hands and tidying them up himself.
“Now, where’s the USB?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about Tae.” The eerie calmness of his voice sent shiver down her spine, the excuse falling out of her lips in a desperate attempt to not be a victim of his wrath.
“I’ll give you one more chance (Y/N). Give me that USB back and I’ll go easy on you.” When (Y/N) could not even speak, as a final act of defiance, he snarled and pushed her to the ground, using the weight of his body over her to hold her down. | 2d67e4bd17db42589fbad01ae491a1d3 | ['9bfbc1f6a2e94e96945566b3186a8aa4'] | “Mark Lee! Why have you been avoiding me so much? I’m so sorry for yelling at you.” (Y/N) said, almost grovelling.
“It’s not that (Y/N), I’ve just gotta go. I’m really busy.” Mark said quickly before walking away. Not before she grabbed him by his shirt collar and pulled him back.
“Tell me now.” (Y/N) growled with all the ferocity she could muster, although she sounded more like a kitten than a Lion.
“I-” Mark glanced around to see if anyone else was occupying the hallway. Upon seeing it was empty, he simply said “follow me”.
Once they had reached an isolated cloakroom in the gym, he sat down and sighed.
“Your boyfriend. You got back together?” He finally said.
“Are you kidding me, this again-” (Y/N) muttered, turning around to storm out before Mark shouted for her to stop.
“There’s more to him than meets the eye.” Curiosity tickled, (Y/N) seated herself next to him. “The other day, I was jumped by a gang. Led by your boyfriend.”
“You can’t just say something like that-”
“I’m not fucking around here. Look.” He pulled out his hand that he’d been keeping hidden inside his sweatshirt, and (Y/N) was horrified to see one of his fingers completely gone.
“They said I deserved this for trying to mess with you. That I was trying to steal you away, and if I ever talked to you again they’d hurt me twice as bad.”
She was shocked into silence by his confession.
“I’ve put my life on the line for this (Y/N). Promise me you won’t stay with him. Call anyone but just don’t return to that monster.”
(Y/N) nodded.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> If you would like to support me on ko-fi (https://www.ko-fi.com/Y8Y8VW9U) , I would very much appreciate it! I am offering a little thank you present for donating!
4. Part IV
He was never one to be impatient, but after (Y/N) didn’t pick up his fifth call in a row Hoseok felt like throwing his phone against the wall. When one of his men walked in to discuss something he barely concentrated, looking at the clock.
‘5:17… she’s supposed to call me at 3:15 after classes are over.’
“Deal with it however you see fit. Don’t leave evidence this time, I’m not bailing you out again.” Hoseok interrupted the man, standing up abruptly.
“Where are you going boss?” his inferior asked, but was silenced by a dealthy glare.
“None of your business.”
🌧
The opening of the door of Mark’s house startled him awake startled him out of his bubble of concentration. He thumbed the corner of the page and turned around to greet his visitor before the door to his bedroom was slammed open.
“I don’t have time for petty knocking bullshit.” Hoseok muttered to Jungkook, striding in. Mark immediately scrambled away at the sight of a pissed off gang leader, but the door was blocked.
“What did you do?” Hoseok growled, grabbing Mark’s shirt and shaking him slightly. When Mark didn’t respond, Hoseok pulled out his trusty switchblade and held it to his neck. “I’ll ask again. What. did. you. do?”
“I told her the truth jack-ass. I wont let you monopolise her life. She doesn’t deserve that.” Hoseok dropped his hold on Mark, letting Jungkook take ahold of him instead. He inspected the desk that his victim had been sat at until he found his target.
“What is your passcode?” He asked, holding up the phone.
“Like I’d tell you.” A howl of pain echoed around the room as Mark felt his finger being snapped harshly.
“0208″ He gasped. Hoseok smirked.
“Could’ve guessed that. Oh well, it’s fun to see you suffer.”
🌧
The ring from (Y/N)′s phone caused her to check it under the table, not wanting her grandma to see and scold her.
Mark - I need to talk with you about something important. Can you be at my house in twenty minutes? Text me when you’re nearby
(Y/N) furrowed her brow but agreed, making a pathetic excuse before excusing herself to get her bike. Her cycle ride was filled with the paranoia of running into Hoseok and being forced to confront him, but luckily enough that didn’t happen.
She sent Mark a quick text as she turned the corner, but an unsettled feeling in her stomach arose at the dead silence of his house. Abandoning her bike by the gate and knocking once, she epected to hear the normal scurrying of feet down the stairs but instead the door opened and an arm shot out to grab her and drag her in, slamming the door as quickly as it had been opened.
“Jungkook?” He gave her an apologetic look and dragged up upstairs, shoving her inside the room where Hoseok and Mark were. Both men looked at her, but with wildly different expressions: Hoseok was eerily calm, whereas Mark’s face was painted with pain and despair.
“Baby! You’re here just in time!” Hoseok burst into a smile, climbing off Mark with a small thunk being almost inaudible and approaching her with his arms held wild.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” (Y/N) glowered, trying to mask how utterly terrified she was of the situation.
“He’s done so many awful things to keep us apart. Lying to you so that you would break up with me.” Hoseok ranted. “And now it’s time that he gets what he deserves. Come here.”
(Y/N) wanted nothing more than to run but she knew she wouldn’t get far with Jungkook as Hoseok’s loyal watchdog.
“You’re going to do it. You’ll kill him for me, won’t you baby?” Hoseok indicated towards the momentarily forgotten victim lying in pain on the floor. He offered his switchblade to her, but she shook her head rapidly. “Come on now baby, don’t be shy.”
He uncurled her fingers and forced them the grip the knife before leading her over to Mark’s body by the arm. |
b5ac5cf91ee64e66b65afb3a8228c36f | ['9c0001591158452ab1955aa3c3c12b9a'] | It was covered in the slanted, spiky hand of someone who wrote fast and thought even faster. He skimmed the first few paragraphs and felt the lights go on in his brain: he’d have to read for a week to really grasp the theory, but what he could make out fascinated him. He flipped the page and read faster.
“Some of my teacher’s more recent work,” said a woman at his elbow. He looked up and met the grave dark gaze of one of the acolytes. She had a tassel on her robe that indicated she was about to take a level in proficiency.
“Naomi,” she said. “I was studying under Master Daniel until – well.”
“Uh, hi,” he said. “My condolences.” He cast around for something else to say. He’d said consoling things to people before, but in the same way you said “it’s going” when someone asked you how it was going. The conversation usually failed to progress after that.
“Master Strange,” Naomi said.
“I didn’t know him, but I’m sure I was missing out,” he said.
“You were,” Naomi said. “Master Strange, would you—”
“He didn’t decorate this place, did he?” Stephen said. Something hit him in the ear. He turned his head and saw a grinning ceramic cat floating several inches from his face. It was weeping from both smudged eyes. Behind it, a whole stream of occult odds and ends had halted. One of the acolytes made a shooing motion at him.
“You’re a little in the way,” Naomi said.
“Right. Yeah,” Stephen said. “Right.” He stepped out of the way, and the cursed flea market resumed its slow progress up the stairs.
“What is this?” he said, shoving the paper at Naomi. “It sounds like he was working on one hell of a high level.”
“New sorceries,” Naomi said. “Or they were going to be. He was developing a spell to replicate some of the properties of the Mirror Dimension on a smaller scale.”
“Pocket dimensions,” Stephen said. “You’d have to nest them in existing planar structures – ”
“Yes,” Naomi said. “He liked that kind of work. Delicate, precise.” She paused, and her mouth quirked up in a bitter little smile. “It didn’t do much for him in the end.”
When she held out her hand for the page he hesitated, trying to commit as much of it to memory as he could. Then he pushed it toward her, trying to ignore the way it magnified the tremors in his hands.
“Sorry,” he said. “Sorry.” When she stepped away he forced himself not to watch.
Wong was standing just inside the relic hall. He had been watching them, Stephen could tell. He was also holding an honest-to-god Rolodex, which meant that they were getting to the bottom of the barrel in terms of magical artifacts. Stephen nodded at him in what he thought was an assured and casual way. Wong pressed his lips together in what he probably thought was a smile.
Stephen was starting to think nothing could actually impress Wong except the discography of Beyoncé and by extension selections from the best years of Destiny’s Child. It was a discouraging thought. He went over.
“Tell me that’s haunted,” Stephen said. “It would really cheer me up right now.”
“What?” Wong said. “I—yeah. Sure. I’ll let you know if it curses me.” He hesitated, riffling the cards back and forth. The Rolodex continued to look disappointingly mundane. “You talked to Naomi,” he said.
“She seems nice,” Stephen lied. Niceness was not, in fact, one of the things he noticed about people.
“She’s taking it hard,” Wong said. He ran his thumb over the cards, _fwip-fwip-fwip._ He was looking over Stephen’s shoulder. “Daniel was a good teacher.”
Stephen knew better than to try to say consoling things to him. He kept his mouth shut. Wong snapped the Rolodex cover down and let out a long breath.
“We’re almost done here,” he said. “You have plans tonight?”
“Why?” Stephen said. Wong just looked at him.
“Oh,” Stephen said. “Yeah. No. I don’t have plans.”
“Good,” Wong said. “Because I’m going to show you where your bar is. Say thank you.”
“Thank you,” Stephen said.
The sun was going. Old gold light had come down over the rooftops, turning the Village into a picture from another time. When the last acolyte vanished through the portal, carrying the possibly-but-probably-not-enchanted Rolodex, Wong drew the circle shut.
They stood there in the empty hall, in the new silence.
“You mentioned a bar,” Stephen said.
“So I did,” Wong said. “Come on.”
He led Stephen down the stairs. At the bottom, with their backs to the front door, he pointed to the wooden scrollwork above the entrance to the relic hall. “You’re sworn in, it’ll respond to you now,” he said.
Stephen studied the spell that was carved there: an elegant string; phrase and argument, balance and actuation. He traced its shape with hands that only ached a little bit. And at the head of the stairs, another staircase began to unfold out of the empty space, spooling up out of nothingness towards the vaulted ceiling. A door swung open at the top.
“The next thing you need to show me is the owner’s manual for this place,” Stephen said, and started climbing.
The door opened onto a long windowed hall whose shape had very little to do with the physical reality of the building. Stephen walked close by the windows to look out, and slowed when he saw the view.
“You okay? I’m waiting for the smartass comment,” Wong said.
Stephen kept staring. After a little while he said, “Don’t rush me.”
It was night beyond the windows, but somewhere else—night above a sea of fog, window after window of starless blue-black haze. A mountainside dropped sheer away below them, covered in softly moving grass. | 56bedf556eb8482f8a9a15c7291ac46f | ['9c0001591158452ab1955aa3c3c12b9a'] | “Close that thing,” he said. “You’re letting in a draft.” The Cloak bunched protectively around him.
Wong eyed him, too keen for comfort. “Don’t tell me you forgot,” he said. He stood aside to make way for the acolytes spilling into the kitchen.
Stephen ate another forkful of rice and tried not to let on how spicy it was. He was sweating again. “I don’t forget things,” he said. “I was hoping you’d forget.” He had been looking forward to doing some more nothing, but it looked like he was going to be otherwise occupied. It was moving day. “You could have warned me that moving day meant, you know, daytime _in Nepal._ ”
Wong shrugged. “Figured you were used to weird hours,” he said. The coffee maker gurgled and began to drip. They looked at one another in silence for a moment. Stephen did not have illusions about his own charisma, and he knew that the number of friends he’d made at Kamar-Taj was approximately zero. But if he could round up to a modest fraction, like point three seven, it would be because of Wong.
A cool breeze gusted in through the portal, sending dry leaves scattering across the kitchen floor. The last few acolytes pushed their way in, and Stephen backed up against the counter to make room. He took his rice with him. When they were all done making cramped bows and saying “Master” and elbowing things off the counter, he shot a Wong a desperate glance. Wong had filled Stephen’s mug and was drinking from it.
“Do we really need this much help?” Stephen said. “I’ve already brought most of my things over.”
“Since security here was compromised, Hamir wants some of the relics moved to Kamar-Taj,” Wong said. “And we’ll be taking Daniel’s things.” He glanced at his coffee and his gaze stuck there as if weighted down. When he looked up, their eyes met for a moment and Stephen saw that Wong looked as tired as he felt. He wondered if point three seven percent friendship meant he had to ask if Wong was okay.
By silent mutual agreement, they looked away at opposite corners of the kitchen. Stephen chased a couple grains of rice around the bottom of the plastic box.
“Well, it’s your circus,” he said. “Have at it. I’ll join you when I’m cleaned up.”
Twenty minutes later, the air was full of flying furniture. Under Wong’s direction, the acolytes were working together to levitate a steady stream of trunks, books, boxes, and display cases down the central hall and through a portal at the top of the staircase. Someone had taken the deer head off the wall, and found out the hard way that when you did that it started screaming. Wong had let it go on for about three seconds, before snapping a quick gesture that enveloped the head in a bubble of silence. The mouth kept moving.
“I don’t want that back,” Stephen said. The Cloak waved a corner of its hem at the deer as it floated away.
The stream of stuff floating past his head gave him a weird pang of familiarity. Not the good kind. It looked – it looked like Hong Kong, as it rewound in time, shattered glass spooling back into window frames, debris fitting itself back together, the horrified expressions fading from the faces of onlookers.
Wong’s body lifting off a piece of rebar, the fabric of his tunic knitting itself back together over a rapidly closing wound. He wondered if Wong remembered that.
That was a bad thing to try to bond over. Stephen was not going to bring it up. He wasn’t. Even though it was practically the biggest thing they had in common, the dying and then coming back, and there was no one else who know what it felt like to be holding that particular get-out-of-jail-free card. He was aware on a clinical level that it was important to share things with people if you want to get closer to them. But there was knowing, and then there was actually trying to upgrade Wong from point three seven percent of a friend.
Because that’s what he had been trying to do all this time, needling him, showing off: trying to make friends. Or at least awe him. He tended to get the two mixed up.
In Hong Kong, after Mordo had made his dramatic exit, Stephen had sat down hard on the curb next to the noodle cart and said, “I don’t want Daniel’s bed.”
“What?” Wong had said, leaning down and then gently collapsing the rest of the way. They sat side by side with their feet in the gutter. “What are you talking about?”
Stephen’s head swam. The noodle vendor shouted something cheerfully profane at the stinky tofu cart across the street. “I can’t use his bed,” he said. “I want a different bed.” He slumped over, and Wong put a hand to his back.
From five inches away and sideways Wong’s expression was harder to read than unusual. Awe, shock, the shadow of some confused grief that time magic could not fully erase. The Eye of Agamotto dragged at Stephen’s neck like an albatross.
“There are plenty of beds at the New York Sanctum,” Wong said. Stephen thought, for some reason, that he was being comforted. Probably the massive shock. “You can have any one you want.”
“Not Daniel’s,” Stephen had muttered. “That’d be weird.” Wong kept holding him up.
Now the deer head floated through the portal, on its way to become Hamir’s problem. It was followed by a glass bottle full of writhing shadows, a sword wrapped in spell-inscribed cloth, and several back issues of _Better Homes and Gardens._ Stephen snagged a stray page from the file box that bobbed by in their wake. |
3e6a5b1ad64b4336b9ca7801c077ff05 | ['9c00dc282b6249f8bdd69f9149aaf6e7'] | “You know, I can tell you’re in emotional distress. My magic does that for me. What’s wrong little spider?” asked Loki softly
“I just had a little bit of a nightmare, it’s really no big deal.” Said Peter. Hoping he wouldn’t probe him about it too much.
“No big deal, you say? Then how about you tell me what the ‘little’ nightmare was about, and I’ll be the judge of that.” Said Loki
“Okay um well a little while ago I was fighting this real bad guy right? And the fight ended up in a warehouse. I think it was were he used to do all his bad guy stuff at, I don’t know, anyways. He had these wings that were flying around the whole time and trying to hit me. At least that’s what I thought, but I was dodging the hits so easily and I didn’t notice until it was too late.” Peter paused, taking a shaky breath in before continuing, “The wings were hitting all the support beams and the building fell on me. The whole thing. I didn’t even have the suit Mr. Stark gave me so I had no protection against it.” Peter stopped for a second, letting Loki take it all in.
“What did you do? Surely you didn’t lift it?” Asked Loki, concerned.
“I did actually, it took me a little bit to gather myself, but I lifted it. Then I had to go and finish off the guy since he had fled. Won that fight too.” Said peter with a sad laugh.
Loki took a moment to take in all that Peter had said. For a person of his age to go through all that. He couldn’t imagine.
“Does anyone else know of this?” Asked Loki in a sincere voice
“Yeah, Mr. Stark and my Aunt May. They kind of both had the same reaction really. Mr. Stark was extremely sorry though, since he was the one who took my suit. That whole experience brought us really close I think.” Said Peter
“You know, I’m not just up here to watch the stars. I had a nightmare as well. I have them quite frequently” said Loki
“Really? You get nightmares?” asked Peter, surprised
“Well, of course, over a thousand years of life give a lot of opportunities for bad experiences.” Loki replied.
“What are yours about?” asked peter curiously
Loki though for a moment, deciding whether to reveal a secret he cherishes so dearly. The only other person in the world who knows this is Thor, and even then, he told him with much hesitation. In the end he decided that since peter revealed much about himself Loki would do the same to him.
“A little while ago we had a dark elf invasion in Asgard. I was the one who caused it and have already greatly dealt with the repercussions of this choice. Basically I..” Loki paused for a second and looked at Peter. He nodded reassuringly. “Basically, I’m the reason my mother is dead.” As Loki said this he closed his eyes and looked down at the ground hundreds of feet below him.
This obviously wasn’t the answer that Peter was expecting because he had a very shocked look on his face. However, he quickly changed it to that of a knowing expression as to not hurt his feelings.
“I used to blame myself for my parent’s death, same with my uncle bens. Eventually I learned that sometimes you cant control what happens to those around you. And even though it sucks, heck even though sometimes it hurts you, you have to admit that it wasn’t your fault.”
They sat in silence for a while and peter sat his head on Loki’s shoulder. Loki just looked down and smiled
After that night the roof became a very common place for them to be.
3. Chapter 3
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> As soon as Peter opened his eyes that morning he knew it was going to be one of those days.
As soon as Peter opened his eyes that morning he knew it was going to be one of _those_ days. Those days when everything is just too much for him to handle. As soon as he saw those lights he had a headache.
“Peter are you still in bed? You’re going to be late for school!” Said Aunt May
As soon as she walked in and saw the state he was in she clamed down lowered her voice. She could tell how bad he felt.
“I’m coming May just give me a few minutes.”
“Oh, Peter you don’t have to go to school I can tell you’re not feeling very well” Said May sincerely.
Peter debated it for a second, but he thought about all the schoolwork he would miss. That and the fact he has a chemistry test today.
“No, I can’t miss school, I have too much to do”
“Okay well if you insist, though remember you can text me if you need me to come pick you up. I’m working but I might be able to pick you up.” Said May
Peter knew she wouldn’t be able to pick him up. She can’t take off work just for him. So, he begrudgingly got ready for school and started walking there.
* * *
Halfway through the day he really wished he had just stayed home. It’s almost like Flash could tell he was having a horrible day and was treating him worse than usual. As soon as he thought that another paper ball hit him.
“Flash stop being such a dick” Said Ned
“Ooohh Peter you got your boyfriend fighting for you” Said Flash with a smirk
Instead of egging him on Ned just turned to Peter to see how he was doing
“Are you okay Peter?’ Asked Ned softly
“I’m having a sensory overload day” Said Peter with a painful look on his face. | 51a01e35478d4fdaae3cfc0118ee8438 | ['9c00dc282b6249f8bdd69f9149aaf6e7'] | 3 a.m. dreams
**Author's Note:**
> Hey! I've been gone for a while (sorry) i just haven't had any modivation to write but i really felt like trying to write some stucky so i did this. Sorry it's so short this is kind of just an experiment.
Steve woke at to see Bucky sitting on the edge of the bed with his hands in his hair. He turned to look at the clock
3:47 a.m.
He turned back to Bucky
“Come on buck lets go back to bed” he said. But upon getting closer he saw that he was trembling
“Are you okay?” no response “Buck”
Bucky laid down and cuddled into Steve’s chest, which allowed him to see the tear track on his cheek
“I was back there again. When I- “He stopped abruptly. “When I fell. I felt like they were going to take me away again. I thought they were going to take me away from you” he continued.
Steve froze. This wasn’t something they talked about much. It always caused too much pain for Bucky, for both of them, to go back to that day. They always tried to avoid talking about the unhappy things of the past. Focusing on the fact they’re together now.
Steve ran his hand over the top of his Bucky’s head, not sure what to say.
“It’s okay Buck, you’re not going anywhere. I’m right here.” Said Steve, trying to calm him down.
“I know, it’s just…every time I dream of that it always feels so real. I’m sorry, I know its irrational and dumb I ju-“Said Bucky, starting to apologize before Steve cut him off.
“Hey hey hey it’s okay you don’t have to apologize for having a nightmare” Steve said, stopping him from rambling on.
“C’mon Buck let’s just go back to bed, you’ll feel better in the morning.’ Said Steve, just trying to take care of his Buck.
He heard a mumbled okay as they fell back asleep. It’ll be better in the morning. |
1c7ce06d71ea4dc59159de9f6572704c | ['9c168e1f553c4bceae0437eca673aaa6'] |
Toxic Relationship
It was late evening, something about half past eight when Sherlock Holmes ran down the stairs while buttoning his tight white shirt. He felt full of life, finally something fun to do! He was so happy he almost didn't mind wearing the skinny jeans - well, which didn't mean that he did not complain about it - John has put all Sherlock's black trousers in the laundry...
" Come, John! Lestrade called, there's a new case! Murder in the elevator!" His voice was beaming with delight and excitement, whole his body radiated with energy.
In any other day, John would just smile at seeing his flatmate who has always been considered as a Sociopath grinning like a child.
But today he didn't share his joy, he sat in his armchair, his back hunched, turned on the detective. He was sunk in the comfortable chair, but he felt everything but comfort.
" I'm not coming today, Sherlock... Go by yourself..." He said, sounding exhausted and bit out of breath.
Sherlock thought he must have misheard. He blinked in confusion and his brows knitted together. Did John decline to go to the crime scene? Like the Army Doctor John Watson? It was his hobby too, wasn't it? Well, maybe not as big as Sherlock's, but...
That was weird. Maybe he had a date? Only that thought filled him with anger towards the lucky woman, the hairs on his arms stood on end.
He admitted he was jealous, he was well aware of that fact. But his anger was also caused by the nasty behaviour of John's girlfriends. They let him down only because of Sherlock being his friend because they thought that there was something between the two...
Sherlock would be lying if he said that he didn't want to be something more than John's friend, but he had no right to push John into something he didn't want to.
But his girlfriends' behaviour was drawing him mad.
" What?! Why you're not going? Do you have a date again? Do you remember the last one, don't you? I think you should take a break from that, slow down a bit..." Sherlock said in his 'know-it-all' voice which always drew John insane.
John turned around in the armchair to shot his friend with a death glare. " Are you trying to tell me that I'm too old for that? Unlovable?!" He snarled.
" No..." Sherlock blinked, realising how his previous words must have sounded like.
'Of course not, you're just too nice and sexy for them... They don't deserve you...'
The doctor folded his muscular arms on his chest. " Because it sounds like that! And since you're so interested, I'm not feeling well today..." He snapped.
So not the date then - the detective almost sighed in relief. But what was wrong with his friend? " You must be just a bit tired... I'll buy you some coffee, okay?" He suggested, hoping John will join him.
He needed his blogger, he'd be lost without him. Somehow, he managed to get a bit addicted to his flatmate, the thought of going to the crime scene made him feel insecure. He didn't like that, he was Sherlock Holmes, emotion-free man, the High Functioning Sociopath...
But his wish wasn't heard... " I'm not going anywhere, Sherlock!" John raised his voice again, filled with an impatience. Sherlock knew this tone, it was almost a last stage, only one left and John will explode. He was well aware that John was a hot-head, it was quite easy to wind him up. And Sherlock became a master in that, especially with his experiments. But on the defence of his, he did not make it on purpose...
" Come on! That's 7.5 at least!"
He expected John to fight with him about the importance of cases, but nothing came. Well, something did, but it was far from a reply. He let out something like a groan and jumped out of the armchair so fast you would see him blur. He pressed his hands to his mouth and rushed to the bathroom.
" John?" He ran after him to find his friend heading towards the toilet and collapsing on the cold tiles.
The skin under John's squared chin wobbled as his throat tried to get rid of the sour unpleasant taste which reminded him of meals he had eaten today. His hands, glued on his lips, prevented him from making the mess in the on the floor.
He leaned on both sides of the toilet seat and gripped the plastic so firmly his knuckles turned white. He curled over the bowl, his body trembled as he began emptying his stomach.
Sherlock just stood there for a while, staring at his flatmate, who was fighting with his strained stomach. What was wrong with him? Was it flu? The viral infection?
He frowned, frustrated. He hated the not-knowing what to do.
He made a few steps closer, successfully ignoring the nasty smell of vomit.
" John, are you okay?" He asked, his voice suddenly unsure, he had no experience with that.
He almost lost the contact with people after the uni, except the Christmases and birthdays with his family and dead corpses during crime-solving (not that there would be some room to speak with them...). He didn't meet a sick person for a long time.
Sure, he used to be ill when he was a child, but it was quite long ago. And furthermore, he wasn't sure if the methods which his mum used would be fitting on John...
John's body twisted in the effort, hot tears flowed down his round cheeks. " How does it seem?!" He snapped in a hoarse voice. It was a miracle he managed to say it between gags which shook his short frame.
" So... Not an exhaustion then..." The detective commented, oblivious the fact he just stated the obvious, the thing he hated so much on the ordinary people. | b65067de26f944f69012e6da052781a2 | ['9c168e1f553c4bceae0437eca673aaa6'] | The second one consisted of going to the kitchen and eat something to charge some energy because he felt completely exhausted. But if he'll visit a fridge in those hours, then his already chubby belly will save another amount of calories. He didn't want to increase the cushion of pudge attached to his middle.
* * *
John slowly creeped out of their bedroom, careful to not wake up his sleeping boyfriend. He descended the stairs down to the kitchen. He felt really guilty and uncomfortable, but he had to do something to keep himself awake. Anything was better than that nightmare.
He approached the sink and turned on the water to pour himself a glass of water. He drank down the whole of it. He shivered from the coldness of the liquid and then he leaned on the kitchen unit. He reduced blinking, he was afraid to close his eyes even on a tiny second. He was sure that whenever he would close them, he would see the image of the Consulting Detective covered by blood.
His body trembled because of shock and cold temperature. He wore his sleeping shorts and a white short-sleeved t-shirt so when the night coldness touched his skin, goosebumps spread over his skin.
John couldn't take it anymore. He stood on his tiptoes and opened the cupboard. He reached out his hands to grab a big tin of chocolate bonbons. He put it down on the unit and half-sat down on it.
The ex-soldier unwrapped the chocolate sweet and put it in his mouth. It was good dark chocolate which Sherlock bought. John had to admit that he was surprised that Sherlock can be capable of shopping. He promised to himself that he'll eat just a few candies, so Sherlock won't notice and his figure will stay as it is.
But it wasn't easy to do and his promise was broken. John ate bonbon after bonbon, candy after candy. He acted almost unknowingly, he seemed to be in a trans, the lack of sleep and food today put its signature on him. He just focused on the chocolate which melted in his mouth. He nearly didn't feel bad right now, he was too exhausted.
John immediately woke up from lethargy when his fingers met the cold metal sheet. He took a look inside and his guts squeezed tightly when he realised that the tin was completely empty. He blinked a few times and gazed into the can again.
He felt the tin slipped through his fingers and fell on the ground with a loud noise. John quickly bent down and picked up the metal box from the ground, praying for not waking up Sherlock.
'Oh God, what am I going to do?' His breath grew faster in his throat and his heart began to pound fast. Tears pricked in his ocean blue eyes at the disgusting thought that he's such hoggish.
He narrowed his eyes and shot a glance at the clock. It was two o'clock, the idea of creeping out of the flat and buy a new pack of chocolate sweets for Sherlock was banned. There was no chance to fill the big can with the same bonbons and unfortunately, there were no other sweets at home.
The wave of anger and disgust flew through his body, not only for stuffing his mouth with fattening sweets, but the main reason was that he just scoffed Sherlock's favourite sweet thing.
'God, what kind of boyfriend you are!' The doctor snapped at himself. The guilt squeezed his neck, he almost couldn't breathe, the inhale stuck in his throat.
He gulped the unpleasant feeling and gritted his teeth. He's a soldier, he has to accept his mistake and admit it. He'll leave the tin on the table and in the morning he will confess to what has he done.
Sherlock will be disgusted and maybe even disappointed, but John refused to act like a coward.
He took the last glance at the empty box and with heavy heart and breath, he turned around to make his way back to the bedroom to think how he will tell Sherlock.
And then he choked and his heart fell down almost on the tips of his toes.
"John?"
He was standing there, only in his sleeping bottoms, his white lean chest was shining in the dark room. The wild black hair lined his narrow pale face with beautiful cheekbones and cupid shaped lips. His eyes, which were fixing in his face, seemed worried.
John stumbled backwards against his will and bumped onto the kitchen unit. His expression reflected the guilt, Sherlock immediately recognised that there was something wrong.
" Sherlock! What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be sleeping?" The doctor stuttered.
Sherlock's eyes narrowed in suspicion and care as they glanced over John's short frame. " I could ask you the same question..."
The soldier rubbed his temples and closed his eyes. " I had to pour myself some water... I couldn't sleep..." Technically speaking, he wasn't lying.
Sherlock's face went gentle. " I know..."
" How... How long have you been standing there?" John asked, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to know. He couldn't stand there for long, he would notice...
" For a while..." Sherlock admitted and lowered his gaze.
John's stomach clenched and blood rushed in his round cheeks. He saw! He saw him as he stuffed his horrible mouth with those unhealthy things. He begged the ground to take him over. He wasn't able to speak.
Sherlock approached his boyfriend and raised his hand to his cheek. With gentleness and lightness, he slid his fingertips over the soft skin of his face. Detective's hand reached the edge of his chin and he put his thin index finger under John's soft jawline.
" John... What is it?" He asked as he lifted boyfriend's face.
The doctor had no choice but glance up into Sherlock's beautiful blue-green irises. |
48f80aac0af242e9b9438d719d2cb454 | ['9c631590362d4bc4b976ad539a1f651f'] |
A Somber Return
Peter had been sitting on his knees beside the bed for so long that his legs had gone completely numb. The bed was empty; it had been for hours. The bedroom door; still open as if MJ was going to walk back through it any minute, but every second crept by at a snail's pace without any indication of her return.
It wasn't until his phone started vibrating on the adjacent nightstand, did he feel the need to stand. It continued its incessant trembling as he rose delicately off of the floor. A difficult task with numb limbs. He pushed himself over the bed; cursing as the pins and needles started crawling up his leg slowly. He ignored it, opting to focus on the phone instead.
When he reached it, he saw the name ‘Sable,’ paired with the picture of the two of them atop his apartment building he had taken so many weeks ago, illuminated on the screen.
“H-hello?” his voice cracked.
“Spider-man I need- what's wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
“You are very bad at lying. Does this have anything to do with the reporter girl?”
Peter shifted uncomfortably; gripping the bed sheets tightly. “Y-yeah. I don't really want to talk about it. What do you need?” he asked hastily.
“You told me you had something to report days ago and I believe that in your silence I may have discovered your problem on my own. How dare you not tell me that Hammerheads loyals are still adamantly trying to get him back?”
Peter felt his Spidey senses start tingling in the back of his head. “How did you find out?” He began pulling on his suit. “What happened?”
“My main base was bombed.”
“Oh my god!” He was already out the window with his phone pressed between his shoulder and his cheek. “Is anyone hurt?”
“Seventeen of my men are down. Six have died; at least from what I’ve seen.”
“You say that like its nothing!” The adrenaline was pumping viciously through his veins, carrying him through the city faster than ever before. The emergency vehicles wailing in the distance couldn’t catch up to him as he sprung from roof to roof trying to reach the harbour as soon as possible.
As he drew closer, the smoke rising over buildings was more prominent and easy to see. “Sable are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“I am fine. I was nearby in a prototype we have when the explosion happened.”
“What do you need me to do? Give me orders.”
“I’m chasing the criminals as we speak. I need you to salvage as much of my base as possible. I have years worth of important data and equipment in there.” Screeching tires echoed through the phone as well as what Peter assumed was an abundance of Symkarian swears before the line went dead.
He nodded to no one as he reached the edge of the harbour. “On it,” he muttered. It was a mess of billowing black smoke and murky water surrounding a quickly sinking wreck. It was nowhere close to the shining vessel it had been the last time he saw it.
There was another nearby scrambling to pull their men on board. It was a mess of chaos from every angle.
Peter jumped into action; doing what he could with an absence of buildings or trees to latch onto. He ended up in the oil-soaked water more than once. The smoke filled his lungs before the whole vessel was pulled under. He salvaged what he could but wasn't about to go diving for spare parts.
He took what he could over to the dock where a stream of emergency vehicles were coming and going with Sables injured men. Police were holding back civilians and reporters.
MJ was there; standing in the middle of the fray like nothing was wrong apart from the limp she was attempting to hide. Pen and paper in her hand, camera rolling; shouting questions. It was almost like normal. Her wounds hidden beneath a lether jacket and a scarf, or bandaged so delicately it almost looked intentionally done for fun.
His handiwork.
For a moment they shared a passing glance before they both unwillingly forced their gaze apart. They both had jobs to do.
A white van with a large mounted gun came speeding around the corner; narrowly missing the bystanders. Peter jumped down from the lamppost he was currently perched atop just as the vehicles soul occupant stepped out. “Did you think that not telling me would somehow solve the problem?!” she cried out aggresively with her hands on her hips; just above her pistols.
“No I did not,” Peter replied calmly; walking towards her.
The crowd parted to allow for Sable and their friendly neighbourhood Spiderman to come face to face with each other without interference. They came to a frustrated halt within inches of each other before Sable huffed, “you are the reason this happened to my men!”
“I am not! I had personal issues to deal with, alright? And it’s not like I knew they were going to do this. Last I heard was they were trying to find a way to bring him back. Nothing about bombing you; no plans of attack at all. Criminals without a boss are usually a mess. I had no idea they would get a plan together this quickly.” After a moment's hesitation, he added, “I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner like I promised. I just got busy with something.”
All cameras were on them; professional or otherwise, waiting for them to fight. “Listen,” he continued; his eyes scanning the group. “Can we talk about this elsewhere?”
“Fine. Get in the van.”
“I value my life. I think I’ll hitch a ride on the roof.” | 731b7b9f63c74de09a9bfc883d02c7fe | ['9c631590362d4bc4b976ad539a1f651f'] | Catching his breath was a difficult task. Staring at the fallen cyborg man took the breath right out of him. "You did it, Miles!" He was finally able to say.
He felt Miles drop down beside him though he still couldn't see him. "Call the police. I need to get Sable to a hospital. We'll figure the rest out later. Great job Miles. You saved us."
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> Not sorry about that.
12. Hospital Visits
When Sable woke up, her vision was blurry and the subtle aching across her body was prominent. The beeping in her ear was a clear indication of hospital equipment and as she blinked, they became clearer. What caught her attention; however, was the slumped mass of red in the corner.
Peter was sitting at the foot of her bed; still dressed in his Spider-suit, bobbing his head up and down as he nodded off and woke himself up over and over again. At first, he didn't seem to notice that she was awake. When she started to shift into a more comfortable position; however, his eyes shot open.
"Sable," he said, voice shaking slightly. "How do you feel? Are you okay?"
Her eyes closed for a moment as she let out a deep sigh and weakly responded, "do I look alright to you?"
"Well, no, but I meant are you in a lot of pain? You aren't dizzy or anything? The doctors gave you the best painkillers they had but it didn't mean it was guaranteed to work."
"Nothing I cannot handle."
Peter sighed and moved his chair up so he was right beside her. "You know that's not what I'm asking. Are you in a lot of pain?"
Her eyes softened and she shook her head ever so slightly. "No. Not much at least. I suppose I have you to thank for that?"
He laughed, "I'm no doctor, Sable."
"And you must be aware that, that was not what I was intending."
"Actually, I don't know what you mean."
"Clearly you brought me here and most likely saved me from Hammerhead." She paused to close her eyes tightly. "Hammerhead; is he dead?"
"Yeah, as far as we know. Spider-kid did it. You wouldn't believe it actually," he chuckled. "He turned invisible! I don't know how; I mean I never found a way to make a camo suit and it's not like he did, he didn't even know he had turned invisible. I bet he has a ton of other powers we don't know about! It's amazing!"
"Were you injured? I see your suit is a mess."
"Nothing out of the ordinary there," he laughed. "Just a few dings and burns here and there. Nothing that hasn't healed already. I'm more concerned about you. The doctors weren't too thrilled about your injuries. Even with the safety features in the jet, you were not okay when I pulled you out. Broken nose, a broken arm, legs were better but they are recommending you stay off them for a couple of weeks. They aren't broken but cracked in a few places."
Sable huffed, "so I am useless for the time being."
"Not useless, Sable. Come on don't be like that."
Her eyelids became heavier as she laid there trying to focus on Peter's masked face. He noticed of course; immediately moving to pull the pristine white hospital bed sheets up over her. The sudden movement startled her and the heart monitor beeped a slightly faster pattern.
"It's okay, Sable. Get some rest. I know you must be exhausted after what happened; not to mention the morphine."
"Just need to close my eyes."
"Alright, well you rest your eyes then. I'll be right back."
She heard him stand and make his way out of the room. He wasn't gone very long but when he returned, he had steered himself into the washroom and turned on the tap. She didn't much care for whatever antics he was pulling this time and instead decided to focus on her breathing which had become erratic.
He sat down beside her and whispered, "I don't know if you're asleep, but I'm going to put a damp cloth on your forehead. You're sweating; probably just a side effect of the morphine, and I don't want you to be uncomfortable." Carefully he wiped her face with a cloth, before setting another one down on her forehead. "There," he let out the breath he had been holding in. "That should feel much better.
He was right. Almost instantly she felt a lot calmer and not as feverish. She knew the heat would return quickly so she tried to enjoy it while it lasted.
A minute; maybe more passed by, however, and to her pleasant surprise, he exchanged the old rag for a new colder one.
She hated the feeling of being waited on like this. It didn't feel right after years of training and taking care of herself; and only after she was sure her men were safe and tended to first. Having such gentle hands tend to her; in some ways, didn't feel right.
A soft knock at the door turned both her and Peters attention away from what they were doing; though her eyes remained closed. If it were a threat, they wouldn't be knocking and she doubted the scent of fresh flowers wouldn't make a sudden appearance.
Peter tried to keep his voice low so he wouldn't disturb Sable, but the surprise was clear in his tone, "MJ? What are you doing here?"
She giggled as she walked closer, placing a vase on the side table. "The woman saved my life, Peter. You think I'm just going to turn a blind eye when she ends up in the hospital?"
"No," he chuckled softly. "No, I guess that wouldn't be very nice. I just didn't expect to see you here."
"I have a habit of getting myself into places I'm not supposed to be. How is she?" |
30db460a022845719a99982a446ff021 | ['9c661b875f2942a28787f5a88fa6263e'] | Irwin was a reliever, a damn good one. But, like a certain hero of their team from decade past, he tended to get injured. A lot. Randomly. At the moment, he was on the 15-day disabled list with a “neck strain,” though Ash had only giggled, put a finger to his lips, and mouthed “tell you when you’re older” when Michael asked. It seemed like the fan-favorite was injured more often than not, but he was excellent, sublime, on the mound. His quirks were as many as his pitches were sharp. His hair remained in a permanent bun off the field; he took it out when pitching, golden curls snarling out from the brim of his ballcap in a seemingly constant breeze, “distracting the batter and entrancing the crowd,” as he himself put it. He never called them the fans; they were “the crowd” or “the audience.” Calum always rolled his eyes, but Mike laughed, and he didn’t miss the quirk of Calum’s mouth either. Ashton’s hair, his smile, his tendency to steal the mascot suit and cavort on top of the dugout, his hopeless enthusiasm, his fucking _talent_ …that’s what drew their fans to him, why they called him “Sunshine,” why he’s signed a contract longer than any oft-injured specialist reliever should have—according to the experts. Mike tried his best to never mind the “experts.” He, and more importantly their GM, knew how much of an asset Ashton was, and that was enough.
Yeah, Mike was loving his life in the majors so far. He had friends, he had fans, and he owned that little stretch of basepath, the place he’d always wanted to be. So he’ll work on his average, his ERA, cross his fingers for a shot at the postseason, and maybe do a little research on the pitcher everyone was talking about, the one rumored to be in trade talks with his team. Hemmings, his name was, Luke Hemmings.
2. Double Play
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> Michael gets nervous and stays up too late.
**Double Play—(n.) the act of making two outs during the same continuous playing action. The “pitcher’s best friend”**
No player likes trade rumors, especially about themselves. And while there was nothing the pipe about Mikey moving anytime soon, the team had become such a huge part of who he was, so quickly, that the talks about acquiring a new starting pitcher felt personal, felt like a critique on himself. Hell, he wasn’t a pitcher, had never played the position, but the rumors still stung. With a little under three months left in the season, the competition between their division rivals grew more heated with every game, every time the two teams jumped each other in the standings. They needed a boost. And while Michael hated to see one of his teammates sent back to AAA to get his game back on track, he knew it was the best thing, a shot in the arm (not literally, haha, no steroid rumors here folks) for the team, fans, the whole organization.
He’d never met the pitcher his team was vying for, but that wasn’t too surprising. Even though the man was a National League pitcher, interdivisional matchups were rarer than the intradivisional series between the five teams located in their Nation League West—and the guy's team was from the other side of the country. Cal had frowned though, when Mike asked him about the guy, about Hemmings.
“Hit a two-run double off him,” Cal had muttered before stalking away. Mikey wondered at that—it was great, nothing to be ashamed of. It wasn’t until he asked Ash—who always seemed on the pulse of the team’s troubles—that he understood. They’d faced Luke’s team, one of the worst in the league, three times so far this season, ten games total, and taken the series each time, but had never gotten the better of the twenty-four year old pitcher. And Calum had only been able to face him in one of those games, the first—he'd been out with a stiff back one day, a scheduled day off the other. Apparently he’d begged their manager to play that day, but he’d been snapped at, forced to spend the afternoon watching as Luke blanked them, was passed over even as a pinch hitter. The day Cal _had_ played, he hit that double…and struck out three times.
A batter hitting three pitches for every ten is a great hitter; Calum was a great and then some hitter. But he was 1-for-4 against Hemmings, and while those are terribly small numbers to base a grudge off of, Mike understood. Some players, some pitchers, just got in your head. Sometimes it was their windup, sometimes their stillness as they watched for the catcher's signs. Ashton said it was in his eyes—a cold brightness that locked batters up. “It was an emergency swing,” he confided to Michael, about Calum’s double, “he was just protecting. He wasn’t aiming for the gap; just got a lucky liner between the third and short. His eyes killed Calum the other times.” Of course, Ash had never faced Hemmings, and he was nearly positive Cal wouldn’t have willingly told the reliever it had been an emergency swing, but Mikey believed him. The way Calum refused to talk about the guy, Michael knew there had to be _something_ about him.
So when word came down that, yes, they were acquiring Hemmings in a three-team trade for a few prospects and a draft pick a few years down the line, Mike was nervous. Glad he wouldn’t have to face the man, embarrassed that he felt that way, worried about how he would get along with Cal and the rest of the team—Mike’s family, his brothers. Watching some video of his starts, a few interviews, wouldn’t hurt.
* * * | a433cda1301646bb8f2d80f21e200618 | ['9c661b875f2942a28787f5a88fa6263e'] | Since he's going solo, Michael decides to stop by his apartment first, to shower and feed Castaway. He wishes, not for the first time, that he could take her with him to Luke’s, but that was “off-limits” according to Ashton, who insists it's a “shared space” and he was allergic. Mike thinks that's just an excuse to hate on cats, but he acquiesces.
After a quick shower and a long game of Chase the Mouse, Not My Hand, Michael heads out again, not really wanting to drive but taking his car anyway, in case he heads home late.
Standing in line to order, he's a little surprised by the noise in the café. They’ll be closing for the day soon, but he hears the chatter of voices over the relatively reliable sanctuary of his headphones. Looking around, he corrects himself. The café _was_ nearly empty, and the chatter was shouting—that sort of whisper-shouting that only arguing couples use in public. And, unfortunately, he knows this arguing couple.
Adding two teas to his order, he gingerly makes his way to Ashton and Calum.
When Ashton pauses for breath, Michael speaks up, “Mind if I join you guys?”
Both of them immediately slap on smiles, shiny fake grins that hurt Michael’s heart more than he wants to admit.
“Yeah Mike, ‘course.”
“I ordered some iced tea for you both,” he drops into a cushionless wooden chair on the far side of the table they sit at, “but if that’s a no go for you, no big. I’m pretty parched.”
“That’s great!” they chime, and Michael sees their real smiles flash out before they glance at each other and jerk away.
Michael cringes, and he's not sure where his next words come from, “Good. Now, trust me, this is worse for me than you, but _what_ is _up_? Not for the team’s sake, but for yours? Jesus, this is nonsensical! The other day you fought over socks, socks! And it’s not even been two weeks! At the very least, you could use that competitive streak in your bones to pull your relationship together!”
The barista softly sets down their teas, and Michael’s vision clears enough to bring his best friends’ faces into focus—stunned, but still stubborn.
Michael realizes he may have (definitely has) overstepped his bounds, he certainly didn’t mean to blow up like that, but as both his eyes and mouth widen, Ashton starts talking.
“I mean, I don’t _know_ what’s wrong,” he glances gently at Calum, who has sucked down half his iced tea and is resolutely staring out the window, though the drum of his finders betrays his nerves, and that he's listening. “Nothing is that different, I don’t understand!” a petulant note creeps into the reliever's voice.
“It’s because you’re always around! Why, why Ash, I love you, but you. Are. A lot," the casual, albeit irritated, way Calum has thrown out “love” nearly makes Michael choke on his straw, but he manages to stay quiet.
“I’m…oh, oh Calum, ok,” Ashton crowds back into the outfielder’s space, “I thought we, you and me, we were ruining everyone else’s days, having each other and having out dreams in our grasp, I just…it feels like I can only share that with _you_.”
As they're leaning in, Michael politely looks away, before yelping as someone’s spilled iced tea rushes into his lap, “Guys!” As they break apart, there are, finally, real and bright and glowing smiles on their faces, “You know, I actually wanted to work out with you the other day, Cal. Missed you laughing at me.”
“Yeah, Mikey? I think I could get behind that.”
“Poor word choice, babe.”
“Ew. But seriously, stop spending so much time together. Calum _and_ Ashton are my friends, not this…'Cashton'.”
“You got it,” Ashton beams, wrapping one arm around Calum and his hand over Michael’s wrist, “No more sequencing.”
“Um. Sequestering?”
“Fuck, that too.”
“You know you can share stuff with us—uh, me and Luke. You can.”
“Logically, yes. Sorry bro.”
“Better be. To make it up to me, I’ll take your pants.”
Calum whipped his head back to Michael, “You _what_ , Clifford?”
“Easy there, hotshot; I do believe that’s Ashton’s spilled iced tea, yeah? I’m not going to Luke’s place soaked like this.”
“Oh to Luuuu—“
“Shut up Calum," Ash cuts him off quietly, "Anyway, you’re the one that knocked the tea over anyway; give him your sweats.”
And because Calum really has no shame, he strips them off right there, giggling as he hands them to Mike, who ruefully apologizes to the staff as he walks to the café’s small restroom.
After a quick change, something not unfamiliar to the oft-sweaty third baseman, he makes his way back to Calum and Ashton, stopping to ask for an iced coffee to-go, no room, for Luke. He despairs for Luke’s gleaming teeth and is insanely glad Ashton has pushed the team into “group brushing” before games, though likely even that couldn’t stave off the eventual discoloration Luke’s coffee intake is sure to cause.
They're a little close for comfort, but all hands are visible as Cal and Ashton stand to join him.
“You’ll give us a ride, right Mikey? You’ll have to make two stops, but that’s alright, hey?”
“Sure Cal, no big. Anything to prevent WWIII,” he grins.
“Always so mean. You’re lucky you’re good, Clifford.”
“’S not luck, buddy.”
They walk together to Michael’s car, obliviously taking up the whole sidewalk.
“Where to first? Yours, Ash?”
“Sure! And Cal’ll go to the park, seems like he’s been neglecting the weightroom since we started—”
“Stop, stop! I don’t need to hear about that! What the fuck, dude?!”
“Um, overreaction. Since I swapped my workouts for Ashton’s and…” Calum is still talking, but Ash’s loud giggles draw Michael’s attention to the rearview mirror, where Ashton’s eyebrows wiggle pointedly at him. He chooses to take the high road and ignore him. |
d23b9b9302b14d0a9121e178eb4e67c1 | ['9c713bec4bd94a95a7f51d9f26916699'] | Anthea woke early the next morning, tying her dressing gown belt firmly as she walked down the stairs. Even before she reached the newspapers on the mat she could tell it wasnt good news. The cover photo was dark, only the fanged teeth visible in the shadows beneath red drips of blood. She picked the stack of papers up, flicking through them to glance at the covers of each.
'High stakes relationships- 70% of vampire human relationships end in death'
'Down for the Count: vampire attacks on the rise'
'Vamps infiltrate the highest levels of power'
She stopped at that one and gave the article a quick scan, worried for Mycroft, but it was mostly nonsense about vampires in the royal family. She could lay that one aside- there hadn't been any royal vampires for generations, the mutation required a purer bloodline to stay strong. The rest were similar- wild accusations with no facts. One alone would be ignorable, but the very fact that there were three in her hands was cause for concern. It suggested a new wave of anti-vampire feelings which could be dangerous for both vampires and donors.
She put all three papers in her bag and took a quick shower before pulling out her favourite dress- tight and deep red. A dress for getting things done. Coupled with a pair of skyscraper louboutins and a soft curled bun she was ready to face whatever the world, and Mycroft, asked of her.
17. Dreams and schemes
The next morning Anthea woke to a crash and the sharp tinkle of glass falling down hardwood stairs. She wrapped herself in her dressing gown and stepped slowly towards the door, pulling her arms in tight against her chest as the cold wind blew through the shattered window and into her room. The rock that had broken it had scratched the stairs and left chalky marks on the wall. Anthea pulled her head back into her room and sat back on the edge of her bed, pulling her phone from it's charger and dialling the first speed dial.
Mycroft picked up almost instantly.
''Good morning. Is there a problem?''
''Someone's thrown a rock through my window. I want security. And I'm buying a new house- ill be using your pass codes.'' She hung up on him to make absolutely certain that he knew she wasn't happy. He sometimes missed subtler clues, so she'd learnt to make sure he understood when it mattered.
She sent a quick text to John Watson, warning him of backlash from anti-vampers. He text back minutes later.
Already aware- we've got letters. Lots of letters. JW
Anthea switched her phone into work mode and organised a security team for John and Sherlock as well as vetting hers and making sure that Mycroft had arranged for his own protection. She followed up a few quick emails as well, before setting her phone to one side and going for a shower. Dressing quickly she chose plainer clothes than usual- ones she could run and fight in. When she sat before her mirror she plaited her hair tight against her scalp so it couldn't be grabbed. This was not the first time there had been worries of attack, and there was protocol.
~
When the security team arrived they brought with them an armoured car. Anthea lifted the Starbucks from the cup holder and took a big gulp to steady her nerves on the way to the office. By the time they'd arrived the drink was empty, but there was another waiting on her desk she she sat down. Mycroft was clearly putting some effort into cheering her up. He often used small gestures to show affection when he remembered, but two coffees plus the muffin in her in-tray were more than she usually got in a week, never mind a morning. When she found her favourite meal had been ordered for lunch- from a restaurant that she had previously been aware would deliver, alongside another drink, she decided that it was time to go and make sure Mycroft knew he was forgiven, before he bought her diamonds or something equally ridiculous.
She knocked once on the door and walked in. He was typing quickly, and usually he would continue until he reached a place to stop. However, today, the second she fit through the door he looked up at her, smiling a small smile as though he was nervous.
''Thank you for the coffees, and the muffin, and the lunch.''
''You're welcome. Are you- is everything alright?''
''Yes. Thank you- shall we have dinner later?''
''Yes. That- I will book it. And I'll get you a dress. And shoes. the ones you've been looking at.''
She raised an eyebrow at the implication he'd been looking at her search history. He looked down at his desk.
''I won't do it again- I was looking to get you more gifts.''
''Coffee is good. Not thousand pound shoes.'' She crossed the room and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. ''I was cross at the situation, not you. It's not your fault. The movers are shifting things to my new house as we speak, I'll send you the address. You can have the dress delivered and pick me up at 9.'' He nodded up at her and she offered her wrist to him. He took it gently and removed her watch and bracelet, revealing the pale scars of bite marks.
~ | 6c1be4a4ca40465183c6d6b188f855b2 | ['9c713bec4bd94a95a7f51d9f26916699'] | ''And you got overexcited.'' Mycroft's voice was wry, clearly disapproving of his brother's antics. He shook his head and stood up. ''You'll have to lift him, I'm not putting my back out. He can go in the guest room.''
''Your pretty little donor there not using it? Given up pretending she's just your assistant, have you?''
''Don't be smart, Sherlock. It's not cute or funny, and your sidekick isn't aware enough to find you clever for it.'' Mycroft turned his back on them and strode across the hall, shutting his office door firmly behind him, leaving Anthea to deal with everything.
Careful of the blood bag Anthea was still holding over John's head, Sherlock bent and carefully lifted his donor into his arms, setting off up the stairs to the bedroom.
~
Sherlock fell asleep on the bed next to John at around four in the morning, leaving Anthea watching over the sleeping body of his partner. She shifted to be more comfortable in the armchair by the bed, tucking her feet up beneath her on the cushion and snuggling back into a blanket. She dozed off, waking a couple of hours later to slight movements.
''Sherlock?'' John opened his eyes slowly, blinking in the dim light. Anthea shook her head to wake up and leant forward to help him sit up.
''Sherlock's behind you- he hasn't slept for very long. You're at Mycroft's house- Sherlock brought you here when you passed out. He said you were trying something new and he got overexcited. It's alright- you've had a blood transfusion.''
The doctor settled back against the soft white pillows and closed his eyes for a second.
''Is he okay?''
''He panicked. You'll know by now how he gets when he can't be in control.''
Mycroft knocked once on the door and walked in, glancing with an almost fond expression at the sleeping form of his little brother.
''Good morning Dr Watson. I see you've recovered?''
''Yeah. Just weak and tired. I'll be fine after I eat.''
Anthea stood up, folding her blanket neatly and setting it back on the chair. She led the way to the kitchen, keeping a careful eye on John as they went down the staircase. Mycroft followed, clearly waiting impatiently for something, shifting his hands in what would be called fidgeting in a less controlled man.
''You were very prepared for this, me passing out, I mean- does- do you-''
''I am far too careful for that.'' Mycroft sounded almost offended at the possibility of harming his donor. ''Sherlock is very free with his feeding- doesn't always take the preservations he should, things like making sure you've eaten first, checking your diet is replacing what he takes. But Sherlock has done this before- overfeeding. Did it a lot, especially as a child. He's never been good at controlling his impulses. He knows to bring them here- that I'll deal with the aftermath of whatever he does. No matter what it is.''
''Vaguely threatening- feel free to lurk in dark corners if you feel the urge, you know, if we're being stereotypical.'' John's voice was hoarse and Anthea passed him a glass of water, which he took, gratefully, before tucking his hands up in the sleeves of the hoodie and sinking back in the chair. She took that as her cue to make sure Mycroft didn't go too
overboard with his protective older brother routine.
''Thank you, Mycroft. I'll see to it that your brother and John get home, if you want to go in to the office- I've sent you an email with the shortlist of suspects for the fraud- and the far meeting room has been set up for interviews.''
Mycroft's attention switched rapidly to his work. He stood up, brushing invisible flecks of dust from his suit and taking his tea cup with him. He called back from partway up the stairs.
''If you'd arrange for the hospital paperwork to be sorted- personally, if you will, we can't afford any mistakes with this- especially now.'' She nodded, sending a text to book a car to take her to St Bart's hospital, and another to arrange for a car to come and collect Sherlock and John.
~
14. House of Cards
Anthea returned to work as usual, doing as she was asked and carefully monitoring the lives of both Holmes brothers and John Watson. She split her computer screens- one for working, the other segmented, showing cctv from all over London, monitoring Sherlock's activities and his investigations into the burned body.
The pair visited the morgue often- Sherlock harassing Molly Hooper and John trying his best to sooth his partner's words. Miss Hooper didn't seem to notice John at all- her feelings for Sherlock were clear, Anthea had compiled that file herself. The pathologist was clever in her own right, and helped Sherlock often- letting him use her words and her silence to bounce ideas off. With John at his side, Sherlock looked to be relying on her talents less, simply using her for access to the labs and equipment at Bart's. Anthea quietly used her power to improve Molly's day when Sherlock was exceptionally rude to her- adding a few pounds to an oyster card that was about to run out, making sure that files she needed were accessible quickly, pushing through tests and results so that she could go home early. She recognised echoes of herself in the other woman- a girl who was smart on her own, and knew it, but still needed the notice of a Holmes brother to allow her to access what she needed to be brilliant.
~ |
7e2ce6493b8d4204959fbb42acbc1b7a | ['9c8c20528461448dac33a7b84650be29'] |
1. Didn't You Hear That The Terrorist Happened To Save The Drowning Princess?
_God, I really fucking hate water_ , growled Rocma as she saw most of the Iceberg Isle citizens splashing in the frosty liquid matter. Even that good-for-nothing whiner was enjoying himself. But Rocma? Rocma despised water, there was no way she was getting in.
The Isle says it all. It's always below zero because of the snow, and because they're in the _Arctic_ Ocean. So warm days that are around twenty or so degrees are hard to come by. Rock was smoking a blunt as he dozed off while Peraco was telling a story that no one had the heart to tell her that no one cared. The polar bear removed her scarf and slightly unbuttoned the turtleneck of her dress to let herself cool down a bit. With her thick fur in this weather - that clearly she isn't used to - she was bound to feel stuffy and heated. Mafuyu was scaring off fish in the distance as Rocma watched her with caution. Literally, everyone was here. Rock, Peraco, her three younger brothers, Yukisada, Shirogane, Sunosan, Neko-fucking-yama, and even the niece of that douchebag orca, Nagi.
_Douchebag orca._
_Dickish killer whale._
_Terrorist of the goddamned isle._
Idate is his fucking name.
How Rocma hated every single thing about his existence. To his poor smoking habits to his aggressive and hostile nature. The beach lacked of nicotine and tobacco scents. Not even Rock smelled _that_ disgusting. No detergent and freshener could wipe out that vile smell. She crossed her arms firmly and shot any thoughts about him clear from her mind.
But with resentment comes recoil.
Even without his presence, it was like she could smell tobacco and dried blood. _Why?_ It was beyond her why she even put a minor thought about him. She hated him, that's all there was to it. Rocma could faintly hear Mafuyu shouting from the distance, bragging about her caught game. It was a simple coy fish that shimmered in vibrant shades of red, orange, yellow, and pink. Its scales reflected the sun and blinded her slightly. The fish wriggled and wriggled in the pup's grasp in an attempt to break free and use its gills again. It slowed down until it came to a stop, which indicated that it had suffocated. The polar bear watched as the pup's teeth sunk into the raw flesh of the poor dead catch.
Rocma lied down on her back, closing her eyes and starting to doze off quietly.
Until she heard a scream. She instantly recognized the gurgled voice. It was Mafuyu.
Her first instinct was to go into the water to save her kid. Only one thing prevented her from doing so.
The fucking ocean.
She stepped into it and trudged, but as soon as the crisp water slapped against her ankles, she ran back immediately.
"Mommy!" She could hear the seal scream again.
"Don't worry, sweetie, Mommy's coming!" She hollered back. She saw Peraco about to swim in her direction but saw something else raise Mafuyu above to ocean where she coughed up the sea water she had inadvertently ingested. Rocma's state of panic blurred her vision so that she couldn't see her savior. Two black arms... Could it have been Nagi?
The unknown hero set the child down where she could walk safely without getting pushed around by the somewhat subtle waves. Mafuyu didn't seem to care who saved her from drowning, all she wanted to do was be in her mom's arms.
"Mommy!" She cried out, running into her mother's wide arms. She scooped up her child and hid her face in her duck fluff hair. The seal was crying, but Rocma forced herself to only a few sheds of tears. Even surrounded by her closest friends, she was all too prideful. Even if her child almost acquainted with death.
"It's okay, you're okay," she comforted the sobbing child but she wasn't so sure herself if she really had been okay. Rocma continued to hold her tightly. She felt so disgusted with herself. Her child - the only thing near and dear to her - almost drowned, and yet she couldn't even step into the water without chickening the fuck out to save her precious kid's life.
How mortifying.
* * *
Rocma looked to be in a daze as she looked out her window.
"Mommy, are you okay?" Mafuyu asked, breaking Rocma's think chain. She jolted slightly, then looked at the pristine seal.
"Yes, of course, why do you ask?" She said calmly, a serene and relaxed expression sitting on her face. Her attempts to not look troubled and disgusted really sapped the energy out of her, as she felt like even breathing was an arduous waste of effort and time.
"You just seemed like something bothered you, is all," she said quietly, making a wobbly tower with alphabetized wooden building blocks. She wasn't wrong. She had accepted the fact that she was a complete wimp earlier, but she couldn't shake off the feeling of not knowing who saved Mafuyu. She was convinced it was Nagi. What did Nagi like? Nagi had a terse dislike towards Rocma, but she would thank her properly anyway. | 4c9113815e4d428cb5f66e564ac805ba | ['9c8c20528461448dac33a7b84650be29'] | From Dusk To Dawn
**Author's Note:**
> This is not a sequel nor follow-up to Pray To The Dark, for those of you who have read that. It is a standalone one-shot, and I have no plans to work more on it.
>
> This is what happens when you have access to a really nice computer and you're really feeling the ambitions to write. Whoops. This is not angsty, I don't think, so don't worry.
The richly pigmented orange lights of the sun cracked through the blackened mountains near what remained of Castle Krakenburg. The rays of the dawn sun traveled briskly to the stone quarters that belonged to the Nohrian butler and maid duo. Eventually the light protruded the white cloth curtains hung over the open windows, hitting the gypsum-haired butler in the face. Gods. With a guttural groan escaping his throat, he threw off the sheets of their bedroom. His lovely wife, Felicia, slept peacefully next to him, snoozing in his shadow that he provided from the sun. Her chest heaved up and down, silent and completely unruffled.
Jakob sighed inaudibly, gently stroking her carnation locks through calloused fingers. Years of loyal and undying serving did that to ones' hands. The maid stirred a bit, blinking her translucent eyes a few times. She yawned, sitting upwards and rubbing the remaining sleep from her eyes. “Mm, Jakob?” Felicia asked, a bit disoriented. “What are you doing up so early?”
With another grunt of irritation, the butler pointed at the window. Their curtains were swaying in the gently breeze, allowing the two to see the sunrise better. The only downfall, however, was the light was much more powerful. “The bloody sun woke me up from my slumber. It's barely dawn, too. I despise mornings.” He was absolutely cranky when he was woken up before a certain time. He hates mornings, while she welcomes them. Personally, she found it slightly adorable how much he abhorred the crack of dawn. With a smile, she inched towards him, resting her pale cheek against his blanketed thigh. Purple optics looked down to greet cheerful clear ones. He couldn't stay mad at the love of his life. He placed a soft hand upon her salmon keratin strands, giving a half-hearted smile.
“Yes, but love, look at how pretty the sunrise is from here. The spicy shades of red and orange, with the softer tones of yellow are absolutely mesmerizing.” By this point, the curtains have been pushed away by the morning breezes, allowing the two a much better and much more beautiful sight to view upon. Many warm colors flickered and changed in the sky, heavily contrasting with the shadowy mountains and the last remaining bits of dusk, collided with the soft blue skies outside their window. The maid sat up properly again, resting a lazy head upon the butler's surprisingly wide frame. He shifted in a position where she would be more comfortable, which ended up with her huddled inside his chest and, well, frame basically. But the gypsum-haired butler hardly minded, pushing his gray, unbraided locks out of his face and her way.
The sun continued to rise and illuminate the once dark plains and meadows of the mountains, bringing visibility to the employees working in them. The pastel-haired servant sighed deeply, absolutely in love with the beautiful, scenic view. Jakob, albeit still slightly bitter, could learn to appreciate the view despite the morning flairs about it. He one day hoped that the dusk of sundown would wake them up so they could see that one, instead.
The flickers of red and orange faded away once the blue sky washed over the pigments, leaving it with the yellow and blue pastel tones. On cue, birds started to sing, cicadas chirped, other animals could be heard as well. It all mixed together for a beautiful, melodious tune.
What ruined the silence was hearing Lord Corrin's voice echo in their quarters. “Felicia, are you awake? I require your assistance,” Lord Corrin called out. She looked towards the door, sifting out of Jakob's warm embrace.
“I am coming, m'lord! Just let me get dressed really quickly,” she called back out to him. She turned to look at Jakob, giving him a sweet, chaste kiss upon his scowl. That scowl softened, kissing her back before they parted.
“I will see you tonight, okay, Jakob?”
He nodded, “okay, my love.” |
18e9ff2c78e6409694e2b3c65ab71921 | ['9ca3a873604f4ba6a1fe52665056ce95'] |
Alone
**Author's Note:**
> This is my first work, so comments are appreciated. No spoilers, just sex.
Dean Winchester grabbed Castiel, angel of the Lord, by wrapping a firm hand around the back of his neck and forcing the angel with the ocean blue eyes to look at him. Pushing up against him, Dean marched the both of them back up until they slammed into a wall, breath expelled from them both. Alone. They were finally fucking alone. Of course Dean loved his brother, Sam, but he also needed this-to be alone with Cas, to press his body up against him. He shivered at the warmth of his angel's body. Their lips pushed together intensely, slightly open-mouthed, breath coming in pants as they kissed. Their hips rocked against one another's, slowly, as if to savor the sensation; the scrape of denim against one another providing a delicious tension. Alone. Finally alone.
Castiel knew full well the taste of his lover's lips, but each new time, each new time they could kiss and touch with this unadulterated passion, he savored the taste. It was sweet, faintly like sugared whiskey. He shivered as he felt Dean's calloused fingers thread through his black hair, pushing slightly on the upper part of his neck to lift his chin, giving Dean fuller access to his lips. The increased pressure against his mouth made the angel moan softly, memories of what else that mouth could do flooding through him. He hooked his hands below Dean's chest pressed one hand against the small of his lover's back, scrunching the cloth there; and the other hand on his hip, hooking the fingernails underneath his belt and yanking roughly. Dean's breath shook in his throat. Anticipation. It never ceased to amaze the angel that he could make Dean just as... _corrupted_ as Dean made him.
They didn't have much time, 20 minutes at the most. Sam had only stepped out to grab a few things, but the sexual pressure had been building in both of them, and it had been so long since they'd had a quiet, private moment...
Dean shifted his mouth from Cas's lips to the tender skin at his neck, letting his breath wash over it before putting his lips on it and mouthing, the salty-sweet taste of the angel's skin sending a twinge straight to his cock as Castiel thrusted against him. Goddamn, Cas had gotten better at this. Dean drew in a harsh breath when the angel kept tugging at his belt, the leather digging into his hip. "Dean," the angel said impatiently, and the hunter understood the implication in his voice. He was asking if he could just whisk their clothes away with angel mojo, something that had turned out very useful in the past.
"No." Dean's voice was a husky whisper, and he felt the angel tense with annoyance; but he didn't break with his thrusting, the hunter noticed with a chuckle at the back of his throat. Dean broke the suction on Cas's neck and glanced into his ocean blue eyes, savoring the impatience there, savoring the fact that Cas wants this.
And then he attacks him.
Lips against lips, hot and demanding, Dean clawed at the angel's tie, throwing hard across the room as if it had insulted him. Cas slipped his hands up, grabbing the bottom hem of Dean's band shirt and yanking it up over the hunter's head. Their lips met again, impossibly hotter this time with the hunter's tongue slipping in between the angel's lips, as Dean struggled with the buttons on Cas's shirt and Cas fought with the leather of Dean's belt. The angel won first, and the hunter groaned at the release of pressure on his hips and the cold against his cock. Dean lost patience and with a mental _fuck it_ he yanked on the last three buttons. Cas helped him strip the offending garment from his arms, and that too was flung to the other side of the room. The angel reached his hands back down to the hunter's hips, seeking to relieve the straining bulge of some pressure, but Dean pushed himself up against Castiel, skin-on-skin, precome beading and spilling through the fabric of their boxers, and the contact sends forks of electricity through their bodies.
Castiel let out a soft whimper at the touch, his mind blurring from the onslaught of pleasure. No patience left to speak of, he takes the hunter's earlobe in his teeth and breathes harshly, his hands slotting Dean's hip against him so that rigid bulge presses against rigid bulge, and now it's Dean's turn to whimper.
"More." Cas's breath shakes in his throat, and he's barely able to control himself. This is what the hunter does to him, this is what it turns him into, a debauched pervert, and god if that doesn't turn Dean on. He reached down and unbuttoned the angel's pants with shaking hands. Cas hissed out a harsh breath, shaking, flesh quivering. The hunter's hands were cold against the length of his cock, and Castiel groaned loudly, letting the earlobe slip out from between his teeth as Dean's hands clasped around him. The man chuckled darkly.
"Like that, babe?"
"Yes, Dean...yes."
He stroked slow, teasing the angel, watching his face intently, watching as the angel unraveled in front of him. Tracing the lines of the pulsing veins and circling around the base of the head. Shaking, panting, his blue pulse jumping out from his neck. It made the saliva stick to the back of the hunter's throat and the hunger in his stomach become barely tolerable. | 089c8947f5b84517bf3604cc1e501ca8 | ['9ca3a873604f4ba6a1fe52665056ce95'] | James knew what he meant. Rogers had been raised Catholic for his entire life, like a lot of people in New York. He had it ingrained in his head that men weren’t supposed to be intimate with other men-not to mention the influence of the people being arrested on the streets for the simple crime of a kiss. Bucky had skipped out on church more and more as he got older, as his feelings for others of his gender had gotten more and more intense, but Steve had never strayed.
Bucky glanced down to catch Steve’s eyes. He was quiet for a moment.
“Does it feel wrong to you?”
A pause. “No, but-”
“Steve.” A sad smile spread and died over James’s lips. His hands reached up to cup his friends face. “Does it feel evil? Hateful?”
“No.”
“Do you feel like the Devil?”
Steve shook his head mutely in response.
“No. ‘Course not. Because the Devil is hate and fear, and God-God is love and light. He wouldn’t want us to be afraid. Okay?”
Steve nodded. “Okay.”
The corner of their mouths turned up in unison, and they pressed their lips together; more confident than before. The kisses were long, simple, and yearning; so rarely could they be together like this, to show the most basic affection. They cherished it.
Steve turned and pushed himself onto Bucky’s lap to straddle him. The kiss broke, and James gazed up at smaller man, a sort of reverence in his green eyes. Steve grinned and pressed himself up against Bucky eagerly, smacking quick kisses on his mouth. James reached his hand up and threaded his fingers through Steve’s hair, the other settling on his waist. With each kiss, Rogers rocked against him, resulting in ragged breaths coming from Bucky. The friction was delicious between them. The kisses got hotter and hotter, sloppier and sloppier, and their eagerness became desperation.
Suddenly Steve jerked himself back, panting. Right, asthma. Stupid, James thought. Bucky raised his eyebrows to ask if Steve was okay. He nodded, and Bucky relaxed.
“Sorry,” Steve whispered.
“Don’t be,” Bucky whispered back.
Steve reached for the buttons on Bucky’s vest, fumbling with them. After the third one, James helped him and shrugged out of it. Immediately, Rodger’s fingers started on his dress shirt, and Bucky chuckled at his eagerness. Five buttons down, Steve kissed Bucky’s neck, and Barnes’s breath trembled at the warmth. By the time Steve had managed to strip him of his shirt, Bucky was whimpering. Steve pulled away.
His eyes glinted with satisfaction at having Bucky so quickly aroused. James swallowed-hard-and immediately attacked the buttons on Steve’s vest and shirt, pulling them off quickly. Steve shivered as he felt Bucky’s fingers against his bare skin.
James hooked his hand around the back of Steve’s neck and pulled their lips together, his other hand pushing their chests together. When their bare skin touched, electricity passed between them. Steve moaned into Bucky’s mouth and grinded his hips, and Bucky groaned loudly. Steve slipped his hands between their bodies and tugged at Bucky’s belt. James cursed, chest heaving, and looked down, undoing it as quick as he could. A few more quick movements and his erection strained against the fabric of his boxers. Bucky leaned his head back and whimpered, Adam’s apple bobbing. His breath turned into another forced groan as Steve dragged his fingertips over him.
“ _Fuck_ ,” he whispered, not trusting himself at full volume.
Rogers quickly snaked out his belt and leaned forward, pushing his hips against the heat of Bucky’s cock. James grabbed the smaller man’s neck, kissing him roughly. Steve rocked into him. Bucky hissed as he felt their erections pressing together. Steve moved his lips to Barnes’s neck, nipping lightly with his teeth.
James groaned, then laughed. “You keep doing that, baby, I ain’t gonna last much longer.”
Steve grinned at that. The sight of Bucky, damn near intoxicated with pleasure, eyelids hooded and pupils sparkling; lips kiss-swollen and breath panting was something he savored.
“You’re beautiful,” Rogers said, almost in reverence. Bucky smiled. “You ain’t half bad, yourself.” His gaze traveled further downward, the smaller man’s groin, before flicking back upwards. “Why you still covered, hmm? Don’t be shy now.”
Steve worked his fingers to undo his slacks, slipping his cock out from his underwear. Bucky’s breath quickened in anticipation. Rogers grinned at the sound James made when he did the same thing for him.
They pressed together, jerking as their cocks connected. “Fuck,” Bucky barked out, and Steve let out a shivering groan. Their lips crashed together-hot, desperate. Steve reached his hand down to grip the both of them together, and the added friction made Bucky keen.
Neither of them could last for much longer. Sweat glistened on their skin. Bucky was the first to go. "Steve," he said urgently, fingers gripping the smaller man's shoulders. "I can't...I can't take any more. Please." His voice was desperate.
Rogers lips turned up into a smile. "Let it go for me, Buck. Let it go." The taller man shook, losing control. His breath caught in his throat. He gasped, shaking, his thoughts blurred except for the letters of his lover's name-
"Oh, fuck, Steve please Steve-"
He came, jerking against Steve, and the sudden friction unraveled Rogers as well. They came, riding the wave of bliss; gasping, shaking, begging.
When it was over, Steve collapsed against Bucky, chest still heaving. It took a few moments for their breathing to get back under control.
James chuckled, a smile on his face as he stated at Steve with affection. The smaller man reached down and picked up his discarded shirt, trying to mop of as much as he could. Bucky reached his hand up to stroke the smaller man's hair.
Steve looked up into the oceanic blue of his lover's eyes.
"I love you," Steve said quietly.
Bucky grinned. "I love you too, you punk."
Steve smiled and leaned his head back up against the larger man's chest and sighed. He closed his eyes in contentment.
They fell asleep like that-Bucky holding Steve's head against his chest, with sunlight sinking down the wall, enveloping the two lovers in light. |
ecccbf3ef0ff46d5930412eb734a01cc | ['9cad2bd72c314661bf509e5a9cc6c188'] | At one point Sasuke attempted a water style move that he didn’t know too well, ‘Water style; Vortex Jutsu. He completely fumbled, and the movement came out uncharacteristically blunt and dull. The idea was to create a massive wave that pierced their opponent brutally until they practically drowned. Sasuke began another movement, but before he could, out of the corner of his eyes saw the Huga girl perform the exact same move, except her’s came out perfectly, hitting her water clone and destroying it in a record time. It could have been bypassed as just coincidence but the girl looked the Uchiha straight in the eyes after she succeeded. She didn’t smile or smirk, but her eyes challenged him. Sasuke, very unlike him, rose to the challenge. He turned his back and quickly performed one of the most advanced water jutsus he knew. The ‘Water style; Storm upheaval’ he finished flawlessly and cocked his head toward the girl watching with intensity and smirked despite himself. She hardened her gaze and Byakugan flared.
Without even realizing it, the two had started taking turns in their movements. Like some kind of art of ninja dance. Without words one would use a jutsu and the other would block the technic. They threw back and forth their strength trying to silently out do the other with their knowledge of ninjutsu. The movements albeit, done with force and determination, lacked malice and anger. Neither tried to unfairly knock the other out, but it was obvious they were both trying very hard.
They eventually ran out of water type jutsu and moved to other types of ninjutsu they knew of. It was unknown to the genin how their movements clashed so interestingly. Sasuke moved slightly quicker and gave off more of an offensive feel; throwing many punches and kicks. Most were blocked by his partner with elegant waves of chakra. The Huga girl, although, not often one to initiate battle was the one to throw her hardest at him; using every technic she knew. It wasn’t out of need to impress him, but of confidence that she felt like she wanted to show the Uchiha what she had. The two didn’t even realize how they oddly came to start their battle. It just happened and both enjoyed their strange ‘talent show’ of sorts.
The sun was beginning to set before either had even looked up from their movements. The Uchiha and Huga were covered in sweat and dirt when they finally stopped their intense dance of mastery of skill. Sasuke still wasn’t quite ready to stop training but for the first time all day, he actually looked the girl in the eyes. She was obviously exhausted and had given all her strength into the battle. Sasuke smiled mentally at her, she was trying her hardest and giving her all, and that was the most Sasuke could ever ask for in battle. She was a ball of total determination. It kind of reminded the raven of a certain blond he knew.
She steadied herself for another blow or attack, and Sasuke realized that she wasn’t stopping the fight. He knew she was dead tired though and although he would have liked to continue and defeat his all day opponent, he knew that it wouldn’t have been fair to take her on at the moment. They had an honorable fight and he wanted to keep it that way. He faced her completely and performed his signature hand sign, the horse, and bowed to her.
That was a sign of a friendly fight respectfully being called off. Her large white eyes widened even more if possible, and she quickly performed the hand sign ‘bird’ and bowed to him. When she stood up, she couldn’t help the small blush that appeared on her cheeks as she felt his burning black eyes on her. It was different in the moment of battle when someone was watching her, but now he was just staring and not saying anything. Her face only turned a brighter shade of red. When the girl could not take any more of the stoic Uchiha’s stare, she did what her natural instincts told her to and fled.
Sasuke was shocked to say the least, when his fighting partner up and left the scene. He hadn’t known what to do after they bowed to one and other. He had stood there and probably scared her away. Or maybe she noticed that he was Uchiha Sasuke, not someone she should be fighting. Or maybe…Sasuke’s musings were cut short when he heard a squeak from across the training grounds. He looked over quickly and saw the Huga girl standing facing him. She was crouched in on herself and looked to be having in argument in her mind. She had a hand to her lips biting one her nails. Her eyes changed drastically to a determination. The same determination she had during their battle. The bright orbs were set forward and her eyebrows were locked in a slightly angry position, but it could have been just because she was trying so hard to remember to breathe.
“T-thank you. I-I will be back tomorrow for more training.” And then the girl let out a heavy breath like she was about to explode and was gone like a blink of an eye.
Sasuke stood dumbfounded for a moment just staring at the spot she used to be. What did she mean by that? Was that her strange way of telling me that she wanted to train again tomorrow? | 1801d57ee1e74b2e96ff07b7dbc9291f | ['9cad2bd72c314661bf509e5a9cc6c188'] | Hinata had thrown a worried glance over her shoulder before nodding her head. Ino assumed the Estate wasn’t too far from this creek and she was just worried someone was coming. Ino understood that she might not want her family to think she was crazy for doing something like this. Her parents loved this kind of thing. Ino’s mother was a theorist through and through. Hinata had lent Ino one of her coins. Even though Ino protested that she could use her own coins, Hinata wouldn’t take no for an answer. Ino kissed her coin softly, she wanted this to work really badly. She tried to put her whole heart into the coin and dropped it into the creek with an anticlimactic ‘Plop’
Hinata did the same, and they both watched with apprehension, waiting to see what the fish would do. The fish had scurried away at first, afraid that the coins would fall on them. They seemed rather uninterested in the coin once the water settled. Ino looked away and looked towards Hinata who was still watching the water intensely. Then Hinata turned abruptly towards Ino, but before she could say anything something appeared behind them.
Ino jumped back in shock and pulled Hinata along with her. She grasped at her calf and cursed when she forgot that she wasn’t in her ninja gear. Hinata gripped a small dagger in her hand and Ino wandered where she got that, but would ask later when they took care of the thing that was in front of them.
The smoke from the Shun-shin still hadn’t subsided, so neither girl had a clear view of their pursuer. Hinata pushed Ino back behind her and Ino wandered where this protective and brave instinct came from within her small frame.
The smoke slowly cleared and what met Ino’s eyes shocked her. She immediately jumped out from behind Hinata and placed herself with a hand behind her head and her legs slightly bent, she had her head thrown back a little too.
A boy, around the age of eighteen had just appeared from thin air, and Ino was going to look as beautiful as possible. Hinata took a whole different route, and Ino thought that she would have to educate the girl in flirting properly.
Hinata lowered her weapon and stuffed it into her side strip bag. She pushed a little of her short but still messy hair out of her face, and glared half-heartedly at the man.
“You scared both of us Ko, I thought you were another ninja assassin.” She said softly towards the man. Ino looked between the two and began to understand the situation.
Ino could clearly see now that she wasn’t in a frantic rush to look as sexy as possible in the span of seconds, that the man before her was obviously Huga. He had the same softly colored dark brown hair, but his was rather scruffy and cut short. She wondered if Hinata got the idea to cut her hair short from him. He had the same pale eyes also.
Ko knelt down before Hinata, “Forgive me Lady Hinata, I didn’t intend to frighten you or your friend. I only wished to call you for dinner for you are running late.”
Hinata nodded intently, “Oh, w-we better get going then, I hope it’s not too much trouble for the cooks that I brought a friend.” She spoke softly to the man before her, but she didn’t stutter at all as much as she had when speaking to Ino. The blond girl wondered if the two were siblings, or cousins, maybe he was a young uncle, but then she realized that was impossible, he had to be just some kind of servant right? No family members acted like that towards each other.
“Of course Lady Hinata,” he bowed his as head as he stood, “I should warn you that your father isn’t pleased that you are late for the family dinner though.”
Hinata nodded towards him, “We should get going.” She stated, and glanced back at Ino, she nodded for them to continue on the road. Normally, Ino would demand to be introduced, and have the situation explained to her, but she saw the desperate look in Hinata’s eyes saying she needed to get home as soon as possible, and she just nodded along and walked quickly beside her.
Hinata walked directly behind Ko. Ino soon felt very self-conscious, she didn’t know if she was allowed to talk and she was starting to feel really out of place. She bit her lips nervously, only glancing over every twelve seconds to Hinata who wouldn’t look back at her even once. Hinata kept her eyes trained forward, right on Ko’s back and Ino wished she could take a moment to perform her jutsu to read her mind. She wanted to know what Hinata was thinking. She hadn’t used the trick on her yet because she felt like she would be betraying the girl if she entered her mind when she obviously didn’t want Ino anywhere near it.
Ino soon found herself staring at Ko also. He was tall, but she assumed that was just Huga thing, and he wasn’t really all the muscular. Ino mentally giggled when she thought about Naruto trying to take on Ko. Surprisingly as the battle played out in her mind, it ended with Naruto winning. Naruto was rather strong actually and had beat Neji before…..
She was cut from her thoughts when she realized both Ko and Hinata were staring at her. Hinata with an almost amused glint in her eyes, and Ko with confusion.
Ino turned red, Had she giggled out loud? God, I hope not! |
58b373036a044a3db9efaac5e128126e | ['9cb3e36aad774199adf1b574f05745c3'] |
Narry Smut
It would be a mutual agreement to say that I have had a little too much to drink tonight. Not too much in the sense that I can't control my actions, but just enough to forget all my problems. Enough for the time being.
There weren't many people left at the party now. Some were still knocking back shots and others were rushing off to their hotel rooms littering items of clothing in their trail.
The room went strangely silent for a millisecond only to be disturbed by the loud chuckle escaping a blonde man's mouth. I evaluated him, his blue eyes glowing azure despite the copious amount of alcohol in his system. His hair is wild and messy. I caught eye contact with the blonde boy, but i didn't look away and neither did he. My eyes started drifting from his face "Harry?"
I turned around to see Louis swinging round from the main door "What?"
"Do you want a lift home?"
"Nah, I bought a room for tonight."
"Alright. Well I'm off mate," Louis said, raising his eyebrows and gesturing towards the girl standing near the exit. I'll see you later!"
I nod my head in response and stroll over to the bar. "Another shot please" I threw a couple coins onto the desk and he handed me the small glass. I inhale the strong scent and knock it back, then sliding the glass back into his hand. "Thanks"
I walk out towards the lift. Towards the lonely blonde boy. I stop. What am i doing? I can't approach him. Then I remember his wide smile, his laugh, and a sudden wave of confidence found its way into my system and I found myself behind him as I brush my lips over his ear.
The blonde goes rigid and i can tell, he hasn't done it before. I trail my fingers down his neck and he shivers. I start kissing along his soft jawline moving gradually down to his neck. I suck hard leaving my mark as he groans in unknown pleasure.
The lift arrives on our floor with a small 'ting'. He spins on the spot and grabs me by my collar pulling me into the empty space. I look into his eyes, deep blue now, filled with lust. Glazed with need.
He slams me up against the wall and his lips land on mine, hard. He nibbles on my bottom lip asking for entrance and i willingly open my mouth feeling his tongue slide in to find mine. I put my hands through his hair and stick my tongue as far in as i can and he follows suit.
I suddenly pull away, remembering and he looks at me with big eyes. I smirk leaning over to press the button for level 5.
The lift jolts up and it takes half a second before he is on top of me again. Smashing our lips together and pulling each others hair. I could feel his bulge against mine and i smirked against his lips.
The lift doors open and i guide him to my door not ever parting our lips. I jiggle the key and fling the door open, guiding him over to the bed.
We fall onto the sheets still kissing and i trail my hands underneath his top, lifting it over his head. I start at his belt and pull it out from his bulging trousers. I slide his trousers off in one motion and he groans as I palm his member through his black boxers. I can feel it harden under my touch as I continued to tease him.
"Why are you still dressed?" the blonde managed to gasp in between breaths.
I look down and laugh, he was right. I'm still fully dressed. He took no time to strip me down to my boxers.
I decided to take control and roll so I was on top. I start kissing down his bare chest, tracing the outline of his abdomen muscles. I continue on my downward path as the blonde groaned in pleasure.
Kissing and sucking along his boxer line I slipping my tongue underneath, teasing him. I clamp the waistband with my teeth and pull them down, releasing his already hard cock. It was seeping with cum. I wanted him, but i knew i could wait. I like to play with my food before i eat it.
I slowly thumb his slit hearing him hiss at me "Harry don't tease me". I smirk knowing that I can do things to him that he can't control. I grab his length in my hand and start pumping fast. "Shit" faster "shiiit" and then i stop and unclasp my hand. "Harryy" he whined like a toddler, the blonde definitely didnt like to be kept waiting.
I could feel myself getting harder, straining against my pants. I needed him. Now. I widened Niall's legs and got straight to work. I took him all in my mouth. Hot and pulsing i sucked him like a lollipop. He groaned and panted as I swirled my tongue around his head and over his tip. I reached his base and scraped my teeth along the underside of his dick causing him to buck his hips. I deep throated him and i could tell he was close "come for me Niall" I cupped his balls and massaged them whilst bobbing my head up and down licking and sucking all over until i felt his dick throb massively as he released into my mouth like a white jet. I swallowed and pulled away licking my lips.
He met my eyes and i smirked "you like that baby?" i teased, crawling back on top of him.
Our lips collided once again, my lips against his, his naked body grinding against mine. He was hard again, already. Time to put it to use, i thought. | 8e37a33710214428bfc16aa6bca32767 | ['9cb3e36aad774199adf1b574f05745c3'] |
Teenage Kicks Right Through The Night
**Author's Note:**
> Hi again everyone!
>
> First of all I'm really sorry because I haven't gotten around to updating or adding new fics for a while now but here's a new one for The 100 fans!
> So this is obviously a work in progress and nowhere near finished so don't fret there will be bellarke. And maybe a little bit of fluff and smut, whatever floats your goat. If you have any specific ideas you want me to put in e.g. a dare or something please tell me and I'll try my best to incorporate it in!
> Wow I do waffle a lot. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the start of this fic as I have done writing it, and make sure to give a little love if you do! :)
Sometimes we got bored around camp, usually at night. With everyone fed and no chores to do, there was nothing to do other than sleep. And so that's what we did.
The sun was setting and I wasn't tired at all. Wide awake I laid staring at the top of the tent noticing how every ten seconds a slow wind would breeze through and the thin material would ripple like a flag. Soon it was dark and I was conscious of the surrounding silence bar the whistling waves of wind that were still dancing into my tent. I closed my eyes and tried lulling myself to sleep with the promise of a beautiful dream, my father, my mother, both down here. On Earth. With me.
The orange tinted sun grew brighter and brighter. Closer and closer. My hands moved up to my eyes, they stung and watered with tears. What the hell was going on? Bellamy had grabbed my wrist sleepily pulling me up, shouting, "Clarke, get up!" As soon as in realised I was no longer dreaming the adrenaline kicked in and I jumped to my feet "What's going on? Is there a fire?!" I grabbed clothes laying on the floor and made my way out but he grabbed my arm again and held me back. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" I yanked out of his grip and elbowed his abdomen in the process, I flew out of the tent following the smell of burning round camp to the extravagant bonfire sizzling and spitting flames into the dark sky.
I threw my pile of clothes onto the floor. "Are you guys kidding me? I thought something serious had happened-"
I felt a figure push past me, touching my waist faintly, he leaned in and whispered "I'm sorry princess, maybe a game will help settle your nerves" he smirked, and returned walking towards the others sat around the fire. "We couldn't exactly leave you out of all the fun now, could we?"
"Whatever we're playing, I'm in." I grinned and took my place between Octavia and Monty in the circle nearby the now dimming fire.
Finn spoke up "The games called truth or dare. You answer truth or dare, we pick what you do. If you refuse...well there's a forfeit for that. He glanced at Raven who continued, they had obviously devised the game between themselves. "Forfeit and trust me you will wish you didn't".
"Okay so I'm going to spin this bottle. Whoever's it points to chooses truth or dare and so on. Everyone ready?"
Lots of nods in agreement and Finn twisted the bottle and we watched it slow down to a hover pointed in Monty's direction. "Ah crap. I choose..uhm dare.."
I'd seen the way he looked at Jasper. Now is my chance, I thought. "Monty, you have to kiss the person you're most attracted to, here, right now." Even in the flickering light I saw Monty's face had dropped and he blushed like a strawberry. "Uhm what was the forfeit again?"
"Monty c'mon you cant back out already" Finn complained. "Yeah buddy you can do it" Jasper teased him. Monty glared back at him, "okay okay I'll do it". He jumped up, paced around the circle and sat back in his place. Everyone was momentarily puzzled until Monty leaned over to the boy next to him and gently kissed him on the lips.
I saw Jasper receive a nudge in the ribs from a smirking Raven and I smiled at Monty and whispered "You're welcome." He rolled his eyes and blushed a little. I still don't know how no one else had noticed Monty and Jasper until then. Perhaps I was just overly observant.
Monty proceeded to spin the bottle which pointed happily to Raven. "I'll have a truth" she replied quickly.
"Oooh nice one Raven. Name two people that you'd do, at the same time".
"What the fuck Monty? That's unfair, there's only seven of us!"
"Unless you want the forfeit..."
"Okay okay. Fine. I'd do uhm..Finn and uhm Bellamy. Now can we carry on?"
Monty snickered, "Go ahead."
Raven spun the bottle a little too vigorously and it flew across the dirt and hit Bellamy on the knee. "I suppose its your turn now" Raven said looking smug.
"Well it sure looks like it. Hit me with a dare."
"Strip down to your underwear for the rest of the game" Raven announced.
I noticed Finn glanced her sceptically, and to be honest I was questioning it myself. Was there something going on there that I didn't notice?
"Wow you guys really do challenge me, don't you?" he teased whilst unzipping his bottoms and stripping them off completely. He looked extremely comfortable for someone that was sitting outdoors semi-nude.
Bellamy reached over and curled the bottle into a slow spin shortly pointing towards Jasper. "Finally, its my turn! I'll have a truth please!" Jasper grinned.
"Okay so if you could have any superpower you wanted, what would you choose?" Octavia asked.
"I'm liking this question. Okay uhm I'd probably go for healing powers, or invisibility or maybe mind reading...actually. no, I think I'd just go for invisibility. That'd be pretty nifty."
Raven rolled her eyes, clearly irked that her truth wasn't quite as light-hearted and jovial.
Jasper gripped the bottle and sent it whizzing round and round, and watching it made me feel slightly dizzy until it slowed down and pointed at my feet. "I said I'm all in so do your worst - I choose dare."
Jasper had just started to speak but Bellamy interjected, "Okay Princess, lets see you strip off all those clothes and jump in the lake." |
e6e2a345481744b9bab4fbbf2bc66556 | ['9cd3ecce41c34b53908611a8877eea8c'] |
1. In which the band chooses a name
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> The boys brainstorm names for the band, some good, some bad, some rather questionable.
“So, how _can_ we be different, huh?” Chan poses the question openly to his boyfriend and three friends, interrupting the idle chatter of the group. They’re sitting cramped together, taking up all the space on the old, faded daisy-patterned sofa in Woojin’s garage. Chan paces in the empty area behind the sofa.
The group of friends cease their conversation and turn to face Chan. Minho, Felix, and Changbin look up at him blankly.
“What do you mean?” Minho asks. Chan often has his mind elsewhere, thinking of something else, leaving the others grasping to understand his sporadic jumps in their conversations.
Woojin makes eye contact with Chan. “We need to pick a good name for the band, something that distinguishes us from all the other wanna-be college bands,” Woojin explains to the others, perfectly understanding his boyfriend’s wavelength. Woojin knows Chan spends a lot of time caring for the group and thinking of what’s best for them. As the eldest in the group, Woojin does the same, but to a lesser extent given that he’s providing them all with a practice space.
Changbin surmises, “Ah, so that way we can _actually_ get gigs.” The group of friends have always been musically-inclined, but now that the youngest of them, Felix, has started post-secondary education as well, the financial pressures are leading them to be rather entrepreneurial this summer and turn their hobby into something financially beneficial. They’ve been playing as a band for several weeks already, but aren’t able to secure any bookings—not at any bars, pubs, cafes or restaurants in the neighbourhoods around campus.
“Anyone have any suggestions, then?” Felix asks curiously.
Chan makes his way to the front of the sofa, making a quick detour to bring over the stool from Changbin’s drum kit. He plops himself down in front of his friends. Silence falls over the group as they wrack their brains for any combination of words to form a name. Minutes tick by. A beat-up pickup truck drives down the street of Woojin’s neighbourhood; it’s otherwise quiet.
Minho breaks the silence, “Okay, this is _clearly_ not going to work . We’re too sober for this!” He shoots to his feet and makes his way over to the mini refrigerator in the back corner of the garage. He starts rummaging inside.
“Felix is only nineteen, Minho! We may be a rock band, but under _no circumstances_ am I going to allow underage drinking!” Woojin chastises him.
“You think I don’t know that? Of course I know!” Minho laughs as he turns around, having found whatever it is that he was looking for. Precariously stacked in his hands are a various assortment of pies, cakes, cookies and brownies. “What we need for brainstorming is a sugar rush.”
“It’ll lower our inhibitions _and_ raise our creativity!” Changbin exclaims with a mischievous grin. He always thrives in the potential for chaos.
Felix simply rejoices on the basis of getting to indulge his (in)famous sweet tooth.
Woojin relents. He rises from the couch and heads through the door connecting the garage to the rest of the house, going directly to the kitchen to grab plates and cutlery. He returns to see the rest of the boys thrumming in excitement.
Chan pops open the plastic lids of the various desserts and starts portioning and serving them to the boys. They all dig in to the desserts heartily, as if they hadn’t eaten anything all day. (They had literally _just_ finished eating eight large bowls of ramen as a group before they met up in the garage!)
“Okay. So. Band names,” Changbin mumbles around a mouthful of deluxe double chocolate cake. “Let’s go.”
Woojin forsakes a plate of goodies for a notebook and pen. He figures he’ll be the responsible one (as always—not that he minds) and write down their ideas.
“How about _Good_ or _That Good_?” Felix proposes. “That way when we introduce ourselves, people will know that we’re a really skilled band!” He takes another bite of strawberry shortcake.
Chan smiles and ruffles Felix’s mop of hair, “Nice idea, Lixie! That’s really clever.” He’s always had a soft spot for the younger Australian boy. For years Chan was the only Aussie at his school, at least until Felix had arrived as a transfer student four years ago. They had bonded quickly, especially with their shared interest in music. Chan taught Felix guitar, and then he himself switched to bass so they could play together.
Minho is the next to suggest a name, “_Bob Ross_. He’s my favourite painter.” Woojin can’t resist the urge to roll his eyes when Minho recites, “_We don’t make mistakes, just happy little accidents_. I think that’s my favourite quote. Either that or _Let’s get Crazy_, which could also work as a band name.”
“_Let’s Get Crazy_ is pretty good, it doesn’t follow the typical name structure for bands,” Chan notes.
Changbin hums. “_Bob Ross_… interesting. Perhaps we could change it up by switching the first letters and go with _Rob Boss_!” His eyes sparkle.
“Do you hear yourself, dummy?” Minho scoffs. “It sounds like we’re gonna steal from our employers. That’s the perfect way to ensure that we never get hired!” He’s very pragmatic, but often a bit too blunt with his delivery.
Changbin pouts and Felix consoles him, “Switching letters is a cool idea, Changbin, but Minho’s right. In this case, it has another meaning that we really should avoid.”
“Oh true.” That’s all Changbin can say, brushing off the comment and going right back to happily eating his desserts.
After a brief silence, Chan states, “I want doughnuts.”
“As a name? Or to eat?” Minho jokes. He is type of friend who jokes around, but actually really cares deep down.
“To eat…” he trails off, stuffing a bite of mocha caramel brownie in his mouth. | d660c9611b1b428eb144c775c12f6042 | ['9cd3ecce41c34b53908611a8877eea8c'] | chan doesn’t let go of his hand, even as the older grabs a blanket and pulls it over both of their laps. he leans over and rests his head on woojin’s warm shoulder.
they sit there in silence for a couple minutes, woojin’s thumb rubbing circles on the back of chan’s hand. chan manages to focus on the rhythm, allowing it to disrupt the spiral of negative thoughts.
chan’s breathing calms down and his tears gradually stop. he’s warm now, just from woojin sitting close to him.
woojin eventually breaks the silence, “feeling better?” he murmurs.
“a bit... but aren’t you gonna ask me about why i’m crying?” he mumbles back. chan thought he’d be facing an interrogation from the only member older than him.
“not if you don’t wanna talk about it.” bless woojin for knowing him so well. he continues, “but it’s not good to bottle things up, channie.”
“i know, wooj,” he sighs, aware that his pattern of internalization and avoidance are detrimental to him. “i will talk about it, but i don’t think i can handle that right now, to be honest.” even admitting that was hard, tears pricking his eyes. chan blinks them away. his negative thoughts are just the tip of much more deep-rooted problems.
“that’s okay, channie. is there any other way i can help you feel better?”
chan pauses, hesitating, before answering in a small voice, “cuddle me?” woojin is the one in the group that he feels most comfortable being vulnerable around.
“sure,” woojin smiles softly, shifting to lay down on the sofa. he pulls chan with him, “c’mere, channie.”
woojin wraps the blanket around them, locking in the warmth. he slips an arm around chan and rubs soothing patterns on his back. a wave of warmth ripples through chan.
chan loses himself in the sensation, comforted. woojin is his rock, keeping him grounded. sure, woojin isn’t going to magically make his anxiety and insecurities disappear, but he’ll support chan every step of the way.
“thank you, woojin,” chan whispers, snuggling deeper into woojin’s warm side and pressing his face into the crook of his neck.
“i’d do anything for you, chan,” woojin whispers back. he presses a soft kiss to the top of his head, “always.”
chan wonders how he got so lucky as to have woojin in his life. he places a small chaste kiss on woojin’s collarbone, “i love you.”
“i love you, too.”
another wave of warmth rolls through him at woojin’s words, his heart fluttering. chan figures that in the future he’ll go to woojin for cuddles instead of drowning his sorrows in hot cocoa. hot cocoa simply can’t compare to the warmth and comfort from woojin.
they lay there together and just bask in each other’s presence, breathing in each other’s scent. their eyelids gradually grow heavier and heavier as the minutes tick by, sleepy smiles on their lips.
and so, chan and woojin fall asleep there, on the couch, in each other’s embrace.
maybe the members tease them for it in the morning, maybe they don’t. but either way, chan and woojin don’t mind.
**Author's Note:**
> hi there! this is my first ever attempt at writing a fic/drabble or whatever this is.
> and i gotta say, wow, it turned out angstier than i originally planned it to be, oops (i guess i was projecting). sorry chan :(
> i hope the ending doesn't feel too rushed, either
>
> anyways, i'm overall pretty satisfied with this, and i hope you enjoyed it! if you did, please leave a comment or give kudos! thank you for reading ♡
>
> if you want, you can find me on twitter, @hugchans! |
0316fc771d63487aba462df715f7a3a4 | ['9cd76e63e3834e4fbfd81d7e7868d99c'] |
what’s it gonna be?
**Author's Note:**
* For LINK.
> Hi crescenttwins! Originally we got matched with one of the anime fandoms but when I read your dear creator letter and saw that your favorite part of femslashex is the origfics and that you requested one of the ships I was contemplating offering, I just knew I had to choose that!! It's a little short, but I hope you’ll enjoy this! ♥
If this was a movie it would start like this: a young woman is sitting on the train, alone, resting her head against the window—not recommended in real life—a dog-eared book on her lap with a colorful bookmark peeking out, with the sound of the gentle rain playing in the background. But this was not a movie, and Mariana had always had bad luck with anything public transport related, which is why she’d found herself on a crowded bus, crammed between a mage snoring so loudly it was giving her a headache and a huge pile of suitcases belonging to the mountain troll family a row behind her. The smallest suitcase on the top could tip over any minute and Mariana didn’t fancy getting a concussion over some shoddy spellwork. But until the suitcase actually fell she couldn’t do anything about it, the magical sensor strapped to her wrist would have gone off if she attempted a spell.
Getting arrested and suspended from the Academy on the first week of her second year was technically not her fault. She had no hand in the repeated necromancy attempts her brand new roommate had going, nor was Mariana at blame for her own magic reacting to it badly and amplifying it. Stealing the poor cat caught in the middle of all of that, on the other hand? That was entirely Mariana’s fault. She wasn’t expecting coming off scot-free, but restricting her magic was a bit of an overkill. She was now richer with a three months long suspension, an annoying gadget she couldn’t take off, and a zombie cat softly purring in the bag in her lap.
She still had three stops to go when the troll family got off the bus—the littlest one almost stumbled over Mariana, but everyone survived the encounter without any injuries. Since the commotion woke up her mage neighbor, Mariana had to deal with his passive-aggressive glaring at the small device on her left wrist for thirty more minutes. The little old lady who sat down on her other side didn’t strike up a conversation with her, just told Mariana to look after her cat, the cat she not only smuggled out of campus but also illegally brought it with her on the bus. In Mariana’s defense the cat was technically not alive anymore so it couldn’t count as “live cargo”, and there were no rules against undead animals.
Mariana would have been genuinely surprised if it wasn’t pouring when the bus arrived to her stop. Her luck had apparently run out when she didn’t get caught carrying an animal, however dead or undead it was. She didn’t even bother with digging out her umbrella that was at the bottom of her suitcase. She would only have to hold on until she got home: once the device registered the address she’d given the authorities, some of the magical bans would get lifted. She should be at home ten minutes tops.
“Home” was kind of an overstatement, not quite untrue but the house she was heading to was not the one she was living in in the past six years. After living in the suburbs for such a long time, then spending a year in a large college town, she wasn’t looking forward to moving back to the middle of nowhere with only a small town in a twenty mile radius.
Dragging a huge suitcase, even one that came with a built-in weight lightening charm, through an entire forest was somewhat of a feat and Mariana was out of shape by any and all standards. She was drenched by the time she found the little stone path that led to the house.
The house Mariana grew up in was cozy, but still big enough for a family of three. Back then her parents were still together and her mother wasn’t always away at one conference or another—they were all happier now, with her mom deep in dimensional travel research and her dad chasing his lifelong dream of becoming a travel journalist, visiting magical tourist spots all over the world. As for Mariana, she got into her dream college and was studying something she loved: Interspecies Relations.
Mariana didn’t have a key but she didn’t need one: the ward protecting the house was attuned to all family members’ auras. The rain started to ease up the second she turned the doorknob, because what else would have happened, given Mariana’s luck. She flicked on the lights—she knew her dad had stayed there a couple of months ago, everything should be in working order, the bills were paid—and collapsed on the bench in the hall, dripping rainwater everywhere. The magical sensor on her wrist bleeped once and its color changed from red to orange: it registered Mariana arriving to the address she’d given to the officers.
She peeked into her bag but the cat was somehow, miraculously, sleeping. She put the bag down next to her on the bench, careful not to wake the cat up—she needed to name it soon, “zombie cat” wasn’t really cutting it. | 72e85cb6e6e1441e8cb146ee9e621e4c | ['9cd76e63e3834e4fbfd81d7e7868d99c'] | maybe it's enough
**Author's Note:**
* For LINK.
> I’m oddly fond of clone!Shiro and he’s totally in love with Keith I don't make the rules
Keith is mesmerizing to watch. He has caught himself following Keith’s movements on several occasions, watching the emotions flicker on his face, that frown he has always found endearing—what always? There is no always.
He knows it’s all wrong.
He stops himself from flinching every time someone calls his name— _Shiro, Shiro, Shiro_ —but he’s not Shiro, he never was.
He wonders what name he should use for himself. “Project Kuron” brings him back to that place, it makes his head spin and all he remembers is pain, pain, pain and the desperate need to get away. Maybe he should use “Takashi”, it’s his full name after all. Or could he even say it’s his? Maybe he doesn’t have the right to use even that; maybe he should stay _Project Kuron_ forever.
_Fake,_ he tells himself. _Impostor._
But no one can know.
Sometimes Keith looks at him with longing in his eyes, but he knows it’s not for him. He smiles and steps away from Keith, careful of the distance he has to put between them.
Keith is not his to hold, not his to kiss, not his to love.
Sometimes, just sometimes, when Keith calls his name— _Shiro_ _’s name_ —his mind is filled with images of them kissing, chaste kisses, stolen goodnight kisses, morning kisses with limbs still entangled and horrible bed hair, kisses with a tint of desperation, backs pressed against a corridor wall.
Keith doesn’t know what’s wrong, but he can’t explain it. He makes excuses, he always finds something to do, and never, never lets them be alone. The others don’t know about Keith and Shiro: they’re too used to keeping their relationship a secret so they never told them.
He slips up once. Keith catches him alone.
“I just want to talk,” Keith whispers, and that tone leaves his heart _aching_.
“I can’t.”
Keith’s face is blank. It’s more agonizing to look at him than spending those days without food or water. Both of them are trembling, slightly.
“I know,” Keith says. He looks terrified. He looks broken. “I know you’re not him.”
_No. No, no, no._
Keith steps closer to him.
“It’s okay.” Keith smiles. It’s a sad little smile. It looks all wrong. “I still _need_ you.”
‘I don’t’ he wants to say, but he the lie can’t leave his lips. Keith cups his face and smashes their lips together.
He wants to protest. He want to push Keith away. But he can’t bring himself to do so. Clumsy kisses become desperate, and it’s not too long till their hands roam on each other’s bodies, wanting to touch, wanting more.
It’s a mistake, but it's a mistake they keep repeating.
“I’m not him,” he says after each time they end up sleeping together.
“I know,” Keith whispers every time.
It’s not right. But maybe it can be enough. For a while.
**Author's Note:**
> this was unbeta'd so if you catch a grammar mistake, please tell me! |
7fbda9da8f7f48c7a862589f5e9a7dbe | ['9cf8c00bb82b4397b9ce49ae745e9d06'] | a soft giggle snapped Guren out from his "staring-at-the-beautiful-human" session. Did he really just stared at him like an idiot?? A burning sensation spread all over his cheeks. _Oh gods, this one job will be really tough.._ He cleared his throat, still trying to get rid of the annoying blush that stands out on his pale skin,
> "Uh, yeah. I'm looking for.."
>
> _Oh dear, i can't just say "Hey i'm here cause i'll be your reaper in 4 months since you'll going to die and i'll be taking your soul after giving you a goodbye kiss", can't i?_
>
> "... um.. something suitable for a wedding..?"
>
>
okay, that was not so lame. His nephew came on mind, and since he's marrying soon, why not. It's not even a 100% lie and or false excuse so double points for him. The beautiful guy- he really need to stop addressing him as that, it's so cheesy, gave him another smile while gesturing Guren to come closer than rather just stand on the doorway.
> "A wedding? My, who's the lucky bride? How sad, I was wishing that I could be yours~" The sly wink Shinya gave made him lift an eyebrow.
>
>
>
> _Scratch that “beautiful human” title. This one is a lil’ jerk._
>
>
Scoffing, he answered,
> "It's actually for my nephew.. the wedding is due in spring so i guess it wouldn't hurt to prepare things early."
>
>
The florist nodded thoughtfully, "Indeed, usually orders came streaming in spring so it's wise to order early," he smiled again and Guren's heart fluttered weirdly. But again, he shooed it away in one moment.
> "Is there any color, type, or shape preferences? I'll try to meet your liking as close as possible."
>
>
And so on, for the next hour, Guren finding himself actually does something for Bakayuu. Not that he minded though, since Shinya was a very fun, easy-going person. He sure teases a lot, jokes a lot but Guren thought that it was just him (despite him being annoyed at him). _This guy does not resemble a Hiiragi asshole at all., not in the way the other shinigami described them, at least. it's almost ironic that he's the exact opposite of them._
An hour later, Guren finished his little cover up plan. Really, it's his fault also for not preparing things completely before going into action. He hated troublesome jobs. He should’ve gone to other countries and told Yuu’s soon-to-be-husband to look over Japan. Unfortunately, he loved the country and wouldn’t miss the chance to visit it, even though it means to meet a flirty, happy go lucky guy. Right before he stepped into the cold, snowy outside again, a hand on his shoulder made Guren stopped his steps.
> “Here, a memento from me.”
>
>
Handed over to him, was a white camellia. Guren looked at the flower, then at Shinya’s smiling face.
> “hah? What’s this all about?”, He said, frowning.
>
>
>
> "Just take it, grumpy pants. I'll be waiting tomorrow to discuss the payment. 8 AM sounds good?"
>
>
GUren nodded and the white haired man gave him a cheerful wave as the latter walked out. A tugging feeling in his chest seem to to tell him that his business with Hiiragi Shinya isn't going to be just about Yuuichirou's wedding bouquets.
_Incubus and succubus are always filled with lust._
_Merfolks and sirens are sly and dangerous._
_Demons are selfish and evil-minded._
_but humans were never the same_
_They could be as pure as a newborn, but some also cold be drenched in stains_
_Some could be sly, yet hiding fear_
_Humans were never the same, changing every time._
_That's what make them so_ _desirable, yet to be feared at the same time._
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> camellia : you're adorable
2. Apple Geranium
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> Guren can't skate for his dear life
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> i will be slipping in some characters from other fandoms for fun xD but i changed their names! usually if their original names had a meaning, it will be a name with the same meaning but in a different language
> "Well, well. Look who's daydreaming over a flower."
Kiore's sharp words snapped me from my so called "daydream". Standing before me was a tall male with long, dark hair, tied up high with another strand of his hair. Kiore's eyes were sliverish-grey, a smug smile painted on his beautiful face. A hand placed on his tilted hips, leather-foot covered feet tapping on the marble floor of the Shinigami's Quarter. A lime green shawl circled loosely around his neck. His outfit was simpler than Guren’s since he’s a regular shinigami; a pitch black coat, a same colored leather muffler which was pulled down around his neck. Yet Kiore have a large, white “X” sign printed on his back. _I always wondered what that means.._
_
_ Guren scoffed,
> "Oh fuck off you narcissistic brat. You're a hundred years too soon to lecture me about anything."
>
>
>
> "Aw don't be like that, old man. You know i'm beautiful. How much time till your Dahlia's death?"
>
>
Guren stayed quiet for a few moments before answering,
> "29th of March, actually. Not long before the cherry blossoms bloom.”
>
>
>
> “Is that so? Heard it was a Hiiragi, true?”
>
>
>
> “An odd one at that. A flirty, carefree guy. Don’t give a shit though; I just want to get this one over with.” He answered coldly, not looking to the other Shinigami. The white flower in his hands seems to be even whiter in the moonlight.
>
>
Kiore narrowed his eyes as he examined the latter. He lightly dropped himself next to Guren, crossing his legs.
> “Y’know, your face said otherwise.”
>
> | a38982a6ee584a18b8fa82400f09ddc7 | ['9cf8c00bb82b4397b9ce49ae745e9d06'] |
1. The Cerulean "Princess": In Pain
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> "i guess that happy ending was just not for me, huh..?
> _do you ever read those tales about princesses?_
>
> _those tales will always end in an "and they lived happily ever after."_
>
> _no matter what the princess had to go trough her life, she will always find her prince Charming._
>
> _he'll held the princess close, protecting her from anything that could harm her._
_and they'll share their kiss, and live happy, yada yada._
in reality, not all princesses got their happy ending.
> my name is Shiota Nagisa, and I'm a prince.
> or rather, i _was_ one.
* * *
i am the only son of the king and queen, the next heir to the throne. everything was just fine before. both my parents loved me. but it was many years ago.
Our kingdom was attacked by a neighboring kingdom. My father was killed for the sake of peace between the kingdoms on his own will. i was only 13 that time. But unfortunately, not everyone can accept the king's death, even it was for the sake of many innocent lives. losing the man she loved, queen Hiromi lose her sanity. she often went into a tantrum, screaming and smashing things. but the worst thing is she began to see me as a girl.
It was painful, and I hate it. I know clearly by myself that I am a male. I was forced into a dress, learned all stuffs to make me a “proper” princess. Heels are a must, a tiara on my head, and of course, a lady also must have long, beautiful hair. It was painful that I know my figure was feminine already for a boy, but it’s 10 times worse now. On non-formal occasions, I often put my shoulder length hair into twin tails. It’s comfortable, and I kinda liked it on me. Even though it’s only slightly, it wasn’t as girly as when my hair was down. She always talked about how beautiful I am, and that I’ll one day marry a handsome young prince and finally can bring the kingdom to its great glory once again.. I sometimes wonder if she still sees me as her son, a human with his own free will, or just merely a pawn to move as her heart please. I sometimes wonder if the woman sitting on the throne is still my mother or a demon.
It seems all the servants in the palace feared my mother enough to call me “my lady” as well. Although the royal gardeners, Isogai Yuuma and Maehara Hiroto, who’s the same age as me, still called me “Nagisa-kun”, a friendly call for a guy. I forbid them to address me in any royalty titles, since I appreciated them as friends. Since I’m not allowed to go out to the city, I don’t have many friends, except for the snobby princesses and princes that sometimes I saw at the royal balls. So having them around really cheered me up, especially after I got another beating and an earful from my mom.
Isogai-kun is a polite, talented, responsible, wise, kind and optimistic guy. It seems that he’s capable of doing anything _~~he's _ba_ sically an ikemen~~_.... Isogai is a hard worker, since he had to support his family’s economical state in such a young age. He had 2 siblings. Sometimes I took some food from the dinner table and gave it to him. It’s not every day that his family could eat something fancy like that, so he was very grateful. I remembered at how I panicked when he literally got on his knees, thanking me. He’s also the one that’s very eager to learn. with his low social status, it was impossible for him to go to school. So sometimes I thought him the things I learned with the private teacher (which is NOT even human, but that's a story for another time) But ironically, he’s a fast learner, and quickly surpass me in a few subjects. _Seriously Isogai, now you’re the one teaching me._
While on the other side, Maehara-kun was more of a ... ladies’ man, I guess?? He got good looks, I must admit, and is one huge flirt too. But from his stories, I think he hasn’t found the right person yet, despite the fact that he dated like who-knows-how-many girls. Being friends with the ikemen, Maehara had a lot of things in contrast with Isogai. He's not as hardworking as him, and had no fear in breaking the rules (something the ikemen will _never_ do) He's playful, cheerful, carefree, and irresponsible, but a very fun companion to have around.
_if weren't for Isogai backing him up every time, he'd be in a lot of trouble..._ i thought. I sometimes still wonder how on earth they could be really close buddies. once i asked Isogai about it, but the ravenette just replied with _"it felt that we fit in perfectly together"_. I recently noticed something between those two, though.
I am no matchmaker, but even a fool can see that they’re head-over-heels in love with each other. I often caught Maehara glancing at Isogai as the raven haired boy worked. Or there’s also a few times when Isogai blushed when their hands brushed against each other before looking away, embarrassed. There’s nothing I wanted more that to hook them up _ASAP_ , cause damn those two are just as dense in these stuffs, despite Isogai’s amazing academical skills or Maehara’s athletically skills. But I guess, they’ll have to figure it out themselves, don’t they? It won't be as fun if they don't. I giggled slightly as I leaped from the swings, rushing towards my two friends.
* * * |
47a319789f3f43beba2955c80f5407d5 | ['9d1e4b008c754736978da03ca6d79db2'] |
Confidence
‘Hey Kid, you need to get a move on.’ Charity popped her head around the bedroom door to see Vanessa cocooned in her duvet; head buried between the pillows. ‘Ness?’ She tried again, this time eliciting a groan from the human between her sheets.
‘I’m not going. I’m quitting adult life and am planning to live out the rest of my existence here.’ The reply from Vanessa was muffled significantly by the pillow squished into her face. Charity sighed as she climbed onto the bed, resting on her laurels.
‘Babe, come on.’ Charity poked Vanessa’s side for effect, causing the vet to squirm away slightly. ‘At last! She’s alive!’ Charity exclaimed with glee, continuing to poke and prod at the smaller blonde until she sat up. ‘Alright no need to look so grumpy!’
Vanessa was displaying a face that resembled a toddler whose favourite toy had been confiscated. Dressed in only a baggy sleep shirt, with her blonde hair in disarray, Charity couldn’t help but marvel at the level of affection she felt towards her. Not one for any form of emotional declaration, she reached out and flicked Vanessa on the nose.
‘Did you just flick me?’ Vanessa’s eyes widened as the she registered what Charity had just done. She received only a smirk in response, causing her own eyes to narrow. Two could play at this game. She snuck her hand from beneath the duvet and pinched Charity’s thigh. Just above the kneecap, causing an involuntary jerk of surprise.
‘Oi!’
‘Don’t start something you can’t finish Charity.’ Vanessa taunted, raising her eyebrows in challenge. Charity leaned forwards until her lips were barely a centimetre from Vanessa’s, a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. Vanessa’s reaction was involuntary to some extent, as her eyes fluttered shut and she marvelled in the warmth of Charity’s breath.
‘Oh I can finish it alright.’ The whispered response made Vanessa brace herself for a kiss, but unfortunately she was disappointed; as Charity reached out and pulled Vanessa’s legs from under her, causing the smaller blonde to end up flat on her back. ‘I think we both know I’m the superior tickler babe.’
Charity didn’t miss the flicker of determination that passed through Vanessa’s eyes, in a silent bid of war. Suddenly the roles were reversed and Charity found herself pinned the mattress. Vanessa was relentless in her attack, tickling every inch of Charity, reaching underneath her khaki blazer to gain better access to her ribs. Within mere seconds the landlady was gasping for breath, completely powerless to stop her ferocious tiny blonde rocket woman.
‘Care to rethink that last statement?’ Vanessa’s eyes twinkled with mirth as she straddled Charity’s waist, pinning her arms above her head.
‘Never.’
‘Okay, well I guess I should just carry on then?’ Vanessa inched her hands closer to Charity’s ribs, in a silent threat of repeat.
‘Fine. I take it back.’ Rolling her eyes in a bid to look cocky, Charity’s cool air was betrayed by the flush in her cheeks.
‘And?’
‘You win.’ Charity sulked, pouting her bottom lip in effect. ‘Hey, but at least I got you up.’ Her face brightened considerably, remembering her sole purpose for re-entering the bedroom. There was a delivery scheduled to arrive within the next hour, and Charity wanted to utilise the time she had with her girlfriend before life rudely interrupted them.
‘How you feeling?’ She questioned, as she recalled the inspection that would be taking place later today. Vanessa’s face dropped, and Charity could feel her whole body tense up at the reminder.
‘Nervous.’ Vanessa admitted quietly, hands fiddling with the taller blonde’s blazer. ‘I’ve never been great at first impressions, and this first impression could make or break my whole livelihood, so to put it mildly I am bricking it.’
‘Ness, you’ve got nothing to worry about. Paddy and Rhona said so themselves, you’ll dazzle the bloke.’ She ran her hands up and down the thighs of the vet still sat astride her lap. She felt the grip on her jacket tighten as she watched Vanessa shake her head.
‘I’m not like you Charity. I can’t pretend that everything is hunky-dory when inside my stomach is in knots and I’m trying not to vomit whenever I open my mouth.’ The cracks in Vanessa’s voice made it clear how worried she was. Charity sighed, and for the umpteenth time she wished she could turn back the clock and change what had happened. She watched the beginning signs of tears appear on Vanessa’s features and decided a quick fix was in order.
‘Right. Up you get babe.’ Charity shifted beneath the woman sat on her, patting Vanessa’s bum for good measure. ‘Plonk yourself down over there.’ She pointed towards the vanity opposite the bed, and gestured for Vanessa to sit.
‘Why?’ Vanessa did as she was told, curiosity lining her face. She watched as Charity bustled around her, plugging in the hair tongs, grabbing clips and rubbing some heat protectant lotion onto her hands.
‘You might be nervous on the inside, but we can’t have you turning up looking like an agitated wreck now can we? First impressions… You said it babe.’ Charity began combing Vanessa’s hair, sectioning it off.
‘But-’
‘No buts. We already have two perfect ones in this room, no need for any more.’ Charity winked into the mirror as she started with the tongs. Vanessa resigned herself to just watch Charity work, until she realised she probably didn’t have long. So she commenced her make up routine. It didn’t stop her stealing a cheeky glance at her girlfriend every few seconds though. Charity was a clear master of the curling wand, evident in her own perfectly styled hair, and she made quick work of Vanessa’s bedhead. All too soon for Vanessa’s liking, the curling wand was switched off and Charity moved to step away, after spraying a hefty volume of hairspray all over the bouncing curls. Vanessa reached up and stopped her leaving, bringing their linked hands to rest on her shoulder.
‘Why curls?’ She asked, curious as it wasn’t a look she sported often. Particularly if she was going to work.
‘Oh you know… I just thought they’d look nice.’ Charity averted her eyes, trying to come across all blasé.
‘Charity!’ Vanessa smacked her playfully on the wrist, her face demanding an honest response.
‘Fine. Maybe I just thought when you said you weren’t like me and didn’t have my confidence you’d maybe like to look like me a bit or something. I don’t know.’ Charity’s voice sped up incessantly, as it always did when she was bearing her feelings. Vanessa’s eyes shone with affection as she listened to Charity’s rambling explanation.
‘I love them.’ She turned her head to the right and placed a soft kiss to the inside of Charity’s wrist. ‘Confidence curls eh?’
‘Yeah. With hair as flawless as that no one could ever presume you were anything other than a well put together, highly qualified functioning adult.’ Charity grinned into the mirror, placing her own kiss on the crown of Vanessa’s head. ‘Ugh god I hate the taste of hairspray.’ | 556a72d851074f9591785f5c9def8ec5 | ['9d1e4b008c754736978da03ca6d79db2'] | The umbrella had been abandoned in favour of the pair seeking comfort in each other. Vanessa still had her arm wrapped possessively around the taller woman’s waist, and her other hand was linked firmly with Charity’s. Their fingers laced, she stroked gently with her thumb in a repetitive motion. She was gradually guiding them over to her car, ignoring the rain slowly soaking the pair of them. They reached the vehicle and Vanessa reluctantly released Charity’s hand to unlock the doors and open the passenger side. She guided her companion into her seat, brushing her hand down the damp arm of Charity’s coat. She slipped in to the driver’s seat and turned the ignition. The radio began blasting some form of what Vanessa could not call music and she hastily reached over and switched the damned thing off.
The journey home was silent.
Charity was completely still, apart from the tears continuously rolling down her cheeks. There was no thumb twiddling and no glances across at Vanessa. Whenever she could, Vanessa would reach over and place her hand on Charity’s right knee, a silent comfort and show of affection. The rolling fields passed unnoticed by the vehicle’s occupants. They were solely focussed on the conversations that had taken place a few minutes earlier. Vanessa was gutted for her girlfriend. Charity wanted nothing more than to be involved in Ryan’s life, but the heartache and distressing nature of the situation appeared to be too much for the lad. Vanessa could not, and would not, blame Ryan for his reaction. His whole life had been turned on its head in the space of only a few days. Regardless of this, it did not stop her heart from hurting at the sight of the clearly distraught woman sat next to her. There were so many things Vanessa wanted to say, but she knew no words would be able to console Charity right now. She needed the quiet to process. Wordlessly Vanessa stopped the car outside the Woolpack and immediately moved to help Charity out of the car. They entered the pub through the back door and quickly made a beeline for the stairs. They were halfway up; Charity in front, when a voice disturbed the continued silence.
‘Nope. Not a chance. Get back down here right now Missy and into that bar. You cannot keep wandering off like this.’ Chas’ voice was like ice, cutting through the comforting stillness. Charity didn’t hesitate. She continued her ascent of the stairs without even a glance behind her. Vanessa turned slightly to face Chas.
‘Not now Chas.’
The annoyance on the landlady’s face dissipated instantly at the genuine tone of Vanessa’s words, paired with the weary expression she was wearing. She nodded sharply before heading out into the bar. The door swung open revealing the buzz of noise one associates with the inner workings of a pub. As it shut, the peace returned. Vanessa took a breath before continuing up the stairs.
She entered the familiar bedroom and felt her chest tighten as she took in the sight before her. Charity looked so small. So lost. So unbelievably sad. The tears that had appeared in Vanessa’s eyes at the sight were quickly blinked away as she moved forward. She slowly removed Charity’s soaked coat, and placed it, along with her own, on the radiator beneath the window. She then drew the curtains. The silence in the room was now accompanied with darkness. She guided Charity towards the bed and sat her down, before moving to the other side. She slid to the head of the bed and reached for Charity’s hand.
‘Come here.’ Vanessa whispered in a tone that was so quiet she wondered if Charity hadn’t heard her at all. It took a moment for the sound to register in Charity’s mind. In an instant however, she was there. Vanessa pulled her in and wrapped her arms completely around Charity’s shoulders. ‘You know it’s much easier to comfort you when we’re sat down. I’m too small to do this stood up.’ Vanessa gave a watery smile as she kissed the blonde curls. She heard a sniff and felt Charity snake her arms around her stomach, clinging on for dear life. The rain water had seeped its way under their jackets, so they were both a little damp, but neither woman appeared bothered.
They stayed in this position for hours, neither woman slept, yet not another word was spoken. They drew comfort from the closeness between them both, and Vanessa only hoped this was what Charity needed. The tears stopped gradually, and the heart that Vanessa had felt beating at a rate that was far too fast had returned to normal. Charity’s head was rested on the smaller woman’s chest, and Vanessa could only imagine that listening to the sounds of her own steady pulse had helped calm her down.
‘I’m sorry.’
Charity’s head shifted at the words, and she raised her chin to meet Vanessa’s gaze with a questioning expression.
‘I shouldn’t have pushed you into going to the police station. You didn’t need this.’ Vanessa apologised, shaking her head, with what she could only hope was clear sincerity.
‘Ness.’ Charity sighed, as she shifted to sit crossed legged in front of her. Their hands linked instinctively. ‘I did need it. You know I did. So did Ryan. He deserved to know the truth.’ She took a breath that hitched slightly. ‘Even if – even if he reacted like he did.’ |
923edfc825e64c2fabac454197775e88 | ['9d29f4eab1da44069e6d68ba5b4270ba'] | “Psh. That is a relatively low murder count considering how long he has been out of training.” Ami glanced at Kat, realizing her slip.
Kat rolled her eyes, “Yeah whatever. I just know that I saw him go ape shit two years ago. Terrifying and strangely erotic.”
“Well on that awkward note, I should get going. My parents are coming to visit tomorrow and they’re bringing my cat. I want to finish the last of my unpacking.” Ami said as she gathered her things.
“No worries. We should plan on meeting here Monday afternoon after classes. That way we can go over how our days went.” Kat smiled.
“Sounds like a great plan.”
The girls turned away from the trash cans and ran straight into two men. A tall man with wildly curly hair caught Katherine right before she hit the floor, pulled her up, and steadied her with a hand on her shoulder.
Ami’s breath caught in her throat as the arms of Brian Wecht came around her waist for the second time that day.
“Have your had your inner ear checked yet, Miss Stokes? Or are you going to make a habit of falling into my arms?” he whispered in her ear with a smirk.
“I’m so sorry! We weren’t looking where we were going and -- oh! Professor Wecht.” Kat trailed off, staring at the sight in front of her.
Ami still stood in Brian’s arms. Realizing what had taken the words from Kat’s mouth, she extracted herself from Brian with a small sigh.
“Nice to see you as well, Miss James.” Brian said, seemingly unaffected by the situation. “Might I introduce to the two of you to my friend Daniel Avidan. Dan, this is Miss James. She’s an intern for Professor Mitchell.”
“Wonderful to meet you, Miss James” Dan said quietly.
“Please, call me Kat.” She said with a blush.
“And this is my intern, Miss Amelia Stokes.” Brian said, gesturing to the pink haired woman beside him.
“Pleasure to meet you, Amelia.” Dan said, nodding to her.
“Call me Ami. No one calls me Amelia.” She said with a smile.
“Well ladies, I regret to say we must be going. I’m sure we’ve already taken up too much of your valuable time as it is.” Brian stated, taking a step towards the store counter.
“Of course, Doctor. I’ll see you monday.” Ami said, taking Kat’s arm and leading her toward the exit.
The men watched the girls exit the shop in silence. Once they were out of sight Dan turned to Brian.
“You told me your intern was cute, but you didn’t tell me that she had a hot friend.”
“I never said anything of the sort.” Brian protested.
“You didn’t have to. I can read you like an open book, my friend.”
Brian just glared at him before ordering his coffee.
A few blocks away the girls walked arm and arm toward their vehicles.
“ _Dayum._ ” was all Kat said before getting in her car and driving away with a dazed expression.
4. Chapter 4
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> NSP meets with Saki and NSP goes to a club
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> Thanks again to my editor MidnightMarley! I can't believe that this has 90 hits!! Thanks to SomethingthatsaysBubbles, PineappleGender, and the two guests that left kudos! They make my heart happy! <3
Danny Sexbang jumped through a doorway into a room where Ninja Brian was sitting on a couch repeatedly stabbing a bellhop.
“Brian,” Danny said with a grin. “What have I told you about murder in the Sexatorium?”
Ninja Brian looked up and quickly dropped the corpse, trying in vain to kick it behind the couch stealthily.
“Now! What shall we do about Samurai Abstinence Patrol’s upcoming return?” Danny asked as he settled down onto a chaise lounge glancing over to gauge the ninja’s response.
“Yes, I trust the Green Ninja. Why wouldn’t we?” Danny asked, adjusting his blue kimono.
Ninja Brian held up his sai, still covered in blood.
“Oh, so you have met a ninja of equal skill. What is the problem?”
Ninja Brian answered by running a knife in front of his throat.
“We don’t know if Green Ninja is working with Samurai Abstinence Patrol. They could be just trying to help us.”
Ninja Brian just looked at Danny with a blank expression.
“Alright, so we need to take some time and learn more about our tiny green ninja friend.” Danny said with a huge smile.
“What do you want to know?” the green ninja asked from beside Ninja Brian.
The words sparked instant action in which Ninja Brian immediately jumped up and attempted to murder the intruder while Danny Sexbang squealed like a little girl and hid behind a pillow.
“STOP!!” Danny called out.
Instantly the two fighting ninjas stilled, sai at each other’s throats.
“Can’t we all just get along?” Danny asked.
The ninjas glared at each other and then at Danny.
“How did you get in here, anyway?!” With a glance at Ninja Brian, Danny answered himself, “Ninja Brian, did you kill security again?”
Ninja Brian shook his head no while giving a thumbs up.
“Oh Ninja Brian, I can’t stay mad at you.” Danny said with a laugh.
The group tentatively settled back down on the couches, both ninjas obviously tense. There was a long pause where the three just glanced back and forth between each other, none of them willing to begin the conversation. After a while it was obvious that Danny was simply checking out the green clad ninja.
“Wait.” Danny suddenly exclaimed, “You are a GIRL?!”
“Obviously.” She answered.
The men exchanged a glance that for them held an entire conversation.
“Who are you? Where did you come from? Why are you here? What do you know about the Samurai Abstinence Patrol?” Danny asked in quick succession. | 9576dbd9ca3746ebabff3d7f2f13cf81 | ['9d29f4eab1da44069e6d68ba5b4270ba'] | “Saki. Not important. Sex. That they plan to try again to outlaw sex, among other things.” She answered just as quickly.
“Okay. Well we can leave the question as to where you come from for another time. How did you come by this information, and wait.” Danny stopped suddenly, realizing what she had just said. “What did you say you were here for again?”
“To help you stop Samurai Abstinence Patrol, of course. What do you think I said?” She asked coyly.
Ninja Brian and Danny Sexbang exchanged another conversation filled look.
“Riiight. How did you come to find out about Samurai Abstinence Patrol’s plans?” Danny asked.
“I was captured on a scouting mission.” Saki said casually. “Torture, interrogation, all that fun stuff.”
“Scouting mission for whom? How do we know you aren’t working for them?”
“I was sent by the Old Master,” Saki said, keeping a close eye on Ninja Brian to gauge his reaction, “I was tasked with discovering if they were truly a threat and if so, to protect Ninja Brian, and by extension you, Danny Sexbang.”
Ninja Brian did not react at all to the mention of the Old Master, but the knowledge that this small female ninja had been tasked with “protecting” him sent him into a rage. He drew his sai and made to attack her once again.
“Senpai did say you wouldn’t be too pleased at the thought of being a ward.” Saki laughed as she deflected his attacks.
“Ninja Brian, stop it. Surely she doesn’t mean it as if you are defenseless.” Danny tried to reason with the enraged ninja. “She is just here to help, right?”
“Correct, Sexbang. I’m just here as backup.” Saki said, her words calming Ninja Brian somewhat. “I’ve always been a fan of your work, Ninja Brian.”
The three settled back onto the couches, Ninja Brian still glaring daggers at the small ninja.
“Samurai Abstinence Patrol is planning on breaching the city with the hopes of stopping as much promiscuity as they can on their way to you.” Saki explained. “It will probably end up in a fight similar to last time, although I advise you not to get distracted by trying to put on another show.”
The members of Ninja Sex Party shared another look.
“Ninja Brian is right, we are nearly evenly matched as far as strength and skill.” Danny said.
“Thus, I am here.” Saki said, striking a slight pose.
Ninja Brian gestured at her with a sai.
“I recommend trying to keep my existence a surprise. That way you four can battle it out as you normally would, but I can show up and help if you need it. Surprise attack.” Saki said, settling back into the couch.
“Like a secret pocket ninja!” Danny said excitedly.
Both ninjas turned glares to him. Danny put up both hands in a placating gesture.
“Okay okay. No pocket ninjas. Although you have to admit, you are kinda tiny.” Danny said with a small smile.
“Ugh, you know I have murdered people for saying things like that.” Saki said. Turning to Ninja Brian she asked, “Would you miss him terribly if I just ended him now?”
Ninja Brian just shrugged.
“Hey now! No need for that! I’m sorry!” Danny hurried to apologize.
“No matter. I have to go anyway.” Saki said as she stood. “I’ll be back soon and we can discuss strategy further.”
“How will we get a hold of you if we need to?” Danny asked.
“No need. I’ll know.” Saki said, giving Ninja Brian a wink before strolling casually out of the Sexatorium. Both men staring after her in silence.
**
“Come, Ninja Brian! Let us go forth from the Sexatorium on a quest for sex!” Danny Sexbang called out to his friend.
Ninja Brian just stared at him, fingering the sai at his waist.
“It’ll be fun!” Danny exclaimed.
The ninja continued to stare blankly at the man in blue spandex.
“Alright, fine. I know you are still a little weirded by Saki’s visit. How about I look the other way if you decide to do murder?”
Ninja Brian leaped up from the couch, threw Danny over his shoulder, and jumped out of the window.
“To the club!” Danny called out as they fell.
**
When they arrived at the club, Danny immediately started grinding on the hottest girl he could find. Ninja Brian stood stock still in the center of the dance floor, getting angrier and angrier as party goers bumped and pushed into him.
“You know, girl, we’re making it work.” Danny said to her a moment before Ninja Brian finally snapped and went completely berserk.
“Yo! I’m the DJ, who wants to dance?” a long haired man with headphones asked right before his blood was spilled all over his setup.
“There were three hundred people in this club, Ninja Brian killed two hundred ninety-seven so that leaves us with a party of three.” Danny sang quietly in her ear. “It’s just you and me and a psychotic ninja, every girls dream. Don’t make any sudden movements!”
Danny put his arm around her and started to lead them out saying, “Girl, you’re lookin’ at me like you’re feeling sick. I’ll take you home and give you vitamin P.” He twirled her around corpses on the floor. “That stands for penis!”
The three made their way out of the blood stained club. Ninja Brian looked around shiftily as if he were feeling watched. Not finding anything, he shrugged his shoulders, stabbing a random guy as he followed his best friend and his date.
Green eyes tracked their progress from atop a nearby roof. A puff of smoke and the figure was gone.
**
“It’s a party of three! Welcome to my kingdom of Slamalot! “ Danny said, gesturing into his bedroom. “You are the new queen, please take your throne. Together we’ll rule this majestic bedroom alone.” |
585f0c1e8c7647bb9bfe77fd18d2ba2f | ['9d2c2d8a4a6e4d908f529bd1a402cd91'] | You, Me, and the Post-Apocalypse
How had he gotten here? Though he knew the answer to that question, it kept repeating in his mind. Over and over.
The world was ending. And he was one of the few survivors.
Ariel watched the final report on the TV intently. Even as it fell to the ground with a sickening crash, his gaze didn't waver. He observed the last of the static as it faded to black. What would they do now? Here sat a twisted family, many of whom didn't even know each other. They were the remainder of humanity. The future of humanity. And that thought made him sick.
"Jamie. Jamie!"
The yell was enough to grab his attention, though it had taken a moment for him to realise who Dave was talking to. He eyed his supposed friend up and down for a moment. Dave looked sombre, something he was pretty sure was out of character for him. Though, he couldn't blame him for being in a 'bad mood' at a time like this. Soon, he let a worried expression settle on his face, as he was meant to. He was supposed to be the paranoid, uptight friend, after all.
"The world's ending." Ariel's words were meek, barely more than a murmur. They sounded almost hollow, as if he was too overwhelmed to even emote. It wasn't far from the truth. If there were a word for how he was feeling now, hollow would certainly fit. But whether that was from panic or from a genuine lack of caring, he didn't know. Dave placed a hand on his back, attempting to be comforting. He seized up almost instinctively but tried desperately to play it off.
"Yeah, well...At least the world's ending out there and not in here, yeah? We're all here, together! That's gotta count for something."
"I suppose it does, yeah." He replied with a small, hoarse laugh, nodding. A laugh soon interrupted when he glanced over his shoulder and noticed Leanne. She was a determined one, it seemed, a gun pointed squarely at the back of his head as it had been since he'd arrived. Dave followed his gaze, inhaling sharply when he saw the predicament his friend was in. He leaned forward slightly, whispering into the other's ear.
"Who is that, anyway? What's she got against you?"
"I don't know." Ariel didn't find it too difficult to lie. The words spilled out of him before he could give it a second thought. "I just hope that...Maybe she'll be able to move on from whatever grudge she has against me. We're going to be living together for a long time, after all." It annoyed him, really. Of all of the people to survive the apocalypse, fate decided to give it to the Nazi. All because his...Aunt? Had taken a shine to her. God, what insanity had led to such a twisted family unit?
That's when he saw Layla. Hawkwind? Sophie? Not even he knew anymore. But in that moment, he couldn't care less what her name was. She was holding her injured arm protectively, watching the chaos around her in a bittersweet silence. He had a feeling Dave was still talking, but he couldn't care less. He raised a hand to shut the other up, before rising to his feet. He approached his wife cautiously, only now realising how much pain he was in. The blood trickling down his face had fortunately dried, but he was acutely aware of it.
He was filthy. Covered in blood and debris. He knew it'd be best not to think about it, but part of his mind was begging for a shower. Some wipes, anything! The only thing that calmed his nerves was that beautiful half-smile that he could never forget.
"So...This is it." She remarked, still taking in everything around her. He moved to wrap an arm delicately around her, holding her close.
"Well...Maybe there's a silver lining to all of this." Ariel suggested, earning a snicker in response. He huffed indignantly, quirking a brow.
"What?"
"Sorry, sorry...It's just...The world's ending. I thought you'd be losing your mind, but you're trying to make the best of it? I don't know what's going on with you, but I could get used to it."
He let out a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his neck.
"Must be the shock." | 698f3054df434b9a8fc35a2860b553e1 | ['9d2c2d8a4a6e4d908f529bd1a402cd91'] |
Distractions
It had all started innocently enough. A few light jabs at the Captain's crush of the week. It didn't surprise him, really. Julian was just petty enough to do that sort of thing. And though his mind told him to put an end to it immediately, he let it slide. Each and every time. He had to admit, despite how immature he'd always been, he enjoyed Julian's company. Perhaps more than any other's. He brought just a little more enthusiasm out of him.
Which is why he'd thought he'd be more understanding in knowing when to stop.
He watched the film crew pack up and leave. He should've seen this coming, really. People never seemed to stick around long, but this was just...Painfully short. He'd taken to Thomas' 'Sighing Place', while the other was away. There was something oddly therapeutic about sitting there, watching the rustle of the leaves and the flight of the birds. He'd dare say he was bordering on relaxed when he heard an all-too-familiar voice disrupt his thoughts.
"I made quite the winnings today! You would've been impressed." The politician paused, surprised to see the other was in such a sombre mood. He'd never been the best with consoling, admittedly.
So immediately, he began to pry.
"What're you so mopey about? ...Oh. Lost the next love of your life?" He'd genuinely thought the other would appreciate his attempts to lighten the mood, but the glare he earned was enough to shut him up. Julian cleared his throat discretely, moving to take a seat beside the disgruntled soldier. The Captain seemed to noticeably tense when he did. Why was he being so weird all of a sudden?
Julian was too comfortable getting too close. He couldn't place why, but it made him uncomfortable. He'd dare say flustered. When other people were there to keep him distracted, everything was fine. But when they were there, together, all alone? He found it difficult to think at all. The Captain knew he ought to say something, but no matter how many times he opened his mouth to speak, words just refused to come out. Unfortunately, that opened Julian up to make the first move.
"Come on. What's wrong, Cap? Like, really wrong?" The casualty with which Julian addressed him made him feel uneasy, but he couldn't place why. But the question alone was enough to thrust him into internal conflict. It wasn't often the Captain confronted his feelings. In fact, it was something he preferred to avoid at any opportunity, but Julian was so damn friendly and persistent. He felt the urge to empty every single thought in his mind when he looked into those bright, encouraging eyes. The fact that he knew better held him back. Not only was honesty just not in his nature, but he'd also learned through his life that it wasn't safe.
"I don't believe it's any of your business." The Captain finally replied, a little more harshly than he'd meant to. He wasn't sure why he'd snapped back like that, but maybe it was because not even he knew the answer to his question. Julian raised his hands defensively, unable to see why the other was overreacting so much.
"Alright, alright. Forget I asked." And with that, the two were stuck in defeaning silence once more.
..."Sorry." The Captain muttered, sounding just too close to a scolded child. He coughed uncomfortably, unable to deny how embarrassing excuse for aconversation had become. "I suppose this coming and going routine is getting a little tiresome. It'd be nice to have some peace for once and-"
"Cap. I know for a fact that's not what you're really so huffy about." Julian stated dryly. "I don't know why you're so determined to find the man of your dreams if they're gonna keep leaving. Maybe you should just find someone who...You know, lives here."
Now they both looked confused. Confused and uncomfortable. They slowly looked at each other. Before looking away.
"That's a ridiculous idea."
"Yeah. Yep."
"What're the odds of that happening?"
"Maybe more likely than you think."
That only threw another wrench into the matter.
"What...Do you mean?" The Captain prompted. Even Julian knew he'd said something wrong. He fumbled over his words for a few, painful moments. The Captain saved him the trouble, choosing to change the subject.
"Not all of us are as confident as you are." He said simply, his words perhaps carrying more weight than he let on. Julian snorted at that, sitting forward to get a better look of the other's face.
"You're trying to tell me that sir 'Modern Major-General' here isn't confident?"
How was he supposed to respond to that? He trilled his fingers on his swagger stick for a moment, before finally giving his answer.
"On the front lines of battle, maybe. But I'm not as romantically inclined as you are, Julian. When I was alive, it...Wasn't a priority." He'd faced his share of hardships, coming to terms with his sexuality. He daresay he never did. But that look in Julian's eyes? It made the truth unmistakably clear.
Julian placed a hand on his knee. The Captain almost flinched at the touch. God, this man would be the death of him.
Well...
"You know, it's never too late." Julian pointed out, finally willing to just spit it out. "There aren't many of us here, but I bet the men in this house would be lining up to be with you...
I know I would."
Silence rang out through the halls for a final time. The Captain simply stared, his eyes shining with emotions impossible to tell apart. He was so overwhelmed by such simple words. Julian wouldn't joke about something like this, would he? He probably would. But now didn't feel like one of those times. Now felt real. So, so real.
He had no clue to react. He felt clueless. Immediately, though, he began to laugh. It was so out of character for him. For a moment, you would think they had swapped minds.
"Well...Well, alright then! Why don't we?"
The fact that the feelings he didn't even know he felt were reciprocated meant more to him than he could say. Even Julian looked a little stunned. He hadn't expected this to go so well. His hand moved steadily, from Captain's knee to his hand.
"Sounds like a plan, general." |
9dcfca54c13847ac97a19fc43da6a4bb | ['9d2cc76c66584474b77b626f67d86a37'] | Mal near about jumped. The raspy voice must have come from somewhere, Mal knew, but she couldn’t pinpoint its direction of origin. She wanted so badly to leap up and run away, but she didn’t know where to go. These weren’t the streets of Auradon, and even then, her mother would have never let go of her hand to let her explore alone. Besides, Mal was sure that the words had been born by the surrounding shadows. If she tried to escape, who knew if she wouldn’t end up running into the monster’s embrace anyway?
It must have seen the fear in the widening of her eyes, the quickening of her breath. “Shhhh,” the creature said, from within the darkness. “You’re all right; you’re safe and snug.”
Mal’s eyes narrowed. She wasn’t a fool; she knew about charming words and devious tricks. Her confidence in this was enough for her to find her voice again. “Who are you? What do you want?” Mal asked.
A cackle erupted from the gloom. Was it just Mal, or was the sound coming closer? The shadows shifted and danced. Where Mal had expected some ugly beast to emerge, there was a thin old lady instead. Her bleached hair reflected the moonlight, her feet made no sound against the pavement although she seemed to be limping slightly. Her clothes looked like they were about to fall to pieces, so tattered were they. But in her hands, she held a jacket, its material shining faintly in the sparse light.
Despite her previous terror, Mal was more than ready to run. Who knew what this old woman would do to her? “Hush, dearie,” the woman said, pushing her gently back to the floor. Her gnarled fingers were in Mal’s hair, not ripping it out clump by clump as she might have feared but running smoothly through it instead. It was soothing and reminded Mal of home. She felt the weight and warmth of the jacket that had been in the woman’s grasp settle against her. The old lady tucked the sides of it to better shield Mal from the cold of the Isle. “You’ll be okay. They always end up okay.”
To add to Mal’s confusion, the woman started singing. Mal couldn’t really make out the words; they must be in a different language, she thought. The sound warbled at first, unsure, but the melody grew steady and strong soon enough. Before she knew it, Mal was drifting off to sleep.
The rays of the rising sun made Mal’s eyes begin to flicker open, her nose twitching in her irritation. The weak sunshine wasn’t enough to fully wake Mal, but the swelling rumble of an engine was. Mal rubbed the sleep from her eyes, hoping that the golden bridge and the car making its way across it wasn’t some remnant of a dream.
The car rolled to a stop a ways away from Mal and the two guards from last night stepped out. They looked around, spotting Mal quickly as she leapt up from her balled position. “You came back!” she shouted.
Mal ran over to them, eyes bright. Both of the men smiled at her this time, cheerful despite the early hour. “We missed you, Miss Mal,” they said. One of them was holding a blanket. It was pink and it was warm. It made her feel much more comfortable now than she had been last night. The guards led her to the backseat of the car, making sure that she settled herself properly in the upholstery. “Let’s get you home.”
Together, they left the Isle, the car once again making its way along the magical bridge back to Auradon. Left behind, on the ground, was the leather jacket that had made Mal feel safe enough to fall asleep, even on what she thought was foreign soil.
Later, she would forget that it existed at all. Like the phantom of the woman that had soothed her that night, her temper tantrum had been overlooked and disregarded. It was as if it had never happened at all. Mal was welcomed by her family at the door of the palace. Both Princess Aurora and Prince Philip took turns to wrap their younger daughter in their warm embrace. Audrey gave Mal a hug too, inviting her sister in to breakfast, talking about all of the dishes that had been prepared today, including Mal’s favorite strawberry shortcake. | f23c5197ec074b67b46426f6f841f6c8 | ['9d2cc76c66584474b77b626f67d86a37'] |
mischief in my blood
The first time Mal was sent to the Isle, she was just five years old.
The guards dropped her off just past the bridge, the open area dark and unwelcoming. They weren’t rough with her, but she could feel just how strong their grips were on both of her shoulders. The men weren’t ones that she knew around the castle and they certainly didn’t look as nice as those that she was used to. Sure, they wore the same uniforms, but their faces were hard and cold as marble and held no hint of warmth or comfort that Mal hoped to find even in guards she didn’t recognize. Her parents had always taught her that the palace guards were honourable people that she could trust and to look for them should she ever stumble into a problem. Mal didn’t think this pair would help her if she asked.
“You are to stay here until further notice. You will be collected by us or other security personnel when the time comes.” The words were strict and foreboding, but not loud. It was as if these figures of authority that Mal was so used to were afraid to raise their voices here. Wherever _here_ was.
Mal had been silent before, scared from being separated from her parents and loaded onto a car, then sent to a place that was both far and foreign to her. The tears and sniffling that had died down now returned with a vengeance. Mal found her voice and she used it, loudly.
“Please! You can’t leave me here. Please, just take me back! I’ll be good!”
Panicked, she ran toward them, grabbing on to the first leg she reached. Her heart-shaped face, so often admired, was upturned to search for any sign of sympathy from the guard. Mal didn’t like to cry, but she let these tears flow confused and angry down her cheeks. “Please,” she said again. The guard’s face was just as stony as it had been before. He pulled her thin arms away and set them on Mal’s sides, grips firm enough to bruise. “Stay here, Mal.”
Those were the last words she heard from them before the guards quickly got in their vehicle and left the Isle. Stunned by the pain in her wrists, Mal hadn’t been able to reach the car before the doors had been slammed in her face. Lessons since she was small made her step away from the dark vehicle when its engine roared to life. Mal could only watch as it sped away from her on the shimmering golden bridge that materialized from nothing. _Magic_ , she thought. Mal had never seen magic before. It wasn’t used in Auradon anymore, after all. The awe that she felt was eclipsed by the fear that started to take root in her.
Unlike her sister Audrey, Mal had never really been afraid of the dark. It was just the absence of light and all the things in her room would be in the same places whether it was bright or not. There were no monsters waiting to jump out at her from the shadows, no claws to rip and tear, no rumbling growls to wake her in the night. The palace was safe as can be, with its guards and the warmth of her parents’ love. Mal had always slept soundly in her bed because the darkness never held any threats for her.
Now, the darkness here felt pervasive. The crescent moon slowly climbing in the sky did not cast enough light here, not with so many close-packed buildings further in to cast such deep shadows. Mal could hear her heart beat loud and fast in her chest. Finding a decently clean patch of ground, she sat herself against a cold grey wall. Huddled into herself this way, she could feel each _thump-badump_ of her heartbeat reverberate through her entire frame _._
Mal wished she knew what time it was. Back home, when it all started, it had been right after dinner. Maybe it had been eight o’clock then, or was it eight thirty? Mal didn’t know how long the journey here had taken, but it had felt interminable to her. She didn’t know how long she would be stuck here. But she would be able to go back, wouldn’t she? The guard had said so. _You will be collected_ , that’s what he said.
Why, why, _why_ had Mal let her temper flare up? Her parents had told her again and again to control it. She didn’t even remember what had truly set her off this time. Distantly, Mal recalled wanting something else for dessert. Strawberry shortcake was Mal’s favorite, even though she still couldn’t say the words without stumbling over them. She also thought it might have had something to do with wanting to play with some of Audrey’s toys. Audrey didn’t like sharing all that much, even though they were both taught that it was good practice, _sharing is caring_ and all that. Or maybe it was because Mal hadn’t finished the vegetables that had been on her plate?
Mal felt like sobbing hard and loud, but no more tears would come. Her small body heaved, and she coughed. Her throat was dry as the desert and she wished that she had some water to drink. Angrily, Mal swiped at her face. It felt like the only warm part of her while her hands were starting to turn to ice.
Crying and shaking as she had been, only now did Mal notice the growing cold. A breeze blew past, as if brought on by her realization. It wasn’t the stinging chill of winter, but it was enough to set Mal shivering, her muscles contracting and relaxing to try and provide some heat.
“Hey there, little girl.” |
afe229f027784738b00afacb7cd90392 | ['9d404fb07de7400cb582c47b77a8aeaf'] | She bumped right into a wildly running Finn, who stepped back for a second and looked at her and Raven. And then grinned.
She knew that grin. It meant trouble.
“I’m not the only one who did it, Anya!” he yelled out. “Raven Reyes and Clarke Griffin did it too!”
“Did what?” Clarke asked, but it was too late, because someone was grabbing her and putting Raven in handcuffs, and dragging them and Finn to the principal’s office - and Monty and Bell and John were next to her in handcuffs too - and her hands were in the same thing, a handcuff - and Anya and Lincoln Woods were in front her, dragging them all into the office.
“What’s happening here?” Bell asked no one in particular, but was met with no answer, as the door slammed shut after them, with Anya and Lincoln leaving them alone.
They all stared at one another.
“What have you done this time, Finn?” Raven asked, her voice tremulous.
Finn smirked. “Just told them you all were doing drugs with me. No one would believe whatever you will say against them by the way, Raven, since we all know your mom was a -“
Clarke saw red, and the next thing she knew, she was punching Finn repeatedly in the face with Bellamy bashing in his nose as well, and someone with green eyes was pulling her off him -
“Now, now, now, you delinquents. Settle down,” a new voice boomed in the room.
John turned around and paled. “Pike?!”
“The one and only. So here is the deal, okay? You all do drugs -“ nearly everyone in the room protested at that.
“The only reason all of us are here is because Finn cheated on Raven with Clarke and the rest of us helped her beat him up!” Monty yelled.
Pike grinned and clapped his hand even more excitedly. “Even better! An assault case! Now, listen up, you all! No one will believe a word you say, because we know of all of your situations! So here’s what you will do if you don’t want to go to jail - you’ll bring the whole situation in the state down by tonight, since the police can’t right now, and none of you are in any position to negotiate. Deal?”
Everyone was silent, and Clarke closed her eyes.
Knowing the power the police had over her, she couldn’t do a thing.
And neither could anyone else, unfortunately.
They knew it.
“Fine,” Bellamy choked out after a few moments. “Where do you need us to sign and what do you want us to do?”
It was useless to protest.
“Well, Bellamy, for starters, you can tell everyone else besides Finn, since he has immunity, to be prepared to bust a drug deal with Anya and Lexa Woods. I’m sure you know of Anya especially, Bellamy,” Pike replied.
Bellamy bowed his head, teardrops silently streaming down.
Clarke reached over and squeezed his hand gently. Then she looked directly at the cop.
“Fuck off, Pike. Where do you need us to sign?”
2. The Start of the Delinkru and A Grand Heist (The One Where Clarke Is Sure Raven and Bellamy Are Going to Get Murdered)
Clarke was ready to kill Pike.
He looked so smug, standing in the middle of the beige-walled room with his aviators and jacket, watching them all sign their names in red on papers, that Clarke actually wanted to throttle him.
They were all eighteen.
Bellamy had turned eighteen sometime in January, as far as he knew. That made him eligible to sign his name on paper. Even though he had a sister to look out for. Even though he wasn’t sure he wasn’t going to be going to jail for this.
Monty was the second oldest, born on February second. He grew up in a normal, healthy family. But he was broken inside, and he knew that he might be signing his name that led to him being killed or his family disowning him. When all he had ever wanted was to make them proud.
Clarke was born on February 27th. She was born to a normal family like Monty, and she was lucky. But then her dad left them for the army, and she tried to keep them all together, even when Abby tried to take her own life one time when she thought he was dead. She tried to keep her friends together, and she wasn’t about to let them all sink because of her mistakes. She had a life left to live. So did they. She had dreams, and they would not be shattered. Not for any reason.
Murphy wasn’t sure if he was eighteen or nineteen or twenty. He’d grown up in the system. They had given him a name. They had given him a month that he was born on. But he didn’t know if he was born in 1999 or 2000. He was probably the most broken of all of them, but he still didn’t shed a tear when signing a paper that may lead to his death.
Raven was the youngest of all of them. She had turned eighteen three days ago. What kind of late birthday present was this? All her life, she had worked hard. First to get away from her mother. Then to get away from Finn. She was brilliant, but she didn’t have money. She worked her butt off in shops, wore threadbare shirts that were two years old for one reason - to be the first in her family to get to college. She didn’t deserve this.
When they were done signing the papers, Pike swept them all up and ushered himself and Finn out the door while smiling a crocodile grin at them. “Tonight. Don’t be late, delinquents.”
The door slammed shut, a final decision.
There was no time to waste.
There was only time to act.
Everyone knew it.
Raven looked up sharply. “Ontari Queen.” | 4defbe4d61704bfe9424e8eae058e464 | ['9d404fb07de7400cb582c47b77a8aeaf'] | Bellamy rolled his eyes. “What about that witch who looks like a gingerbread man vomited her out after a rough night in a potato sack with a television?”
Murphy opened his mouth and closed it, shocked, Raven cackled like always, and Clarke tried to resist the urge to clap. It wasn’t the best insult ever, but one had to give points to Bellamy for being creative. And, in Clarke’s humble opinion, that creativity deserved a twenty out of ten solid points.
Monty snorted. “In all seriousness, though, Raven, what about her?”
“She and Finn used to be - close,” Raven grimaced.
“Why are we talking about that skinny stick of a man-boy who looks like a rat’s ass?”
“Bellamy?”
“Yes, Raven?” he asked, looking like an innocent angel.
“Not now.” He pouted.
“Anyway, as I was saying, back when Trikru and Titus still ran, she and Finn used to sell some stuff to people and Ma used to peddle with them too, sometimes. So she seems like a good person to -“
“Start off with,” Clarke finished, eyes gleaming. “Does she still go to Azgeda?”
Raven looked at her, awestruck. “You so get me, Griffin.”
“I know, right?” Clarke playfully teased back.
“I’m marrying you right now.” Raven bantered, rolling her eyes when she heard Bellamy not so subtly call them all gay messes while coughing, and Murphy gently chastising him, telling him that he couldn’t exactly talk because he was the of all of them when it came to taking Murphy out on dates.
Clarke was going to get out and get ready to go to Azgeda - except she couldn’t go anywhere.
None of them could.
Not without Anya and Lincoln, and honestly, it would be a miracle if Anya didn’t strangle Bellamy within two minutes.
Crap. This really was a dilemma.
She turned around, and Monty read her eyes.
He groaned. “Oh, gosh. Who’s gonna go tell Anya and Lincoln?”
Bellamy cowered behind Murphy in obvious fear. Monty did too. Raven shook her head violently, and Murphy squeaked.
Clarke threw her hands up in exasperation. “The things I do for you people. Raven, by the way, the wedding’s off,” she hedged as she marched out of the room, ignoring a very indignant cry.
Of course, with her luck, she bumped right into Lexa. Who was wearing th same badge Anya was.
Her very, very crappy luck.
Lexa frowned when she saw her, and Clarke somehow knew she was going to get lectured, so she took her chance and bulldozed right over Lexa’s words. “Listen, two things. First off, none of us but Finn are drug addicts, second of all, we know where to start. Azgeda High. Ontari Queen. Also, please try to get Anya to not strangle Bell, please. He’s really gay, and his boyfriend would be devastated. His sister too.”
She finished her tirade, breathing heavily from talking so fast.
“Listen,” Lexa whispered, bending down a little so she could look Clarke in the eye,” I guessed none of you are guilty, but I can’t help it, because you already signed legal documents.”
Crap. This could have all been avoided. Fricking Pike.
Lexa actually looked kind, and soft, not at all the ruthless Commander people talked about and flinched at. “Second, we are coming undercover with the five of you. Third,” she snorted,” well, we’ll see.”
“Doubtful. I’ll press murder charges.”
“Sure you will, so-called delinquent.”
Clarke gasped fakely and put her hand over her heart. “Are you doubting my words, Miss Lexa Woods?”
Lexa laughed, high and clarion, and at this point Clarke couldn’t deny it anymore.
She had a huge crush on Lexa Woods.
Oh, well. Too bad she wasn’t single.
“Hey, Griffin! Commander! Are you two done flirting? We actually have a thing to do!” Raven gruffly called out from somewhere behind them both.
Lexa flushed and nodded gravely. “Right. We have a thing.” With that, she turned around very seriously - and promptly face planted into the wall right next to the door that led back into the room.
Clarke could predict how Raven Reyes would die - murdered by Lexa Woods, who was currently scowling, for laughing so hard she was rolling on the floor and wheezing, ignoring the two boys awkwardly trying to drag her back into the room as Anya and Lincoln Woods walked in.
She could also predict how Bellamy would die - death by Anya, judging by the girl’s blotchy red face.
She looked between Raven and Lexa, and Bellamy and Anya.
Raven and Bell really needed to start saving up money for their funerals.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> i did something, i am just not sure what.
> back to my hole of misery!
> -arush
**Author's Note:**
> so now i will crawl back into a hole and die.
> comments and kudos validate my existence.
> tell me if this was crummy or if i should continue this.
> -arush |
d570e92e871c4617952e04df41551e05 | ['9d4b9d3ff40542e899d2739f3a20b7e3'] | The Truth
“Kya, can you keep a secret?” Lin asked, pulling her coat farther around the small bundle in her arms.
“Yes, but he will find out eventually. She’ll be a powerful bender, but that could mean that she can create tornadoes when angered or break Republic City off into the bay with an earthquake.” Kya told her pulling her hood over her head.
“What are the chances that she won’t be a bender?”
“Between you and Tenzin, I wouldn’t be surprised if she turns out to be the Avatar. The little girl that Pema gave birth to last week is very sick, they wanted me to get water from the Spirit Oasis, but she won’t make it-even if Yue herself came down and blessed the child, but if I switch them no one will be the wiser.” she told her friend.
“I want her to be safe and with people who love her. I don’t want to ruin a marriage.”
“You don’t want to ruin the marriage of the man that you are in love with and the woman who wants to give him dozens of children.”
“Kya, when you say it like that it sounds worse.” Lin told her.
The little girl in Lin’s arms began to fuss.
“I’ll take her with me and I will never tell him what we’ve done. I'll say that her green eyes were caused by the spirit water.”
“Jinora, can you keep a secret?” Lin asked the young airbender.
“Of course, Chief Beifong.” she replied moving towards Lin.
“I want to tell you about your real mother.” | 48278d013b03498e9a21cc316d3d898f | ['9d4b9d3ff40542e899d2739f3a20b7e3'] | ABCs of Love and Sex
“Hilda, this isn’t going to work if you keep disobeying me.” Zelda yelled at her sister, pulling her up against the wall in her office.
“What in heavens are you talking about, Zelds? I have done everything in my power to help you.”
“Oh, Hildegard. I want you to look down and tell me what you see.”
Hilda looked down at her dress. “It’s my plaid dress.”
Zelda shoved the blonde up against the wall, pressing her hips into Hilda’s ass. “All I can see are your heaving breasts, which for some reason are hanging freely for anyone to see.”
“Zelds, it’s not a big deal.”
“Oh, but it is. Haven’t you seen all of the boys looking at your chest all day? I have. It’s infuriating to see all of these teenagers thinking that they can try to claim what’s mine.” Zelda pulled up Hilda’s panties and shredded her underwear. “You know I’ve been wearing your favourite toy all day. I was going to wait until we got home to play, but I think you deserve a punishment right now.” Fingers snapped and Zelda was standing in just her bra and strap on. Hilda naked against the wall. “I’m so glad that I left this pretty toy inside you all day.” She pulled out the black plug in Hilda’s ass.
“Zelda.” Hilda moaned, feeling Zelda push into her.
“I love having you like this, with my cock inside your ass.” Zelda fucked Hilda, fingers wrapping around Hilda’s curls, shoving her face into the wall.
“I’ll do better, dress more appropriately.”
“No, you’re going to be my pretty little slut. They’re going to know that you are mine.” Zelda bit into her neck, cutting through the skin.
Hilda screamed, feeling herself climax around Zelda.
“There’s my good little slut.” |
b3100263ae85442e99f2a4f991d2c560 | ['9d5566af7c374534892d2722f5c58734'] | "well, yeah," taehyung says, with a small shrug. "hyung was just very loud, overall, whatever it is you were talking about, so it sounded like you were yelling."
jimin picks up where taehyung leaves off, without missing a beat. "and hyung was _incredibly_ drunk, as well, so you just sounded like you were being very mean about pretty much everything."
"and yoongi-sshi took care of me anyway?" seokjin's full-on holding the sides of his face, at this point. he can feel his embarrassment in the heat flushing his cheeks.
"and yoongi-hyung cleaned up your mess anyway," jungkook reiterates.
seokjin groans into his palms, now completely covering his face. "so i should go apologize?"
"you really, probably should," jimin confirms, taehyung nodding in agreement next to him.
seokjin drops his hands, sighs, and steels himself for what was most definitely going to be a terribly awkward conversation.
-
jung hoseok opens the door to his temporary office with a massive heart-shaped smile already on his face. seokjin is not ashamed to say that it instantly puts him at ease, a little bit.
that ease is disrupted in the very next second, but. it was nice while it lasted.
"are you here about last night?" hoseok asks, and seokjin can feel the breakfast he forgot to eat that morning start coming up his throat dry.
_wildly unprofessional! so incredibly, **wildly** unprofessional!_ his internal alarms start up again, screeching at him while seokjin clears his throat. "ahh, i don't know what you mean..?"
"the very handsome nurse, kim namjoon," hoseok explains, pulling a familiar -- yup, that was definitely namjoon's cell -- from his pocket. "i asked for his phone number last night, and he gave me his entire phone instead. i hear you two are friends, are you here to retrieve it for him?"
_oh ho ho_ , seokjin thinks, as he accepts the handheld that hoseok holds out to him. _joonie, you lovely little tramp, we will be having some **words** tonight_.
"why yes," seokjin says, finally able to return hoseok's smile - with gusto. "kim namjoon and i are _best friends_ , in fact, and i would be more than happy to make sure he gets his phone back safely." seokjin smirks. "would you like his number, in return? i'm sure he wouldn't mind."
hoseok laughs, an almost proud tinkling of bells. "already saved, actually. called myself using his phone last night, after he handed it to me, but by the time i looked up to hand it back, he was already gone."
"like a modern day cinderella," seokjin smirks, loving every second of this.
hoseok laughs again, and for a moment, seokjin forgets why he even came down here in the first place. a pointed cough just behind seokjin's shoulder reminds him.
"oh? i thought you just left for your lunch break, yoongi-hyung?" hoseok wonders, looking at the presence seokjin can _feel_ standing next to him.
seokjin feels him a lot more physically a second later, as yoongi hums and moves to squeeze past hoseok and seokjin in the doorway. he walks deeper into the office and mutters almost to myself, "forgot my wallet."
"got a lot on your mind, eh hyung?" hoseok laughs, playfully teasing. "speaking of -- seokjin-sshi just stopped by to pick up nurse kim's phone. you were right, they _are_ friends!"
yoongi hums again, as he passes by them once more back through the door, wallet in hand. before he can lose his nerve, seokjin spins around and calls out.
"actually!" he blurts. yoongi turns around to regard him, eyebrows raised. "i actually, uh... wanted to talk. would you let me buy you lunch?"
yoongi's eyebrows are hidden by his bangs, at this point, his lips curling at one side. before he can answer, however, hoseok practically squeals in seokjin's ear.
"that's a _fantastic_ idea, seokjin-sshi! see, yoongi-hyung really doesn't have very many friends so --"
" _hoseokie_ ," yoongi warns, his tone at odds with the familiar nickname. it's unfairly cute.
seokjin doesn't even need to turn around to see hoseok's pout when he whines, "but _hyung_ , i only say so out of love! you know i only want what's best for you!"
as hoseok continues to give his excuses, yoongi shifts to look at seokjin once more.
"if you're serious about buying me lunch --" seokjin nods his head vehemently, and yoongi nods himself, just the once. "then we should just leave now. hoseok can go all day, if you let him. so let's not."
yoongi turns and begins to walk away, so seokjin hastens to follow, the sound of hoseok's bright voice following them down the hall.
-
"what?" seokjin finally snaps. "what do you keep looking at?"
yoongi pauses the curious surveyal of his surroundings and turns to face seokjin once more. he shrugs. "oh nothing, nothing. just a bit surprised that there's actually a whole 'nother restaurant in town besides that noodle stall from last night."
seokjin blanches slightly at the mention of the night before, immediately attempts to cover his discomfort with exasperated annoyance. he does an okay job, considering.
"yeah, well. we usually end up at the noodle stall more often than not, because it's cheap and close to city hall," seokjin explains. "but i ate my first meal away from home right here in this little basement restaurant, and i've been coming back every monday ever since. plus," he adds, proudly. "the ahjumma that owns this place loves me, so."
"i figured you weren't from here," is all yoongi says. and that just annoys seokjin for real, this time.
"and how did you figure that?" | 5b0efff086524e5ea821ea9795d6eb86 | ['9d5566af7c374534892d2722f5c58734'] | at this point, Yoongi is coming to realize what it is he's going to have to do. and though he is not at all happy about it, he also recognizes that it's his own fault for getting himself into this whole damn mess in the first place, so he might as well follow it through until the end; with a reluctant groan, he bends down to grab his backpack off the floor and slings a strap over his shoulder before facing Seokjin properly.
"come on, then," Yoongi tells him. "suppose it's about time you get to know the dorm anyway, so. let's get going before Sungdeuk-ssaem catches us still in here and tries to rope us into running some more drills."
then he turns on his heel and heads for the door, exhaling quietly in relief when he hears the sound of Seokjin rushing to catch up behind him.
\--
the entire time that Yoongi is letting them into the trainee apartment, Seokjin does his apparent best not to look so overtly curious, but. bless him… he just isn't that convincing of an actor yet.
and Yoongi supposes he can somewhat understand the interest; Seokjin is still commuting into the city from home, spending at least a quarter of every day just on the train alone. and even though his waking hours seem to be an endless cycle of home > subway > training > school > training > subway > home, he remains firm in his conviction not to move into the dorms until Bangtan's debut is a certainty, not just a pretty dream.
which Yoongi definitely understands, and even respects. honestly, he's a bit envious as well, wishes his own circumstances could allow him to do the same.
but for now he's stuck here, waiting on something that may never come to fruition.
and so because Seokjin is not similarly obligated, this is his first time seeing how real hard-knock trainees lived, eyes wide even as he attempts not to stare. he seems especially amazed by the bedroom.
"i knew this place was going to be tiny," he says, voice awed. "but there really shouldn't be any possible way that all these beds can fit into this room, like - what's the usual square footage on broom closets? and how many rules of physics did BigHit have to break in order to shove all of you in here anyway? because holy shit, Yoongi-yah."
Yoongi has just walked back into the room after running to grab his Walkman from the junk box in the living room and there's a retort on the tip of his tongue, something about how Seokjin should have seen it back when they'd reached max capacity at around ten trainees, but the thought dies before it can reach reach his lips because --
Seokjin is on his bed.
all one hundred and eighty centimeters of him, stretched out on his back across Yoongi's mattress, looking over at Yoongi with a smile on his stupid face. also, his head is on Yoongi's pillow and Yoongi is pretty sure this is what a heart attack feels like.
naturally, his body reacts accordingly, making him chuck the tape player in Seokjin's general direction. he doesn't wait around to see where it lands, though he does hear a dull thump followed by a winced _ow, fuck_ behind him as he hits a u-turn right back into the living room.
when Seokjin eventually finds him in the kitchen, poking gingerly at a red spot on his jaw, and asks _what the shit, you bastard?_ the first thing Yoongi can think of to say is, "hungry. i'm just, really really fucking hungry. sorry, hyung."
which is actually not a lie; now that he's reminded himself that humans occasionally required sustenance to survive, he realizes that he is _starving_. and given that he can't actually pinpoint when it was he last ate, that makes a lot of sense.
it is also, unfortunately, a moot point - apparently, not only was he forgetting to eat, he was also (understandably) forgetting to _buy_ food. and because Namjoon had been banned from using any major kitchen appliances months ago, it seemed he had given up on perishables as well, if their empty fridge was anything to go by.
the sad noise Seokjin makes when he walks over to stand behind Yoongi at the open refrigerator door almost makes him feel a bit ashamed, but then Seokjin steps in just the smallest degree closer and the warring temperatures of the sterile refrigerator chill hitting his front versus Seokjin's very human warmth all along his back reminds Yoongi that he is still barely recovering from a recent cardiac arrest. and just like that, having no food in his kitchen doesn't seem like such a big deal after all.
"step aside," Seokjin sighs, curling his fingers around Yoongi's upper arms and bodily moving him out of the way. he immediately starts rooting around, opening drawers and inspecting all of the shelves on the door as well, and when he speaks his voice seems to echo from somewhere deep in the small fridge. "please tell me you children have some ramyeon, at the very least."
"i think… maybe?" Yoongi honestly has no idea, but figures that chances are good since Namjoon must have been subsisting off of _something_ this whole time. "there's a decent possibility."
Seokjin pops back up out of the refrigerator, excited smile on his face. when he uses a hip to bump the door shut, Yoongi realizes that he's holding a few individually wrapped slices of yellow cheese in one hand and in the other some kind of - it's green, so. probably a vegetable?
he's almost afraid to ask, but his mother had raised him with a very healthy (and sometimes dangerous) curiosity. "um, so what is --" |
11594bac7e0d4a6aba21ce16ab4efd76 | ['9d575f58f0694ba3b9b2c6bdc5ddb412'] |
Wildlings, Wild Things and Giant Fucking Cats
**Author's Note:**
* For LINK.
As usual, Bahorel is a sprawling mass of limbs splayed out in all directions, draping himself massive and feline across the couch. And as usual, Feuilly is taking up far less space that it should be possible for him to take up with legs that long, wedged against an armrest and idly smoking. And as usual, Grantaire is twisted around himself at impossible, non-Euclidean angles that do not exist on the mortal plane, alternating nips of whatever it is he keeps the dented metal flask that they’ve never seen him without, and the open beer in front of him, because life is short, and you have to die of something, and anyway, Charles Baudelaire says to be drunk, Jehan told him so.
Although that’s probably not what he meant at the time.
There’s a pop and a click and a groan as Grantaire cracks his neck, and twisting his face away from the craggy shores of Dragonstone, slowly being battered away by waves on the TV screen, says “So. Conan. As the resident expert on _Homo rufus maculosus_ , the greater spotted Ginger, and related species: Ygritte, Melisandre, or Sansa?”
He tilts the bottle to his lips and adds “I mean, of course, Ygritte or Melisandre, since I will not hear words spoken against Sansa Stark in my presence.”
“Fuck you.” But all the same, Bahorel brings a hand to his mouth and bites down on the pad of his thumb the way he does when he’s thinking (the tip of Feuilly’s cigarette flares, suddenly bright) “Melisandre.”
The TV glows orange. The gods of Dragonstone are burning, and Grantaire cackles, flashing a crooked grin at Feuilly. “Ygritte, my love, kissed by fire, you have _competition_. Are you planning on going for the throat, or the threesome?”
Feuilly draws the cigarette slowly, slowly from his lips. “Do you ever wonder,” he says evenly “if Sansa still thinks about Lady sometimes?”
“Oh, you _evil_ son of a _bitch!_ That was _completely_ uncalled for. Fuck’s sake. You,” Grantaire, unfolded, rolls onto his stomach and glares up at Bahorel “are fucking a soulless monster. I hope it’s worth it.”
Really, Grantaire should know better.
Bahorel arches both eyebrows, smirking and starts in with “So, you know that fucking thing he does when he’s got a cigarette in his mouth, and he–”
“I hate both of you.”
Feuilly scoffs and the corners of his lips twitch, and Bahorel throws Grantaire a lazy half-salute.
And that would be the end of it, on an ordinary night, but tonight they’re playing the Drinking Game of Thrones, which means that you drink for “Winter is Coming” and “A Lannister always pays his debts”, and twice for every “Khaleesi” or “Bastard”. If Cersei drinks, you drink, and you finish every time that Jon Snow knows nothing (toasting every time Joffery Lannister gets what’s coming to him goes without saying).
In the Drinking Game of Thrones, you either win, or you die, and honestly, death is looking more and likely every second, especially as Grantaire decides every “The night is dark and full of terrors” merits an attempt to steal Feuilly’s cigarette so he can burn them all away.
None of them believe much in rules, but are certain things which are not done.
You do not talk about Fight Club. You do not ask Bahorel where he goes the nights he stays out alone. You do not mention Grantaire’s drinking.
You do not _ever_ come between Feuilly and his cigarettes.
Grantaire is fast, snaking one arm up and out, rolled halfway onto the couch. Feuilly is faster; he arcs backward and snaps a heel into Grantaire’s chest, driving him backward into Bahorel.
“Mother _fucker_!” and then Bahorel has an arm around Feuilly’s waist and another on his bicep, wrenching them both off the couch and onto the floor as Grantaire drags himself to higher ground. Feuilly is faster, faster than Grantire, but Bahorel is in fact, a fucking force of nature, even with Feuilly’s knee pressing into his stomach and sliding steadily lower every second.
But Bahorel is also in fact, a giant fucking cat, and there’s place you can grab at the back of his neck, where the hair is short and cob-web fine and slides like smoke through your fingers, to make him go completely boneless. Feuilly has it memorized.
“ _Enough_ ” he growls, cigarette crushed to a grey smear under the hand not twisted in Bahorel’s hair, forcing his head back and his chin up. Bahorel’s eyes are half-closed and the voice that crawls up out of his bared throat is rough, and breathless.
“ _Fuck_ you”
Feuilly inches his knee lower, pressing down. The muscle jumps in his throat as Bahorel inhales sharply.
“Right. Well, you two kids have fun then, I’ll just…” Grantaire rubs a hand along his jaw, chewing on his lip the way he does when he’s nervous and pushes himself up off the couch with a sheepish grin. He laughs (and if he’s flushed, just a little, it’s really just the alcohol, is all). “Try not to stay up too late, lovelies, you’re growing boys and you need your rest.” And he edges towards the door.
Feuilly’s fingers have gone loose, stroking absently back and forth along the nape of Bahorel’s neck, and he thinks to himself that Grantaire spends too much time like that, on the edges of things. And he thinks to himself that that’s… the alcohol makes it hard it really think, but he thinks that it’s not right. It’s not fair, and Feuilly thinks–he _knows_ that you don’t just let things that aren’t right happen, not if you can do something about it. Even if you can’t. He looks down at Bahorel, head tilted to one side. He doesn’t say anything, but it only takes a second, less, for
Feuilly to raise his eyeborws slightly
as Bahorel’s draw down, questioning | c9ea3a695e954cc2a7b66606e9a39b6e | ['9d575f58f0694ba3b9b2c6bdc5ddb412'] | Grantaire snorted and shook his head. “Why does anybody do anything? They wanted more than what they had and they found a way to get tit. So they did. People are like that. We’re just a pack of selfish bastards when it comes down to it.” He turned to go, but Enjolras opened his eyes, and they were too bright, too blue and heavy. Grantaire couldn’t move.
“Then why are you doing this? Any of it? Why did you tell me?” Enjolras aksed.
_Because I think I lo—_
_Because there are voices in my head and they only ever stop when I’m with y—_
_Because I believe in—_
“Say I love my God. And something told me you should know. Good Luck, Golden Boy.” Grantaire smiled thinly and began the slow drag back to his cell.
“Enjolras. My name is Enjolras.”
7. ἵστημι
Saints always bled in the stories, broken on wheels, or scourged, or stoned. Beaten. They were always bleeding in the stories, but Enjolras wondered if they felt it. He didn’t. He knew he must have been bleeding, he could see the smears left on the stone floors by his badly-bandaged feet, but he couldn’t feel it. He wondered if it was like that for the saints, no pain, just a burning, right below the ribs, in the pit of his stomach and bitter smoke taste on his tongue. Did saints forget things? Did their heads hammer red then black-out to white-gold, asleep then awake then asleep then awake again?
Did saints wear spectacles?
That was what caught his attention as he paced, the sudden gleam of a man’s spectacles and a soft “Are you alright? Those look poorly done” as he gestured mildly to Enjolras’s wrapped feet Enjolras snorted.
“Forgive me,” the man continued, bobbing his head “I meant no disrespect, but you _are_ bleeding.”
Enjolras let out a rueful almost-laugh “No, no I…” He pressed his hands together over his lips and sighed. “I’ve heard that before” he concluded.
“Well, it’s true. They are. Will you let me help you?”
His name was Combeferre, “after the saint, yes” and he worked in Archives, and in the Infirmary, and in the gardens and the schools and “I’m only trying to help, however I can” he murmured, tugging and pulling with a brisk gentleness at the swathes of linen. He was tall, but a little stooped, as if trying not to inconvenience anyone by being so. He was easy to talk to, easy to trust.
“Will you let me help you?” he said. “Will you let me help?”
Combeferre could still get to the Lists.
The scrolls rustled, a cry, wintry rasp as Combeferre laid them out.
“Records of donations, and gifts to the Order.”
A crackle, and soft slide of parchment on parchment
“Disputes.”
A soft click as Combeferre laid his spectacles aside
“The names of the…” He hesitated, inky fingers circling restlessly. Enjolras raised his chin defiantly, eyes burning blue and cold and hard.
“The people I killed.”
“…Yes.”
Did saints ever feel sick? Did ever feel it like _that,_ that sudden twist wrenching their insides like–
no, but that was just what they were giving him, that was making him sick
Combeferre pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut against the sight of Enjolras’s face. His tongue flickered out over his lips, and he said “There are…correspondences. The people who made gifts and the people who died had… listed claims against one another…”
His voice continued, but Enjolras, doubled over, heaving dryly, only distantly aware of hands pulling the hair away from his face, of a whisper in his hear “Not all of them. Not all of them, it’s not your fault”
He sucked down ragged gulps of air, drawing himself back together. “This ends.” Enjolras hissed, pushing himself up to his feet. “This ends now.”
Combeferre pulled away from him, and stepped back to retrieve his spectacles. “We’ll need more than just the two of us.” He murmured, resting the wire frame against his lips.
“Then we’ll find them.”
Did Saints ever doubt that people would come? Were they ever relieved to hear, after a moment of silence and teeth closed around an ink-stained thumbnail, “I may know someone who could help.”
Someone was a nobleman’s spare son, not the heir, not the second, nor even the third, an extra who had been shuffled into the Order for schooling, for lack anything better to do with him. Someone was bright-eyed and bright-smiled, and prone to warm laughter. His name was Courfeyrac. He knew everyone. And knowing everyone, he brought Jehan, little Jehan the psalmist, who offered to spread what messages he could in his songs, and Jehan brought in Feuilly, who stopped for a moment and stared, head one side, at Enjolras when they first met.
“Do you remember me? I used to…” he had laughed, sheepishly, reddening around his freckles “I used to steal apples from your garden, and you caught me. You wouldn’t let me go until I taught you how to climb. I must’ve come every week ‘til they ran me off”
No. No, he didn’t remember, and Feuilly had shaken his head. “He said you were forgetting”
But he joined them, slipping messages into broken books sent for repair, painting their signs on the walls, and the signs drew in more people.
Workers and Guardsmen, and the Guardsman who never stopped grinning, with too many teeth and scars all down his forearms and another across his temple, who clapped Feuilly on the shoulder (and let his hand stay there just a little too long to mean nothing) and who made Joly from the infirmary yelp an exasperated “Not _you_ again!”
Grantaire came last, his eyes rimmed red and his mouth stained redder.
They met in secret, at odd, stolen hours strung out across weeks. They met a little at time, never too many together. They met, and once, only once did someone ask |
df508a37e0fb44a18c022dc666f0cd6d | ['9d578e2c910540519497d32b6d61031b'] | "Don't go pulling that card, Namjoon. You work too hard for us to dismiss this as nothing." Yoongi lightly pushes Namjoon's shoulder.
"We got you presents!" Jimin and Taehyung scream excitedly. They're bouncing on their toes, giddy and all smiles.
Jeongguk rubs at his neck, "Happy, uh, birthday leader."
Namjoon laughs, "Thank you for your heartfelt congratulations, Kookie."
"C'mon, c'mon Jin hyung made you birthday breakfast!" Hoseok cries.
The group shuffles out of Namjoon's room, Jimin and Taehyung hanging on Namjoon's arms like little kids. Seokjin sits him down at the table, serves him breakfast (his favorite) and the boys talk as they all finish breakfast. Then Namjoon opens presents, which consist of expensive new headphones from the maknaes and new books from Yoongi, a jacket he's been eyeing for _ages_ from Hoseok and from Seokjin, a silver ring, and a letter.
Seokjin rolls his eyes and tells him not to read it in front of everyone, but he hands him the little box with the ring and says, "I hope it fits."
(It does)
When he's dressed the maknaes have gone and Hoseok says it's another surprise. Yoongi's smirking at him like he knows something he doesn't and Seokjin has mysteriously gone. He reads the letter then and it makes his tear up. He thanks Namjoon for being such a good leader to them all of these years, for always being strong and fair. For keeping them out of trouble, for helping them rise to success, for realizing their dreams.
He is so proud of Namjoon, so thankful to him.
The maknaes return with a neat little Ryan cake, which Namjoon thoroughly and genuinely loves. Seokjin is at the back of the room smiling proudly when he blows out the candles. They eat cake and talk of what's to come.
Namjoon steals a moment when he can and hugs Seokjin to him tight.
"Thank you, you've always been there for me."
Seokjin shakes his head, "We owe so much to you."
Namjoon spends his birthday feeling loved and content.
16. Hold {Hoseok/Jungkook}
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> I'll be your lifeline tonight
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> most of my ideas come to me at the weirdest times (i was driving home when i got this one) so here you go i guess?????
Hoseok was tired so, _so_ tired, he felt it in his bones, the ache of his muscles, felt it in every particle of his being, down to his soul really if you wanted to get down to it. Comebacks were like that, nonstop promo and practice and interviews and Hoseok was _so_ tired.
The tiny whimper was familiar, it roused Hoseok out of his sleep. His body was begging for him to just stay in bed, to become one with the mattress and sleep for the next three weeks but that tiny, familiar whimper pulled at his heart. He painstakingly pulled himself out of bed, shuffling quietly through the dorm to find Jeongguk curled up in the living room corner his knees pulled up to his chest.
"Jeonggukie?"
The younger doesn't look up, just sniffles and rocks on his heels, "Hyung, i-it's fine. Go back to bed, sorry I woke you."
"Kookie." Hoseok says softly.
"I'm, I-I'm so sorry I woke you hyung, please go back to bed."
Hoseok pads over to the younger, he plops down in front of him and rubs warm circles into the skin of Jeongguk's ankle, "'s okay, Kook."
Jeongguk hiccups and his body shakes with it, "It's not though. I know how t-tired you are, you're working so, so hard a-and you have to rest."
Hoseok pulls at Jeongguk's fingers until his arms fall to his sides, "Y' wanna tell me what's going on?"
Jeongguk's head still rests on his knees and Hoseok runs his fingers through the younger's hair to comfort him, "Take deep breaths, Jeonggukie. Deep breaths and tell me."
It's five more minutes of Jeongguk's body shuddering through hiccups and shivers, of Hoseok carding his fingers through soft brown hair before Jeongguk looks up, "It's too much, hyung. I can't take it. I feel like everyone has these, these, expectations of me and I just ... just. I'm letting everyone down, I couldn't even do the dance without fucking up and now I woke you up when you should be sleeping. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm such a fuck up. I'm sorry."
Hoseok shakes his head and makes Jeongguk look up at him, "You. Are. Amazing. You've disappointed no one." He presses a kiss to his forehead, both his cheeks, his eyelids, the crown of his head, "You are amazing and it's okay, it's perfectly okay to feel how you do but let me make this clear to you," He holds Jeongguk's gaze in the dark living room, "You are not a fuck up. You haven't disappointed anyone, not me or the guys or our company, no one. I love you, Kook. You're doing just fine and I love you and the boys love you and you are going to be fine."
"Hyung, I-"
"I love you, you're doing great, baby. We're all just stressed and you're always too hard on yourself. Baby, you're doing amazing. Remember that okay?"
Jeongguk's voice is a tiny whine and Hoseok doesn't have to look up to see his quivering lip, "Hoseokie hyung."
Hoseok rests his forehead on Jeongguk's, "Come to bed, Jeonggukie. Come to bed, you need to rest, need to stop overthinking, come lay with hyung okay?"
"I love you, hyung... thank you."
Hoseok's bed is still warm, Jeongguk's eyes are teary and his breaths come in sporadically. "Promise me you'll tell me whenever you feel like that ever again baby."
"Promise."
17. Way {Jeongguk/Taehyung}
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> Being in love is fun.
Being in love is fun.
Giddy.
Blissful.
Kisses shared under the sun, sand sticking against tan skin. Strange tan lines and crystalline waters. Youth and waterfalls.
Being in love is pretty. | be89b32d111747aba711484c6156916c | ['9d578e2c910540519497d32b6d61031b'] | Hoseok whines and moans into Yoongi's mouth, making enough noise for the both of them (not that Yoongi minds, the noises Hoseok makes are particularly pleasant and go straight to his cock) and then Yoongi remembers he's fuckass naked and Hoseok hovers over him in his too tight black jeans.
"Off, get them off." Yoongi fumbles with Hoseok's belt but the image of Hoseok kneeling between his legs hands busy undoing his belt is an image Yoongi would rather see come to life. Hoseok seems to get the drift because he bites his lip and pushes Yoongi softly back onto the pillows.
Hoseok is athletic in a way that Yoongi is not. Hoseok is hard planes and sharp lines and deliciously tan skin; a finely tuned dancer's body. He uses it to his advantage, making a show of pulling his belt from it's loops, of pulling the jeans from his body. He's laughing after a little bit and Yoongi feels his cheeks on fire, "Don't make fun of me, brat."
"You're just so cute, Yoongi. Wanna spoil you." After he kicks off his boxers he's pleading, "Let me spoil you, hyung."
Yoongi has never been one to deny Hoseok _anything_ , especially when that _anything_ has to do with bringing pleasure upon himself. Yoongi nods, holding Hoseok's eye contact. He presses his lips to Yoongi's quickly once, and twice and then he's laying down, pulling and pushing pillows out of the way. He gently moves Yoongi aside and then pulls him by his hips, ass first, to settle on his upper chest.
"Hoseok!" Yoongi steadies himself, bracing his hands on Hoseok's hip bones, "Hoseok, what ... what are you ... doing aH!" Hoseok pulls him down so he's fully seated _on_ his face, licks a fat stripe down his hole. Yoongi feels his heart jump out of his chest and it's all he can do to set his forehead against Hoseok's knee and fist the sheets.
"Fuck, _Hoseok_!" Hoseok gets to work, he's burying his face between Yoongi's cheeks and then he's pulling them apart, admiring Yoongi's cute pucker and placing heavy kisses all around the rim. It's wet and filthy and _just_ how Yoongi likes it (how Hoseok likes it as well), Hoseok brings one of his fingers down to rub gently at Yoongi's perineum and it makes him jolt forward.
"Shit! Fuck! _God_. Oh God, Seok." Hoseok chuckles, while he's _circling_ his _tongue_ around his _hole_ and when Yoongi least expects it, he dips the tip of his tongue past the ring of muscle. He grips at the cute, barely-there pudge of Yoongi's love handles and brings him down harder. Yoongi panics for a second, brings his head up from where it's resting on Hoseok's thigh and tries to lift his hips up, afraid he's somehow suffocating his boyfriend. Hoseok however moans against his hole and the vibrations are too much, his limbs go boneless and he collapses.
Hoseok comes up for air, gives Yoongi's ass two appreciative smacks and kisses the base of his spine, "Relax, babe. 'M fine."
Yoongi pants, arousal white hot in his veins, "I _know_ that Seok, but fuck would I explain to the police if you passed out while _eating my ass_. 'Um yeah I think my boyfriend died suffocated between my ass cheeks' no thanks."
Hoseok places his spread palm on Yoongi's right cheek, "Wouldn't be a bad way to die, if you asked me."
Yoongi rolls his eyes, "Shut the fuck up, before I get off."
Arms hook around his waist, "Okay, okay."
Yoongi arches his back when he feels Hoseok's hot tongue against his hole again, it's so, _so_ good. He drops his head down to Hoseok's thigh but where he falls Hoseok's cock is _this_ close to his lips. It's _leaking_. The head is a pretty red and it looks so painfully hard, so hot. When Hoseok slips the first lubed finger in alongside his tongue Yoongi wraps his lips around the head.
Hoseok jumps, tightens his grip on Yoongi's hip and groans. Believe it or not Yoongi takes pride in his blowjobs, his tongue works wonders and his barely there gag reflex always comes in handy. So it's not that Yoongi wants to sound stuck up when he says it but, Hoseok falls apart under his tongue. Literally. Yoongi's about to deepthroat him, after Hoseok's worked in two more fingers and he's just laying back watching Yoongi fuck himself on his fingers, he got about three quarters of the way down before Hoseok is jolting and telling him to pull up, pull up!!
"You can come if you want, I want you to. I can get you hard again, promise." Hoseok considers the offer and while attractive he really just wants his dick to be buried in Yoongi's ass right now thank you very much.
"Wanna come in your ass though, sound good?" Yoongi nods and Hoseok sees the beads of sweat forming down his back and the sweaty hair at the nape of his neck. Yoongi turns, settles his ass so Hoseok's dick can slide through his cheeks and Hoseok feels his soul leaving his body.
"Babe, wait let me ..." Hoseok sits further up on the bed his back against the headboard and he reaches for the lube on the nightstand. Yoongi snatches the little bottle out of his hands before he can even open it, "I wanna do it."
So he sits back, hands crossed behind his head as he watches Yoongi lube up a) himself (which is a sight Hoseok will never tire of) and b) Hoseok's dick which is infinitely more satisfying than anything else. Yoongi takes his time, turns it more into a handjob than just getting Hoseok ready. He turns his wrist this way and that, rubs his thumb on the foreskin and lets the head peak through so he can dig his pointer finger into the slit.
"Good?"
"Perfect." Hoseok answers. |
23153f4a8c8749d69d5c32087d8eb7eb | ['9dac850a692a4b3c8e0b7facfa2007bd'] | It was like the pressure of Hannibal’s hand on the back of his skull that afternoon, pressing and pressing, until the pulse of Will’s neck went dull against the weave of the pillow. Not a single student was positioned to see what Hannibal saw at that moment: how Will responded. How afterward he left a shining mark on the soft sheet where the weeping tip of his hard cock lay pressed for so long. Will had had to steel himself before he rose, stretching to buy time. He finally stood up dizzy and aching.
Then Hannibal let go of Will’s scarf, looked at him with utter calm, and said, “Let me know when you decide. You know where to find me.”
Hannibal knew. Will was sure of it.
He leaned into the wind and pedaled faster.
6. The Barberini Faun
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> Is that what you want, Will?
* * *
“Hello, Will. Come in.”
Hannibal did not speak to Will’s breathless, slightly wild-eyed demeanor and led him to the kitchen. His long white apron was as pristine as his oxford button-down and he took up a knife, chopping fragrant herbs on a large cutting board next to a hot pan.
“I’m so glad you came,” he said. With the tip of his long knife, he slid a knob of butter into a hot pan, where it dissolved into a fragrant puddle and began to sizzle loudly. “It’s almost ready.”
“Are you expecting a guest? I’m sorry—”
“No.”
Will looked at the two plates, exquisitely arranged and awaiting some final touch. In the center of each one, a broad swath of empty china waited for whatever was about to be seared in butter and herbs. “You were expecting me, then.”
Hannibal peeled back a damp towel from a tray of thinly sliced raw meat and began sliding the pieces one by one into the hot pan with his fingertips. “Would it upset you if I said yes?” He merely glanced up once as he continued working. The quickly finished slices, fried and fragrant and still sizzling, waited on a long, narrow platter as he slid the remainder into the pan.
With a small sigh, Will took off his jacket and ran a hand through his sweat-dampened curls, dropping his satchel onto the floor.
“Make yourself useful and open that bottle of wine for me, would you?” Hannibal nodded at the side counter.
Will found not a single word to save him from this impossible situation. Hello, thanks for dinner, did you cover up a murder? As he spiraled the corkscrew into the bottle, he knew it was fantastically impossible.
He needed Hannibal to deny it. Yet he remained silent. He wanted to be what Hannibal made him when he posed: possessed and pliant. He wanted Hannibal exactly like that, something he could not ask for, only be given.
Something Abigail could not ask for, only be given.
As he watched, Hannibal slid the last slice out of the sizzling pan. He turned to take the bottle of wine from Will’s hands and they were mere inches apart. Hannibal tipped his head to one side, looking at him. _ Is that what you want, Will? _
“Will. The wine?”
“Here,” he managed to stammer, passing it over too quickly. It would have sloshed out of the bottle had Hannibal not firmly stoppered the top with his thumb, breaking eye contact with Will in order to pour some into the pan.
In the pan, the wine hissed and then roared into flame when Hannibal tipped it sideways into the blue gas. Will felt the heat against his skin like a brand.
“It won’t be long now,” Hannibal said. He indicated the dining room table.
The fragrance of browned butter and burgundy filled Will’s nostrils as he retreated, trying to cover the heat and confusion surging equally together in his blood.
Hannibal served the finished plates with an understated flourish. “Kidney butter-fried in sage with a burgundy herb reduction, with curried parsnip puree and mizuna.” The plates Hannibal set down before them revealed colors like the autumn woods, crisp greens setting off darker red and orange. Six pomegranate seeds glinted atop the curried parsnip, precise as jewels, leaving tiny wine-dark traces in the puree.
In the dark gray dining room, the light spilled across Hannibal’s features, making of his smooth skin a place of angle and shadow. He raised a toast to Will, who looked up from the art before him in undisguised astonishment.
“To friends. Expected and unexpected,” Hannibal amended with a nod.
Will raised his glass uneasily, trying to keep a steady head. “To friends.” His hand shook only a little when he took the smallest of sips. When he had tasted the dish, he only grew more astonished. “Fried kidneys are so British...but I’ve never tasted them so good.”
Hannibal cut his food continental style, the tines of his fork upside-down and precise. “I rarely cook kidney. Except for special occasions.” He savored another bite. “Cooking is a rare art -- when you do it right, there is nothing left afterward. Nothing like a sculpture.” He glanced at Will. “Perhaps more like a model.”
Will clenched a hand in his lap, pinned by the spotlight of Hannibal’s gaze, Hannibal’s knowledge of what was between them. Hannibal’s control. The thread of separation between psychosis and myth, between fiction and fact, control and abandon, had snapped in some critical moment and Will had not seen it happen. There was Margot, folded into herself with fear; there she was clean and dry in the morning, the stag’s blood clotting among the leaves. | 5f7fe1d1128d4e65afb23bbe7cbcddd7 | ['9dac850a692a4b3c8e0b7facfa2007bd'] | Will’s gaze lingered on the pale marble limbs of the pair of figures in the photograph, who could almost be father and child. He blamed the tea for his jitters and leaned in, desperate to change the subject. “So is Cupid restraining Mars so well that all the violence has been drained out of him? War through the eyes of love, or something like that? Cupid is just a kid who doesn’t know his dad is—doesn’t know _ what _ his father is. But the kid is more powerful than the father, in a way, for being able to see it like that.”
“A very psychoanalytical interpretation, Mr. Graham,” the professor commented, regarding him with the full force of his extraordinary eyes. “Violence swayed by love? Not for the Greeks, and not in life, certainly.”
“No. It’s never that simple, is it,” Will replied, lost in thought. “And anyway, are they inherently different things?” he said to himself. He turned back to take up his teacup again, and found Lecter’s eyes fully absorbed in searching him, surprised by the question and made wary.
“Classic Greek literature is full of volumes about violent love,” was all Lecter offered in response, after a brief silence. A test of a reply.
“So is psychopathology,” Will replied evenly. A conversation about nothing and everything at once; like being seen and seeing Lecter in turn, but only these strange glimpses. He could not look away, nor could he stop himself from being examined and seen. _ Pinned like a specimen _ , Will thought.
“Do you like it?”
“Sorry?” Will asked. _ Being pinned. _ Warmth burned in him like a drug.
“The pu-ehr. Do you like it?”
“Yes. I like it very much.”
“Good. Mr. Graham—”
“Please, call me Will.”
“Will, then. I must confess something. I brought you upstairs today under false pretenses.”
“You don’t carve tea for all your art models?”
Dr. Lecter chuckled softly. “Maybe I should have. The previous student was...not well suited to it. His talents lay elsewhere. You, on the other hand—”
“Professor, I meant what I said before. Let me come back next week and I’ll be in much better shape. I enjoy this work. I...need it.”
Lecter paused mid-sentence and one eyebrow went up. His sudden, satisfied smile made the room feel warmer. “Well, that makes this a lot easier. I brought you up here to convince you to stay on for the semester, even with the drafty studio conditions. I was planning to offer to double the stipend, in fact, because you are obviously experienced, and your form is so well-suited to Hellenistic sculpture I would hate to lose you to something that paid better. Between the cold of the studio and whatever caused you to...well, I did not think you were planning to come back.”
“I’d like to. Come back. If you’ll—if the department will have me.” Will continued boldly, “Is that double-stipend offer still good?”
“It would please me to pay you what you are worth,” was Dr. Lecter’s only comment as he stood to shake Will’s hand.
“Thank you, professor,” Will could only say, relief making him stand up a little straighter.
“Please, call me Hannibal.”
“Thank you, Hannibal,” he said, feeling the syllables of the old-fashioned name on his tongue, unfamiliar as aged tea.
“Until next week,” Hannibal said as Will nodded in farewell from the doorway on his way out, trying to swallow the brighter glee that turned into a grin as soon as he was alone in the hallway.
The feeling, as he clattered down the empty stairwell and walked out into the drizzling dark afternoon, echoed like light against mirrors inside him, relief mixing with adrenaline. It was very odd, he thought, buttoning his jacket against the rain, what a little bit of money could do in a poor student’s pocket; the thrill of anticipation in his belly he chalked up to the strange tea and the even stranger conversation.
* * *
3. The Laocoon
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> Will poses for a sculpture with snakes! Who doesn't love snakes? (If you don't like snakes, please don't read this chapter.)
>
> Lines blur a bit more.
Vivid golden afternoon light spilled through the door of the art studio, but the studio itself was darkened when Will arrived the following week. The skylight and high windows now draped in opaque black fabric, several studio lights beamed light at a small platform with a black drape.
Perhaps owing to the heat of the studio lamps and the black fabric trapping the air, the room was quite warm, the air almost too close for comfort. Will shed his jacket and scarf.
He was early once again, and expecting Hannibal to arrive, but the footsteps that came to the door brought only a student who nervously peeked through the doorway before pulling in a hand truck loaded down with a large wooden crate.
“Thank God he’s not here yet,” the girl muttered, breath a little labored as she wheeled the truck to the front of the room near where Will stood. Her steps were nervous and halting with the weight she pulled, so that the keys and ID on a lanyard around her neck clinked noisily together as she moved. He saw _ Elise Nichols _ before the identification card swung and flipped around. “He wanted this delivered from storage hours ago,” she grunted, pulling it the final few steps, “but I couldn’t find the hand truck and this thing is too damned heavy.”
“Secret’s safe with me,” Will joked, trying to allay her nerves. But her eyes popped wide and she fumbled with the handle of the thing, landing the wood crate with a loud, creaking thump on the floor.
“Oh my God, you wouldn’t say anything to him, right? I’ve heard the rumors. He’ll probably get me sacked.”
“He’s really not like that,” Will said with a disbelieving look. |
364934a93d524f3090184ad97964ebe6 | ['9dbe508039d1484c846f05c4c0d552bb'] | > Person B overhearing Person A admit to C that while they love B more than anything in the world, they’re certain that B doesn’t love them back at all. Person B spends the rest of the day proving just how much they do sincerely love A.
>
> Thanks for the prompt. Also, yes, I am assuming there were (at least a few) Chinese restaurants in 1930s Budapest. It turns out even Google couldn't help me with this research. Enjoy!
It was a brief moment of calmness at Maraczek's when Ilona and Amalia took a break to eat their lunch in the workroom.
"So," Ilona started. "How are things going with..." She trailed off as she motioned to the front of the store.
"With?" Amalia asked, feigning ignorance.
"With Georg!" Ilona said as if it were the most obvious insinuation.
Amalia pretend to be shocked and to scoff.
"What? With Georg? No, we hate each other just like always," Amalia replied without making eye contact. It seemed her lunch had become far more interesting as that was what she kept staring at. Ilona, however, just looked at her friend as though she we a silly child.
"Please," Ilona began. "I'm not stupid. Anyone with eyes can see that there's something going on there."
"Fine," Amalia relented. "We found out that we were each other's Dear Friend--"
"You are!" Ilona exclaimed excitedly.
"And he came over for Christmas dinner at my mother's," Amalia continued as if she hadn't been interrupted. "But he hasn't really done anything since. I think," she paused for a moment and realized how much she had really want anted to talk to someone about this, particularly someone she trusted so much. "I think he may love Dear Friend but not Amalia."
Ilona looked at her friend with a look of sadness.
"Oh, Amalia," Ilona said, feeling truly sorry for her friend. After all, every man she'd known had only ever cared to discover one side of her; she couldn't imagine what it would be like to be only half-loved, if that.
***SLM***
It was barely noon when Georg realized that with all of the excitement that was generated by an enormous wave of customers earlier that day that he had forgotten his golden M pin in the workroom. Without a moment to spare, he quickly popped into the room to grab it.
When recalling this moment, he wouldn't be able to explain why he suddenly came to a stop.
"I think he may love Dear Friend but not Amalia," he heard his Dear Friend, the woman he loved say. Just hearing these words were nearly enough to break his heart. He was kicking himself; he didn't know if she wanted to take it slow or fast and he'd just sort of made a decision. But she had taken his decision to go slow as a sign that he had lost interest in her which was not the case at all.
Without a word or his pin he returned to his counter.
***SLM***
It was little the little things that Georg did that day that helped to reassure Amalia. There were the few little kisses he kept dropping whenever the store was without customers. Those definitely kept brining smile and happy smiles to Amalia's lips.
What really cheered her up, though was finding a note addressed to Dear Friend asking if she wanted to go to dinner at a Chinese restaurant that evening. Amalia had sought out Georg and had quickly accepted his invitation.
***SLM***
The meal had gone well; Georg and Amalia had had but one small albeit amicable spat about… well Amalia couldn't quite remember, but it was over now. The rest of the evening had been spent discussing The Red and The Black.
"Your check, sir." The small elderly woman who had been their server said as she handed Georg the bill for the meal and two fortune cookies. Georg paid speedily and turned back to Amalia.
"Are you prepared to find out your future?" He asked with a small smile. Amalia mirrored his grin.
"Oh," she began jokingly. "I'm not sure if I'll be able to handle it."
Carefully, the couple each broke their cookies in half and read their contents.
Amalia was utterly thrilled with the one she had received. It read: "It will be important to show you care about your loved ones."
Without hesitation, Amalia leaned over and kissed a surprised Georg far more passionately that she was used to in public. Afterwards, Georg just gaped a little. She decided to take pity on her boyfriend then.
"I'm just doing what the fortune cookie said!" She exclaimed as she passed the paper to him. As he picked it up and comprehension dawned on his face, he replied: "I love you too, Amalia."
And that is the story of how a fortune cookie cemented Georg and Amalia's relationship.
7. Not Wrong
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> Prompt by Anonymous on Tumblr: Person A standing outside drenched to the bone in the rain. Person B runs up behind them with an umbrella that is technically built for one. To conserve space, B pulls A as close to them as possible.
>
> Just a little something because of the CD signing today. Sorry it's short! The next one will be much longer, I promise!
Amalia had thought that it would be a nice day; red sky at night, sailor's delight and all that. She'd even insisted on it when she and Georg left their little apartment that morning.
"Sweetheart, why don't you take the other umbrella? It looks like it's going to rain today," her husband had insisted when they were about to leave to take the bus to work. Without a pause, his wife responded.
"There was a red sky last night," she said as if that made perfect sense. "That means the weather today will be fine." | 39a365727df34952ae548069789fdf0e | ['9dbe508039d1484c846f05c4c0d552bb'] | Georg rolled his eyes as they left, grabbing what was, unfortunately, the smallest umbrella in the apartment. The two then shrugged on their coats and walked to the bus stop together.
***SLM***
It seemed as though what- or whom-ever was in charge of Budapest's weather that day decided to make a liar out of Amalia. As it was her and Georg's turn to close the store, the couple were the last in the store. They finished pulling the blinds shut, and each took one of the tin pink sheets to pull over their respective counters full of makeup and perfume.
"I'm going to grab my coat. I'll see you at the bus stop!" Amalia said as she headed back into the workroom. It wasn't that she and Georg didn't enjoy each other's company on the way to the bus stop, but it was often used for whomever was finished first to have a little alone time. The two did, after all, work at the same (rather small) parfumerie and live in the same tiny apartment. Sometimes a little bit of distance was good for a little breathing room.
As she pushed open the old building's door she froze as she heard the sound. It was rain, treacherous rain. Knowing that Georg was going to be in an "I Told You So" mood when he caught up to her, Amalia sighed and proceeded to walk down the grey, soaking wet sidewalk.
Though not a long walk, Amalia did get to see a few interesting things on the way. Hammerschmidt's seemed to be under renovations, apparently Mr. Kodaly didn't lie about that. She waved to the owners of the bakery, an elderly couple whose store seemed to always be open despite what appeared to be a lack of customers. They, just like every other day that Amalia had left late, waved back.
Amalia finally arrived at the stop, sure that she looked like a cross between a melted figurine and a drowned rat. Oh well, she thought, there are worse this that could happen.
It was only moments later when she felt a pair of arms wrap around her. Turning around so that she was facing him, she found Georg, grinning.
"What?" He asked when he saw her confused stare. It was the only way we could both fit under the umbrella. After all, it isn't nice to let the love of your life catch a cold."
"That would be rather unfortunate."
"Indeed. But on another note, what beautiful sunshine we have, love," Georg said.
Amalia decided that a glare would be the appropriate response to this.
"I'm not admitting you were right," she said firmly.
"But you have to concede that I wasn't wrong," he said back.
Amalia just rolled her eyes.
"Alright," she acquiesced as she snuggled deeper into his embrace. "You weren't wrong."
It was soon after that the bus arrived and the couple returned safely to their home, Georg still insisting he was right.
8. Chapter 8: Getting to Know You
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> Prompt from Anonymous on Tumblr: hi omg i love your she loves me fic on ao3! it's so sweet and so well written. prompt: amalia and georg introduce their new baby to the workers at maraczek's? thanks!
>
> Thank you so much for the lovely comment and for the prompt (that I've been dying to write), Nonny! This chapter references chapter Chapter 4: Introducing, For the First Time Ever… But all you really need to know is that Georg and Amalia have a newborn daughter named Licia and that her birth was rather traumatic.
>
> ALSO! I only have one more prompt in my inbox; please feel free to submit more!!!
"Hi, baby girl," Amalia said as she lay in her tiny hospital bed, her swaddled up newborn daughter nestled comfortably in her arms and her husband sleeping, folded practically in half with his neck at an obviously awkward looking angle, in the hard and uncomfortable chair by the side of the bed. After only having gotten to hold her daughter for far too short a time before both she and her needed to go to sleep, Amalia took the time to revel and be thankful for both her and the infant's presence. Everything from her little wrinkled pink face (with eyes that still remained firmly shut) to her itty-bitty toes was perfect as far as Amalia was concerned. Though, being her mother she supposed she was a slight bit biased. "I am so happy that you're alright."
Amalia remained like this for a few more moments more until she was startled out of her reverie (and Georg out of his slumber) by a sharp and quick series of knocks on the door to the room.
"Come in," Amalia said to the guest whose identity was still unknown. She was only slightly surprised when the blonde head of her and Georg's friend and colleague eventually came into view. Georg rubbed his eyes, stumbled into a somewhat standing position and went to greet her at the door as a sore and tired Amalia remained in bed.
"Hi!" Ilona said as she greeted the proud new parents. "Congratulations!"
Ilona, being Ilona, ran up and gave each of her friends a kiss on the cheek.
"I'm so sorry that Paul couldn't make it," she apologized for her husband. "He was desperately needed at work."
"That's too bad," Amalia said and truly meant it. Though she (nor Ilona) had known the man very long, he seemed like a good person. Ilona then proceeded to sit on the edge of her friends bed, between Amalia and Georg. She asked and was immediately handed the baby by Amalia who, though fully trusting of Ilona, kept vigilant watch over her daughter. |
ae989c4462114f09aec22d5eb3eca9a5 | ['9dc57675558540a7bed44da949241150'] | It was still early morning in St. Petersburg, with their three hour time difference. He was probably at his morning ballet practice with madam Baranovskaya currently. Yuri complained plenty about Lilia’s strict behavior especially during skate season and even now while they officially didn’t have any skating competitions to attend until later this year, madam Baranovskaya had taken Viktor’s return to the rink as a direct challenge of her (and her pupil’s) abilities. If Otabek had noticed that even with all the complaints Yuri had about Lilia’s strict regime he never disobeyed her he didn’t mention it to his younger friend. Yuri very obviously respected her for her professional opinion, not to mention that all the days he had spend living at her house had grown a reluctant affection for the older Russian ballet instructor.
His phone lighted up again with a notification, it was from Snapchat and Otabek opened the app. There was a red box next to Yuri’s name which showed he had sent a snap(he wasn’t a complete recluse plus Yuri made it difficult to be ignorant in these things), Otabek clicked on it and the timer began counting down. He had been right in guessing that Yuri would be at the studio. The first photo was just a black and white photo of an empty dance studio. There was no caption on the photo and before he could really focus on any details the timer went down and the next snap showed up. This one was of Yuri himself being a mirror selfie of Yuri stretching his right leg. Holding it completely stretched and straight above him, Lilia had really been trying to maintain Yuri’s flexibility with his body going through puberty and changing so fast. Yuri couldn’t take the off skate season to slack off, he had to almost relearn how to skate again. Otabek appreciated his friends photo in the way that he appreciated any photo or video of Yuri. Yuri had been Otabek’s inspiration since he was 13 years old and that hadn’t changed after befriending him.
Otabek had been quite lucky going through his puberty, he hadn’t really had a growth spurt to speak of. Yuri once told him uncharacteristically subdued during a skype session that the physicians had expected him to reach at least 1.80 cm with the rate that he was growing. Otabek didn’t really know the words to say at the moment. Yuri was in fact the first real friend he made and speaking about his emotions or comforting other people was not his strong suit. Before the silence stretched on Yuri’s eyes had turned back towards the webcam and he had spoken with such determination, so typical Yuri “There is NO fucking way that I’m gonna let Katsudon and Viktor think they’re gonna have an easy season. That old man thinks he can just come back to competitive level skating after slacking off all year with his disgusting boyfriend-“
“Fiance. I believe they are engaged now.” Otabek had finally spoken up with a soft smile, very amused at his friends reaction. He truly did have the eyes of a soldier...
“whatever the fuck they are!! It doesn’t matter ‘cause I’m going to take all the gold and then him and piggy can go back to wherever they were the past year!” he had ended with a smile that honest to god almost frightened Otabek. Viktor and Japanese Yuri really brought out the competitive side of Yuri to say the least. He was aware that Yuri reacted with anger to a lot of situations where he was upset or emotional vulnerable. It was a defense mechanism really just like Otabek’s stoic image was for him a defense mechanism for his social anxiety.
Yuri respected both Japanese Yuri as well as Viktor greatly, not only respect but also a very clear affection he had for them. Maybe one day Yuri wouldn’t feel the need to show his emotions through anger.
While Otabek had been recalling these memories the photo had disappeared already. He kind of wanted to appreciate it a bit longer, but now that he had this app maybe he would get to see his friend more often? He hoped so. (was that a weird thing to hope for? Otabek didn’t know.. He was older than Yuri but Yuri had turned 16 just over a month ago making their age difference two years? You were supposed to feel this excitement when talking to friends right? It was normal?).
He sighed knowing he had to send at least something back before he would be bombarded by his friend with messages. Yuri didn’t understand how anyone below the age of 20 could live without at least updating their social media once a day.
What should he send? He didn’t really have anything interesting to show. He could take a page of Yuri’s book and send him a photo of his home rink. Before thinking too much on it he took a photo of the (mostly) empty rink. He didn’t know what to caption it as so he send it without anything. Otabek was mostly a listener instead of a talker anyhow.
He stowed his phone back in his bag and after skating a whole circle around the ice stopped in the middle and went back to practicing his old routines. Seeing how much effort his friend put into his work, he couldn’t stay behind. He wanted to share that podium again with him. And with a new and warm determination that always filled him when thinking of Yuri he continued his morning practice. The rest of the world (temporarily) forgotten.
**Author's Note:**
> What is pacing. Idont know. Fuck me. This is the first fic I’ve ever in my life have written. Please help me. (I started this story solely cause I want to see more Muslim!Otabek and it not be a freaking cliché-ass fic that turns into some black and white image of how muslims have to be/act). There will be more of this.. when, I’m not sure yet because ive written this instead of finishing all my essays. If you’ve read so far… Wow thank you so much <3 I’m trying to get a hang of all things I promise ill do better :)
>
> This is unbeta-ed so expect mistakes lmao english isnt my first (nor second) language.
>
> Before I get responses about how I represent islam within this fic.. I am a muslim woman myself. A queer muslim woman(yes we exist), so pls don’t tell me how this doesn’t fit within islam. There are all kinds of muslims in the world. | 7706ca0a8b5e406e970c9fdf28bb40f7 | ['9dc57675558540a7bed44da949241150'] |
It’s the end of the skating season when Otabek gets a message from Russia’s own Yuri Plisetsky. It’s a crispy Friday in Almaty just after 10 in the morning, perfectly good spring weather outside, that he is – this is according to his mother- wasting indoors in his home rink.
“Beka, darling, at least take today off. You have months to prepare- “ his mother had started earlier in the morning while he was putting on his running shoes. Otabek hadn’t really waited to hear the end of her sentence, preferring to go out for his daily morning jog. He needed to get at least 5 kilometers before going to the rink.
He would appease her by taking a break and going to Jummah – the Friday prayer – at their local mosque. Maybe try to socialize with his peers… or not. His mother would be happy to hear Otabek mingling with anyone to be quite honest.
His parents had always been very supportive of Otabek’s skating career, especially as he was declared Kazakhstan’s hero when he finally began bringing home medals. They were proud of him, and proud that he would represent their country at such an international level . Albeit they didn’t exactly understand the life of a professional athlete. They mostly left him to make his own decisions in regards to his career, trusting him implicitly. Their trust and support had meant quite a lot for Otabek, competitive figure skating was definitely not a cheap hobby to take on the side. It needed complete devotion not only his physical and emotional, psychological devotion, but also of his (and in turn his family’s) financial devotion.
The days of financial worry were mostly over though. Being Kazakhstan’s hero had his perks, among those the complete financial coverage of all his skating needs along with a generous stipend for Otabek himself. The Kazakh government wanted Otabek to flourish as the first Kazakh in the international figure skating world, wanted him to be a role model for other young children. He had qualified for the GPF now twice in a row, hopefully a third time would also be in the works.
Otabek wasn’t the least bit interested in being any kind of role model though. He had an aversion for any kind of social interaction that meant being in the center of attention for anything other than his skating. Social anxiety was a bitch.
It had been an OK ending of his skating season after his fourth place at the GPF of Barcelona – which Otabek was silently still bitterly disappointed about (after JJ’s horrendous SP he really had thought he would medal). (definitely not the gold medal as both Yuri’s were more determined than he had ever seen). (the bronze should have been his. How did he miss such an opportunity?).
He had at least made it up with a silver medal at Four Continents (hah JJ hadn’t even medaled and Otabek had a petty streak apparent) and a bronze in the following World Championships (following Japanese Yuri’s gold and Russian Yuri’s silver). Given that next season Viktor Nikiforov would return to the rink definitely meant that Otabek had to fight tooth and nail for his spot. It was exciting and nerve wracking at the same time.
His phone showed the time being 10:11, Yuri had just sent him a text, well several texts actually. Given that Yuri was a habitual multiple texter, the Kazakh skater had once even woken up to 25 text messages from the blond. And over half of them were just exclamation marks in reaction to cat videos from youtube. Of course Yuri being the cat lover that he was had to send him every video he had watched, liked and shared on twitter (No, Otabek reaaaally didn’t use Twitter much.. It’s just that Yuri he didn’t want to miss anything from his friend’s life.. His first friend he should at least be courteous to keep up right?).
It wasn’t a cat video this time.
_> >Sent 9:55 from Yuri Plisetsky: BEKA!!! Did u finally dl sc??? Isw2g if u havnt…._
It had two follow up texts a minute apart that were just question marks. Yuri really hated waiting for text responses. He quickly replied, it had been almost 15 minutes now. No need to make Yuri wait longer.
_> >Sent 10:12 to Yuri Plisetsky: Good morning. Yes I did actually last night, you have asked every night for two weeks now. I don’t really understand it however. How do you follow people?_
He immediately got a reply from Yuri
_> > Sent 10:12 from Yuri Plisetsky: YES FINALLY. Add me, my username is yuri-plisetsky, urs??_
_> >Sent 10:15 to Yuri Plisetsky: I’ve added you, otabek-altin._
_> >Sent 10:15 from Yuri Plisetsky: What took u so long? Nvm added u U have to send me snaps okk. dont forget._
It had actually taken Otabek a while before he figured out how to add people, he wasn’t sure how long it would take before he figured out how it worked. It was just a messenger app with pictures right? He didn’t quite understand the appeal but Yuri had been asking him to get the app so he could “appreciate Yuliya’s graceful elegance in full” Yuliya being Yuri’s cat (he did agree with Yuri, Yuliya was really a beautiful cat and anything that excited his friend so much would interest Otabek quite honestly). |
d435fa04730a41e18e3c0921341cb04c | ['9ddbe32679bd4357b621a7e5759c2913'] | Kenpachi bites his fingers in retaliation. It’s gentle insofar as Kenpachi can be gentle, but he absolutely uses his actual teeth when he does it all the same, mostly because he has no ability whatsoever to treat their baby with kid gloves.
Both child and father simply laugh at each other like that, the fingers of Soujun’s left hand in Zaraki’s mouth while the right one smacks his father’s cheek over and over again rather gleefully. Zaraki looks keenly proud of the baby’s audacity, while Soujun has no idea that Zaraki’s playful blasts of reiatsu are probably wilting the flowers outside the open window. Byakuya observes the whole interaction with a distinct sense of dread growing in the pit of his stomach, as he realizes that while Soujun may look like a Kuchiki through and through, it seems like everything inside the child is distinctly Zaraki in nature.
Which probably means his son’s first words, when he deigns to actually say them, will be something along the lines of ‘ _fight_ ’ or ‘ _stab_ ’ or ‘ _sucking chest wound_.’
Byakuya sighs hopelessly and goes to put away his calligraphy tools before Soujun finds a way to roll around in his ink and leave black stains all over the house like Yachiru had when he’d left his study open for one – just one – minute the other day.
Kenpachi eyes him as he leaves the room with his arms full of writing supplies and a distinct air of resignation about him. Then he shrugs and turns to Soujun, murmuring, “The princess sure has her panties in a bunch tonight, kid.”
Soujun makes a tiny clucking sound that can only be interpreted as complete agreement. Then he smacks Kenpachi in the jaw again.
*****
That night, while Byakuya is putting Soujun to bed because Zaraki is grudgingly washing the blood and gristle out of Yachiru’s hair after she’d returned from a mission she and Hisagi-fukutaichou had been in charge of this afternoon (the new Captain Commander is proving to be as insane as he is drunk and disorderly), Byakuya takes a moment to very seriously look Soujun in the eye again, and say, slowly, “pa-pa.” Mostly because ' _father_ ' might be a little bit difficult to pronounce this early in Soujun’s life, and also because Byakuya supposes it would be best for Soujun to learn both terms and then assign whichever ones he saw fit to Byakuya and Zaraki respectively. It must be, admittedly, somewhat confusing to have two fathers and a very limited list of titles with which to address them.
Soujun answers by blowing a raspberry at him.
Byakuya sighs and kisses his son good night before padding out of the nursery and back into the bedroom. He sits up with a book and waits patiently for Zaraki to finish bathing his unruly vice-captain, eyeing the clock before determining that the angry splashing sounds coming from down the hall mean it will probably be another thirty minutes to an hour before Kenpachi emerges from that fight (if at all).
He’s right, and by the time Kenpachi trudges into the bedroom he’s already yawning and grumpy looking on top of that. There’s also a slightly oozing gash just starting to coagulate on the ridge of his brow that means Yachiru probably didn’t take too kindly to being dunked head first into a tub full of soapy water upon her triumphant return from the field.
Zaraki closes the door behind him and begins stripping off his clothes. Then he takes one look at an expectant Byakuya and glares. “No,” he grunts, before Byakuya can say anything. The last of his clothing hits the floor in a pile and he absently kicks it into a corner.
Byakuya closes his book and stares levelly at Kenpachi. “We might have to get Soujun a tutor,” he says, without paying any attention whatsoever to Kenpachi’s protests (or shameless nudity).
Kenpachi grumbles inarticulately and settles onto his side of the bed, causing the feathery mattress to dip slightly under his weight so that Byakuya sort of falls against him as a result. “No,” he repeats, though he lets Byakuya rearrange his impossibly long limbs however he wants before the smaller captain deems their positions acceptable and nestles into the crook of Zaraki’s arm for the night.
“The books say…”
“Fuck the books,” Kenpachi interrupts, breath ghosting over Byakuya’s hair as he closes his eyes and prepares to get some sleep. “Done this before. The kid’s fine.”
Byakuya frowns. “What was Yachiru’s first word? When did she say it?” he demands, mostly because doing this once before doesn’t necessarily mean that Zaraki did it right. Maybe Yachiru had been a late bloomer for being in his company as well.
Zaraki cracks his eye open again. “No,” he says. Then, more wearily, “I dunno.”
Byakuya blinks. “No was her first word, or no, you’re not going to tell me because you don’t know?” If Soujun learns how to communicate to the world at large from Zaraki they’re all doomed.
Kenpachi just snorts noncommittally. “Why, you worried I set a bad example for the kids, princess?”
“Naturally,” Byakuya answers without hesitation, mostly because he’s long since learned that Kenpachi’s feelings getting hurt are not a thing he has to worry about. Ever.
Kenpachi grins. “Well if that’s all you’re worried about forget it.” He closes his eyes again, and is already half-asleep even though the conversation is only half done.
Byakuya reaches out and thumps him on his chest with the heel of his palm. Hard. “I have every right to worry,” he says, because it’s true. And really, _one_ of them should worry.
Zaraki just sighs and shifts, smashing Byakuya’s nose against his collarbone in retaliation. “I said you ain’t got nothing to worry about,” he repeats stubbornly, eyes still determinedly closed, “Especially if you’re using Yachiru as an example.” | 2f06e881efe94edd8750583fbf4a256b | ['9ddbe32679bd4357b621a7e5759c2913'] |
The Loved Girl (A Portrait in Tabloids)
**Author's Note:**
* For LINK.
> Happy holidays, aishuu! I am still a bit shaky in this fandom, but I hope you can enjoy this all the same. Also, special thanks to my beta, tasukigirl, for the fabulous suggestions and the very quick, very efficient work.
_From Josei Seven, Issue 31: A Secret Rainy Day Romance? Our Photographer Discovers Popular Actor Tsuruga Ren on a Tender Day Date with His One Dozen Roses Costar! _
The photograph on the cover of the tabloid is far from perfect as far as photographs go; it is grainy and badly lit because of the rain and the thick cover of gray clouds overhead. In the corner of the frame, a pedestrian is walking by on the street, obscuring part of Kyoko's shoulder and ruining the absolute intimacy of the shot that the photographer is trying to capture from his awkward position crouched behind a mailbox across the street.
But despite all the things detracting from its aesthetic sense, the photograph still manages to capture what it is truly important about the moment; Kyoko is clutching Ren's arm tightly with her own as they look into a pet shop window together, enjoying the sight of the puppies playing in piles of shredded newspaper on the other side. She smiles up at Ren through her lashes with warmth and confidence, her pretty features expressing just enough feminine coyness to melt a man's heart at first glance.
The look he gives her in return is just as captivating; it is almost heartbreaking in its sheer tenderness, his eyes crinkled in the corners and lip curled upward in a mysterious, not-quite smile as he holds an umbrella up over their heads, shielding them from the gently falling rain.
It is _Josei Seven's_ best selling issue of the year, and on the morning when it officially reaches the newsstands, LME's head offices receive an unprecedented amount of calls asking for verification or denial (or any comment at all) regarding Ren and Kyoko's suspected relationship.
Normally this sort of thing is old hat for anyone who's spent even just a day in the entertainment industry; such rumors from trashy gossip magazines are supposed to warrant nothing more than a derisive snort and a "no comment" from LME's experienced managers and talent. But for some reason there is something about this photograph that is undeniable, that captures the curiosity of the very people who should otherwise be too professional to give it a second glance.
"Well?" Moko asks that morning, obviously one of the curious few as she looks expectantly at her fellow Love Me member with an arched eyebrow.
Kyoko smiles broadly. "Tsuruga-san was very helpful," she says, and makes Moko shake her head and mutter, "Never mind," in a resigned sort of way.
In a car halfway across town, Yashiro's curiosity is similarly piqued. "Well?" he asks, trying not to sound too eager from behind the wheel. "Well?"
Ren blinks and looks up from his script. "Yashiro," he tsks, "you really shouldn't be reading the tabloids."
Yashiro sighs.
* * *
_From Asahi Geinou, Issue 33: Singer Fuwa Sho's First Leading Role Wrought With Tension! Star seen storming into his dressing room after heated exchange with leading lady Mogami Kyoko-san. _
"Fuwa-san, what do you have to say about the alleged rumors of tension on the set between yourself and costar Mogami-san?"
Sho scowls and pushes past the throng of paparazzi waiting for him outside the back entrance to the studio. "No comment."
"How does it feel to film your first starring drama role alongside someone as popular as Tsuruga-san?" another asks, in an effort to be more cordial under the celebrity's dangerously flashing eyes. "You said at the press conference that you absolutely wouldn't lose to him, didn't you?"
Sho smiles crookedly at that, but not in a particularly pleasant way.
He wordlessly ducks into the studio.
* * *
_From Friday, Issue 28: Inside Sources Report that One Dozen Roses Director Kimura-san and Actress Mogami-san Battle Over Creative Differences. _
Director Kimura sighs as he is forced—however reluctantly— to interrupt the day's table reading for the umpteenth time, cutting Kyoko off midline with a sheepish clearing of his throat. "Kyoko-chan," he begins, gently, "I still don't think that's quite right."
Kyoko blinks, while Sho snorts at her derisively from across the table. "Isn't this your job, stupid?" he snipes, stretching his long legs out under the table and into her space just to be annoying. "Why are you so bad at it?"
Kyoko glares and opens her mouth to respond. But before she can, Kimura-san holds up his hands disarmingly. "It's not that Kyoko-chan's doing it badly," the young director assures Sho with a small, slightly frazzled laugh. "It's just…not quite what I pictured Yuuko-chan sounding like when I first read the script." He turns to Ren, who is seated at the very end of the table, for confirmation. "You know?"
Ren's face is inscrutable, but he does nod in understanding. "Fuwa-san probably just hasn't been able to pick up on it yet, given that he's the same as an amateur when it comes to acting right now," he says sensibly, with a friendly, overly understanding look across the table at Sho that has the young musician bristling instinctively but unable to retort. "I agree though, Kimura-san. There is something missing in the reading," Ren continues, before turning to Kyoko with a gently probing look. "Has Mogami-san's experience in this arena been particularly limited?"
Across the table, Sho jumps to his feet. "Oi!! That doesn't have anything to do with anything!" he exclaims, heatedly.
Kimura-san and the rest of the staff give him an odd look.
He blinks. Runs a hand through his hair. "You know, since it's just pretend." |
62b16bc32ae74d1e9d723aed73e10ef0 | ['9ddccafd897149908614487f8efb5eb0'] |
DDC 613.96
**Author's Note:**
> Originally posted at sizeofthatthing anonymously, for the prompt Koschei takes Theta's virginity in a library. Many thanks to the prompter, as you got me writing again.
>
> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at LINK. Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on LINK.
"Kosch, I don't th--" Theta backs up into an endless tower of library shelving, his head thunking back against the old silver wood as his personal space is breached.
"Shh." Koschei traces his finger over Theta's lower lip, amusement in his eyes. He brushes the back of his hand against Theta's cheek, taking the final step towards him as he slips his fingers through Theta's hair.
Theta exhales shakily, his hands ghosting over the small of Koschei's back, crossing his eyes to focus on Koschei's face properly. He can barely manage a murmur. "We'll be seen..."
"Then let them watch." Koschei's mouth is on Theta's before he can manage a reply, and his initial squeak of protest quickly dissolves into a quiet moan. Koschei chuckles into the kiss as Theta's fingers grasp at his robes, all worries forgotten.
\--
Theta still feels like he doesn't know what he's doing, although he lost count of kisses and gropes and fumbles under the covers a long time ago. He feels clumsy and awkward as Koschei's tongue traces the ridges of the roof of his mouth, unseen hands pulling at fabric between them. It tickles and he doesn't know what to do with his own tongue or hands and he wants to stop thinking and just go along with that niggle of human instinct in the back of his mind, but he _can't_. He's just helpless as he clings to Koschei and lets himself be ravished.
Koschei has spun him around now, and is walking him backwards as he attacks his mouth, his throat, his ears, and oh, they are going to be caught, but Koschei's hands down the back of his pants are so distracting, even if his bunched-up robe is making his back itch. He realises that he's _thinking_ again when the backs of his legs hit something and Koschei pushes him down. He finds himself sitting on an empty book cart, looking up at Koschei, and _oh_. Theta nearly stops breathing as he looks, his eyes drinking in the sight. Koschei's dark black hair is mussed, his usually bright blue eyes dark with lust, cheeks flushed, his lips slightly swollen. Theta's cock aches.
\--
Koschei loves how easily Theta comes undone, how quickly and effortlessly he can be coaxed out of his robes, even in public. Just the right kiss there, a certain touch there, and he is putty in Koschei's hands. Lovely, eager putty. Koschei hums happily around Theta's cock just to hear the little moan he makes. Koschei knows that moan so well. It's not just Theta's moan, it's _his_ moan. Theta only moans like that for _him_.
Koschei gives Theta's cock one last lick before he moves away, laughing at the distraught sound Theta makes. He searches through the pile of their clothes, glancing back at Theta when he hears the cart creak.
"What are you...oh." Koschei can never quite figure out afterwards how Theta's face managed to go pale and flush at the same time. "Where did you get that?" His voice is filled with awe.
"I made it. A simple mixture of hydrogen oxide, glycerol, and polyethylene glycol." Koschei stands and carefully opens the glass jar. "Hold out your hand."
\--
Theta is _thinking_ again. His hand is slippery on Koschei's cock, who seems to be enjoying it, or at least Theta thinks so, if those hip twitches mean anything. But he's not just thinking of twitching hips. Koschei hasn't actually said anything specific, but Theta assumes he's expecting to fuck him. _In the library._ The library issue notwithstanding, Theta can't help but think that this may be a bad idea.
Theta stops stroking abruptly. "I don't think this is a good idea." Koschei give him an annoyed look and grabs the jar, pushing Theta down onto the cart. "I mean, well, it's a bit big."
Koschei looks up from his kneeling position between Theta's legs. "Last week you took three fingers using your own saliva. You'll be fine."
Theta's eyes go wide. " _Three_ fingers? You told me you only used twoooohhhhhhh..." He trails off into a moan as Koschei pushes two (at least he thinks it's two) fingers into him, slowly twisting. Maybe it's not such a bad idea after all.
\--
_Fuck_. Theta did have a point. A cock is not that same as two (he only _said_ three) fingers. Theta is so _tight_ and Koschei is afraid to push much harder, because Theta is gripping his arms so tightly that he's sure he'll have bruises later. "R-Relax." He's nearly trembling with the exertion, himself.
"Kosch." Theta whimpers and stares up at Koschei, eyes wide and wet, breathing shallowly. Koschei lifts one hand and touches it to Theta's temple. He shouldn't be doing this, he shouldn't even be attempting this, they won't learn this properly in class for years, but they've read books, they know, they're better than the others, they can do this. They shouldn't be doing any of this. Koschei reaches out with his mind, tentatively touching Theta's, and this time, he _feels_ the whimper. The connection is weak, it's unrefined, but it's there. If he could just will Theta to relax...and there it is, just the thought, and Theta bends to his will, his muscles unclenching slightly, a sharp exhale, a look of wonder on his face. Oh, Koschei _likes_ this. | 5d3f75ee8a0b411cb35a6cdb4383874e | ['9ddccafd897149908614487f8efb5eb0'] | Like Home
**Author's Note:**
> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at LINK. Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on LINK.
Soft light emanates from beneath the grating, casting shadows upon the Master's face as he kneels between the Doctor's thighs. The Doctor smiles as the TARDIS hums around them. As he touches his lips to the Doctor's cock, the Master looks up, eyes burning.
The Doctor closes his, committing each sensation to memory: the Master's fingers digging into his hips, the wet stripe on his cock drying in the cool air, the smooth metal under his fingers as he slips them through the grating.
He looks down through slitted eyes, touching his thumb to the corner of the Master's mouth, where cock meets lips. "I've missed this."
* * *
This was written for a meme that was going around LiveJournal: "Take a look at your default userpic. If you're like me you see it so often you've almost stopped seeing it at all, so take a good look at it. Now, using your avatar as inspiration, write a drabble." The icon which inspired the story was created by brontide on LJ. |
28ab21f164e0476392bd08874b34ad2b | ['9de152b3bf6d4f97bddb3ea116e141bc'] | “Why would D.O worry much about Chanyeol?” nagtatakang tanong nya sa kausap. Jin Ah laughed at her question.
“I watched the interview in Sohu TV. He said he never moved on and he’s wrong and stupid for letting you go. Your video in Namsan is so cute. I want to do it with Kyungsoo when he’s free. What do you think?”
“Jin Ah-ssi can you please not beat around the bush?” Jin Ah laughed once again.
“Kyungsoo told me that Nabi is a very special song and has a deeper meaning for Chanyeol. He also said that every time they perform that song, he always cries afterwards. I saw it. He really cried. Why do you think he did?”
8. Chanyeol 7
CHANYEOL 7
“Annie, you watched an EXO Concert na diba?” Eun Jung asked Annie while they were eating in Café Bomnal in Hongdae. Pagkatapos nilang manood sa KBS Music Bank. Nagyaya pa kase tong dalawa na maglakad-lakad daw muna sa Hongdae dahil maaga pa naman daw.
“Yup. Why? Grabe ang ganda ng ocean nila! Sa Japan ako nanonood noon eh. Damn. Ang ganda!” Annie exclaimed.
“Did Chanyeol really cried after Nabi?” napalingon naman sa kanya si Lian na kasalukuyang kumakain ng Ciabatta Sandwich.
“Huh? Umiyak sya ate Ellie? Bakit? Hala pano mo yun alam?” it was Lian.
“Ang tanda ko, oo eh. Kada perform nila nun sa concert umiiyak si Chanyeol. Hindi kase nawawala yun sa setlist nila. Nahahagip ng fancams.” Annie replied. So D.O’s fiancé is not making fun of her. He really did cry. “Why did you ask? It’s unusual to you to ask questions about them ha.”
“Nothing. Let’s just eat.”
Oh my God.
\---------------------------
The next day, Eun Jung went to the mart to buy some groceries na ilalagay sa unit nya. According to Filipino tradition kase, bad luck daw kapag nauubusan ng stocks. Sa tagal nya nang naglalagi sa Philippines, she learned to adapt and believe in the traditions and superstitions of the Filipinos. So as much as possible, ayaw nyang nawawalan sya ng stocks.
But on her way her building, a group of men approached her. Nung una ay sumusunod lang ang mga ito sa kanya but then ng papasok na sya ng main entrance ng building, hinarang na sya ng mga ito.
“Song Eun Jung-ssi?”
“Ne. Waeyo?” (Yes. Why?)
“Can you please come with us.” Nagulat sya sinabi ng isa sa mga ito. Are they kidnapping her in broad daylight and in front of a busy street?
“Who are you and why should I come with you?” mataray nyang tanong sa mga ito. One of them held out an identification card and showed it to her.
“We’re from SM Entertainment. Our boss needs to talk to you before your flight to Kuala Lumpur.” H-how did they know about her flight?
“Can I just go up to leave this at home and fix myself if you’re saying that your boss wants to talk to me?” she asked but they shook their heads. Grabe naman! “Fine.”
Wala pang thirty minutes ay nakarating na sila sa building ng SM Entertainment. She was escorted paakyat ng apat na mga lalaking sumunod sa kanya. Yung mga taong nadadaanan nila ay napapatingin sa kanya. Good thing she brought a face powder in her bag.
One of the men knocked and after a few seconds, the metal door opened.
A long table greeted her eyes and nakapalibot doon ang buong EXO. D.O’s fiancé was also there. She even smiled at her.
“Sir. Miss Song is here.” napatingin sa kanya ang lahat ng naroroon. Chanyeol even smiled at her na hindi na lang nya pinansin.
“Annyeong haseyo.” She said and bowed for respect. The man sitting in the middle motioned her to come and sit down. Sa katabi pa ni Chanyeol.
“So what are your plans after you retire?” agad na tanong ng lalaking nakaupo sa gitna ng long table. He must be the CEO.
“I’m going to get married.” D.O immediately answered that made her laugh. She heard Chanyeol snort and she saw in her peripheral vision that he rolled his eyes at her. Okay. Anong problema ng lalaking to?
“I’ll put up a business and you can all work there.” Chen told the other members happily.
Chen was followed by the others and they all began sharing the things they want to do after they retire. But Chanyeol didn’t share what he wanted to do.
“Chanyeol-ah, what will you do after we retire?” Suho asked. Mataman naman syang nakinig sa sasabihin ni Chanyeol.
“I’m going to propose properly.” He answered that made her stiffened in her seat. Agad naman binato si Chanyeol ng bottle cap ni Sehun because of his answer. Ang iba naman ay nagtawanan especially the managers.
“Miss Song, is the fans bothering you?” tanong sa kanya nung lalaking nakaupo sa likod ni Chanyeol. Manager siguro yun nung unggoy na yun.
“No, not at all. Don’t worry.” she just said. As much as possible, she doesn’t want to be chatty with them because she doesn’t belong in their world.
“Are you sure, Miss Song? We can hire bodyguards for you if you want.” The CEO said. Bodyguards? For her? Tch. Sige nga, kaya ba nilang gastusan ang pamasahe at accommodation ng mga body guards na yun kapag nasa trabaho sya?
“I don’t stay in Korea for a long time so I don’t think that I will ever going to need a bodyguard.” Kampanteng sagot nya.
“So where do you stay when you are here?”
“Are you seriously asking me that after your men brought me here from my place?” she saw the CEO clenched his fists upon her answer. She looked at Jin Ah and she just smiled at her.
“I’m sorry about that but I’m just saying that we can give you a place where you can stay here in Seoul if you want.” Paano nga ulit naging CEO ng isa sa big three ng entertainment ang lalaking to? | 8c8288f485d242afb8db58b3615bb4d4 | ['9de152b3bf6d4f97bddb3ea116e141bc'] | eunjungsongg: two weeks from now.
real__pcy: okay.
BogoshippeosseoyoEun Jung-ih.
Jeongmal bogoshippeosseoyo.
Seen
Hindi nya na sana isi-seen ang message ni Chanyeol but then her stupid hand tapped the message thread. But a little part of her heart tingled when she read it.
“Miss mo ko? Baka miss mo ko lokohin at paasahin ano?” she turned off her phone and opened her laptop. She needs to read that damn article.
"Ikeon meoyo?!” (What is this?!) she exclaimed when she finished reading it. Puro kase kasinungalingan at katangahan ang nakapaloob sa walang kwentang article na iyon. At ang mga nagko-comment grabe! Puro sa side ni Chanyeol! No one even dared to know the real story!
“Me, a bitch? Huh! A should file a lawsuit for this.” She said in finality. Pagbalik nya ng Incheon, sisiguraduhin nyang kakasuhan nya ang nagsulat at nagpublish ng bwisit na article na iyon. “Tapos yung magaling na Chanyeol, hindi man lang ako ipinagtanggol. Aigoo! Wala na talaga. Kung noon nagdadalawang-isip pa ako kung tatanggapin ko yung proposal nya, ngayon, hindi na talaga!”
9. Chanyeol 8
“What?! You’re going to turn down his proposal?! Baliw ka ba?! Scratch that! Baliw ka! Many girls are dying to be in your place!” singhal sa kanya ni Annie habang nagre-ready sila for their flight papuntang Manila.
“Why? Bawal ko syang tanggihan just because he’s a worldwide star? Anong klase naman yun?” inis nyang tanong. Nakakainis kase dahil parang sa kanilang sya pa ang lumalabas na masama porket hindi sya kabilang sa mundong ginagalawan ng lalaking yon. So ano lahat na lang sa kanya papasok? Lahat positive? Hindi sya pwedeng maka-receive ng no, ng negativity?
“Decide for yourself. Base sa feelings mo. Wag kang papadala sa mga tao. Lalo na sa mga katulad ni Annie.” Ruth reminded her. Natawa naman sya sumama kase bigla yung mukha ni Annie.
Sa totoo lang hindi na nya alam ang gagawin nya. Her mind is in chaos right now because of everything. Yun ngang sa simpleng pagkain nya with Yu Seok na-bash sya ng napakaraming tao ano nang hindi naririnig yung side nya pa kaya kapag tinurn down nya ang proposal ni Chanyeol? Baka siguro araw-araw syang makatanggap ng death threats at hindi na sya makabalik ng Korea dahil persona inggrata ang labas nya.
But feelings nya ang nakasalalay dito. Sarili nya. Happiness nya. She still loves him. Walang namang nagbago roon. Mas lumala pa nga. Para saan pa ang pagiging in denial nya sa sarili kung mismong sarili na nya ang nagta-traydor sa kanya especially when Chanyeol’s around.
But then she has so many what ifs in herself. Madaming tanong. Madami syang scenarios na naiimagine. And hindi sya ganun katapang para sumugal at harapin ang mga what ifs na iyon. That’s her mistake. Natatakot sya sa what ifs. Natatakot syang sumugal, lumaban.
Kung hindi ba sya pumayag na mag-break sila ni Chanyeol noon, ano na kaya sila ngayon?
“Ate Ellie tara na po. Salubungin na po natin yung passengers.” Lian’s voice brought her back to reality. She smiled at her and followed her palabas.
“Good afternoon. Please enjoy your trip. Thank you for flying with us.” Sabay-sabay nilang sabi sa mga tao. Lahat pa sila nakangiti but then lahat din sila nagulat, especially sya when she felt something cold in her head na tumutulo pababa.
“Ate Ellie!”
“Ellie!”
“That’s for our Chanyeol oppa! Slut!” Eun Jung’s fist curled into a ball at ready na syang patikimin nang hapkido skills nya ang walang hiyang babaeng nagbuhos sa kanya ng tubig but then pag-angat nya tingin, hinahaltak na palabas ng eroplano yung babae pati yung kasama.
“Are you okay Eun Jung-ah? Mr. Yoon please, make sure that that girl and her accomplice will be banned in this airlines.” Nagulat sya ng biglang may humawak sa pisngi nya at pinunasan ang mukha nya.
He’s here.
“Mr. Park please, take her out.” She heard Ruth said na agad namang sinunod ni Chanyeol. Teka saan nanggaling ang lalaking to? Isa din ba ito sa passengers nila? Ba’t hindi nya napansin?!
Mahigpit ang hawak nito sa kamay nya habang naglalakad sila pabalik ng lobby ng airport. People were all looking at the two them but mostly, they are following them. They were taking photos and blabbering behind their backs.
“Don’t look back. Don’t listen to them. Come on.” He said and mas lalo pa nitong hinigpitan ang pagkakahawak sa kamay nya. Of course because of that, the sparks, dumaloy na naman sparks sa balat nya.
Mas lalong pinagkaguluhan si Chanyeol paglabas nila ng airport. The fans were going crazy! As well as the press. Grabe ang sigawan at tulakan habang naglalakad sila papunta sa sasakyan. Kung hindi lang siguro dahil sa guards na bitbit ng lalaki yon, malamang sa malamang ay dinumog na sya ng fans para sabunutan.
“Oppa! Unnie! Chukahaeyo! Love wins!” (Chanyeol! Eun Jung! Congratulations! Love wins!) That particular scream made Eun Jung smile and held tighter to Chanyeol’s hand. Pagtingin nya sa lalaki ay nakangiti ito. Hindi man sa kanya nakatingin but then she knows na naramdaman nito na humigpit ang hawak nya.
Pagpasok sa sasakyan ay agad syang bumitaw sa kamay ng lalaki. He immediately gave her a jacket and shirt.
“Go change. Mr. Seo and I will just be outside. Open the window when you’re done.” He said and lumabas nga sila nung driver and naiwan sya loob. She took off her upper uniform na nabasa and also her scarf. Nagpunas sya and she made sure na hindi sya makikita kapag nagbihis sya.
She rolled down the car’s window when she’s done. Pagkababa ng bintana ng kotse ay agad nyang nakita si Chanyeol na nakangiti while talking to Dara Park. Anong namang ginagawa dito ng babaeng yan? Hindi ba nasa Pilipinas na sya?! Aba naman!
“Nagbihis lang ako nakikipag-ngitian at chikahan na sa iba ang lalaking ‘to! Ligwak na talaga ang proposal mong bwisit ka. Huwag ka nang umasa ng oo sakin!” she exclaimed and rolled up the car’s window. |
9c420cca9557476ca3f0e0318ae5713d | ['9e1b4ad737e84497a7065193d4f23e0b'] | Sundance raised an eyebrow. It was true that he and Butch had spent many nights alone, hiding in the Utah wilderness after their latest bank or payroll robbery. It was dishonest to deny that they often they turned to each other to seek solace from the cold and satisfy those nagging human itches.
He’d always suspected Etta knew about these nights, but if she did, she didn’t mention it.
He threw back another mouthful of whiskey and sighed as it began to tingle through his chest. He watched beneath long eyelashes as Butch’s hand began to move unconsciously close to brushing against his thigh. He swallowed hard, trying to prevent that tingle from spreading below his waist.
Sundance pulled Etta closer; his voice was low and demanding in her ear. “And I thought Butch was the one who did too much thinking.”
“He isn’t the only one with ideas. And I think it is only fair that he help finish what he interrupted, don’t you?”
Sundance didn’t really know what to say to that. “If you think so Etta.”
She took Butch by the wrist, drawing his hand deeper into the water and laying it on Sundance’s thigh.
Sundance tried to keep his face easy as Butch threw him a startled glance.
“What’s the matter? I didn’t think you boys were shy.”
Butch’s voice was rough. “But in front of a lady Etta? I mean we do pride ourselves on being gentlemen outlaws.”
She reached back into the water, removed Butch’s hand from Sundance’s thigh, and rested it on top of his hardening prick. Sundance let out a grunt as Butch closed around him. He spread his legs further as he felt Butch begin to stroke him in slow, tantalizing motions and pulled Etta’s chemise over her arms and down to her waist, exposing her soft, creamy breasts. He kissed her, his breath coming quickly against her mouth. As Butch’s hand worked faster; his groin tightening, he wove his hand in-between Etta’s thighs. She let out a moan, sitting up on her knees and arching into Sundance’s fingers as they teased her sensitive flesh; moving in time with Butch’s deft strokes.
As they moved faster in their desperation for satisfaction, water began to splash over the edge of the bath and pool across the floor.
Etta climaxed first with a high-pitched moan, falling back into Sundance’s chest with exhaustion. Sundance simply grunted, his head dropping back on the edge of the bath tub. They both lay still for a minute, recovering their breath, unable to move until their bodies were able to stop quivering.
As he opened his eyes, Sundance saw Butch getting up and heading toward the door; agitation written all over his face. Being a man who had always regarded it uncouth to pander to self-indulgence in front of a woman, he obviously decided to seek privacy to relieve himself of his own aching need.
Sundance looked questioningly at Etta. When she smiled and nodded, he quickly jumped out of the bath and ran to catching Butch’s arm as he opened the door. “Butch?”
He glanced over Sundance’s shoulder at Etta. “I…well…Etta…aw…you know how I am Kid…”
He had Butch out of his shirt and trousers before he could protest any further.
Etta stood up, her chemise falling from her waist and being left to float in the water. She stepped out of the bath and walked over to take Butch’s hand. “Let us look after you for a change Butch.” She pulled him away from the door and managed to coax him to sit on one of the bedrolls.
Butch sat perfectly still, he swallowed hard as his eyes devoured the curves of Etta’s body.
She dropped to her knees in front of him and leaned forward to stroke the greying hair at his temples, her eyes soft and encouraging. But Butch didn’t make a move to touch her. For all his thieving and lawless ways, Butch was an honorable man and Etta was, after all, Sundance’s girl.
Etta wrapped her legs around his waist and sat in his lap. “You’re a good man Butch; the finest I’ve ever known.” She kissed him firmly and sweetly on the mouth; her breasts kneading against his chest.
Butch’s hands finally managed to move and clasp her back. She lay back on the bedroll pulling Butch with her.
He hovered over her on hands and knees, her legs still wrapped around his waist. He reached out to trace his fingertips across her collarbone, down over her breasts and across her flat, white stomach. “You’re perfect Etta. Just perfect”, he murmured as he leaned in to kiss her.
Sundance, who had been enjoying Etta’s slow show of seduction, became tired of watching on the sidelines. He slid his hands on Butch’s hips, taking pleasure in the way Butch’s hips bucked forward in surprise. His fingers reached between Butch’s thighs, finding his mark and working with purpose.
Butch moaned loudly and thrust against Etta’s body. “Jesus Christ, Kid.”
Etta squirmed and writhed beneath him, her body straining to meet Butch’s. “It’s not polite to keep a girl waiting Butch.”
Butch carefully positioned himself against Etta. Still feeling a little uncomfortable with taking her in front of Sundance, he tried to avoid her eyes; he slowly and gently began to slide inside her. Etta moaned and thrust up against him, her hips moving quickly to encourage Butch into a satisfying rhythm. Losing his reservations, his body’s need to be fulfilled, he began to move his body in time with hers.
Sundance had no such inhibitions. He took a deep breath and began to thrust inwards.
They were soon moving at a smooth and even pace. Thrusting faster and harder together they moved towards their final satisfying crescendo.
As they lay gathering their breath, Butch sat up and folded his arms in indignation. “Now you can see what I have to put up with Etta. The Kid’s always riding me hard.”
**
“You know Kid, I was just thinking. If we took the bank at Villa Mercedes, some of that money would be from the bastards who turned all those hard workin’ men off their ranches. Kinda gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling of satisfaction.” Butch sat cross-legged on his bedroll. He was clad only in the pants of his long-johns with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.
Sundance was stretched out in front of the hearth, his head resting in Etta’s lap. “Maybe we could change our line of work and become crusaders for justice and peace.”
Butch met Sundance’s eyes and grinned. Grinned that big ole Butch Cassidy grin; as if Sundance had given him the moon. “You and me and Etta; we’ll take ‘em all on.”
Sundance to stare into the fire. “We always have, haven’t we?” | c84af3988aef4262bab549196d5fee84 | ['9e1b4ad737e84497a7065193d4f23e0b'] | He let go of one of Paul's shoulders; light fingers following the solid, carved torso through the thin cotton of his undershirt. As they strayed further below his waist, he could feel Paul twitch and try to push up into his rough caress. He began to feel blindly for his Paul's fly...
A hand reached out and grabbed his wrist to stop him going any further. Paul struggled up onto an elbow, gently pushing Robert away. His eyes were glassy and wild, breath coming quickly. He moved his lips to Robert's ear; his voice low as he spoke.
"Since this is possibly going to be your first twenty million dollar film, I suggest we continue this discussion somewhere slightly more private."
**
Robert woke about an hour from dawn breaking. From the even breaths beside him, he guessed that Paul was still sleeping. Shivering from the chill of the early morning, he got out of bed to shut the window. He cursed quietly as the frosty air hit his bare limbs.
Paul stirred and rolled over. "What are you doing awake? It's still dark."
"It's damn freezing in here."
When he got back into bed, Paul reached out pulled him into his arms, sliding a leg between his thighs. Robert just sighed and enjoyed the snug feeling of his friend's body.
Paul pressed his lips to the top of Robert's head. "You know Redford, you still haven't really answered my question."
Robert groaned in exasperation and spoke into Paul's chest. "What question?"
"About you and me working on another project together." Paul traced gentle fingers up and down his thigh.
Robert laughed. "You just keep thinking Paul. That's what you're good at." |
fa51537de68140d28cd0e6b3aab91b93 | ['9e34c4b195b04dc287b632a6dedb337d'] |
Our Quiet Flame
**Author's Note:**
> Written for the LIGHT AND DARK fanzine, which can be found here: https://deltazine.tumblr.com/
Inevitably, Ralsei was the first one to notice Kris lagging behind.
The camping trip had been a nice idea, yeah. The sound of hiking through Scarlet Forest made it a bit of a challenge to say yes to, yet still friendly enough that Kris didn’t immediately say no when Ralsei brought it up. Then Lancer had invited himself, and that meant Susie was coming along, and by that time Kris’ vote was one to four. But, hey. Kris couldn’t complain, even if the two bundles of mischief had dragged themselves along. It was _ camping. _ And Kris prided themselves on never missing a single day of camp.
_ And _ they were not tired, thank you very much. Sure, maybe their sword was dragging behind them and every second step was a stumble, but they were hardly exhausted. Just a wee bit drowsy from the previous night. Maybe a little weary from keeping up to Susie and Lancer’s pace. Kris could hardly call it tired.
(perhaps they had only gotten two hours of sleep. Hardly the point.)
But alas, the weariness was scanned furiously by Ralsei’s caring gaze. The next stumble did not go unnoticed. Nor did the next, or when Kris kicked a pebble against a tree by accident and the rock ricocheted off their armour. Ralsei looked on as they staggered forward again and halted. “Are you okay?” The little Shadow Prince asked.
Kris heaved the sword upright and did not look in the Shadow Prince’s eyes.
Which was as good as telling him Kris was close to passing out on the next step. “You’re tired!” Ralsei exclaimed. Half a field away, Lancer and Susie’s heads snapped up in recognition of weakness. “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you were just having trouble walking, I didn’t notice you were tired! I suppose you have been walking for a while --”
Kris waved the help away with one hand. “I’m fine,” they insisted.
By that time Susie and Lancer had lingered closer. The two troublemakers cackled once, and, with a flourish unmatched by the grace of a ballerina, Lancer scrambled forward to poke at Kris. “Aw, you look exhausted!” The little Spade sang. “Did our evil tricks before tire you out?”
Susie paused. The axe rested on the ground and the taller warrior bent down. “Huh,” she said. “Say, you do look like sh -”
“Hey, uncalled for,” Ralsei protested. Then, with gentleness matched only by Toriel, he looked to Kris. “You do look tired,” he said.
Which irked Kris. Granted, a lot of things tended to settle under their skin easily, but being the subject of three piercing gazes was unnerving _. _ They could feel their temper already shunting straight to annoyance, something that would quickly lead to their growing irritation. Irritation gave them headaches. Kris could not handle staggering along with a pounding pulse beating drums in their mind.
_Calm down,_ something chanted quietly. _Peacefully._ _Think peacefully._
Reluctantly, Kris shrugged off the stares. “Not tired,” they lied.
“Hogwash,” Lancer said with conviction as Susie dropped another word that Kris had heard their mother say once when she had smashed a plate. “Hey, watch the tier swears!”
“Not tired,” they insisted again, sending a glare at all three of them. Susie didn’t bother looking, and Lancer’s smile fell a few watts lower. Of the three, Ralsei was the only one who matched their stubborn look, with a stare that reeked of concern. It reminded them so much of another glare that they had to look away. They set their eyes to the treeline. “Let’s go.”
“Alright, pipsqueak, but don’t slow us down,” Susie said. The group moved forward.
Kris took one step, and that’s when their legs had enough.
They crashed. Hard. Armour hit ground, and their sword’s blade sunk deep into soil as they hit the ground with a huff and took a knee. It was the equivalent of a somersault in full-armour. The world revolved, round and round. When it finally stopped spinning was when they decided to completely pass out.
For a few seconds. They came awake to the laughter of two absolute imbeciles, and the near-shrieks of one half-hysteric fluffy boy. “Guys, _ stop laughing _ and help me get Kris under this tree,” Ralsei’s voice pleaded somewhere from their right, and that’s when strong hands hoisted Kris up and led them weakly to their feet. Purple swayed to and fro in their vision. It was still laughing. “Kris! Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Kris called out. They probably weren’t. “Tree root.”
“Why are you so _ tired _ ?” Susie’s voice snorted from the blur of purple, and her hands fell from supporting them. Kris felt their legs wobble. “All-nighter? You look like the nerd who spends all night reading _ fiction _ .”
“Not tired,” they gritted out again, and then promptly fell over again. Yippee.
Susie laughed hard. Ralsei, too concerned to even formulate a sentence now, ducked down and lifted their arm around his shoulder. “Let’s set camp,” the prince insisted quickly. “Make a fire. Let Kris sleep.”
“I’m not --”
“Dude.” Susie squatted down by their useless attempts to get up, and laughed again. It held no mirth, only wicked glee. “Dude, you’re falling asleep right here and now. Conk out before you trip down a cliff. Or another Pon. Man, you should’ve seen the way you face-planted.”
Lancer had spent this entire time loudly cackling, but now he squatted down just like Susie and stuck his tongue out again. “Let’s do the ‘camping’ now, then! Kris can rest and we can burn logs ‘n roast Dark Candy. It’ll be like, Fun Gang time 2.0!” A shift, and then the little Spade glanced around widely, brimmed with excitement. “Where’s your axe? There was a plain of trees back there!” | 0f958eb6cc7044b581b8079f24ad71f6 | ['9e34c4b195b04dc287b632a6dedb337d'] |
if one could change
**Author's Note:**
> i told myself i wasn't gonna do it, wasn't gonna write this angst old war dads
>
> nope. failed.
>
> here's some trash
_Most beings would tend to consider meeting a Lord one of the most exalting experiences to bear witness to. The visuals of the Rich, the power of Knowledge: all of that glamorized beauty before them with inviting attraction to be taken in, and admired. Humans were the weakest, too quick to jump to that chance of riches, even if it was only to ogle and gawk at the displays of wealth helplessly. They mimicked pets, animals before their masters, begging with carnal appetites to be satisfied with scraps. Even some of their own kind would shame themselves committing such denouncing acts; such Cybertronians named Starscream, to name an example. There were even those who did such in front of him, as if he was an all-powerful God of prosperity sent by Primus Himself to bestow gifts of fortune and wealth to those who treated him with overwhelming respect and obedience. The very concept was off-settling, and filthy in moral standards. He was nothing more than a protector, a leader with commands to defend those incapable of defending themselves. He was not a Lord, nor a God, and most definitely not an immortal weapon of mass destruction with the strength to hurtle entire civilizations to ruin._
_He was a Prime._
_However, when he met a Lord, he was not a Prime. He was merely a librarian, new to the aspects of life, curious by life and death, clueless to the betraying antics of some. And, the Lord himself was not yet a lord, just a simple gladiator with pure antics, too pure and vulnerable to brittle attack._
_The very first time he met Lord Megatron, he was Orion Pax, and Megatron was yet still Megatronus, both of them innocent to the cruel blade of Primus’ world. That all changed too quickly._
_He remembered the very first words Megatron had spoken to him, kind and with good intent._
“Are you the archivist?”
He was shocked to hear the words at first. They were gruff and sharp with awkward chivalry, manners spoken as if it was the first time getting them out. Quicker than he would’ve liked to admit he spun around, startled at the company. The data tablet in his hands slipped; fumbling, he played a fool’s card trying to keep it from hitting the ground. The tablet chuckled at his antics and dodged, straight through his stumbling hands to the ground. Only then did his feet decide to give out beneath him, and with a crash that could beat the loudness of Ratchet’s tantrums, he fell into the side of the data table.
_Ouch._
“O-Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there,” his tongue stuttered, naive and foolish in its journey of speaking. Not even attempting to stand up, he carefully tried to reach the data tablet and stare at the one who had caused this mess discreetly. He failed both. “I was just reading, and-”
He glanced up. Polished war silver, a sharp tower in the room of knowledge gleamed daringly back at him.
_He forgot how to talk._
“-ah, yes, I am the archivist. Orion Pax. That’s my name. Orion Pax.” The data tablet was forgotten. Talking became merely a nuisance to his ogling at the warrior.
The mech seemed familiar with this uncertainty at his appearance. “My apologies,” said the gladiator, apology as if almost reflexively etched into his tongue, and, with a well-practiced carefulness, the giant hunched over him to help him find his feet again. Taking the Cybertronians hand, he let the mech pull him up. He was embarrassed to find a carefully crafted smirk lined into the gladiator’s face. “My appearance tends to startle even the sternest of sparks.”
“What would you be here for?” He bit back a retort that would’ve sent him home with an aching aft. Dusting non-existent dirt off himself, he avoided the amused chuckle. “We don’t often get gladiators around these parts.”
“Research.” And like that, the mood was sobered, shot from the air with sternness not even Ratchet could mimic.
"Research?” The archivist in him perked up, and he regarded the warrior with a new light. Gladiators were not the type to do research. “What sort of research?”
“Research prompted by curiousity.” The directness hung fiercely from the gladiator’s tongue, an answer demanding quiet, and he cowered from it willingly. He had forgotten his place; he even had the decency to openly question a powerful stranger without even knowing his name. The rudeness of his actions was astonishing.
“Oh, of course.” He didn’t say anything else. Bending over, he went for the tablet.
Sharp fingers, crafted with the care to be delicate and lethal, beat him to it.
“Let me get that.” The voice told him, and he drew back, just enough that he could feel the throbbing _life_ rushing through the one beside him. Something fluttered in him; he ignored it, a feeling best for somewhere else, and some other time. The hand drew the tablet up, and then the same gently dangerous claws fingered the inanimate machine.
When they held out the tablet, he found himself hesitating before taking it.
It _wasn’t_ because he was intimidated. It _wasn’t_ because they looked too gentle. His hand barely brushed against the claws when he finally grew courage to reach out a shaking hand, and the metal was fiercely brave against his. He hated when he lingered there longer than he should have.
The screen of the tablet was cracked. He almost could feel angry at the mech for assisting in breaking it. _Almost._
“Oh.” He made it sound like he was unconcerned about his hands, or the tablet. Something in him stiffened as he did so. “It’s cracked.” |
2853f02ef23d412093ab3745f5ed0a61 | ['9e43291850f7432284d6bce2b243836e'] | The first officer asked him to come over and take a quick look at the body, who by some miracle was still alive. Poor lad looked like it might be kinder to let him die, he was skin and bone, swollen and bruised, half dressed, the skin that wasn’t red and purple was taking on a grey bluish tinge.
He confirmed he’d never seen the young man before, he’d left his glasses upstairs but he certainly didn’t have any men in his acquaintance that would walk about half naked late at night.
He heard the ambulance arrive rather than stay out there and wait with the officer, it wasn’t any of his business after all but, by this time, all the neighbours were leaning out of their windows or standing on their balconies, the morning sun giving out a harsh light.
***
Alastair just kept staring at the figure in the bed, prostrate and lifeless. The smell of the boarding house (read: brothel) wouldn’t clear despite the open window, he breathed through his mouth and held a handkerchief to his face all the while trying to be discreet, there really was no dignity in death he thought.
Joe on the other hand had no such hang ups, loudly proclaiming that it smelt like a toilette and holding his nose.
The chief was already there when they arrived, because of course he was. He didn’t seem overly phased, it was all pretty straight forward. Someone, they assumed male, had maybe forced his way in to the madame’s living quarters, bashed her about a bit then strangled her to death, judging by the marks on her throat. The autopsy would confirm their theory.
The assailant was obviously looking for something, belongings were scattered haphazardly, but in a way that suggested a struggle and purpose rather than just a slovenly woman.
They did all they could and left the doctor and a couple of uniforms waiting with the body for the ambulance and made their way back to the station.
Alastair had only just gotten back to his desk when Jos appeared next to him, “I think you and Joe might be interested in this” he called Joe over rather shyly before carrying on. “a call came through to switchboard, uniform were going to attend but it sounded like something you would want to chase up, a man was taken to the Necker Hospital, barely alive.”
Ever impatient Joe said “And!?”
“And-” said Jos grinning, “He was tall, slim, wearing jeans, loafers and huge dark coat. Has dark hair like Jiames Dean and for the very few moments he regained consciousness he muttered something about a duchess.”
Joe yelped and jumped at the same time, then in a move that shocked Jos more than Alastair, landed a sloppy kiss on Jos’s cheek. “I owe you a drink! Come on Ali we’ve got a stroppy unconscious prima donna to speak to.”
Alastair grinned at the flustered uniform, “go and get a breath of fresh air before you catch fire” Jos thanked him before turning an even brighter shade of pink and wandering off a bit dazed.
Joe chattered non stop all the way to the hospital. “Hair like James Dean, please he was a mess when I saw him. Bet some besotted nurse called it in. Jos is nice, he transferred from the Latin Quarter, I thought he’d be a detective by now but he says he likes uniform. I miss uniform a little, but I prefer wearing a suit. Did you hear the Chief arguing with the Judiciaire? You ask me there are too many cooks at the top.” he pauses for breath chuckles at ‘cooks’ and then sallies forth again. “I think we have a leak in the station, details appear in the papers that we’d never give the press. Colly is totally hooking up with someone in the station and I am going to find out who.”
Joe just kept going, he didn’t really need you to actually respond, he just jumped from subject to subject with little or any connection, it was great, white noise to fill the air. Alastair all the while was playing over the evening before, the precious half an hour he’d spent with Jimmy drinking cheap wine and sharing a plate of food, he’d meant to call Jimmy today but hadn’t gotten around to it, too busy to sneak out and use the payphone.
***
A nurse greeted them and pointed them both in the direction of the ward, the hospital was cold, white walls, linoleum floors squeaking under their feet, it smelt of Lysol and carbolic soap, it was the sort of place that you’d get better just so you could leave. They found the ward sister, a terrifyingly competent individual who Alastair fell in love with immediately, who placed a call for the doctor.
Alastair and Joe waited patiently on plastic chairs, Joe quiet seemingly too frightened of the sister to make any noise, leg bouncing next to Alastair’s. A fair headed man in a white coat with the collar turned up appeared, smile plastered on his face, “Detective Cook and Detective Root?” they stood and nodded, “hello, I’m Doctor Swann, the nurses call me Doctor Love.” it was said with a straight face and Alastair didn’t know whether to laugh or arrest him.
“I doubt that.”
The doctor pretended to look wounded for a moment and then grinned at them both again, “You’re here for our sleeping beauty I guess?” at which he span on the balls of his feet, white coat twirling and marched off purposely towards a door, leaving Joe and Alastair to follow quickly after him.
*** | 09e9ae3e3c2d42d1af79b3a6272b134b | ['9e43291850f7432284d6bce2b243836e'] | Untitled Cookerson Short Fic
**Author's Note:**
> Jimmy joins Cooky on the farm.
> Total PG Fluff.
>
> I'm having a lot of Cookerson feels right now, but I can't do angst just yet.
Cooky stands up straight and then does a little back bend and rolls his neck. It’s hard work literally shovelling shit.
He hears muttered swearing from behind him and turns.
Jimmy is making his way towards him, unaware of Cooky’s gaze. Jimmy’s picking his way over, nose wrinkled in vague but undisguised disgust, his tongue poking out in concentration as he squelches. Jimmy has on odd wellington boots, Cooky doubts Jimmy has realised as they are covered in mud, but one is red and the other is slightly shorter. the Jeans are fashionably skinny and he has obviously found an old hoodie of Cooky’s, it’s too short in the arms but too big everywhere else. In his hands are two mugs of something hot, Cooky assume tea.
Jimmy finally stands in front of him, smelling clean and of sandalwood, grinning, “thought you could use a cuppa”.
“Thanks Jim.”
Jimmy hands him the mug and then looks about for somewhere to sit. He finds an upturned Barrel which is filthy but dry, he gives it a hard stare and Cooky wonders if Jimmy is trying to scare it clean, but then he sighs dramatically and sits down a bit preciously. Cooky can tell he is worrying about his jeans.
“Why don’t you use the hoody?”
Jim stares at him in consternation, “Its bloody cold! I’m not taking it off!”
Cooky had removed his jumper ages ago - god knows where is it - as it’s hot work moving manure and hay, but he supposed in the early, almost autumn morning it is a little chilly.
Cooky hears crinkling and notices that Jimmy is opening a packet of Chocolate Digestives.
“Thought we could share these.” Jimmy holds the open packet towards him and grins like a child.
There is silence for a while, they drink their tea and munch on biscuits and enjoy the peace and fresh air. Cooky gives the mug back to Jimmy who takes and a pops it between his thighs, then he turns back to his job.
Jimmy is still munching the biscuits when he starts to ask questions, like, ‘what is Cooky going to use the manure for?” and “does it always smell this bad?” or “do the cows like being milked?” and “Has one ever shat on you as you were hearing them?” or Cooky’s personal favourite “When people come to watch the Lambing, do you clean the farm?”
Cooky isn’t sure where this stream of consciousness comes from but Jimmy is very chatty when he is comfortable with someone. Jimmy doesn’t seem to need answers, and soon there is a running commentary of Instagram posts “what is Broady thinking?” and Twitter (apparently there are several views that Jimmy does not agree with), also the WhatsApp group is arranging something and Jimmy thinks its “gonna be shite” but tells Cooky he has said hi to everyone for him and then snaps a photo, Cooky assumes to send to everyone as well.
Cooky stands up straight again and stretches his arms high above his head, suddenly he notices the quiet. He looks at Jimmy who is staring at him. “What?”
Jimmy licks his lips.
“Jim? What?”
Jimmy sort of blushes and scratches the back of his head. “Oh you know just admiring the view.”
Cooky is confused then realises that Jimmy is checking him out. “Oh you like this then huh?”
Jimmy doesn’t say anything.
“I wondered why you were out here. I thought you were keeping me company.”
Jimmy nods “I am keeping you company.”
“No you aren’t, you are out here because your libido is ridiculous and you think I’m hot stuff.”
Jimmy laughs, “I brought you tea and biscuits! It had nothing to do with me libido!”
Cooky just looks at him blankly.
“Fine! So you shovelling shit apparently does something to me and I wanted to come out here and watch you do practical shit with your arms.”
Cooky smirks and then grins, “turned on are we James?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
“Not!”
Cooky turns back to the shovel and then beams, “Bloody hell I’m really hot.”
The next thing he hears is “You annoying prick! I’m gonna dump this t-shirt in the mud!!”
“Feel free, I don’t need it.”
“Whatever.”
Cooky gives Jimmy another look, there he is, arms folded, looking sulky, and refusing to move. Cooky goes back to work and knows that Jimmy will be about to scrub the mud off later, once he stops pouting.
The end.
**Author's Note:**
> Thank you for reading. |
1bb5de5add104926a53b0dd0222351b3 | ['9e4c55d9261e40588c1d3eea0345955d'] | The Queen's Castle
The world was a big jumbled up mess in the void of compassion.The wind stirred around the front of the castle with a chill that would drive a man crazy.This castle, that no one had been in since the death of the Queen, two hundred years ago, stood all alone, and it was lonely. So, by this time it was calling for someone, to rid it of this loneliness. But the castle had a problem, no one came close enough for the magic to reach them. So the castle stood alone forever, calling, calling, moaning in pain, and eventually it silenced. The castle's magic seeped into the earth. The castle that once had the heart of a Queen, that would last forever, now was falling apart because it had lost it's soul. The earth had finally captured the prize it had tried to seize since the Queen's death. Now the Queen really was lost. Eventually, there was no sign that the castle had ever been there.
The people forgot about both the castle and the Queen. But, the earth never forgot. It had the Queen's soul. The earth thrived from that time on. And the world became normal again.
Maybe, no one else cares enough to remember them, but I do. That's why I write this. I will remember you who are reading this and them after time ends. I will remember when there is no one left to remember. May the earth take care of your soul. May the earth thrive and live forever more. | d72ece4d0f2c4f3faabab46b169e0a35 | ['9e4c55d9261e40588c1d3eea0345955d'] | The Maiden in the Forest
The maiden slowly strolled through the wood. The forest was dark but she could still see the path before her. Shadows were long and they fell in her wake, but she was not afraid of them. She stared down at her bare feet as she walked. Mist engulfed her as she moved making her feel magical. In that moment, she felt as if she could do anything.
An image filtered through her mind. It was of a young man. He bore a full smile showing pointy teeth within his mouth. His ashen hair (the color of tree bark) was long, but not too long; just the way that the girl liked it. The shaggy man’s eyes were glittering wildly. The mischief contained in those orbs filled the girl with joy. This was the man that she had grown up with. He had always been there for her and she loved him. He was waiting for her down this trail, but she was in no hurry to reach him, for she wanted to first admire the silent moon.
As she passed the tree that she had always called the goblin tree, she sent her eyes up to the full moon. One little cloud was seated beside it. They were such a happy pair that it brought small tears to the maiden's eyes. With one hand, she wiped the liquid away while raising the other up into a diagonal line and reached toward that moon. Her whole being longed to be joined with that moon. She cleared her mind of all other thoughts and said a blessing unto the moon spirits. “If you can hear, mighty spirits, please give me luck tonight when I tell him of the love buried deep within my heart. I ask this in your name, oh mighty moon of women’s power and nature.” With that, she threw her head back, twirled in a little circle, and then took a deep breath.
The musty smell of the wood filled her empty lungs. This was her favorite scent because it was her home in every essence. She felt ready to move on now with confidence, and she slowly removed her silken dress that she had worn to the market.
Standing there naked, she felt peace radiate to her from moonbeams. The spirits were shining their blessing upon her. Smiling, she embraced this feeling, and soon her form began to change. Her face shrank and hair grew from every gland on her body. The hair was pure white and it soon left no visible trance of skin. Her eyes turned from their color of blue to a deep reflective green. She felt powerful and at ease as tiny paws replaced her delicate hands. She could no longer hold herself upright and gravity knocked her to all fours. She was ready for this, though, and so she took the fall amiably and with grace.
She was ready to face her future now as she stared one last time up at the mystical moon before running swiftly down the trail that would lead to the clearing which was the place of her birth. Tonight was the day of her mating ceremony. As the princess of the wolves, she had to choose in front of the rest of the pack. She had been troubled when first morning broke, but now she was tranquil and was ready to begin her new life. As she ran into the clearing, the mist closed the space so that her image seemed to disappear into nothing. |
2ca9d002ea384c26937b2d3a08a74c8d | ['9e55510d5a0a41eda99e98adde046870'] | It wasn’t a crush. It wasn’t. It was just pure professional respect and admiration, from one athlete to another. They all watched the Falconers religiously. Of course they did. It was Jack’s team. And Bitty was so on top of things. He and Jack were oddly good at keeping in touch. He kept bringing them all the Falconer’s behind-the-scenes stuff. He knew so much about everyone on the team. It was kind of amazing, honestly, how did he have time for his classes?
But Ransom didn’t have a crush on Tater, not really. It was just…
Okay, so it happened like this. Ransom had a quiz in chem and a paper due in English lit on the same day, with two of his hardest teachers. He was having a panic attack under the table and Holster was giving him encouraging pats while maintaining a steady conversation with some of the guys from the team. When Ransom finally came up from the table, Holster was distracted. Rans even tried to text March, but she didn’t answer. He knew she was busy all day, she was great at letting him know ahead of time when it would be radio silence so he wouldn’t spend the whole time freaking out.
But then, Bitty had made them watch those cheesy “Meet the Falcs” videos on YouTube and he just kind of… imprinted on Tater. Like a fucking duck. He was huge for one thing. Ransom could just imagine being all wrapped up in Tater, how small he would feel. Tater could take care of him, hold him. God, he could probably pick him up. Mmm, there were distinct possibilities there. Thinking back, it was probably the moment where Alexei put his arm around Jack in the video. I mean Jack was big, but Alexei, he was huge. He also just seemed so comfortable. With himself and with everyone else. Not many people could put Jack at ease. It took Shitty a while to figure it out. But there Tater was, poking fun at Jack and being a good dude.
And maybe it was the accent. Yes, definitely the accent.
Okay, so here’s the thing. The first time Ransom jacked off to gay porn, it was Russian men fucking each other. Rans was attracted to women, definitely. But porn with women was so rough and seemed downright disrespectful. He would watch it and get hard and he could even get off, but somewhere in the back of his brain, he knew that the way women were treated wasn’t right. At 11, he had the genius idea to read one of his sociology professor mom’s books on sex and sexuality. He knew there was a chapter on porn and he thought, who knows, maybe he’d get some adult information about sex or maybe even tips on where to find porn. Instead, he learned that most porn dehumanizes women, teaches bad sex practices, and that real female orgasms are incredibly rare in mainstream porn. So when he discovered gay male porn, it was like a light coming on. Yeah, male porn actors were still acting, but both people were usually, observably enjoying themselves and that eased the guilt that constantly took Ransom out of the moment watching women in porn.
And so yeah, he had some kind of pavlovian response where his dick got hard as soon as he heard a Russian accent. Sometimes he had to be careful watching thrillers because Russian henchmen would often show up and he would have to adjust himself carefully. One of the unexpected upsides of a rampant anxiety disorder was that no one in the Haus was all that surprised if Rans curled up in a ball or shifted positions restlessly on the couch.
And maybe it was more than that. Maybe when March was too busy and Holster was out, maybe Ransom watched all the YouTube videos he could find of Alexei. Maybe he practiced saying his name and getting the accent right. Alexei. Alexei Mashkov. English speakers tended to say “Alek-say,” but Russians said it differently. Everything flowed together smoothly. Ransom still couldn’t quite get it right, but he was closer than most people.
Maybe he felt like his heart was going to beat out of his fucking chest when they went to watch Jack’s first game. He had wondered how close he would get to Tater. They hadn’t talked at the time, but he’d probably go to another Falcs game, right? Would they ever talk? No, they couldn’t, right. Ransom honestly probably wouldn’t survive it. But he made sure to tell Jack to say hi to Tater for him. Maybe he’d notice Ransom. Maybe Alexei would see him and…
But Rans had March. That was all he needed. Right? | 16c7aac915c3420db5cf2ff829499940 | ['9e55510d5a0a41eda99e98adde046870'] | Sam sat at the bar with his much-needed beer in hand. He swiveled around on his stool for a minute to look back at the booth. He wasn’t up for this conversation today, but he knew that Steve could push back on this kind of nonsense. He wasn’t so sure where Natasha stood, though. He sat watching their body language. Bucky wouldn’t make eye contact and he was spending most of the conversation shaking his head. Steve looked tense, but his eyes were bright and he looked focused. He always talked with his hands, but during conversations like this, it got even more exaggerated. Natasha was an interesting one. She looked calm, actually, if just a tad formal, sitting with perfect posture and her head raised high. She had her hands on the table, crossed over one another, and her eyes followed the conversation. Even when she spoke, everything stayed even and she looked incredibly calm. Yeah, she was letting Bucky know what was up, he would bet his meager fortune on it.
Sam had just turned back to the bar, deciding to enjoy his solace a little longer, when he heard some shuffling and hushed voices. He couldn’t imagine Steve getting aggressive with Bucky, but he also did _not_ want to pull that boy out of another fight, so he turned back quickly. Thankfully, it was just Bucky getting up to walk out the door. Steve moved to follow, but Natasha grabbed his arm and said something that stopped him. _That’s a good thing,_ Sam thought. Steve never really understood that most people need time to cool down and process after an argument. He always tended to keep going and going and it often made things worse.
Sam decided to walk over, just in case there needed to be a second voice on team “Dear God, Steve, do not follow people around and tell them they’re wrong over and over.” He got back to the table and slid into the booth.
“So, that went well.”
Steve snorted and Natasha let out a little chuckle with the breath she had been holding.
“Honestly, I think this was good for James. He just needs some time to walk around and let everything he just heard sink in. He’ll come around.”
“I take it this hasn’t come up before?” Sam asked, genuinely curious. He knows his family had always tended to be more on the activist / social consciousness side of things, but that wasn’t true for everyone.
“Not really,” she answered, but didn't elaborate. And that was fine. Sam could see how talking about your White brother’s latent racist beliefs might be more third date conversation territory.
Sam tried to sort back through his day, thinking about what he could and couldn’t share. He’d always been kind of an open book, but now that he was in his 3rd year of his doc program, a lot of his time was spent doing clinical work that was all confidential. He loved what he did, but sometimes he missed the lighthearted shit-talking he could do at the end of the day when he was working retail. He decided to go with the classic therapist move and get someone else talking instead.
“What were you up to today Natasha?”
She looked at him and gave a brief smile before answering: “Gave a talk to a sorority about sexual health. Worked on a grant proposal for NIH funds. The usual.”
“How’d that go?” Steve asked, finally perking up from his forlorn Bucky watch he’d gotten caught up in and turning away from the door.
Sam was listening, really he was, but he just… sometimes watching Natasha’s lips move was mesmerizing. He thought that if he also listened to her talking about a) sex and b) her extreme competence at her job, he’d probably fall in love/lust instantly. So instead, he let his attention drift a bit and enjoyed looking at her face. He wondered if she’d slap his hand if he messed with her curls the way his high school girlfriend did when they were fooling around. It’d taken a few lectures about the amount of time it took her to get her hair done for him to finally stop. He’d be willing to risk a few slaps to see if Natasha’s hair was as soft as it looked. Her curls had just a hint of red in them if the light caught them right, and Sam found it all very intriguing.
Sam blinked, startled, as Natasha turned back to him and gave him a quick, teasing smile that let him know she knew what he was doing. He couldn’t help but smile back. His peers and his clients always told him he was totally transparent with his feelings, and he could just imagine how he looked, smiling adoringly at Natasha in this skeezy bar while Steve earnestly interrogated her about the grant writing process for sexual health projects. But with Natasha smiling back at him like that, he really wasn’t sure he cared.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> Whew! That was a long break between chapters. I couldn't even bring myself to look at this fic in the wake of the U.S. election of he-who-shall-not-be-named to our presidency. It's been a rough few months and it's going to be a rough few years, but here we are. Life keeps going, and I'll keep writing the fic I want to see in the world.
**Author's Note:**
> So this is my first fic... ever. If you choose to comment, please be gentle. I haven't written anything non-academic since I was maybe 10. But I've been inspired by the talent and generosity in fanfic and thought I'd try my hand at it. Thanks for reading! |
dcf71e050c154650b1e329427f033722 | ['9e61577a2d754622a2298de925878e22'] | The things that caused Klaus the most trouble were the flashbacks. Like mentioned before, although his time in Vietnam 1968 may not have happened yet, he remembered and he relived it at the most random of times. In the middle of missions, when the gunshots of the bad guys sounded a bit too much like the rifles that shot at them; sometimes when Reginald yelled at him for not paying attention, it was only because he was reliving a certain battle where he and Dave had almost died together, or, more often, the battle where one of them had actually died. He remembered that day as clearly as if it was yesterday and he would never forget it for the rest of his life. He would remember the feeling of Dave's blood on his hands and he would cry until he couldn't, sometimes in front of his siblings, sometimes while alone. He would scream even more than usual in the night, but no one would hear with his sound proof walls, so he suffered in silence while the ghosts tormented him and he cried over and over for Dave to come back to him. On the nights he could sleep, it wasn't for long and he always relived that one day in his dreams, waking with Dave's name on his lips.
Those nights (which were almost every night) were the ones that caused him to want to turn back to drugs and alcohol the most.
But he didn't.
Because it was for Dave.
After a few weeks and his siblings slowly taking notice of the things he was experiencing, when it happened to be a very stressful day for him, having been yelled at multiple times after having multiple flashbacks that he really didn't want, and the ghosts wouldn't stop appearing behind his eyes when he closed them and wouldn't stop screaming when he opened them, and he felt like he was going to explode if he didn't take something, Vanya came up to him and invited him to hang out with her in her room. He really hadn't felt like being around anyone at that time, but he gave it when she insisted that everyone else was busy and she wanted to play violin for someone.
Klaus sat on her bed and relaxed backwards as she got her violin ready. She had obviously retained her violin skills from when she was an adult, not that she wasn't good at violin when she was thirteen before because she was, but she was much more advanced this time around than she was before.
Klaus laid backwards and closed his eyes when she started to play a soft, slow melody that he didn't know the name of, but it sounded vaguely familiar. For the first time all day, the ghosts weren't there and he felt completely at ease as the professional sounding song drifted on. It was so calming that he almost feel asleep, although he tried his best not to, not wanting to offend Vanya and make her think that her playing was boring to him. He was so far away from his head while she played that he didn't even notice when she had stopped playing until she suddenly spoke to him.
"Are you asleep?" She asked in her usual soft tone.
Klaus quickly opened his eyes and sat up, and shook his head rapidly.
"No, no, of course not! That was just wonderful, my dearest sister." He grinned widely at her, hoping silently that she couldn't tell that he was lying and was still a few seconds away from falling asleep.
She could tell, but she was anything but offended. It was, after all, her plan to help him sleep by playing a quiet and sleeping melody.
"You can sleep, you know," She said, "I won't be offended. I know you've had more trouble sleeping than you usually do."
Klaus looked down at his lap momentarily before looking back at her. "Your playing is amazing though. Why would I want to sleep through it?"
"Look Number Four, you don't have to tell us about what's been causing you more trouble than usual, but I've noticed that you've sober as of lately and I just wanted to tell you that I'm proud of you. I don't know what's caused this sudden change, but I hope you stick to it and I hope that you know that if you ever have trouble sleeping or want to talk about it or just any trouble at all, that any one of us would gladly to help you. I wouldn't mind you waking me up in the middle of the night to play you violin if it would help you sleep calmly for once. And I'm sure Ben wouldn't mind you waking him up either. I know me and our siblings haven't always been the best to you either, but I want to try like they've tried for me and I'm sure they do to."
Klaus wanted to cry and tell her everything about Dave and his time in Vietnam, but he was way too tired then so he just nodded to her violin and fell asleep to the sound of the quiet melody and the feeling of a blanket being placed over him.
The next morning, Klaus got his siblings together and he told them all about Dave, Vietnam, and everything that happened there, the good and the bad (although maybe not the dirty). After that day, Klaus would sit with his siblings as they talked and he'd join in sometimes, he'd watch and talk as Diego practiced throwing his knifes, he closed his eyes and slept as Vanya played him a different melody every time he came to her, but sometimes they just talked, about Dave or about whatever they wanted to. He would go to Allison and they'd dress up in her skirts and they did each others make up and he'd tell her about what he loved about Dave, and he'd go to Ben and Ben would read to him whatever book he was reading at the time and he would chip in little comments that would make Ben laugh whenever he could. Klaus never really went to Luther without any other of their siblings being with him. Luther locking Vanya up hit way too close to home for Klaus and even though Luther might've felt bad for what he had done, Klaus was still cautious. He'd go to Five and Five would play board games with him and he'd ask Five about Delores and what she was like and the reasons why he loved her and he would listen as Five went on and on about Delores as he thought over his own reasons for loving Dave and he'd think that love came in many different forms for many different reasons, but Five's reasons for loving Delores were sort of similar to Klaus's reasons for loving Dave. Five loved Delores because she was the only one left (even if she was a mannequin) and, even if their conversations were mostly just him imagining her voice in his head, he loved that she listened and talked him down when he was sick and tired of living in the wasteland that he used to call Earth and she made him feel as though even though he was the last human alive that he wasn't actually alone. Klaus loved Dave because Dave was there for him from the time that he arrived in 1968 to Dave's death. He loved that Dave listened to him on the nights when neither of them could sleep because of the noises they heard outside, even though he probably sounded insane every time he talked. He loved that Dave never once seemed to think he was crazy or pathetic when he talked about the ghosts he saw and how they yelled at him and about the things that he had down just to get them to go away for the night. In turn for Klaus's stories, Dave would tell him his own stories and Klaus would listen with as much attention on Dave as possible when there was a war going on outside. He loved Dave because Dave made him feel hopeful and loved for once in his life and he never wanted to ever be parted from Dave.
But of course the universe never gave what he wanted.
And if many years later, Klaus asked Five for a trip to and from Vietnam 1968 because he wanted to visit a loved one, then it was no one but his and Five's business, but if they came back with an extra party who looked like they had just had a near death experience and made Klaus happier than he had ever been and who happened to be named Dave and who knew nothing about things that came out later than 1968, then it's not like the Hargreeves' siblings could be mad or anything. He made Klaus after all, so what could they say against it?
And for Klaus, he did get to be happy in the end. Because he had a reason to be. He had his siblings and Pogo and Grace and he had Dave and what else could he ask for?
Although the PTSD never really went away for Klaus or Dave and the withdrawals Klaus when through for the first weeks made Klaus want to either die or down every pill and alcohol bottle in the house and the ghosts were always still there, Klaus believed that it was all worth it in the end. He went through it all for Dave and he would got through it all again for Dave.
After all, what wouldn't he do for Dave? | 5241747562194f6e8e67c8ff5f084bb6 | ['9e61577a2d754622a2298de925878e22'] | They had made a great amount of progress in his therapy sessions. They became friends.
Which is why it hit Rebecca so hard when Castor Caster went missing two years after their therapy sessions began.
The last thing that they had talked about was his little sister’s death. He was telling her that he was finally prepared to tell her about what happened to his sister when his mother showed up forty minutes early and forced him to go home.
Rebecca considered it less of a coincidence and more a deviation from the plan Olivia Carter had created to get away with anything.
So when Castor missed their next appointment and the news of Olivia Carter’s only child left going missing was all over the news, Rebecca knew she couldn’t do anything about it.
But she knew there was something not right happening. But she had no evidence, no sway in the world that would make any difference.
So when the police apparently found evidence that proved Castor Carter, son of the famous Olivia Carter, was dead, everyone mourned for him. Rebecca mourned. They never released what evidence they had found, keeping it secret while they searched for a possible murderer, if there even was one.
Rebecca had other patients. She helped them to the best of her abilities and they left at the end of each appointment, her knowing more about their lives than they knew about hers. She vowed to never form a friendship with patient again.
Three years after Castor Carter had gone missing and two years after evidence had been found that he was dead, Rebecca sat at her desk in her office, holding a notepad and pen in her hands as she squinted her eyes at the seventeen year old boy that sat in front of her on the long grey couch reserved for patients. He sat with his knees pulled to his chest, holding them close as he perched his chin on top of them. He had a weary and tired look on his face, with a hint of sadness that was nearly undecipherable, but Rebecca was used to having to find out how her patients were feeling if they would not tell her themselves. His expression did not look like one that a seventeen year old should had to wear.
He had an Iron Man bandaid on his cheek, it not fully covering a long scratch that ran along his face. He looked like he had the world upon his shoulders and there was no one that could help him bear the weight. He wore an ugly Christmas sweater that looked extremely old and worn out, there being jagged rips in the sleeves and red stains in some areas of it, which Rebecca hoped was ketchup stains, even though she knew right away they weren’t. He had black jeans and black boots, both of which had mud caked all over them. Rebecca didn’t even complain when he walked over her carpet with his muddy boots.
Contrary to some people’s beliefs (cough cough *Olivia Carter’s* cough cough), Rebecca was not stupid. She knew exactly who was sitting in her office, looking like he had gotten hit by a car, after having been missing for three years and confirmed dead for two. She knew she should probably be freaking out, calling the police and telling them that the missing and confirmed dead son of the famous philanthropist Olivia Carter was sitting in her office, very much still alive, doing anything else other than sitting there and waiting for him to talk to her. Tell her where he had been for the past three years. Why he was sitting there in her office. Anything.
Rebecca was smart. She knew that doing anything but her job at the moment could scared the boy she had considered the closest she would ever have to a son away again. So she did the thing she knew best.
She asked questions and she listened.
“Tell me your story,” She specified.
Castor’s gaze flickered towards the ground, his eyes wide and empty and moving back and forth, as if he was searching for something that wasn’t there. He didn’t move or speak for a while and the therapist opened her mouth to repeat her words incase he hadn’t heard her, when he spoke a single sentence.
“You wouldn’t believe me.”
Could his story really be so complicated that he thought that the therapist that had done her best to help him three years ago, wouldn’t believe him?
“Why, Castor, do you think I wouldn’t believe you? I’d like to think of myself as an open-minded person. I would’ve thought that you believed that too.”
“I wouldn’t believe me,” He answered, glancing up at her for a second, his muddy green eyes meeting her dull gray ones, before he looked at the floor again, “If I heard the story I have to tell. I not even sure if I believe it and I lived through it.”
“Well, you need to give me something to work with, Castor. You’ve been missing for three years.” Rebecca didn’t have much of an idea of how to go about talking to people who were pronounced missing and dead. It wasn’t like there were guidebooks on how to. “I’d think you’d have something in dire need of sharing or else you wouldn’t be sitting here in the chair across from me just like old times. If you think you need to tell me your story, I will try my best to give you the benefit of the doubt, no matter how impossible your story may sound.”
“I don’t know why I’m here,” Castor said, putting his legs on the ground and standing up, “I should go.”
He started towards the door when Rebecca called out to him. |
2a552785dde14851ae1cc351d44cf658 | ['9e6e314751434db4be1af897fdb8452e'] | Changbin had purposely been avoiding the bus as much as he could, walking the way to the studio from his apartment most days. But today Changbin was too exhausted to walk so he sucked up all the courage he held in his body and boarded the bus.
Instantly, his eyes darted around, somewhat hoping to see the beauty again but was greeted only with a teenage girl on her phone and an older man reading the newspaper. Changbin deflated slightly, sighing as he made his way towards the back of the bus.
Shuffling to lean against the window, he pulled up his hood, blinking slowly as the bus began to move.
Changbin didn't even notice he had fallen asleep until someone plopped onto the seat next to him, startling him awake. He turned his head to see who it was and instantly felt his heart began to pound.
Twinkling brown eyes that glowed gold in the sunlight met his own, freckles dotting under and around them drawing his eye. The boy smiled widely towards him and suddenly Changbin realized the sun was an actual person and he was sitting right beside him.
“Hi!” damn that voice so did not match his face. “You left your jacket last time,”
Changbin blinked, realizing the black clothing the boy was holding was indeed the jacket he had left behind on the bus. “O-oh thank you,”
The boy's eyes crinkled as his smile widened even more, “No problem! I’m Felix.”
Oh god, he was adorable, Changbin couldn't handle this. He was supposed to be tough, he was Spear. B, the badass rapper from 3rachca - and he was being melted by this boy with a smile like a sun. Chan and Jisung would have to mop him up from this bus seat.
“Changbin.” he forced himself to speak clearly, “My name is Changbin.”
“It's nice to meet you Changbin!” Felix rubbed the back of his neck, ears turning pink slightly, “Listen...I’m sorry for falling asleep on you that day on the bus,”
Changbin shook his head, “It was ok! You were honestly pretty adorable so it didn't matter to me-”
Felix's eyes widened and Changbin cursed his mouth. Why must it lose its filter around the cutest boy he’s seen in, well ever? He shoved his face in his hands, hiding the blush forming on his cheeks from the view of the other.
Then one of the most beautiful sounds he ever heard hit his ears. Bright, unabashed laughter. Tearing his hands away from his face, Changbin looked up only to be amazed at the sight next to him.
Felix had bent over, giggling and laughing, one hand wrapped tightly around the seat head in front of him, the other posed just in front of his mouth. His eyes were shut, long lashes pressed against his cheek as he gasped for breath.
Changbin was in heaven. He had to be. How else could you explain this angel next to him?
He didn't fight the next words that came out of his mouth. “Can I please take you out on a date?”
Felix had stopped laughing, breath still caught in his throat as his lips formed a soft, lovesick smile, hand reaching to intertwine with Changbins (Changbin swore that Felix fit perfectly in his own), “I would love that,”
Changbin returned his smile, neither boy noticing the familiar old woman smiling at the scene in front of her with kind eyes, an old photo clutched in her hand of a beautiful young woman.
“I’m happy for them Eunie,” she whispered, eyes watching the newly forming couple as they stared at each other, the beginnings of love in their gazes. “I hope they live the life I wanted with you,”
This time when Changbin got off the bus, it was with a new phone number on his phone, a date planned and his jacket clutched in his hand. Oh, and a tingling cheek from were Felix had pressed a kiss in goodbye.
____
(When Changbin later found out that Felix was Chan’s half-brother, he hadn't spoken to the older boy for a full week in protest until Felix giggled and gave him puppy dog eyes and he admitted the situation was funny.
Changbin ended up asking Felix to be his boyfriend at the end of their first date to a local coffee shop, not even denying the fact he was whipped for the younger boy when his friends brought it up.
The next time Felix fell asleep on the bus, he rested his head in his boyfriend's neck, curling into him and wrapping his hand in his as the sunlight danced across his face. Changbin openly stared at his boyfriend, pressing a kiss to the back of Felix's hand and rubbing soft circles on the skin their, humming softly.)
**Author's Note:**
> Thank you for reading! Please let me know if you liked it, or have any thoughts at all! Please, only constructive criticism!
>
> Let me know if you want me to write more stories, and leave a ship to go with it (I'll write any ship in Stray Kids, and I'll attempt other bands/groups, just leave a name) and if you want to leave a prompt to that'd be golden. :) | d80f6808f59a4e409d4d421c578c757d | ['9e6e314751434db4be1af897fdb8452e'] | **Summary** : In a world where being a Witch means your nothing more than a evil creature hell bent on destroying everything and everyone, Felix is one of the rare Sun Witches whose family was left alive during the Blood Wars. Knowing what it means to be a Witch in this world, he hides his magic, playing off as a normal human. Attending school with a bunch of Were-shifters, vampires and various other creatures makes life a struggle for this witch in hiding, and when a young fox shifter forms a pack bond with him and his only friend, Felix finds himself slowly struggling to hide his magic.
When the witch hunters come to town, Felix has a decision to make. Run, or struggle to hide. His choice may very well cost him his life.
**Ships Included:** **N/A (not chosen as of yet)**
**Publish Date (?): Not Chosen**
**Genre:** Supernatural, Adventure, Romance (?)
**Comments:** _**I** 've never written anything like this before, but I've had the idea. I figured I might as well post the little blurbs of writing i've come up with over the course of the day after watching way too much teen wolf lol._
_WARNING THIS IS INCOMPLETE AND JUMBLED UP! ! ! ! ! ALSO EVERYONE'S PRETTY MUCH DICKS CAUSE OF THINGS also this hasnt been edited lol im a mess_
* * *
_Pretty much is said below:_
_\- felix, jeongin and minho form a pack bond that is different from the bond jeongin has with the other boys_
_\- shit goes down, felix gets attacked by something called a magic sucker (it like drains you of magic, hunters use it lol), minho snaps ooo fun times_
_\- they all save felix, bond a little, then the others make a plan to get rid of the major bad guy (spoiler) and sorta ruin that bonding after they dont take into account how felix is (hes hurt bad, magic mostly drained)_
_\- big fight happens, felix sacrifices himself for the others_
_\- chan and minho fight, minho leaves to go tell felixs family what happened_
_\- minho comes back only to say goodbye and pretty much makes them all realize how shitty they were_
_\- jeongin cries, the others cry, minho says goodbye (he has to go do some unfinished "business" wink wink shove shove felix may not be dead oops i said it_
_\- minho gives chan a card that once ripped will call Minho to them_
_\- minho disappears into the night like the badass he is_
_Clearly once i actually post and work on the story, there would be more detail and things would make more sense but for now thats all i have :)_
* * *
Minho tisked, “Great. The brat ran off alone again.”
Seungmin asked quickly, not being able to help himself, “So how long have you been bound to Felix?”
Minho looked at them all bewildered, “I’m not bound to Felix.”
Jisung blinked, “What?”
Rolling his eyes, Minho repeated himself, “I’m not bound to Felix. In any way. He didn't summon me or anything.”
“.....then why are you so loyal to him?” Hyunjin found himself blurting out.
Minho’s gaze turned icy, “I don’t know maybe because he’s my best friend? Now are you done questioning Felix’s morality?”
“If I may ask...how did you and Felix become friends?” Jeongin asked timidly, wincing as Minho's eyes turned to him. The other eyed them all before sighing, eyes drifting towards the forest.
“He put me in my place.”
_FLASHBACK STUFF THAT WOULD REVEAL TOO MUCH SO YOU DONT GET TO READ IT YET HAHAHAHAH_
“Felix was the first person, first being that acknowledged me for myself and not my lineage. He wasn't afraid of me, he defended me from his friend.” Minho grit his teeth, “He saved my life from demon hunters once, quite literally. I’m loyal because Felix has done nothing but himself. I trust him with my life and will willingingly follow him to the ends of the earth. And if that leads to my death, then so be it.”
Minho faced them all, as if challenging them to disagree.
“But he's an wit-”
“A witch I know. A full blooded Witch whose been ocstrishized his whole life yet has only used his magic to save others.” Minho scowled, “I know what you all did when you found out he was an witch. And I hate you all for it. You broke him. You all turned your backs on him just because he was an witch.”
“But-”
“But nothing. Felix was the same Felix he was when you all first became friends with him. He didn't change.” Minho pressed his lips together, eyes landing on Chan, “I would have thought you would know better.”
Chan grit his teeth, “What is that supposed to mean-”
“As if you don't know.” was Minho’s response, “Now let me through so I can get to Felix. He’s alone in the woods with an creature that drains being of their magic if you forgot were we were.”
“Let us help you, please.” Jisung stepped forwards, “I, for one, want to apologize to Felix for everything.”
Jeongin nodded, “Me too. I can track him faster than you.”
Minho frowned, eyeing them all before motioning towards Jeongin, “Do your thing then Fox boy.”
* * *
Felix panted as he dodged another attack, both mind and body feeling sluggish as he moved.
He cursed himself as he rolled out of the way of an sharp kick, wishing he listened more to Minho’s ranting about self defense.
Oh shit Minho! The older was going to kill him when he found out the mess Felix got himself into.
“FELIX LEE WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!” speak of the devil- |
b2816bc1153a4058aad4e8d086f5ec95 | ['9e759fba185d463dafe698790e34380a'] |
Leverage
**Author's Note:**
* For LINK.
> Happy Parallels, Cerberusia. I hope you enjoy.
"You're late."
Schuldig stood in the doorway, arms folded, lips dipping down into a deep frown. His mane of red hair was pulled back into a messy topknot, and he was barefoot, as if it wasn't the middle of January in Hokkaido, but summer somewhere far more temperate. He was also clearly irritated at Crawford, who stepped past him and into the foyer, brushing the snow from his shoulders.
"Apologies," Crawford said. "I was held up in traffic. It couldn't be helped."
"On the train? Really?"
"It was rush hour." Crawford shrugged off his overcoat. "The trains were crowded."
"Uh huh." Schuldig gave him a skeptical eyebrow. "Well, your reasons for being late are you own and not my business, but your guest _is_ waiting."
"Guest?"
"Yes. The one you asked for. She's here."
"Ahhh." Crawford tilted his head. Behind the loud buzz that was Schuldig's telepathic energy, Crawford could sense the deep stillness that was Nagi, and then a lighter, tenser energy just beneath that. The signature was definitely feminine, and it pulsed with an untapped potential that made him want to rub his hands in glee.
"Did you have any trouble?" he asked.
"None," Schuldig said. "But that's more because Nagi seems to have a way with women, and not because she wasn't reluctant."
"Nagi did this?" Crawford chuckled. "You're losing your touch, Schuldig."
"Eh. More like she's not my type." Schuldig waved a dismissive hand. "When they're that naive, they break far too easily for my tastes."
Crawford chuckled again, following Schuldig as he led the way down a short corridor. There was a shoji screen to the left, and when Schuldig opened it, it revealed a sitting room as well as Nagi and a young woman tucked cozily on opposite sides of a kotatsu.
"Good evening," Crawford said. Nagi and the young woman both looked up, and Crawford gave them a low, polite bow. "Thank you for coming on such short notice, and please forgive my lateness. I trust my associates have been treating you well in my absence?"
"They have, thank you." The young woman spoke with confidence, but there was an edge of distrust in her tone. "They have been quite hospitable since the moment of my arrival. Naoe-san even leant me his jacket as I seem to be having trouble staying warm."
"Ah, yes. I see." Crawford seated himself on one of the kotatsu's open sides. Schuldig remained standing. "That was very upstanding of you, Nagi. I'm impressed."
"You shouldn't be," Nagi said. "It's something any polite gentleman would do,"
"Yes, but given how our reputation can sometimes precedes us, gestures like that carry a lot of weight."
"Reputation?" The young woman looked back and forth between the two of them. "What reputation is that, Mr...?"
"Crawford. Brad Crawford."
"Mr. Crawford. I'm afraid I know so little about you and your team that I wasn't aware you had a reputation."
"Well, it's nothing to be afraid of." Crawford gave her his best benign smile. "It's just that not everyone looks favorably on what we do. We offer some very...unique services, and people sometimes find that intimidating."
"We'll explain more once we talk about why we've asked you here," Nagi added. "Because then everything will make more sense."
"Well, yes," the young woman said. "But if I may, can I ask a question before you begin?"
"Of course," Crawford said. "What is it you'd like to know?"
"I just wanted to make sure that...I'm actually the one you're looking for." The young woman laughed nervously. "If I am, that's fine, but you see my brother..."
"Went by the name Aya, just like you." Schuldig folded his arms as he leaned against the wall. "We're aware, Miss Fujimiya."
Aya blinked. "You are?"
"Yes," Crawford said. "And we know about the Incident, too. The one that...well..."
"The one that took my brother's life?" Aya looked down with a sad smile. "It's all right. You don't have to be coy. It's been long enough that I've made my peace with what happened, though I still get contacted quite a bit by people who think we're the same person. So I just wanted to make sure you weren't making that mistake."
"I appreciate that," Crawford said. "But it is, in fact, you we want, Miss Fujimiya."
"Okay. Well...I suppose you'll be telling me why momentarily?"
"Something like that," Schuldig muttered, and Crawford silenced him with a stern look.
"What Schuldig means is that there are a couple of reasons we asked you to join us today," Crawford said. "One of which has to do with what happened. We didn't know your brother, but we were in the area the day of the Incident. And we were asked by our employer to come to his aide."
"Oh!" Aya's entire demeanor changed. Her eyes misted over, and she looked at Crawford with a vulnerability that made his heart race. "So...you saw it then? The collapse?"
"Yes," Crawford said. "We saw it all. And I am loathe to say it was because we had arrived too late and not because we managed to do any good. I'm very sorry."
Aya gave him a watery smile. "I'm sure you did the best you could," she said. "And...I hate to force you to relive those bad memories, but...can you tell me what happened? I never did get much of an explanation."
"From what I understand," Crawford said, "a main structural support let go. It had been weakened by flooding and stressed one time too many, and couldn't take any more. And when it went, it took the whole building down with it."
Aya sniffed and dabbed her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. Crawford placed his hand over hers and let her feel it, let her relive the loss, and then waited for the right moment to go on. | 5f63b2e37690409ebbb6fa980d1c82cb | ['9e759fba185d463dafe698790e34380a'] | It was after dinner. I had made sukiyaki and I was finishing up the dishes and preparing to put the kettle on when he came up behind me and put his hand on my shoulder. The night was humid so I’d left my shirt undone, and I could feel his skin, cool in spite of the heat. His long fingers brushed my neck, sliding to my jaw to trace the shape of my face.
I held perfectly still, almost afraid to breathe.
He touched me for several minutes before I finally had the presence of mind to turn around. And when I did, I found he was mere inches away, his soft mouth so close I could feel his breath. In spite of the heat, in spite of everything, I felt myself lean in, moving closer to his slender frame. And I don’t know who closed the final gap, but I do know that in the next moment, we were kissing, deep and long.
My fingers tangled in the silk of his hair. I pulled him even nearer as his hands took my waist. His lips parted and I felt his tongue touch mine. I responded by opening wider, coaxing him to come and play. He seemed to like this, and nudged me, sending me a step backwards and away from the sink. He continued to nudge me until the back of my legs hit the frame of my bed and we tumbled down on my mattress in a tangled heap of lips and limbs. I think I moaned as his weight settled on top of me, and I know I gasped as cool fingers brushed my nipples. In the blink of an eye, my shirt was gone and my pants were open, and I could do nothing but writhe as he began tasting every inch of my pliant and willing body.
He made love to me the way no one ever had before, drawing out my pleasure to the point I thought I might break. Every touch, every kiss was dripping with desire, and I found myself wantonly begging for more even after I’d reached my peak.
It was the first night I slept soundly since I’d come to live alone.
If I had known what I’d be facing the next morning, I would have happily never woken.
I’m not sure when I realized something was wrong. Maybe it was when I realized there was no longer the warm weight of a body on top of me, or maybe it was when I realized that there were strange noises coming from the other side of the bed. I cracked open an eye. My friend lay there, curled in a tiny ball, his breathing harsh and raspy. It sounded as if his lungs weren’t getting enough oxygen and I sat up, ready to ask what was wrong. But the words died on my lips as my vision came into full focus. Because lying next to me wasn’t my friend.
It was a river youkai.
Admittedly, the creature looked far too tortured for me to be afraid, but I did back up, an act which only seemed to make things worse. Long fingers reached out to me, and between the harsh breaths, I heard someone whisper my name. I ignored it at first, thinking perhaps this was some trick of my imagination, but I heard it again.
“H...Hakkai...”
And that’s when I knew.
My friend must have seen my shock because he immediately covered his face with webbed fingers. “Gods, don’t look,” he wheezed. “Don’t...you weren’t ever supposed to see this. Don’t look!”
“Why wasn’t I supposed to see?” My body felt numb, my heart like lead. Half of me wanted to reach for him but the other half was already going over the consequences of our interspecies intimacy. If anyone found out, we would be punished. Harshly.
In a village like mine, we would pay with our lives.
“Because it was supposed to make me human,” he whispered. “Falling in love with you, it was supposed to...she said if I gave up my voice...”
The air around him suddenly started to shimmer and I backed up even further. Out of nowhere, hands appeared around my friend’s throat and I heard him gasp as long, clawed fingers pressed hard against his windpipe.
“You never listen.” The voice was not human and I felt a cold chill run down my spine. “First of all, I said you needed to find a _prince_. Second, I never said seducing a prince would turn you human. I said if you could _do it_ I’d return your voice and grant you one wish.”
My friend closed his eyes, face contorted with anger and pain. “I wish to be human,” he ground out.
The mysterious voice laughed. “You forgetting about rule number one.” The hands tightened and my friend gasped again. “While you have definitely found yourself a beautiful specimen, I’m afraid this one does not qualify as a prince, little kappa. Can you not see his soul? It is tainted by years of sin. He is a murderer, and a letch. He had sexual relations with his sister and she died carrying his child.”
My friend’s eyes opened and he looked at me, and I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. The mysterious entity was not wrong. My past was certainly tainted with things I cared not to speak about, but what hurt the most was the way my friend’s gaze remained so defiant. So loving.
I almost wish he’d stared at me with outright scorn.
“I don’t care.” His voice was weakening, even as he struggled to keep it strong. “I don’t care what he is, I love him. I want to stay with him. You _promised_.”
“You really are an idiot, little one. Now come on. I’ve wasted enough time indulging your fantasies.”
“But...” |
9c1253fb110142c688bff9eebd2281e4 | ['9e86137d12ef4cb1ba92189b7c51cdba'] |
Moonlight
He rapped on the door, hooking his sunglasses onto his leather jacket. He could hear a lot of laughter and screaming coming from inside the mansion. Checking his watch, he put two and two together. It was 8:00 pm on Friday night. Movie night for the younger mutants and free for all for the teens as Charles and the adults got together to discuss the next order of business.
Before he could knock again, the door swung open.
“Logan!” Storm greeted him excitedly and pulled him into a hug.
“Charles said he could hear you out here, I wanted to be the first one to say hi.”
She pulled back and he could see her in her entirety. Long, beautiful, white hair. Her beautiful skin that always smelled like that soap he liked and from the hug, he knew it was still as soft as ever. Yet as his eyes trailed down, he noticed a difference.
Being a man, he noticed her breasts were larger than before, nearly spilling out of her top. Then the smell of the hormones hit him as soon as he saw the slightly protruded abdomen.
She sensed his gaze and bit her lip.
“You’ve been gone for half a year…we have a lot to catch up on.”
He nodded, “I can see that we do.”
“Well, come on in. We’re all in the library discussing some administrative stuff.”
He walked behind her, noticing she even walked a little different. Not because she was pregnant…like she was lighter than air. Happy.
He didn’t know how he felt. He didn’t know if it was his. He started thinking about the math of it all, he left six months ago…she’d look farther along then, wouldn’t she?
What if it was different because of her mutation somehow?
The talking continued as they walked into the library and took their seats. Some turned their heads and acknowledged Logan which he returned.
As the discussion went on, he kept thinking about Ororo and the baby that may or may not be his.
“Sugah, I’m not listening either, but I look like I am.”
He turned his head slightly to see Rogue behind him.
“Hey kid, I’m trying. Nice to see you movin’ up in the world though. Making your way up to boring meetings.”
“Well Logan and Rogue, I know it’s not completely fascinating stuff but we’re almost done so can you at least pretend to give a shit?” Charles cut their quiet conversation short.
Logan turned back towards Charles who continued like nothing happened. His condition seemed to be progressing. Charles never had use for such language. Logan might have thought it was funny if it weren’t a sign of him getting sicker. The old man was finally loosening up, but in the worst way.
When Charles was tired and the business was over, everyone exited the library.
“So, are you coming to the wedding?” Rogue asked.
“Ah, you and Iceman tying the knot?”
“No! I’m not getting married, St-”
“Logan.” Storm called.
“I guess you’ll figure it out.” Rogue said, turning away.
She put her hand on his shoulder, turning his attention to her and away from Rogue.
“Let’s go for a walk.”
******
They stopped once they reached the terrace.
“God…I thought battle was painful. This girl is kicking me around every day. My feet hurt, my back hurts, and I can nap 3 hours at a time.”
She rubbed her stomach while she sat, smiling at Logan who still looked lost.
“Are you ok?” Her voice became serious.
“I just…I gotta ask. Is it-”
“God, no. Do I look like I’m 6 months along already? It’s been 4.”
“Well then if it’s only 4 then who’s is it?”
“T’Challa.”
He chuckled to himself in disbelief. He’d only met him once briefly and here he was having a baby with Storm.
“You didn’t waste any time then.”
Her eyes widened at his accusation. If her back didn’t hurt and her feet weren’t swollen, she would have gotten up.
“Oh, was I supposed to wait for you? You don’t stay here anymore. You’re out doing better things and we all know why you come and go. It’s hard knowing he’s going to die from this. But you’re like a son to him and you’re running away.”
Logan was the one who got up and walked away. Even though it hurt, it was enough to get her to follow. When she caught up with him, she saw what he had begun to do.
“Is that how you solve all your problems these days?” She asked when she saw the flask pressed to his lips.
He capped it shut and put into the pocket of his jacket. Where she was standing now, the moon shone on her. She even looked beautiful when she was pissed at him.
He was even pissed at him. He was a drunk who couldn’t see the man who’d become like a father to him begin to deteriorate. Because he ran away from that, the woman he loved was pregnant and marrying another man. But maybe it was for the best. He couldn’t give her that.
Logan could deal with the young mutants here just fine, but raising one of his own? He couldn’t see it. And what if that child was also virtually immortal, even though he’d discovered a gray hair the other day and began to question that fact too.
“Logan…” She put her hand on his face and pulled him back into reality.
“Are you happy?” He asked.
He saw a tear begin to form in her eye and when it finally rolled down her cheek, he rubbed it away with the pad of his thumb.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you love him?” | 98a59af1ae6342ff8904cfa01ef79654 | ['9e86137d12ef4cb1ba92189b7c51cdba'] | “Holy shit…” She breathed.
It was pale and slightly wrinkled, and even though the dirt, I could see the veins. The surprise shook me. It was a white hand, and I could already see it was larger than my own. This wasn’t my mother, and from the looks of it, the body was intact. Who was I digging up?
All the questions I had could only be solved by continuing.
After moving above the hand, I got the arm uncovered. It was thick and muscular, the veins continuing through it. I’d seen that grave. Moss and rotten sticks. This body hadn’t been buried recently. This should have decayed by now, but instead it looked…alive.
Not the face. Save that for last. Can’t deal with that yet.
I moved to the other side where the arm might be. After sinking the shovel into the ground, the tip of it hit something. There.
“What the fuck? What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?” I whispered.
The reality of the situation began to dawn on me. I was digging up someone I didn’t know. When I thought of the consequences, I could accept it when it was my own mother. She was mine, I was hers. I could justify disrupting her grave. This person was not mine to do that to. This is what my father meant.
But I was sent here. Destiny said I would make all the right decisions. Maybe they weren’t morally right, but somehow, still right? I couldn’t wrap my head around it right now. I had to finish this, and hope that it what Destiny saw.
It was a man. I didn’t have time to look at him now that he was exposed to the elements. But what I did get to observe as I lifted him up and placed him into the bag, was that he strong when he was alive. He was heavy—not the first dead person I’ve carried, probably not the last. But he was twice as heavy as he looked. I was lucky I had strength of my own to carry him with. I also looked at his face when I closed the bag. I saw his shirt had a gigantic gash in it, it was stained with dirt and discolored around the tear. Blood. But his face didn’t match what I assumed was his mortal wound. He was at peace. He looked like he was sleeping, possibly having a pleasant dream from the slightly upturned corners of his mouth.
As I zipped him up, I heard something. My skin told me it was time to go. |
e9d4bfa42845490d9ce5fa9d99938074 | ['9e93ccd1571c415fa005afa9ce959523'] | “The Pharmacy. This little one has an ear infection so we have to go pick up some medicine.”
“Oh no! Poor baby! Ear infections are no fun.”
“Mm-hm. How about you? Where are you headed?”
“Oh! I’m actually going to the pharmacy too! I need to pick up some vitamins.”
“Really? It’s funny that we ran into each other on the bus then, huh?” The two laughed and continued to talk as they made their way to the pharmacy. Once inside, the two said their goodbyes and headed off to get what they needed. Poe was waiting for his turn in the Pharmacy line when the man from earlier came up behind him.
“Hey! I found my stuff and I thought I’d see if you guys were still here.” Poe was a little surprised – but not disappointed – to see him again.
“Yeah! We’re just waiting in line to fill the prescription. Little Bee-bee here is being a little fussy, though. She’s wants to go home so she can nap. She won’t fall asleep without her blanket.”
“Aww, poor thing. If you want, I could play with her while you get her medicine?” Now, Poe wouldn’t normally trust a random stranger he met on the bus with his child, but Bee-bee was in love with him – and maybe Poe was a little bit too.
“Sure! That’d be a huge help.”
“Okay! We’ll be over there on the bench waiting for you.”
“Okay!” The man started off towards the bench when Poe suddenly realized that he didn’t even know his name. “Oh, hey! This is going to sound absolutely horrible, but I never caught your name.”
“Oh! I’m Finn. And you are?”
“Poe.”
“Nice to meet you, Poe!” And with that, the man turned back around and headed off towards the bench. Periodically, Poe would look back and check up on them, and every time his heart melted just a little bit more. The two were playing like they’d known each other all their lives. Finn would blow raspberries on Bee-bee’s tummy, or lift her up in the air like she was flying. Bee-bee was loving it! Soon – too soon in Poe’s mind – it was his turn at the window and he had to turn away from the two.
“Hi there! I need to get ear drops for my daughter? I have this prescription, but I don’t really know what to do here…”
“It’s all right, Sir. Just give us the prescription and we’ll settle everything else.”
“Thank you so much!” Poe was just about to turn around when the lady called for him.
“Sir? Because these are ear drops, it’ll only take us a few minutes to grab them for you if you’d like to wait over at the other window.”
“Okay! Thanks!”
“No problem, Sir. Next in line, please!” Poe slid over to the next window to wait for the medicine. One received, he turned back around to see his daughter, sound asleep in Finn’s arms. It was probably the sweetest thing he had ever seen, and Poe fell a little bit (more) in love with Finn. Finn had the most loving look on his face as he rocked Belinda in his arms. Poe smiled and walked back over. Finn looked up at him and smiled.
“I think I tired her out for you.” Poe laughed,
“Yeah, poor thing’s probably gonna sleep for days.” Finn laughed and went back to rocking Bee-bee, humming a little lullaby. Poe could feel himself falling for him and decided to go out on a limb/
“Hey, you know, you’re really good with her. You ever thought about babysitting?”
“Like babysitting Bee-bee?”
“Yeah! I mean, she loves you!” Finn started to blush and Poe thought his heart was going to leap out of his chest.
“Yeah! I mean, I’d love to babysit her sometime! She’s adorable, just like her father!” Poe felt his cheeks heat up and chuckled nervously.
“Thanks. Can I, uh… Can I get your number?” Poe felt all of the blood in his body rush to his face. “I mean, for if I ever need you to baby sit.” Finn just smiled.
“Yeah, of course! Can I put it in your phone?” Poe fumbled to pull his cell out of his pocket, only to realize that his pants were too tight to do it while sitting down. Damn it! He knew these pants were a bad idea! He quickly stood up and fished his phone out of his pocket.
“Here! I’ll put Bee-bee back in her carrier while you do that.” A few minutes later, Belinda was safely back in her carrier, sound asleep, and Finns number was in Poe’s phone, and it was time to say goodbye.
“It was great meeting you! Thanks for helping out with Bee-bee and for waiting with us while I got her medicine.”
“No problem! I had a lot of fun with you guys.”
“Yeah… I’ll give you a call next time I need a babysitter, is that cool?”
“Yeah! Of course! I, uh… guess I’ll see you two later, then.”
“Yeah… see you later, Finn!” Poe turned around and started heading out the door when he heard Finn call his name.
“Hey, Poe!” He turned around, a little more eagerly than he’d like to admit, to face Finn. “Nice tight pants.” If possible, Poe blushed even more and ran a hand through his hair.
“Thanks. I, uh, thought they’d make great hospital-visiting-pants,” he joked. Finn laughed and Poe felt his heart swell.
“See you around, Poe”
“See you!” And with that, Poe turned out the door and began his walk home, cheeks tinged pink the whole way.
**Author's Note:**
> In case no one noticed, I have no idea how getting a prescription works so I was entirely guessing! Sorry if it was wrong, but I have literally no idea how Pharmacies work!
> Also, if you have a pairing you would like to see in a Single Parent AU, leave a commont below! I'm always up for suggestions! | 7249684103dd44e6b19e5d00cf35dc3c | ['9e93ccd1571c415fa005afa9ce959523'] | Dan was downstairs when he heard Diana scream. His head snapped up from the newspaper that he was reading. Only when he heard another scream, this time from Natalie, did he jump up from his chair. He sprinted up the stairs to find his daughter standing in the doorway of the bathroom, crying. He rushed to the door and pushed Natalie aside, only to see something that would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life. His son, his little boy, was lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood. Diana was clinging to him, begging him to wake up. Dan fell to his knees and blindly reached for his son. The only thing that he could think of was no. No. This can't be happening, He was wrenched from his thoughts when Natalie started sobbing. They needed to get help.
“Call 911...” he whispered, “Call 911!” Natalie still didn't move.
“Natalie! Call 911! Do it! NOW!!!” He screamed at her. She sprinted from the room and Dan collapsed, clinging to his sons body.
**.** **.** **.**
Nancy was having a pretty boring day at work. Then again, boring is good when you're a 911 operator. It was about 8:00pm when she got her first serious call of the night.
“911 what's your emergency?” All she heard was sobbing on the other end of the line.
“Hello? Sweetie, are you all right? Are you hurt?” The girl just kept on crying.
“What happened, sweet heart? Do you need help?” Between sobs the girl managed to choke out 'My brother', 'so much blood', and 'help'.
“It's okay, sweetie. Help is on the way. Where are you at right now?”
“1402 Lancaster Lane.” Nancy typed the address into the computer and quickly dispatched an ambuance.
“Do you want me to stay on the phone with you until the ambulance gets there?”
“Please...”
“Okay, Sweetie. You're doing so good. Whats your name Honey?”
“Natalie Goodman.”
“Okay, Natalie, the ambulance is on it's way.” This seemed to calm Natalie down some.
“Natalie, can you tell me what happened?”
“My brother... he... he...” The sobbing started fresh again. The only thing that Nancy could make out was 'blood' and 'dead'. She heard the sirens a few minutes later.
**. . .**
The paramedics rushed into 1402 Lancaster Lane. They followed the sound of sobbing upstairs to the bathroom. The parents were clinging to the boy, sobbing while a teenage girl cried in her room. The parents had to be forcibly removed from the boy in order for the paramedics to get to him. The parents struggled and screamed as the paramedics pushed them back. By the time they got to him, his body was already getting cold. He must have been dead for almost an hour before the call was made. The only thing they could do was say that they were sorry and zip up the body in a black polyethylene bag and take it away to the morgue.
3. The Morning After Tragedy
The paramedics were gone, but the house was far from quiet. The house at 1402 Lancaster Lane was filled with the sound of sobs and ringing telephones. Dan was the closest to the house phone, but he didn't seem to care. He just sat in his chair with his head in his hands. Earlier he had managed to usher Diana into bed, where she continued to cry. Natalie locked herself away in her room, tucked under the covers crying silently. She had pillows pressed to her ears to block out her mothers cries. It was 3:00 in the morning before Dan unplugged the phone. The ringing stopped and the house went silent. He trudged up the stairs to check on the remaining members of his family. Remaining. He never thought that he would ever have to say that. He cracked open Natalie's door and found her curled up in a nest of blankets with tear-stained cheeks. He quietly closed the door and went to the bedroom he shared with his wife. Diana was curled up into the fetal position with her back to the door. She must have cried herself to sleep. Dan crept over and kissed her forehead before leaving. He shut the door as gently as possible and walked back to the bathroom. He flipped on the light to see the pool dried blood. His son's blood. The only thing left from that disastrous night, other than an empty room. He sighed and went to get a bucket.
**. . .**
It was early morning Dan finished cleaning the floor. He dumped the last bucket of dirty water and dried his blood stained hands. The house was still quiet. Dan knocked softly on Natalie's bedroom door.
“Natalie... it's time to get up for school. Natalie...?” He opened the door to find his daughter fast asleep. He sat down on the edge of the bed and gently nudged her awake.
“Natalie. You need to get up.”
“Uugh. Why? After what happened last night you expect me to go to school?”
“If you miss, you'll lose your perfect attendance record.”
“Yeah, of course. That's what you'd be worried about right now! Get out!” Natalie pushed her father out of her room and slammed the door. Dan sighed and went back downstairs. He plugged the phone in to call into work. For the moment, the phone was silent. He dialed the number for his work and stayed on the line just long enough to call in. He did the same for Diana. Dan sunk back into his chair and closed his eyes.
**. . .**
He was woken up when Natalie came downstairs.
“I'm going to school.” Her voice sounded flat and empty, but Dan didn't seem to notice.
“Okay. Have fun.” Natalie scoffed. |
5fd022ef9acd4f02a4c4e38fb23a7477 | ['9e9dab3af9054d5d9fae3cc68aab8f96'] | In most cases he would have said that he would only be able to disclose such information to relatives of the patient but taking one look at the desperate teen’s face made him concede,“He should be fine but we have to run several tests order to assess if he suffered from repercussions as a result of undergoing cardiac arrest which is why we need to get in contact with his parents for permission.”
“I should be able to get in touch with them.” Mr.Heere followed the doctor outside leaving Jeremy to his own thoughts.
* * *
Just outside Mr.Heere handed his phone to the doctor when he was finally able to get Mr. and Mrs.Mell on the line. The remaining high school students swarmed him to ask if the doctor had told him anything about Michael's condition.
"He told me that Michael is going to be okay. They just need to run some tests to see if we should be worried about anything else,"
A breath of relief was mutually released by the teens. Just then a nurse came up to them asking for Mr.Heere.
He stepped forward before responding "Yes? What is it?"
"Your son's nose should be fine considering that the bleeding has stopped but we want to keep him overnight just in case."
"Alright. Do I have to sign anything?"
"No, a verbal confirmation is enough." he turned to the remaining teens, "As for the rest of you, visiting hours are about to end very soon so please vacate from the area as soon as possible."
Before anyone could protest, the nurse continued, "You should be able to visit your friend in the morning so please go home and get some rest," the nurse promptly left the scene.
Hesitantly, the teens agreed before walking to the parking lot together. Mr.Heere was prompted to answer a couple other questions before he was able to go home.
* * *
Later in the night, two figures with medical lab coats entered the room of the unsuspecting high schooler. A soft glow illuminated through the window as most of the occupants of the hospital were asleep. One of the figures stopped at the foot of the bed silently observing the unconscious boy in front of while the other took a step towards the various machines that indicated the patient’s condition.
“The scarred tissue on his back indicates that he was heavily electrocuted before he suffered from a sudden cardiac arrest,” the figure at the foot of the bed stated in a hushed tone picking up the clipboard that was left on the nearby table with the patient’s information.
“But?” the other figure goaded.
“Witnesses from the event stated that they all heard him screaming in agony yet there is very minimal damage that was found as a result. For burns as extreme as his, this had to have been an intense case of electrocution meaning…” the figure looked down towards the files on the clipboard,”...Michael...Mell...should have suffered far more trauma in various organs throughout his body....The readings indicate that he shouldn’t even be alive right now...wait...” a confused look appeared on their face.
“What is it?”
“The blood test results...There was an unknown agent found in his bloodstream…”
“Drugs?”
“No, we would have been able to identify it if that were the case,” they paused before their eyes widened, “and an interference was detected during the echocardiogram while we were trying to see if there was any residual heart damage...It’s...it has to be a Squip.”
The other figure briskly walked to the first before swiping the clipboard out of their hands and began to look at the file themself. A tense silence blanketed the two before the first figure spoke once more.
“I thought all the squips from this area were recalled after the incident in November nearly exposed the entire operation.”
“They were,” The other figure confirmed.
“So how do you explain the tests results? We were barely able to convince everyone that it was ecstasy that was the cause of the meltdown of those theatre kids last year. Vizzini will have our asses if another incident like that happens again.”
“I _know.”_ They flipped to the next page of the document, _“_ Hold on. _.._ The signatures coming from this Squip are strangely similar to one of the cases from that incident.”
“What?”
“Every Squip has a unique encryption but the tests indicated that the Squip Michael Mell is in current possession of is identical to the one distributed to Jeremy Heere.”
“H-how is that even possible?”
“I‘m not completely certain but Squips _are_ in their experimental phase.” They readjusted their glasses before continuing,”Why do you think we’re testing them on High School students?”
“Jesus Christ.”
“I thought you’d be more intrigued by this.”
“Do you think that was the cause of the scarred tissue?”
“Most definitely.”
“God, poor kid. He must be facing a tremendous amount of psychological strain.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time this happened.”
“I can’t believe you right now.”
“Getting cold feet? We both know that it’s a bit too late for that.”
“That doesn’t make it any better. I signed up because I thought Squips could _help_ people. All it’s been doing is ruining their lives.”
“And they will.”
“How could you say that? Look right in front of you! How do you define _this_ as helping?”They shrieked.
“Calm down,” The other placated,”Remember where we are.”
The first let out an exasperated breath but listened nonetheless.
“Good. Now what I meant was that no matter the circumstances if Michael Mell truly is in possession of Jeremy Heere’s Squip then there should be nothing for us to worry about.”
“What do you mean?”
“As far as we know, there are no other active Squips left other than the one residing in Michael Mell so there can’t possibly be a repeat of the incident that happened in November.”
“Where are you going with this?”
“I‘m saying that we should see what happens.” | 6c79a30924144e038670a6306105fff0 | ['9e9dab3af9054d5d9fae3cc68aab8f96'] | “You want to leave him like this?”
“Sure, why not? If the kid goes off the deep end, then that’s just another teen enrolled to a mental ward. Another one of those statistics. And if he doesn’t, then he’s got himself one of the most powerful pieces of technology right in his head. Vizzini doesn’t have to know a thing.”
“This still isn’t right.”
“It doesn’t matter what you think is right. Get over yourself, we’ve crossed too many lines to stop now.” The figure headed towards the door placing the clipboard back down on the table, “C’mon. We’ve got work to do,” with that the figure disappeared into the hallway.
The first figure took one last look at the sleeping highschooler before quickly following after them.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> They’re probably not going to appear again in the story. A sequel. Perhaps. But even if that would happen, it would probably come much much later. This story is far from finished after all. I'll be honest. I didn't think this story was going to go past ten chapters yet heere I am (it's not out of my system nor do I think it will ever be)... thinking about a possible sequel... again I'd have to see this story through before I even begin to start one. And there are other stories that I want to start. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I guess we'll just have to wait and see...
>
> Also, if you're a junior or whatever being taught cpr pls pay attention in class. You could save a Michael's life.
>
> (Edit 10/07/17): Okay, so I made a couple edits to the test that the doctors do on Michael that does not in any way change the plot of the story but I mean, I want to make events of the story as accurate as possible, i.e, doctors don't perform mri scans on patients who suffered from sudden cardiac arrest. And yeah probably none of you would really care or would know if I got that one fact wrong but I know and care about the authenticity of my writing so to the one person who be all like "yeah that's entirely something doctors would do" don't worry, I got your back. LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLO OR wherein the author once again has too many voices in their head that make them go back and do edits on chapters cause their super indecisive, LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL OR wherein the author does actual research on chapters for the sake of their sanity and correctness (all on a device funded by their school so if they're wondering why on earth someone is researching about the effects of electrocution on the human body this is the reason).
>
> Thanks for all the comments, bookmarks, and kudos. And of course, being all your lovely selves. :3
11. Reboot in Progress
**Ŵ̴̯̻͓̊̎̉̿̿̕a̵͓̋̎R̴̫̼͝ͅŅ̶̡̖̯̹͐͌̒͠i̷̢͇̮̪͔͚̊n̴̛̮̫̥̳̻̱̋͘G̸̮̃ ̵̛͚͑͜w̸͈̲̓͑̈A̴̤͈͖̐͆͛͜ȑ̶̦̜͉̲̙̣̍N̸̛̦̝͚̓̃̓͛̎Ï̸̱͕̠̙͍̯̭̐n̷̩̯̹͈̾͋G̴͖̾̈́̽̏ͅ ̴̢͙̭̇̈́͑͠**
**̵̞̣̬̩͖̭̒̈́̕**
**̷̻̘͙͈͍̐́̀͆̓̈́**
**̵̧̗͍̝͉̏̇̓͜C̸̨̨̦̩͉̪͖̒̾̂̎̕̕Â̵̳̈́̈́͘͠l̶̬̮̭̄̽i̶̖̤̜̜͉͚̓̓́̆̽͜.̴͎͔͖̘͔̭͂.̸̧͕̝̉̉͌̒.̴̻̱̳̰̏͑̒c̵̛̗̠̙̹̮͕͆̚â̶̢̱͓̹͈̣͘I̶̧̩̠̎͋̕͝L̵̤̺͍̮̱̺͎̍̊̆̂̽B̴̢͖̑r̶̨̫͙̈A̵̧͕̙̓̊͊̕T̶̨̨͓͖̼͓̼̊̉̅̓̔͝ḭ̶̫̈̌̽͐̕o̸͉̟̼̓̐̔̓́̌N̸̠̲̰̞̤̑͝ ̸̛̥̭̜͉̝̏̎̇̈̐̂ͅi̶̛͈̭͇̠̣̐̈́̾͜N̴͖̞̭͎̬͚̈͋͋̽̓͛͛ ̵̧̛̥̫̬̳̜̮́̔p̸͕̫̍̎̚Ŗ̶̻̬̀́͑̾͝Ǫ̶̨̦̤̱̫͈̿̋̋g̶̡̧͖̠̘̱̳̩͔͉̤̗̋̀͌̈̿̂͂̿̾̌̓̏͒͗̈͜Ŗ̷̞̰͈̫͇̰̫̪̌̈́e̸͎̰̝̰̰̊s̵̢̪̐̄̅͠͝ş̵͖̳̩̜̪̈.̵͓̺̺͖̻̮̌̌͒.̵̺̉̈̊̔̚.̸̲̬̦̗̤̱̂̈͂̇͘g̶̡̧͖̠̘̱̳̩͔͉̤̗̋̀͌̈̿̂͂̿̾̌̓̏͒͗̈͜Ŗ̷̞̰͈̫͇̰̫̪̌̈́E̴̢̽̚s̷̮̞̪͉͛̊̉͊̚͘S̷̨̥̍͌́͝͠ ̷͍͂͘͘**
**̴̲̱̗̲̾̾͛**
**̵̛̛̖͋̈́̔̂.̵̢̭̜̙̜̯̌̄̓̍̑̅̋.̴̢̡̠͚͍̬̟̕.̴̹͠.̵̪̝͕̺̝̮̜̓̈́͗̿̈̚C̷̹̖̜͇͈͊͌͆͠͝ͅ.̷͕̩̱͇̾̇.̸̛̦̤̬̘͖̙͛̈͌̍̚͝.̸̡̖̲̝̣̤̀͆̔̚͝ć̸̛̛̲̪̘̱̖͕̈́͊͝.̷̨̛̞͈̘̰̻̑̊̕͝.̷̢͔͕̥̿̑̏̑̿C̵̛̟̳̠̹͉̤̦͒͋͂͑Ơ̴̭̐̄̏̑̽M̸̼̤̈́͒͛̒̄͠p̸̻̠͇͚̖͋͊͑̇̾͘͘l̷̟͛ͅe̴͍̓Ṯ̷̜̘̮̒͌̈́̂̚E̶̡̨̤̳͇̓͜͝.̶̡̹̜̺͇̾̅̋́͜.̵̡̳̲̽.̵̡̦̜͐͑͑̋̅͝.̷̨̱̣̭̘̘͌**
**̴̦̗̱̳̤̇͌͌**
**̴̼͍͖̹̻͈̫͊̌̑́̀**
**̴̨̥̣̹̠̀̓͐͘͜**
**̷̡̬̰̫̗̜̎̅ͅR̸͍͉̣̻̣͕͋̑͐̍͊͜Ȩ̵̖̘̠̪̠̳͐b̵̟̩͎̹̽͊̑͝͝ǫ̶̟̮̽O̶̧͍̮̒t̸͖͑̆̊̈́̔̚í̴̙̞̭̐ͅN̷̦̭̫̳̻̫͊̈̈́͂̕͝͠G̴̢̢̬̰͕͗̽̈́̉:̴̖̗͓͇̝͒̆̅̆͂̕ ̴͎͕͕̌͂̏͠ñ̴͔̟̖͙̝͑̐̾͊̿Ĕ̷͙͉̾̄Ȗ̵̞̙̫̔͊͝r̸̡̙̖̾͂͑̇͒͒Ą̷̘͚̜̰͒̈͆̀l̴̗̪̳̂̐̌͘ ̸̧̗̿͒͐̓̋̐͆M̴̬̖͎̦̠̱͒͊̑̏̇͂Ẹ̴̻͉͓͈̙͛̌͋m̷̹̙̘̲̓̒̽͛̊͝O̶̲̤̠̠̼̦̟̓̈́̐r̷̗͖̲̙̬̀͌̅͗̏͘ͅŶ̴͓̤̘̂**
**̵͇̮̭̞̤̰͙͌̆̏**
**̷̡̝̙̇̊̃̓̈́̍͆E̴̡̟̜̲̱̽͗̑̂̃̀͜͝r̸̡̪̻͖̗͐̽͝ͅR̷͔̦͊ó̵̹͖̣͍̫͈̌͊̊͒̒͜r̵̙͙̾̚ ̵̧̩͕̟͍̭̽̎̀͌̊͌D̴̨̠̤̺̤̻̲͊̇e̵̼͈͂̊́̉T̶̘͇̟̜̤̿Ê̸̛͖̹͆̚̚c̷̨̀̃̎t̷̤͉̮͕̂̈Ȩ̵̈́̈́̌D̴̦̞͔̀̓͊̽͘̚͝**
**̴͇̉̇̑͛͝͝**
**̶̮̽͑̑**
**̴̭́Ṙ̷̲̮͑̌ͅe̵̘͍̝̙̘͂̀̒͋̑͒͝ͅC̷͈̻̪̳̠̲̊̃ǎ̸̺̹͉̄̓͘l̷̛̞̜̥͇̊͝İ̵̼̹̻͍͆̋ͅB̷̡̡̲̪̀̈́̊̕ͅṟ̴̦̫̝̠̖̫̓̀̋̄̌͑͠ă̶̢̳̦̟̩͓̏͒̔͒̿͝T̶̬̗̠̳̬̲̈́̈́͌̓Ḯ̴͓̮o̴̧̲̺͇̾̒̽̿n̷̨͖͐̍̿ ̷͈̘̠͙͗͒ͅỊ̸̛͛͒̕n̷̛̛̠̯̰̻̭̑̐̉͘͝ ̶̳̙̺̃̄̾̇̅̊͊P̷͎̲͚̂̄̈́̎̾́ŗ̵̫͚͇̜͍̘̐o̶͔̬̙̓͂̆͘͝G̴̥̳͎̉̆̆͛͗͂̊ͅr̸̨̭̗͇̓ę̷͋S̵̢͚̼̱͒̉̌̍̚S̶͔̲̻͓̭̪̔̈́́͜**
**̷̬͎̮̱̲̰̞̚**
**̴̨̡̧͖͙̑́͝**
**̶̰̰̳̗͈̫̥͗̓͌͂͝E̴̛̙͓̬̮̿́̇ͅŗ̵̎̔Ȑ̸̲̗ȍ̵̺̰̰̯̥͚̮ȑ̵͔̦̠̩̓ ̵̧̻̳͕̠̣͆͝ḑ̶͔͇͉̺̆̈́̄̂͂̈́̍ͅÈ̸̮̜̓T̴̛͚̋̑̇̆͗e̴͓͓̥͑͂͂̌̿ç̷̯͍̥̜͉͒̎ͅt̵̨̡̨̟̬̮͙̆̑̆̉̈Ë̵̠́D̵̹̩̬͕̘̗̀̂͊́́̏̊͜**
**̶̧̪̘̫̹̐͋̓̉̒ͅ**
**̵͙̟̈̊S̶͍̟̣͐͊̔̅͗͛͛y̷̙̌̊͛͐́̃͘͜S̷̢̝̥̓̑̉͜͜T̵̡̯̤̜̟͍͎͛̊͋̕͝͝è̸̡̯͕̪̯̩̂̆̆̇͊͆ͅm̴͎͕͌̈́ ̴̘̩̔̀̑̍̅̎͝U̷̢̟̳̬̙͘͜N̶̬͈̅a̴͉͝b̸̢̳̬̦̼̅̏Ļ̵̯̾͝Ȇ̵̡͚̺͈̂͝ ̵͙͍̻͉̔̀T̵̢̬̣̻̘̗̝̋͂̆ŏ̵̢͈̬̜̥͓̊̍̎ ̶̲̇̽͐̇̐͠͝R̶͔̮͜͠e̴͓͈̦͙̹̋A̶̧͇̤̪̻͊́̄̒̅̐͘c̸̝̊͂̀́̓H̴̢̼̹̗̻͉̥̆̈͗͆̊̊̊ ̵̹̣͇͙͋͊͜Ç̸̺̣̠̱͕̆̂ơ̸̱M̵͚͇̱̩̩̙͔̐̑̎P̴̨̛̻̜̺̭̕l̶̨̬͚̃̃ͅe̷̟̟͊̂̌t̷̛͈͈͎̜̦͊̔̀͑̊ȋ̷̤̼͔̈̂͆ȯ̷̩̣̲͐̚n̸̗̘̱͐̐̓̔̚**
**̵͖̦̝͈͓͙̰̄̂͋́͋͠**
**̶̖̠͈̹͌͒̕.̴̖̱͎͓̓̂͝͝͝.̸̢̧͍̩͍̭̅̔̾͐.̶͇͔̳̔.̴͍̪̘̈́̇Â̶͖̾̽̆Ȕ̷̬͇͍̩̍͗t̷̹̟̣̤̟͉̩͠ǒ̵͉̙͑M̵̢̜̦̬̙̗͇͒̔̍͑̚å̷̮̬̠̈́͊͋͗T̸̡̗̲̱͖͒̓̈̆͜͠i̵̻̙͇̜̎̈́̔͝c̸̞̰͙̪̈́̄̈̌̔͠ ̸̢̼͖̞͇͔̄ͅB̴̢̲̝̜̻̅̆͜ạ̵͚̣̪́c̵̻̪̖̘͚͉͝K̴̛͓̬͔̯͓̈͆̈̚ ̸̹̈Ư̶̰̾̐͠͠p̵̼̩̲̪͔͓̈́̑͛̓ ̴̨̛͆̊P̷͕̼̰̞̣̏̓̾̓̈́̉͐r̶̨̹͆͊̓̉̽͝Õ̸͔̱̳̩̒̕͜Ĉ̸̛̲̻̼̺̂͜e̸̻͋͋̎͌͐̍͘D̴̗͔̪͈̼̙͇̑͊ǘ̶͈̭͋͐̊͒̽ṙ̸̮͔͈̱͎͉̐̀̂̐̎e̶̮͚͎̅͗̾ ̸͚̗̲͕̿͐̄͜͠I̶̘̫̽͊̒̓̈́͋n̸̊̎͒͋̋͜I̶̜̣͈̽̂T̸̰̙̭͘ị̵̢̛̘̟̥͑̾̅̽̂â̶̩̲͍̻͕͆̉T̵̖̦̲͔̦̝̓͛e̵̼͋d̸̩̣͕͆͂͝͝͝.̴̻͔̦̍͂̿̐͗.̷̡̨̻̗̓͛͛.̷̢̗̥͛̂̊.̸̧̗̺̝͕͂̓͋͜**
**̷͙̊͂̈́͗**
**̴̹̦̥̥̤͊ͅ**
**̷̲̌͒͝͠W̵̢̘̾̒ȃ̸͎͇͚̇͠R̵̬̬͇̪̞͎͗͋̂̀̓́̅ͅN̶̬̮̱̹̦̊͗̀̉̓i̸̪̫̺̿̀̌͌̓̿ň̷̗͔̃̀̃̅G̴̖̉̈́̈́̏͠ ̷̛̛͉̻͓̩̞͇̙̓̒̓͛w̸̱͚̱̹̳͑̈̈̀ͅą̸̢̛̱̜̹̪̰̄͐̂͝r̵͕̘̗̉́N̸̼̎̈Ï̶̺̼͎̤͙͍̏͛̿͋̍̕N̶̯̳͂̍̚̕ǵ̴̬̼̹͓̬̿̚͜ͅ**
**̶͉̖͚̋̀̍**
**̴͕̖̳͎̃̏̇͛͋̂͘**
**̵̪̦̥̟͔͎̋̓̿̿͊̈̿Ş̴̩͙̇͌̆̆̐͆̄e̶̲͕̪̐̈́̈́̒͂͝v̸̧̢̡̻̬̤͚̆̓̋̌̄͘Ę̶͖͈̗̠̽͋̈͛̾̕͜Ṟ̵͔̠͗͋̊̽̏͌ą̷͚͇̭̳͌Ļ̸̰̘̜̇̔̒̽̉͠͠ ̵̥̫̙̱͕͔͇̓̔̀̅̈͘Ç̶̛̰̣̟̉͑̊͐o̸̜͆M̴̨̡̰͇̙̫̦̕P̴̜͈̲͗̏̇̄̊l̷̨̪͈͍̘̓͛ͅi̴̯̦̓ͅC̶͚̮̫͔̒̿̈́À̶̰͊̆̚t̶͖͚̽̾̌̆͂̅͆I̶͓͉͚͍̣̜͂̉̃̈̐̚O̵̦̳͎̭͐͒̽̇̚͠͝ͅn̸̖̖͔̺͇͌̔̒͋͜S̸̹̟̅ ̷̝̯͓̼̗̠̲̑̇̇͒̾͂͝d̵̮̾̂̓̕é̴͓̍̔͒̂͝T̶̨̘̞̂͋ḙ̵͙͉͇̘̰̆̈́̒C̴̹̰̻T̸̢̬̪͇̭̹͛̀͛̏͂̇ḙ̵̢̱͂̏d̵͕̮̜̪͍͇͑̈́̃̒**
**̶̢̞̲̺̱̙͈̓̓̽̆̈́**
**̴͕͓̩͋͗͘ͅ**
**̵̢̣̹̈́̿͝.̵̢̡̣͔̳̉̍̽̄.̸̼͙͈͛̓̍.̷̡̓.̸̺̄̀̇͌J̶̡̘̐.̴̪̤̀͘.̵̭̣͚͓̤̜̘̋͝.̵̠͚̺͕̗̂̿͒̀̅͆J̸̡̛̛͉͚͓̼͆̌͜ḛ̸͒̄̍͌͒.̷̦͚̌.̵̝̼̩͖̹̗́͜.̶̨͚̬͕̝̅̏̓̚͝J̶̜͂͛e̴͚̫͂̏͜R̸̖͑̓͊̚͠.̶͙̯̜̮̼̖̙̀̑̚.̵̡̠͓́̐̆̕.̸̧͍̤̬̑̄̆M̵̢͙̻͓̞̬͑͂̕ͅi̸̺̟͆̊c̷̡̛̙̼͕̤̟̭̓̽Ḩ̶̦͍̖̦̥̑̊́̋͒̌Ą̵̣̯͎̹̈́̃̌ë̴̹̳͔̣͜L̴̲̼̅̄̈̓.̵̟̰̋̉̐̐͘͝.̵̘͓̍̐͌̔̋.̶̢̳̠͌̽̂͗̚͘̕ͅ.̵̢͉͉̮̒.̴̢̯̘͒͒͝H̶̬̤̝̭̤͇͐̑̌̋ͅẹ̵̳̻̪̙̞̈͘.̶̛͚̯̎̊̌̋͝.̴̯̜̩͕̝̮̥̄͛͝.̸̹̣̂͗̌̐h̵̘̣̣̉̑̎͂̚͠͝E̸̡͙͈͍̝̱̋̀̀͛̕͝ḛ̸̹͉̓͊.̸̻̳̻̥̩̭̓̈̆͋͛͝.̸̛̟̮̮̱̭͙̃̈́̍.̷͉̗͕̘͙͐̋̅̿M̵̡̺̫̗̜̞͖̂͌͆͌̏̓e̸͔̤̯̝̻̩̓̓̈̃͒̔̋L̵̨̡͇̋͐̈͑ĺ̴̙̈̑̚.̵̭̖̼̯̳͘.̵͓̑.̸̜͔̥̖̑̔̓͘.̶̤̦̱̭̠̼̆̐**
**̷̨͇̯͍̜̙̯̒̇**
**...**
**..**
**.**
**It's about time for you to wake up, Michael.**
Electric blue eyes snapped open.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> Thanks for any comments, kudos and/or bookmarks and of course, being all your lovely selves.
12. Bittersweet Awakenings
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> Optic Nerve Blocking:ON
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> [Insert the most stereotypical evil laughter here]
Christine was the first to arrive at the hospital the day after the party. She quickly found Jeremy at the receptionist’s table probably having been discharged from his own injury. Once she was behind him, she could make out the conversation he was having with the woman behind the counter.
“I‘m sorry, sir. But Michael Mell is not currently available to have any visitors right now.”
“What? Why not?” Jeremy frantically questioned.
“I am not authorized to disclose information to anyone who isn’t related to the patient.”
Christine didn’t skip a beat,”I‘m his second-cousin, ” she stated surprising Jeremy by her sudden appearance,”Did something happen to him overnight?”
The woman gave them a disbelieving look but Christine responded with enough determination in her eyes daring the woman to say something. She sighed but chose to indulge the teen in front of her anyway,” Mr.Mell suffered through various episodes of delirium earlier in the morning so his doctor’s thought it was best to place him in the extensive care unit of our hospital. He displayed hostile behavior towards his nurses and himself before falling back into unconsciousness so he was determined to be too unstable to have any visitors at the moment.”
“Is he alright?” Christine had a fearful tone in her voice.
“He was sedated and restrained so that he wouldn’t endanger anyone. And there weren’t any reports of new injuries that came as a result. I would advise that you come back later in the afternoon to check up on his condition. He may be deemed stable enough at that point if you still wish to visit him.”
“Okay, thank you very much,”Christine bit her bottom lip as she took Jeremy’s wrist in her hand and guided him away from the desk to an unoccupied hallway.
Once she let go of his arm, she stood so that she was facing Jeremy instead of being beside him. They stood there staring at each other for a couple moments. Christine as the one who finally broke the silence,“Is your nose alright?” There was a band-aid going across the bridge of Jeremy’s nose but it otherwise looked fine.
“Du-uh-umm,” he stuttered, “Y-yeah, Rich just nicked it when he punched me but the bleeding stopped a while ago.”
“Why did they have to keep you overnight then?” |
7f7ccceb05f147eab0dda5f3a4b9dd74 | ['9e9dcc1eee594e2bb6ee0b2e3ffc7bd3'] | "Forget about him Marinette." Alya said looking down at her camera watching a funny video she recorded last week. "Forget about?" Marinette said playing dumb . " Forget about HIM." Alya said once more. Only this time Marinette was to busy staring at the blonde hair boy sitting at back of the bus. Alya rolled her eyes and turned off her camera.
"Look , Look. Let me show you something." Alya said now resting her hand on her bestfriend's shoulder. "Yo , you really need to forget about him , hes not even looking at you ." " I-If I could only just tell how I feel I'm sure-." Alya cuts her off. "Look Marinette , I already told you a million times. You're never gonna get with Adrien alright?" " Seriously , he hangs out with the cool people and nobody messes around outside of their group girl." Alya said throwing her hands up .
"Oh c'mon girl , that crew stuff isn't real." Marinette said laughing it off.
"The hell ain't! Mari! Look around ." Alya said gesturing her hands in front of her. "Look , there's your jocks..." Alya said pointing to them "Hey man throw me the ball." one jock said at the back of bus.
"Then there's nerds , emos , Frodos , The lord of the rings and Harry Potter society ..... the "Im total not a weirdo" club.." Alya said pointing around. " I mean I guess." Marinette said with a heavy sigh . " Oh yeah , you also have your Fight night club aka Boxers." Alya shrugged. " The who?" Marinette said questioningly . Suddenly Marinette was punched in the back of her head. Marinette rubbed her head pain . " Oh" was all Marinette managed to say to say after almost getting her brains knocked out. " Yeah , they new." Alya said not looking up from her camera. " But who cares ! We're our own crew." Alya said quickly. "Thanks Alya." Marinette said smiling.
"Alright class we're here ." The teacher said loudly standing in front of the bus. " Please make a single file line." she continued.
" Hello Students , I'm Dr.Poopsandshit and I'm head of the research department.. " The tall man said as all the students entered the lab.
"And here we create the future today. This is the animal genetics lab. Please feel free to explore , but please hands off." The tall man continued to explain.
Marinette runs off towards the way Adrien went. She watched how he carelessly looked at the birds , and admire them.
" All our animals are genetically engineered ." The man went on and on.
"Oh you're so pretty." Adrien said to the bird. Marinette came up beside him . " Hi birdie." she said sweetly. Adrien then looked the purple-head's way. "Hi." he said softly. "Hi." marinette said back , pushing a strand of her hair out of her face. "Shes beautiful , isn't she ?" Adrien asked. "Yeah she is , I think I'm gonna take a picture of her for the schools newspaper." Marinette said pulling out her phone.
" Oh and students our only rules is Do not feed the animals , oh and no flash photography ." Some of our genetically made animals are very sensitive to light." The professor said while raising his index finger.
Just then the bird caught on fire. "Oh shit !" Marinette said quickly trying to put the bird out. She panicked and threw the bird across the room. Adrien then turned around and looked around for the beautiful bird. Marinette tried to play it off posing cool like. " It flew away." Marinette said laughing nervously.
Then Chloe came over and spilled juice on her. "Oopss my bad. I didnt mean to , I was so blind by your ugliness I guess it slipped out my hand." Chole said shyly. "C'mon Chloe why'd you do that." Adrien said trying to help Marinette . " Oh stop Adrien lets go already." Chloe said dragging him by his shirt. " I'm so sorry Marinette" Adrien said quickly.
Marinette looked around for something to wipe her shirt off with but she couldn't find anything. Great , first her chances with Adrien was ruined and now her two dollar shirt was ruined too!
(To readers) " What?! Don't look at me like that ! The shirt was on Clarence sale!" Miranette said sticking her tongue.
"And now for our most promising research is with our ladybugs." The professor said. " There are seven of them."
" Um actually , there's only six of them." One student said.
Marinette then suddenly felt something on her neck , before she could slap it off it had already stung her.
(to the readers) " SINCE WHEN DOES FREAKING LADYBUGS STING! THIS LAB IS ALL TYPES OF WEIRD."
And believe or not , that's when I got my superpowers........
Thanks for reading chapter two xoxoxoxoxo , Chapter three is coming soon , and btw is my humor improving ;;;;
3. Quick note everyone !
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> this is just a quick update .
Hey everyone. I'm currently working on two stories right now . One is based on EWW (Every witch way) , I'm still deciding if its gonna be from the miraculous fandom base or if im gonna do it for a different fandom. And the other story is a plot line that im coming up with on my own which is going to be really challenging. Its gonna be based on one of my favorite mangas that I'm reading called Koe no katach, ps I'm so excited for the movie thats coming out in september! By the way , new chapters for Another cinderella story & Superhero is coming in august! btw thanks for all the hits ,and comments! Thank you xoxoxoxo | bfb0daf00f2e4d6c9d5d052976d57d6d | ['9e9dcc1eee594e2bb6ee0b2e3ffc7bd3'] | "I'll take that." Chloe said grabbing the teabag out of Marinette's left hand. Chloe was one of Ms. Dubios daughters. Considerably Marinette's step sister, you could say she had a mind of a brick wall. "Hey give that back , that's the last one." Marinette yelled . Chloe then threw it across the room to her sister Sabrina. Sabrina was Ms.Dubios other daughter .She was quite ugly too . " Aww thanks sis , you know how much I love tea , I'm gonna go make me a fresh cup." Sabrina said smirking.
"Your mom is gonna kill me if she doesn't have her daily tea!" Marinette whined. "Tch , not our problem." Sabrina said rolling her eyes. " So true ." Chole said after.
"MARI WHERE'S MY DAMN TEA" Ms Dubios yelled from the other room.
"Uh oh mother dear is calling for you . Better go attend her before she gets upset." Chloe said teasingly.
This was gonna be a long day.....
2. Chapter 2
Hey everyone , thanks for the favs and follows . Oh and for that one review lol, I fixed all the mistakes. And sorry for the shitty chapter one , hopefully this one is better. And sorry it took so long for chapter two , I can get pretty lazy. Here's chapter two Enjoy xoxoxoxo.
Chapter2: Guess who's in town.
"Uh oh , mother dear is calling for you . Better go attend her before she gets upset." Chloe said teasingly.
Marinette rolled her eyes in aggravation. She shifted on her heels and left the two ugly trolls behind. Marinette steps into the front room. "Yes stepmo-" "It's Miss stepmother." the aged woman said quickly cutting her off. "Yes Miss stepmother" Marinette said trying to smile nicely . "Where's my damn tea with two sugars? I kinda asked for it about uhhh two freaking minutes ago and it's still not sitting on this nice coaster I payed for." the stepmother said now scolding the purplehead girl.
"It's at the store." Marinette said nervously shrugging her shoulders.
"AT THE , AT THE WHAT?" The middle age woman screamed. " It's at the store , your daughter had the last cup of tea ma'am." Marinette said quickly . "You know what ? No tv , no free time , no phone calls . Now go to school , and get out of my sight." The aged woman said dismissing Marinette.
Marinette sighed heavily and left her presence . Marinette quickly grabbed her book-bag and headed out the door. "Aww , hey stepsister . You wanna ride to school with us in my hot new lambo mommy bought." Chloe said pushing her shades up on her forehead. "Yea c'mon sis , we'll give you a ride." Sabrina said giving marinette a playful wink. "As if I'd ever be seen with you stuckups. Seriously I may not be the most popular person at school but trust me , no one likes you guys." Marinette said waving them off ,walking down the side walk.
"That's why we weren't gonna give you a ride anyway dork." Chloe said rudely now pulling off down the street. Marinette rolled her eyes in disgust and continued walking to school. It took her about ten minutes to get there. When she arrived she got pulled into the biggest bear hug by her best friend. "MARINETTTE OMG I MISSED YOU." Alya said hugging her best friend tightly.
"Ca-n't b-b-reathe." was all Marinette managed to say . "Oh sorry." Alya said with guilt in her voice, now placing Marinette down. "Ah it's okay." Marinette said waving her off. The two best friends walked into the school together , heading down the big hallway full of students bumping them like they aren't even there.
"Hey watch where you're- OUCH!" Marinette yelled . " Oh , cmon , Hello! it's a person walking right here." Alya yelled out . The both of them continued to groan down the hallway all the way to their lockers, sadly Marinette's locker was across from her stepsisters. They approached their lockers and started to put their code in. Across from Alya and Marinette a blonde girl was giggling.
"Hey isn't that your stepsister and loser friend over there." The one blonde girl said snickering . "Yeah , sadly." Chloe said rolling her eyes. " So what's the deets with that story anyways Chloe and Sabrina." the other blonde head girl said. " Would like to have the honors of telling the story sis?" Chloe said smiling. "I'd be delighted to ." Sabrina said smirking. " The story is a very tragic one." Sabrina said dramatically. Chloe shook her head. "Her mother was one of my mom's dancer. Truth to tell , probably the weak link. But then she died, And we needed help around the house so my mommy took that brat in." Sabrina said shrugging her shoulders . All the girls broke out into an obnoxious laughter. Marinette happened to over hear and walked towards her stepsisters locker. "You think that's funny." Marinette said crunching up her fists. " Obviously , didn't you see that we were laughing ." Chloe said flipping her hair. "So what's with the attitude." Sabrina said hissing at Marinette.
"We are so good to you ." Chloe said whining. " You may still live in +332 , but you're still the number the one loser." Sabrina said mockingly. " We live in the +331 Genius!" Marinette said now yelling in her face. " Well I don't-" Chloe was cut off by her blonde hair friends screaming. "OMG OMG OMG HE'S HERE!!!" the blonde head girl said. "OMGGGGGG!Time to go say hi to my husband." Chloe said flipping her hair once more. "Totally sister!" Sabrina said. They all stormed off down the hallway. "Who's here?" Alya said coming up behind Marinette. Just then both of their phones went off , they had got a text.
"Welcome To Paris Heights Highschool Adrien Agreste."
3. Chapter 3
Hey everyone! I know I haven't written in a while. I've been busy since school started up again. Here's chapter 3? I think lol I can't keep track its been so long. But I'm really happy so many people enjoyed this story. You guys don't understand how great it feels for others to enjoy your work that you tried working hard on. I may not have alot but I wanna thank everyone who read this story , kudos , gave feedback and even put me down into their favorite author , and my stories ilysm. Oh shoutout to Tikki! Your review was such a booster for me to continue this story. Btw I think i'll make this story 5-6 chaps long , I have a good idea for chapter four to hit everyone with the feels and such(Hopefully :D). I'm honestly running out of ideas to continue it further , and I know people hate stories that drag on without a purpose. So I'm still debating. But no fret I still have my Super Hero story and a new one on the way! Ah look at me rambling on and on. Here's Chapter THREE! Enjoy xoxoxoxo A month has passed by since Adrien came to Paris Height High School. It was now a few days before Halloween , and everyone was in the Halloween spirit . Banners and decorations were hung up all around the school . The teachers were even nice enough to bring candy everyday for all the students. It so happened that Halloween was the principal's favorite holiday. He wanted to do many things with his students , maybe even throw a dance. Unfortunately the school couldn't afford such a big celebration this go around , even when they cut back on some extra curricula-rs. "Excuse me students of PHHS." the principal said in a distressed voice. "Unfortunately , we can not afford a school dance this year , not even cut backs were enough , I am deeply sorry." The principal said before cutting off the loud speakers. All students awed in disbelief , this was the school's favorite time of year. And now it was all shattered into pieces... Marinette sighed and closed her locker. " And to think I could finally get out of the house , I even had the perfect costume Idea for the both of us this year Alya." "I know , it sucks Marinette . And to think I was gonna kill it on the dance floor and when first place in the do you think you can dance contest." Alya said in disappointment. The principal slung over his desk and disbelief , if only he did a fundraiser over the summer he'd be able to throw a dance for the students to enjoy , especially with having a star at their school. He sighed heavily , lowering his head. The vice principal completely understood , she didn't even utter a sound. She simply came up behind the principal's desk and rubbed his back with a frown. A few moments go by and then there was a knock on the principal's office door. "You may enter the room." The principal said , now sitting straight up. "Can I have a moment of your time sir?'' Who do you think came knocking on the door? What do they wanna speak to the Principal about ? :D. Wouldn't you love to see Alya hit the dance floor ? Find out in chapter 4 . Ps I made this chap short because I'm literally making chapter 4 right now and it'll be uploaded tonight , I just wanted to let you guys know and stay tuned! |
c87fa46ce60740e4a3010d3fc8459011 | ['9ea6184f81f24166b5b05817388ca403'] | **Summary for the Chapter:**
> In which Sam learns more about Bucky’s job skills, and vice versa.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> hopefully posting the 2nd chapter will make me get my ass in gear and write the rest of this thing ALL FEELINGS ALL THE TIME NONSTOP FEELINGSPALOOZA
“Monday,” said Sam. “Three guys, one black, two white, and a white lady. They were leaving out of here with a big blond guy the groundskeeper thinks could’ve been Steve, carrying him. Said it was the lady’s husband and he’d been sick lately anyway and just passed out in the graveyard.”
Bucky nodded. If he pretended it was just another mission briefing, he’d be okay. Carrying him. Fuck. “He see a vehicle?”
“Wasn’t him on duty. The guy who was there comes on at four, said we could come back this afternoon and talk to him about it.”
“Who are our covers?”
Sam cocked his head questioningly.
“What?” said Bucky.
“Nah, nothing. Freaks me out when you act all normal and helpful.”
“Shithead.”
Sam grinned at him briefly, with that aggravating gap he had between his teeth, and went on with the briefing. “Thinks we’re vets—”
“We are vets,” Bucky pointed out, just to be a jerk.
“Normal vets. I said Afghanistan. Didn’t say PJ, I figured that’s gonna be—yeah, Afghanistan’s what I went with.”
Bucky didn’t know what _PJ_ meant. In this world, this century, he ran into a lot that he didn’t recognize. He got tired of it. He didn’t ask about PJ, that wasn’t their cover, and it didn’t matter. “And Steve’s supposed to be, what, our—”
“Friend,” said Sam. “Think you can remember that?”
“Fuck off.”
“Aight, get in.” Sam grabbed his blue and white coffee cup off the top of the rental car and swung himself into the driver’s seat. “Buckle up, huh?”
“Don’t have to,” Bucky pointed out. Supersoldier.
“You do when I’m driving,” said Sam. “My car, my rules.”
Fuckin’ Sam Wilson.
“Told him Steve’s got a drug problem,” Sam added, putting the car into gear. Bucky snorted. Try to imagine Steve damn Rogers putting unclean shit into his body.
Don’t. God, fuck, don’t try to imagine that. Bucky glanced over at Sam, who was shifting his rearview slightly, and carefully steadied his breathing. In, out. When he remembered to be, Bucky was good at looking like nothing was wrong.
Afghanistan, veterans, drug problem. He could do that. He’d said Afghanistan before to people, after he’d left Hydra, before Steve found him. Back when he still had an arm. It wasn’t the missing arm, or not just, that made people clutch their purses. Bucky didn’t know what it was. Something about him said _Watch out for this one,_ like the markings on a venomous snake. Except he couldn’t figure what it was, whatever the marks on him were that everyone else could see. Once he figured it out, what he was doing, what scared people, he’d stop. Make everything easier.
Sam was talking. Bucky was supposed to have been listening. He made a noncommittal noise, to cover. When a person didn’t listen there were consequences.
“Barnes,” said Sam, and he leaned over slightly, arms reaching.
Bucky flinched. Didn’t mean to. Flinching always made things worse, showing them you were scared. He knew better. Living the easy life too long, putting himself into cryo. That was how a man, a weapon, lost its edge, developed bad habits.
Sam drew back quickly. “I’m not gonna hit you, man. I was gonna plug my phone—I’m not gonna _hit_ you.”
“Light’s green,” said Bucky, low.
He hated driving in New York City. Faster to get out and walk. Faster to go across roofs, but he couldn’t do that, couldn’t trust his balance without the arm, and anyway Sam wouldn’t be able to keep up.
“ _Barnes._ You listening to me?”
Trying to. “Say something worth listening to and we’ll see,” said Bucky. Sam liked it when he was a smartass. Easy to do now, with Steve not here, Steve who would look anxiously at Sam, and anxiously at Bucky, crease between his eyes; and Bucky could never tell if that meant he was being too much like his old self, the person Steve remembered, or not enough.
Sam put on his blinker and turned.
“You drive like an old lady,” said Bucky.
“Saving it for the air, my friend.”
Bucky was jealous of Sam’s wings. If he could fly, he could never be trapped. “M’not scared of you,” he said.
“I know,” said Sam, easy.
“I’m not,” Bucky insisted. Ever since he’d met Sam—met him properly, not counting the time he’d ripped his wings off and thrown him off a helicarrier—Sam had been kind of astonishingly not scared of Bucky. He’d be alone with him. Nobody liked being alone with Bucky. Even Steve avoided it, although not for quite the same reasons as most of the world. (Or at least, not just those reasons.) The least Bucky could do, he figured, was not be scared of Sam back.
“I know,” Sam said, driving the speed limit.
Bucky sighed. “You drive like an old lady.”
“You already said that.”
Had he? Fuck. What a piece of shit brain he had, this remnant of Bucky Barnes that he was stuck being. Couldn’t pay attention long enough to carry on a conversation, couldn’t remember two minutes ago what he’d said, acted like a whipped dog when a man reached over to open the glove compartment. He swallowed hard and looked out the window.
“It’s old reactions, junk reflexes,” said Sam.
“Huh?”
“From before,” Sam said patiently. “Your body responds to what it’s used to experiencing—someone reaches over without saying why, you’re used to that being bad, right? It’s a reflex. That’s normal when folks get back from active duty, shit like that. I know you’re not scared of me.”
Normal. Bucky tipped his head down and laughed quietly.
“What?” said Sam. | de80e87927d34a938ce781a2abe563e0 | ['9ea6184f81f24166b5b05817388ca403'] | Bucky twisted his mouth against a smile and looked out the window so Sam wouldn’t see how smug he looked. A very small part of him wished that Steve were there so Bucky could say “See!” and Steve would have to see that he was better.
God, no, not a small part of him. All of him. He wanted Steve there. He wanted Steve back. Anything, he’d give anything.
This time, Sam didn’t try to keep the joke going, and Bucky was grateful. He tilted his head back against the open window, to feel the wind in his face.
* * *
The chair was real, and he was being—tampered with. Medically. The ice was part of the experiment. There were two main people working with Steve, and there were more than four people involved altogether. Steve had figured out that much, and not much else. For instance, he didn’t know if the ice was real or a memory or a hallucination or some kind of induced brain spasm. He didn’t know if there were more than four people on-site at a given time, or if his captors were swapping out guards. If the leather straps restraining him were real leather or something that only felt like leather, to make him think that he was weaker than he was.
Too many variables, Tony would say.
He still couldn’t remember how he had been taken. Going to see Tony was clear—
(Bad things were always easy to remember.)
—but everything after that was fuzzy. Not easy to distinguish dreams from reality. He remembered a gravestone and Bucky’s hand in a black fingerless glove. One of those things could not be real—Bucky was asleep, safe, in Wakanda—yet their reality in Steve’s memory was the same.
He must not have been able to get in touch with Tony, before they took him. There must have been a taking, because he had been free before and now was not. But it had been three days—more, maybe, depending on how long and how often he’d been unconscious—three days minimum.
Every time they sent him back into the ice, they were angry, a woman and a man. They muttered about recalibration, snapped at each other over whose mistake it had been.
They didn’t like it when he got sick after the ice; he’d figured that out quickly. Not just vomiting, which they might have disliked because it made more work for them, the clean-up. They minded when he had headaches, when he was nauseated. It meant that whatever they were doing wasn’t working. Or wasn’t working right. He played it up, how sick he felt. Gasped for breath and rested his head to one side when they turned off the ice (brought him back from the ice? stopped making him think there was ice?), and when they asked if his head ached, snarled at them to go to hell.
Sometimes, they went through the same steps as if they were going to put him in the ice, and Steve’s body tensed with anticipation, but then, nothing.
Or then, sleep, and he dreamed. The dreams were vivid, sensory, perfect, as if he were living his own life over again. Tony flew up and up and up, and Steve didn’t know yet that he would survive it. Nat was deadly grace, always fighting. Sam tried on aviator glasses and leaned backward to check in the store window how they looked.
And farther back even than that: A young, bright-eyed Bucky blew into glass bottles with different amounts of filthy river water in them, trying to make a song, and a skinny boy that Steve knew to be himself laughed until he cried. Steve applauded from across the street, and Bucky met his eyes and looked away like he didn’t even recognize him.
Steve was glad when they woke him up from that one. It tore him up to see Bucky look at him like he was a stranger.
(Again.)
Once, the woman said, “He’s still getting the headaches, seriously? Fuck.” The man—Steve was pretty sure he was South African—whispered “Hey,” and she didn’t say any more. That was the second day Steve could remember. On the third, they had been more careful. No talk at all.
Three days, at least, probably longer. He must not have been able to get in touch with Tony, or Tony would be here by now. Except that he remembered dialing the number, and he couldn’t stop thinking, couldn’t steer his brain away from wondering, what if he’d called and Tony had hung up on him? They hadn’t left things well, and what if—
After Bucky, after Russia, he’d been the first to call. He’d said, “Hi Tony. It’s Steve Rogers here,” and Tony had hung up on him. Twice without speaking. Three times altogether.
Once, after he left Wakanda. His voice was none too steady, probably, and he couldn’t be sure if he had done that on purpose, to make Tony feel sorry for him. How stupid, if he had. Tony didn’t know that Bucky had gone down, and if he did know he’d be glad.
A second time, from Idaho, when he was getting his fake passport and thinking, _We’re in the same country,_ as if that mattered to how angry Tony was.
On the third try, there was a longer pause. A longer silence. Steve was pretty sure. He said Tony’s name again, and then, “It’s Steve.”
Pitched a little lower than Steve expected: “I know it’s you. Nobody else has this number.”
Steve inhaled hard. He hadn’t thought Tony would answer him. Not this time, not ever. “I gave it to the others,” he said. “In case I wasn’t around to—”
“Wouldn’t recommend you finish that sentence,” said Tony. “So. You need something, is that what this is?” |
0222248e438b4aa2bb459d1dd6cc328c | ['9eb87c3eb1d34139af7d23efcf9069f8'] |
1. late night arrival
**Author's Note:**
> Vixx voodoo doll lyric i found it on google. credit to the one that translate it.
> thank you dawningskye for being my beta.
> inspire by the fact that d.o keep his knifes sharpen.
Its 11:40 by the time Chanyeol gets back to EXO’s dorm. He’s soaking wet and very cold. The only thing he wants the moment he gets back to the dorm is a hot shower. He has no idea that it was going to rain. If he’d known, he would have driven his car instead. His stomach growls telling its owner that it wants to be fed.
‘Ok, a light snack after the hot shower.’
As he walks by the kitchen, he swears he hears someone singing.
‘Impossible.’
Everyone is supposed to be sleeping at this time. They have to be up by 6 and ready by 6:30AM. Suddenly a flash of lightning illuminates the kitchen. Chanyeol swears he sees a figure standing by the window. As soon as the flash disappears, the singing stops. There’s another flash and then the kitchen is empty.
Chanyeol rubs his eyes, “Ok, getting caught in a downpour is making me see and hear things”.
He literally freezes in mid step when he hears the singing again. It seriously sounds like someone is singing MAMA, their debut song. When another flash went off, the kitchen is empty again and the singing has stopped.
‘Fuckin hell.’ There is no way the members are up, not after the grueling practice they went through. Yixing and Jongin were practically dead on their feet by the time they got back to the dorm.
Chanyeol decides to head to his studio because he finally has the inspiration to finish the song he’d been composing. Their manager is already asleep since they have to be up by 5:30 to make sure no one overslept.
_Then who the fuck is singing at_ he quickly checks his watch _11:50 at night, its 10 min to midnight._
The singing starts again and his heart feels like it’s trying to running away from him. Chanyeol decides to hightail out of the living room, heading straight to the room he shares with KaiSoo. He grabs his night clothes, towel, and underwear and disappears into the bathroom for a hot shower. He prays along the way that it’s his imagination playing tricks on him, that the dorm is not haunted.
“Great, I have become like Tao. He is jumping at everything when there is nothing there to begin with. “
By the time he finishes showering he realizes it’s midnight.
‘Might as well grab a drink and light snack before I sleep.’
He rubs his hair with a smaller towel while tossing his dirty clothes into the hamper at the same time.
Chanyeol gets out the shower, humming Fire by BTS as he makes his way to the kitchen. He has completely forgotten about the singing in the kitchen or the figure standing by the window. He opens the refrigerator to see what there is to eat. Finally he decides on a nice cold can of chilsung cider. He opens the can of chilsung cider and is about to take a drink from it when he hears the singing again.
Chanyeol literally freezes and slowly turns around. He swears the singing is no more than a few feet away from him. This time the song is Monster, the line that’s sung by Jongdae- _creeping, creeping_. Now Chanyeol is fuckin scared.
_Fuck who is singing at midnight_. Suddenly he notices the stove light is on, softy illuminating the lone figure that is standing right next to stove. He notices the figure is not the one that is singing. He’s too scared to even squeak or scream. Suddenly flash of lightning illuminates the kitchen. He sees something reflecting, like a mirror. He realizes it’s a butcher knife that the figure is holding. When the flash is gone the singing begins again. When another flash goes off, the singing stops, and the figure is missing. He’s too scared to run for his life, his feet feel like they’ve been super glued to the kitchen floor.
‘Park Chanyeol, there is no ghost.’
“Hell…hell…hell…hello” he softy squeaks out.
The moon has come out from behind the clouds, softy illuminating the figure that is standing next to the stove. When the lightning flashes again, the singing begins again. This time there is no other sound accompanying it, only the sound of running water and the sound of a knife being sharpened.
He watches as the figure splashes some water on to the whetstone, and places the blade against the whetstone.
<Shrink>
[Time is on your side, just wait]
Water splashes on whetstone, blade against whetstone
<Shrink>
[The tears he made you cry, I will cry them for you]
Water splashes on whetstone, blade against whetstone
<Shrink>
[Tick tock tick tock, everything will come true]
Water splashes on whetstone, blade against whetstone
<Shrink>
[If you can't have it, I'll just live for you]
And repeat.
There is someone singing VIXX in his dorm kitchen at midnight. And of all the songs that VIXX have come out with this person chose to sing Voodoo. The song only adds to the already creepy atmosphere and his imagination is running out of control.
Chanyeol has never been so scared in his entire life, and that includes the time he went into the haunted house with jongin.
“Hell...hell...hell...hello,” he say again.
No answer. The singing continues, the blade sharpening continues.
<Shrink> blade against whetstone.
[I shut my hurting eyes and run for you]
<Shrink> blade against whetstone
[Just please don’t leave me] | c64326dc23a8499382a97461dd1ef295 | ['9eb87c3eb1d34139af7d23efcf9069f8'] | Kyungsoo cannot believe he is actually killing a live chicken. He and Jongin were on their way back from practice and they’d walked by a live poultry place. So they decided to check it out and somehow they end up buying a live chicken. He calls up his mom and asks her how to kill chicken. So as of right now, he has plucked the feathers. According to his mom, he also has to slit the throat and bleed it out. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Jongin copying the way to hold the chicken by the neck. There goes nothing. He places the blade against the neck of the chicken and slices the neck open. He lets out a chuckle when he sees Jongin copying the dying chicken movement. He also hears a scream coming from behind him. It scares and startles him, causing him to drop the knife and dead chicken into the sink. He turns around to find out who is screaming at this time of the night.
Jongin is happy he’s going to have fresh chicken. He’s been humming and singing bits and pieces of songs that he remembers. Cans of chilsung cider and soda liter the counter where Jongin is sitting. He is swinging his legs happily waiting for Soo to prepare the chicken. He knows Kyungsoo is going to cook him something delicious with the chicken. He copies the way Kyungsoo is holding chicken by neck. He sees Soo give a little smile at his silly movements. Then he is copying the dying chicken twitching movement, causing Soo to let out a small chuckle. In the middle of his twitching he hears someone scream, startling him and making him scream too. Seriously he thought he was going to have a heart attack, who the fuck is screaming?
2. Aftermath
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> Sehun expect to see a sasang out cold. he did not expect to see him.
>
> chanyeol wake up with a headache from hell. He walk into the kitchen and see angry but sleepy members.
>
> Tak youngjun walk into the kitchen expecting to see nosiy beagles instead he got sleepy beagles went he annouce that they have the off.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> the managers that mention in the story is exo real managers. I google it myself.
>
> thanks you emeraldgreens555 for being my beta.
Sehun leaves the bedroom without a sound. He grabs the baseball that is leaning against the wall. He saw the others are hovering by the entrance of the kitchen. Quietly he walks up to others.
“Do you know who is screaming at this time of the night?” Sehun whispers.
Xiumin shrugs. “I was sleeping when the scream woke me up. Especially at this time of the night, it cannot be Chanyeol. As we know he tends to sleep in his studio when it gets too late. It also cannot be Kyungsoo since he is cooking for Jongin.”
“Kyungsoo is cooking and Chanyeol is spending the night in his studio. Does that mean it can be a sasaeng or a robber?” Suho asked.
“Well considering the history we have with sasaengs, I think it's more likely that it’s not the latter,” Yixing pipes in.
“I agree with what Yixing said. As we all know, sasaengs have their way of getting the passcode for our dorm. So, a robber wouldn’t know the correct passcode”, Jongdae says.
Suho nods his head in understanding, agreeing with Jongdae and Yixing.
“So what do we do now? We can call the police or we can defend ourselves first and then call the police,” Suho suggests.
Another voice joins in. “I say the latter. Just in case it's not a sasaeng. I don’t want someone getting arrested for the wrong reason”.
They all look down at Sehun’s phone.
They slowly creep into the dark kitchen. Suho glances at Sehun. “On the count of 3, I will switch on the light and you will hit the intruder.” Sehun makes an okay sign. He hands his phone to Xiumin before holding the bat, ready to strike.
‘1…2…3’
Suho turns on the light to the kitchen and Sehun swings the bat into the kitchen without looking at the intruder. They hear a scream that sounds oddly familiar. The others poke their head into the kitchen and see no one.
“Guys.”
They hear Kyungsoo’s voice and see him pointing down. They all look down and see Chanyeol on the floor, out cold. They all thought they took down a sasaeng. The person that is out cold is Chanyeol of EXO. What the hell is Chanyeol doing here in the dorm this late?
Chanyeol is standing in the kitchen scared out of his wits. Suddenly the kitchen light is switched on, causing him to scream again. He immediately turns around to see who the intruder was but he is faced with what he assumes is a baseball bat instead he got hit with it. He collapsed on the kitchen floor, knocked out cold.
He wakes up with a headache from hell. He gets off the sofa and wobbles his way to the kitchen. He bends his head to check to see if he is bleeding. He lets out a sigh of relief when he sees no blood on his fingers.
“Why do I feel like I just got run over by a truck?” he groans.
“You didn't get hit by a truck. You got hit by a baseball bat.”
Chanyeol immediately looks up and totally regrets it. The suddenness of the action causes his head to spin around like a carousel.
“Luhan?”
“Yo,” Luhan’s voice says.
He looks closely at the cell phones on the table. He is not seeing things; on the phone is Tao, Luhan and Kris.
“Uh, hullo.” |
2ce689b6ede04f87a5da925ba3ba0ddc | ['9ece017a4dc548bf978af85946ac8579'] | "Blair...I really need you to turn around," I said, keeping my voice calm. "Please."
"You just have to ask," he said calmly, already unbuckling his jeans. He passed me the lube and the condom, stepped out of his jeans and turned around, spreading his legs.
"I can't do this slow, not today, not right now," I said, fumbling with the preparation.
He bowed his neck and the hair parted on either side, leaving a single jagged line of white for me to fixate on. "I'm not asking you to," he said, so softly that I could barely hear him.
I tried to work him open with my fingers, but my need was just too great to prepare him all that much. I put a hand on his lower belly, and the other helped guide me in. He shifted back so it was easier for me, but other than that didn't try to escape the first thrust inside him. I didn't stop once the head of my cock made it past his muscles, and didn't breathe until he was all around me. I had to bend my knees to get inside him, and the strain on my thighs made this all the more real to me. I snuffled his hair, inhaling that sage and soap smell he had, and kissed down that white line.
He trembled under me, once, but then stoically stopped himself. Nor did he complain beyond an intake of breath when I bit his neck as I started to thrust. It wasn't until I reached down and gathered his cock up that I actually heard him gasp.
I had to lean away from him to get more strength to my thrusts, and as my chest left his back he stretched forward across his desk, gripping the far edge. "Jim...like that. Oh, God, please," he moaned, meeting my thrusts with his hips. His cock in my hand was already leaking, and the pre-cum made it easier to slide my hand up and down his length.
Working inside his body restored my own. All the hate, all the disgust, all the numbness Fiddler's words had filled me with drained away, leaving me only with the thrill of the coupling. I knew who I was, who this wonderful person under me was, and what our place was in the world. This. Here. Now.
Love.
It was so much better than the alternative. He continued whispering things to me as I fucked him, not caring that I didn't respond to them. I couldn't stop my body from coming. The rush passed through me, sweet and super-heated, and then it was over, and I was left collapsed over his body, panting in his ear. It wasn't until I sniffed the air that I realized he had came as well. "Thank you," I whispered, knowing the words of gratitude would never come close to how I felt, but he waited for me to get off him and then turned around, smiling like he understood.
"That was like...way cool," he said, breaking the spell on purpose so I wouldn't continue trying to fumble around for the words to cover it. "One of these days you're going to have to explain to me the different types of your orgasms. Do you get more tactile information if you're with someone else or if you're by yourself? Is there any difference in the hormonal output of your partner? Do you experience--"
To shut him up, I kissed him. "Won't work," I said, biting down his neck. I didn't want to leave a mark, but I loved the salty taste to his skin.
"Why not?"
"What would you use as a control group?"
"Oh," he said, stumped for approximately four seconds. "Unless we use straight sex as the baseline and then add the kinks to see how you react to them. That way--"
I was forced to kiss him again.
Simon phoned as I returned, so I filled him in on the details Fiddler had given me while excluding my side trip to the University. He didn't sound thrilled. "Be careful, Jim," he said.
"Yes, sir."
Blair came home on time for once, but I had planned for that freak occurrence. "You know, not having to follow some buff cop around all day sure frees up more than half my time," he said, tossing his keys in the basket. He looked up and saw the table set. "Wow."
I brought him a beer. "First you fuck me senseless, now you cook me dinner. I'm definitely keeping you," he continued.
"What about this buff cop?" I asked, running my fingers through his hair.
"History, man. I don't even remember his name," he said, turning to the touch. "I...uh...skipped lunch today. Can we eat?"
Okay, so we skipped the second round sex. Blair told me about his day, almost action by action, but I didn't mind. It was almost better this way, actually. I tuned out the individual words, working on my new talent, and concentrated on the swing in his hair, the fluid motion of his hands, the graceful fingers and how many times he included the word 'man' in his speech. It turned out to be not that often; maybe I just remembered him using it more. His face was so animated, so alive. So incapable of deception. Well, romantic obfuscations didn't count. "Jim? Are you listening to me?" he finally asked.
"No," I said, truthfully.
He stared at me. "Should I continue?"
"Please."
"Jim? Do you want to talk about it?"
"No."
He nodded, slowly. "So anyway, then the dean said--"
What can I say? He loved me, too. | 4c2832a60fa148b28e1fedc2422c35db | ['9ece017a4dc548bf978af85946ac8579'] | "Kiss me," he ordered. "You're not going to break me."
That was the second time he had to tell me. One of these days I was going to take the initiative. He was hungry and I needed him. I knelt down in front of him, guiding one foot up to the edge of the tub. I put my hand over his femoral artery, feeling the muscles around the vein contract and release against my skin. I kissed the node going into his groin, and followed the artery down his leg for as far as I could. "Jim, man, you're going the wrong way," he protested.
I smiled, snuffling my way back up the curly hair to his cock. I kissed him again, on each testicle, and played with the heavy sac with my tongue. He groaned, arching his back. "Oh, Jim," he whispered. "The things you do to me."
I kissed his circumcision scar, and ran my tongue over his exposed head. He made that strangling sound again, but his heartbeat hadn't increased enough for me to be worried about it. He rocked his head against the tiles and tried to grab my hair, but there was nothing to grip onto. He banged his fist against the wall, frustrated.
I cupped his balls again, massaging the base of his cock with my thumb. I took a deep breath in case it was my last one for a while, and slowly went down on him.
I relaxed my throat and let his length slide down. I could still breathe, which was a relief, and then I established my pattern. My hand worked with my mouth, drawing him closer to me. He started panting, rocking his hips to match me. My free hand travelled the back of his thigh, up to his ass. I stroked his buttocks, feeling the numbness of my lips as his wet skin chafed me.
"Jim...Jim..." His heartbeat raced and every muscle in his body tensed. I held him to make sure he wouldn't slide down the tiles and hurt himself as he came, slamming back against the shower wall. The wet curls plastered themselves over half his face as he writhed.
He opened his eyes, standing up straight. "Wow," he said, scraping the hair away.
I kissed his thigh and stood up, turning away to turn off the water. He stood in the shower for a long minute while I dried off.
He followed me out, disappearing into his old room for a second, leaving wet footsteps in his wake. I never knew his arch was so high. The disgust I carried inside me had lessened, but it was still there. Blair helped just by being there, but it still made me too angry.
Blair followed me up to my room with a bag from the drugstore down the corner. "Sandburg--" I began.
"Ellison," Blair countered.
The name stopped me. "We're past that last name business," Blair explained. He dropped the bag on the bed, not even glancing at it.
"What's that?" I asked, mainly because he expected me to.
"The next step."
He was speaking euphemistically, so could I. "Have you been there before?"
"Once or twice. Closer to twice. You?"
"A couple times, when they were the only stairs around," I said, refusing to blush.
He looked relieved as he walked over to me. "Go slow," he whispered, unknotting the towel. It fell to my ankles, and he ripped open the condom package just as there was a knock on the door. "They'll come back?" he asked, hopefully.
"It might be important," I said, reaching for my jeans. I took his wrist, kissing it. He went to get dressed as well. "Shit!"
I just pulled the sweater on. "What?"
"My jeans. They're outside."
"Stay in here."
I picked up Blair's jeans and gave them to him before going to the door. "Simon, I'm sorry. You know I would never--" I began too quickly.
He held up his hand. "How are you feeling?"
I shook my head. "Numb," I said, and rubbed the back of my neck. "And filthy. It's just a word, I should be able to say it."
Simon put his warm hand on my shoulder and I sighed, relaxing slightly. "It's not you," he said. "It's an act. I know that."
"And everyone else?"
"Taking it pretty hard. You hid this side of you really well, Jim," Simon said with a smile.
It bothered me that all my friends could accept the fact that I was racist so quickly. Simon shook his head. "They have no choice, Jim, that was an Oscar award-winning performance you gave them."
I didn't want to talk about it any more, so I showed him the card Waddell had given me instead. Simon copied down the information and passed it back. "What about Waddell?" I asked.
"Small-time. We've known about his tendencies for a while now, but he'll be too afraid to lose his pension and benefit plan to make waves. Keeping him on for another couple weeks won't do much more damage. Call this Fiddler tomorrow. He's probably the guy we're looking for."
Blair came downstairs, nodded at Simon, and went into the kitchen. There was left over pasta and some carrots that would have been fine to eat yesterday. I was about to say something about ordering in when Blair picked up the phone and dialed the Chinese place. "You're paying," he called.
"Stay for supper?" I asked, motioning Simon in. More clinks as Blair grabbed three beers and brought them out.
Simon glanced down to his watch. So did I. I had no idea it was already eight. "I've already eaten and I've got to get back to work. Check in with me tomorrow, call me at home."
"Yes, sir," I said, taking the beer from Blair. He moved back to the couch and flicked on the television. |
5af78cd41f6e424aa95770e23fab997d | ['9eebeb70f6154bb2b41295683a40aef4'] | gimme a spanking, start the day off right
**Author's Note:**
> written for round twelve of the spn rare ships creation challenge.
> this was fun! title from b-day song by madonna.
"Aw, Sam, you look so fucking beautiful like this. The pretty birthday boy."
And he really did. On his stomach, wrists tied together with a silk ribbon that had wrapped the first part of his present, and his legs tied separately to the bedposts, he was something else altogether. In his mouth were the pair of light blue panties that had covered his cock which was now hard and leaking against his stomach.
Lucifer smirked as Sam rutted helplessly against the mattress.
He grabbed Sam's ass, digging his fingers into the warm, flushed skin. "How many have we done so far, Sam?" Lucifer wondered aloud. "Sixteen, maybe? That leaves... Six?"
Sam murmured into his makeshift gag, saliva drooling down the side of his chin as he struggled to speak.
"What's that?" Lucifer mused with a smile not unlike that of a cat on the prowl. "Couldn't quite catch what you said."
Sam rolled his eyes at Lucifer, glaring at him.
"Alright, alright, I'm just playing. It's been eighteen, we've got four more."
With a huff that sounded a lot like, "Damn right," Sam pushed his hips against the bed again, clearly wanting more contact than he was getting.
"Count for me, sweetheart," Lucifer reminded before bringing his hand down on Sam's ass in a sharp slap, letting his touch linger for a moment on the reddening skin.
"Nninheen," Sam gasped into the gag, closing his eyes.
Another hit, and this time Lucifer used the heel of his palm. Sam cried out into the makeshift gag, curling into himself and breathing heavily on his shoulder.
"I said, count."
Sam choked out something that didn't sound like 'twenty' at all, but Lucifer let it slide. His boy was going through enough as it was.
"Just two to go," he reassured him, combing his fingers through Sam's fringe and languidly stroking his cheek with the back of his hand.
Sam nodded, the movement jerky even as he leaned into Lucifer's touch just to have it pulled away and replaced by another smack to his ass. "Ah, fuhhh- 'wenheeone," he moaned, screwing his eyes shut tight and trying his best to keep from coming before Lucifer was done with him.
His efforts weren't unrecognised, as the next thing he knew, his legs weren't restrained though his wrists were still bound behind his back.
"You've been good," Lucifer hummed, looking genuinely pleased as he pulled Sam up to straddle his lap. Sam's ass was still sore rubbing on the denim of Lucifer's jeans, but it was a good kind of burn.
With the gag still in his mouth, Sam only hummed in reply.
When Lucifer removed the panties, it took a moment for Sam to catch his breath before he leaned forward and caught his boyfriend in a kiss, pulling away and tugging Lucifer's lower lip with his teeth.
"Look at you," Lucifer cooed, taking Sam's painfully hard cock in his hand and wasting no time in beginning to tug at it hard and fast.
Sam hissed, his back arching as he lasted all of three seconds before he was yelling a string of incomprehensible curse words, hands behind him curled into fists so tight his nails dug into his palm.
"Well, fuck," Sam murmured, breaths deep and laboured.
"' _Well, fuck_ ,' indeed," Lucifer agreed with an amused smile as he tucked a stray couple of hair strands back behind Sam's ear and cupping his face.
"We didn't get to twenty-two," Sam realised with a small pout as Lucifer reached around him and undid the ribbon holding his wrists together.
Lucifer shrugged. "You can make it up to me later," he suggests with a small smirk. "Happy birthday, Sam." | 540f868d390c4e0295b791ed76234671 | ['9eebeb70f6154bb2b41295683a40aef4'] | She isn't sure, but she thinks Claire might look at her for a moment longer than necessary. There's a smile on her usually-stoney expression. "Yeah, just you and me," she repeats, and then she's grabbing her bag and disappearing into her room.
A little further into statistics and graphs and Alex decides that she cannot stand looking at her book for another second. She closes it and chucks it into her bag before going and knocking on Claire's door. There's loud music playing inside, as always, and Alex has already started second guessing herself when the door opens to reveal a very undressed Claire in just her underwear and a t-shirt.
"Shit, sorry," Alex is quick to turn away, making a show of shielding her eyes with a hand.
Claire is blatantly unaffected, shrugging as she leans expectantly against the doorframe. "Did you want something?" She asks, raising an eyebrow, "Help with maths, maybe?"
At the teasing words, Alex's head snaps up and she glares at Claire. "Don't think that just because you're starting college you can start bossing me around," she warns playfully, rolling her eyes.
"Don't tell me you don't _like_ being bossed around," Claire scoffs with a smirk.
Alex is sure she's hearing things. Claire liked boys, right? And she liked boys, right? There was no way in heaven that the blonde was flirting with her. It was just her hormones and sexual frustration acting up very inconveniently. It had to be.
Letting her gaze roam boldly down Claire's body, Alex figures that if she's overstepping a line, something will be said. And if she isn't... That would open up a dozen new doors, and they could cross those bridges when they reached them.
The t-shirt that Claire is wearing is old and worn, and it hugs her in all the right places and is frayed just the right amount. It makes her look effortlessly sexy, like she could be a pinup girl that escaped her centrefold. Her underwear is a bright pink, which, okay, kind of makes it impossible not to stare at her ass.
Alex lets her stare linger long enough for Claire to bark out a laugh. "Jesus Christ, Jones, are you checking me out?" She smirks deviously.
Alex only nods, still entranced by the wonder that is Claire Novak. "Yes," she finally lets past her lips in a small, throaty whisper of a confession.
And then Claire's closing the distance between them, sliding her arm around Alex's waist and pulling her flush against her own body. "Fan _fucking_ tastic," she purrs, "And about time, too."
They're stumbling into Claire's room at what seems to be a hundred miles per hour. slamming the door shut and clumsily tugging at each other's waists and hips. Claire gets Alex's shirt off and runs her hands over her body, staring at her like she's a marble statue that's been carved and dedicated to a Roman deity.
"Y'know, I'm sort of really really glad I beheaded the asshole that was gonna get to see you like this." Claire smiles that catty smile again, and Alex shivers at both her words and the look on her face. She can't help it: Claire looks as if she's about to eat her alive.
Maybe she is. Maybe Alex will let her.
The first kiss is messy. They bump noses and turn their heads the same way for a good five seconds before Alex lowers her head, a blush spreading furiously across her cheeks like wildfire. Claire lifts her chin gently, looking her straight in the eyes and asking if she wants this. Alex says yes without any hesitation.
"So," Claire says slyly as she sits Alex down on the edge of her bed and straddles her lap, one leg on either side of her thighs. "You never did say."
The brunette frowns in confusion, not understanding what exactly Claire is getting at.
Claire's fingers trail down Alex's collarbone before snapping the straps of her bra. "Whether you like being bossed around," she clarifies, her voice seeming to drop an entire octave just in that one sentence.
Alex swallows thickly. She doesn't, normally- a consequence of having grown up with a relatively strong personality in a nest of vampires. But with Claire, she feels herself giving way to an exception.
"So, tell me, Alex, babe," Claire continues, shifting slightly in her lap just enough to send a wave of hot arousal down to the pits of her stomach. "Would you like me telling you what to do? Where to put your hands, how to kiss me right..." As she speaks, she takes Alex's hands and places them just above the waistband of her underwear.
Feeling herself growing more and more breathless by the second, Alex can only nod helplessly as she attempts to follow along by rubbing her thumbs on the soft skin of Claire's hips.
Claire nods in approval, cupping Alex's face and kissing her deeper than the first time. She sucks on Alex's bottom lip and takes advantage of the way her lips part in surprise, gently caressing her tongue with her own.
Alex lets out a small whine into the kiss. She can do kissing, she thinks, sliding her hands up Claire's sides and letting them rest on her breasts. As the kiss deepens and Claire's fingers tangle in Alex's dark, wavy hair, she finds herself impatiently unclasping the blonde's bra and pushing it hastily to the floor.
"Atta girl," Claire laughs, but her chortle of amusement quickly morphs into a throaty moan as kisses are trailed briefly across her jaw and neck until lips are wrapped around each of her nipples in turn, and all she can do is gasp and grind her hips down as the pleasure rolls through her like waves in the sea. "Sure you haven't done this before?" She wonders aloud, and her thoughts are met with a little trill from Alex and a playful nip at her collarbones. |
54d8211de24342c9ad3ab14b3bb7e3ea | ['9ef915d3c5da4145b77b3c02b51c3a6e'] |
The Heart of a Pepper's Mysteries
It was another uneventful afternoon in the otherwise uneventful life the unassuming middlemost child of House Dagoth. People, he’d learned, tended to look toward ends and beginnings when it came to matters such as lineage--and they were quick to discount the value of that which lay in the center, right before their very noses. **
**
At most, perhaps he’d stand to inherit the far-off clanstead on Vissamu on Gorne, where the apple-vineyards boomed plentifully all year ‘round. Nestled there, too, between the Pale Spires of Gorne was the Lyceum--but Tuerynul, who had already proved to be quite the obsessive librarian, could easily contest such a claim. The whole of the island had been named for Voryn’s ancestor, Goryr, brother to the great Velothi craftlord, witch-warrior and explorer Kitkal-a. Voryn noted that the only thing particularly consistent amid numerous revisions of the tale seemed to suggest that somehow, poor Goryr had been lost ‘twixt the treacherous waves of the Padomaic Ocean, and it was in his honor that Kitkal-a named the isle upon which he landed several weeks later.
At any rate, Odros seemed hell-bent on becoming Grandmaster, so it seemed rather unlikely that he’d deign to secure a place at Kogoruhn as an adult. Voryn kept up with his eldest brother as seldom as he saw him--and as seldom as others kept up with him. Though his house was accredited with being as enigmatic as it was tight-knit, of all his brothers, Voryn simply seemed to slip between the cracks.
Not that he was particularly perturbed by this. Voryn’s ability to exchange solitude for company with seamless ease was something that would remain with him for the rest of his life. He prided himself on this, the knowledge tucked securely behind a smug yet unassuming smile that Uthol and Gilvoth, in particular, would never achieve such a state given their quarrelsome natures. Attention (or a great longing for it) Voryn was sure, was both the cause and the fuel of that particular fire.
The best company of the siblings, he’d found, were the infant Araynys and the sisters Dagoth. When he’d first held Araynys shortly after his step-mother had given birth, he observed that the babe’s too-large eyes bore uncanny hints of sympathetic wisdom. Seldom did Araynys weep or make trouble--save for the occasions during which any infant might weep, when they were hungry, frightened or lonely.
The subdued sounds of brotherly strife echoing from several halls away had not failed to grace his ears. Their arguing, he was sure, was going to drive him straight into the Mad Corner if he didn't get out of there, and quickly. (Though generally prudent and obedient, like all children, he would occasionally take a notion of being contrary. When Voryn ventured to break the rules, his actions were generally of little harm or consequence. The same could not be said of Uthol, Gilvoth and Endus per their proclivity for physical altercations when things didn’t suit them, and poor Vemyn, who was always getting in trouble for what their cousins referred to as _"bedeviled ideas and clangfangled experiments."_ )
On this particular afternoon, the rising noise level combined with the increasingly oppressive atmosphere of the well-populated clanstead proved too much for both Voryn and Araynys to bear, although the two expressed their discomfort quite differently: Aranys through his shrieks and Voryn by clutching his head in a vain attempt to fend off a nasty migraine.
Both of them seemed eager to make an escape--and that is exactly what Voryn did. Though he knew that the youngest, being something at an end, would be easily missed, he found himself preparing the portable swaddle and the straps with which he’d secure it to his back, making sure to swipe a few extra woolen blankets as well. After all, nothing good came of infants exposed to the cold!
Thankfully, things always warmed up considerably after the ash-sands around Kogoruhn bathed long enough in the afternoon sun.
Meanwhile, Araynys’s screams grew and grew, until they rang out nearly loudly enough to oust the song from its seat in the back of Voryn’s consciousness. Voryn frowned, for he loathed bitterly the sort of indifference with which his step-mother resigned his youngest brother to the servants’ care--and he quite nearly hated her for it, too. At least he cared enough to quiet the screaming!
"We're making our escape," Voryn murmured quietly, gently tweaking the infant's nose as he swaddled his brother. "For a few hours, at least. And I'd much prefer if you wouldn't tattle on me so loudly!”
Araynys’s anguished little cries soon became muted giggles, and the nature of his laughter seemed infectious, putting a genuine smile on Voryn’s face.
Once he was sure that nobody was looking, Voryn bolted out of the Hall of Maki--so named for his grandmother, Maki Half-Dwarven, the current Grandmistress (and one of the longest-lived Grandmistresses of their House. This was an honor, as never before had a Hall been named for its mortal inhabitant per their transient nature)--and toward the sprawling expanse of ash-dunes, which he followed until they met the igneous cliffsides. Often, these cliff-faces were riddled with holes which they owed to the biting of the wind, and cliff racers owed their name, at least in part, to these convenient nesting-places in turn. Though he was slight of build and swift on his feet, Voryn took great care not to move too quickly, lest he jostle poor Araynys about unnecessarily.
Voryn knew well not to get too close to the Black Cliffs of Kogoruhn, for the last thing he and the tiny, cooing bundle-of-brotherly-joy on his back (whose eyes happened to be well-protected by an extremely small pair of Dwemer surface-goggles) wanted was to encounter an angry racer matriarch with a bellyful of eggs! | f6eb2ead944646d4b63fa511fde928a8 | ['9ef915d3c5da4145b77b3c02b51c3a6e'] | Though she had cherished the Chimer as their hardest-loving mother, a number of Boethiah's shrines had fallen into somewhat dire straits after the Northmen invaded. This particular shrine, as he sound found, proved no exception. However, as the slave saw it, the proud statue of the Dark Prince stood as mighty and tall as ever, perpetually frozen in a great fell swoop of action, though she was sadly bereft of her hands. Before the great idol of Boethiah lay her hands and axe hewn from abraded stone upon the ground. The face of the Chimer’s Mother-Father stared down at him with pristine austerity.
Suddenly, a curious ringing sound filled the slave's ears. He then knew what he needed to do.
A few hours later, he returned with a large, ill-gotten bolt of fabric. Lifting the axe and attempting to wrap the fabric around its stony bulk to conceal it, the slave felt as though every bone and every sinew within his body might break from the effort. Somehow, though, he managed to drag the stone-axe home, arriving back at the slave-hovels that evening before successfully managing to squirrel the axe away before anybody could be made aware of its presence.
He waited patiently through the night, rocking back and forth until the Hour of Perfect Murder, Mephala’s Hour--known to many as midnight--arrived at last. Quietly, the slave crept through the courtyard of what should’ve been _his_ clanstead. As sure as the rivers reached the seas, the bearded man and his friends were passed out in a drunken stupor in the main hall and a few nearby rooms, their presences marked by a collection of drinking-horns and vessels strewn about in careless abandon.
The slave’s nose wrinkled distastefully. O, how that heathen slumped over in what was rightfully _his_ seat!
His heart felt as if it might leap from his chest as he crept toward the far end of the room. Steadying himself, he moved closer and closer still to the sleeping figures until he was close-- _uncomfortably_ close--to the bearded man.
Holding his breath, he lifted the axe until it was positioned delicately over the man’s neck, just a hair’s breadth from contact. The slave then squeezed his eyes shut and, in one swift and thoughtless gesture, he brought the axe down.
The price of the man’s heinous deeds was drawn from the wound in the form of blood which soon covered both slave and axe. Curiously enough, the cumbersome stone weapon cut as though it were metal--and stranger still was the uncanny feeling that somehow, the axe had grown considerably lighter in his hands after the first kill.
One by one, the slave silenced the noisome snores of the bearded men and all of his kin. However, his luck was short-lived, for one of them had awakened and begun alerting the others. The slave froze; his pointed ears twitching as he heard a rush of heavy footfalls echoed from the next door.
**_"You hesitate,"_ ** boomed a grand voice both within and without him. " **_Have you the will to finish what you've started...?"_ **
The slave was shaken by the sudden voice, the panic welling up within him and the realization that all of his deeds were in fact, genuine. All at once, it seemed so surreal and so very frightening. Though the whole of his body quaked, his grip on the stone axe did not falter.
“I am,” the slave answered. The pitch of his voice found itself driven to new heights by fear, although there was a solid matter-of-factness to his words.
**_“End the suffering. Paint the canvas. Sever the flesh, sunder the bone and watch the blood flow! Take the blood price that is owed you!”_ **
“Paint the canvas,” he repeated, his tenor taking an eerie, incantatory quality. “End the suffering. Paint the canvas. Sever the flesh, sunder the bone...” The slave’s voice filled the halls with these words, which soon took an eerie, incantation quality.
The slave then knew that in her own way, Boet-hi-Ah cherished all of her children. To this particular child, her first gift was a cloak of blood and vengeance and a veil of a fiery determination. Years later, it would be accompanied by the second: awakening with Nerevar the sword-mask of good intentions; destructively potent by nature.
Having long ago passed his meager limits, the slave’s movements seemed carried forth by a strange wind from within him. Argent fire burned within his eyes as he struck down each successive challenger. The floor soon found itself redecorated with the cloven skulls of each of the bearded men--but the slave didn’t stop _there._ Where reason was absent, anger took up brutal form of governance that translated itself in the form of repeated blows to the bodies until the mens’ bodies were replaced by a gory potpourri.
Though he was exhausted, the slave's actions were now driven by sheer panic. He stumbled into the bearded man's room. Still fully clothed, he heaved himself into the bath which had long since gone cold, for it been drawn hours ago. Being submerged in water always had a profoundly calming effect on him. Small ripples and waves produced by his trembling figure moving about in the tub seemed to wash away his worries for the moment.
Uncertain of how much time had gone by, the slave climbed out of the bath and looked down at himself. Much of the blood still clung stubbornly to his garments. As his eyes traveled down his arms, only then did he notice the cumbersome presence of the Dres-shackle. Though it was a shameful thing to admit, he’d grown so accustomed to its presence that at times that he’d forgotten that it wasn’t just an extension of his arm. |
daa89568e9234c62b9fd1bad357bd107 | ['9f03d6a520e74410a7e6b60bc9d79a61'] | 1. 166 icons - Cast + Episodes 1 & 2
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| | | | | | e75f75dfbf084577add311c015065a91 | ['9f03d6a520e74410a7e6b60bc9d79a61'] | 458 Icons: Celebrities (30) + Captain America: The First Avenger (428)
**Author's Note:**
> None are bases, unless stated. No hotlinking. Credit if you use; comments are appreciated. Legit concrit is awesome, too, but bashing/excessive snarkiness isn't wanted. Please do not repost my graphics on other websites without asking for my permission.
>
> I can also be found on LiveJournal (likesototallyme), Twitter (USER), and Tumblr (janersm). Also, if you enjoy them, please feel free to like me on Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/likesototallyme
>
> Oh, and I try to post all of my graphics to a gallery at: http://arts.likesototally.me.
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854180d1fd2a4db0b859dc80d7f8a4a3 | ['9f256162b9134fa69537ace7efec5d7f'] | Nothing Personal
Night comes quickly on Kobol. The fleet's leaders settle down for the night on the tarp where they've only recently set their differences behind them and established something new: a true partnership between equals.
Although their sleeping arrangement is a bit awkward, Bill thinks it best to stay together. He can personally guard the president, and, if they feel it necessary, Lee and Kara can keep an eye on the both of them.
Bill makes sure he lies down a respectable distance from Laura, but as the night grows colder, he can't help but notice her shivering.
"Laura," he whispers, "Are you okay?"
"I'm f-f-f-ine," she replies, teeth chattering.
"Alright," Bill says, chuckling. He slides over to her, wrapping an arm around her waist.
"I think I can help you warm up a little. I've been told I'm a living furnace, but, if you'd rather I didn't…" he says, pulling his arm away.
"No," Laura exclaims sharply, rolling to face him. "I suppose I could use a little warming up."
Surprisingly, she relaxes against Bill almost immediately, calmed by the gentle circles he rubs against her back. She relishes in the heat generated by his sturdy body, beginning to feel warm for the first time since she set foot on Kobol.
As Bill slides his hand under her meager layers to continue his ministrations against her bare back, Laura hums her pleasure. Her position as president has somehow made her untouchable, so much so that she finds herself biting her lip, trying to hold back the sounds of pleasure Bill's innocent touch inspire.
Bill is having trouble himself, trying to focus on less pleasurable things than the feeling of a woman in his arms for the first time in decades. Ellen Tigh. Figurski naked. None of the images he conjures tame his stirrings of desire. He tries telling himself it's nothing personal. He would feel the same with any woman; it has nothing to do with the fact that it's Laura. It has nothing to do with gentle curves, red hair, and long legs.
He's startled from his musings when he hears a quick gasp and a low moan. He's startled again to discover that one of his hands has taken it upon itself to gently grasp Laura's right breast. He can't help himself as he cups and strokes it, fingers searching out the nipple, hard from the cold.
Laura gasps again, breathing out his name, when his fingers end their search, gently manipulating her nipple through the thin material of her bra. She begins to pant quietly, arching into his hand, silently asking for more.
"Is this okay," Bill asks, ever the gentleman. Laura's yes is low and drawn out, both an answer to his question and verbal expression of her pleasure.
"I want…" she trails off with a moan, rolling onto her back and pulling Bill with her. Bill captures her mouth as he settles on top of her, conscious of keeping the majority of his weight off her slight frame.
They kiss deeply and desperately, all the anger of the past weeks seemingly turned to passion. Their tongues duel and caress, their kisses both challenge and answer. Bill's lips leave Laura's, trailing across her jaw and down her neck, sucking gently at her pulse point, wary of marking her.
He feels Laura start to rock against his thigh pressed against her core, her rhythm steady and sure. Groaning, he thrusts once against her hip before capturing her lips in another searing kiss.
When Laura breaks the kiss, breathless, Bill pulls back, causing Laura to open her eyes.
"As much as I want this, I don't think it advisable for either of us to be bare-assed in the cold tonight," Bill says, earning him a chuckle. "But, that doesn't mean I'm done with you just yet," he continues, unfastening her pants and slipping his hand inside.
Laura can't contain her moan when he pushes his hand inside her underwear, caressing her slick folds. She arches into his hand, urging him on, when she feels him gently probing her entrance.
"Yeeeeess," she hisses when he slides one finger inside her, frakking her in a steady rhythm, thumb brushing her clit every few strokes. Her hips chase each stroke, greedy for his touch and the pleasure it provides.
Laura bites down on her lip, rocking faster when Bill adds a second finger, but a few whimpers manage to break through. She feels her thighs begin to tremble and knows she won't last much longer as Bill increases the speed and force of his thrusts.
Feeling her trembling, Bill circles her clit repeatedly as he twists his fingers to find that rough patch of tissue on her upper wall. He presses hard on both, feeling her walls lock down around his fingers as Laura comes with a loud cry.
Bill rides out Laura's orgasm before returning to her side and kissing her soundly. He straightens up her clothing and chuckles against her neck as she slowly comes back to herself.
"I'm surprised no one has come to ensure you're okay," Bill murmurs, teasing lightly.
"Just tell them I had a nightmare," Laura murmurs, turning and snuggling into Bill's warmth, head against his chest.
They both fall quickly into slumber, wrapped closely around each other.
"Looks like the Old Man and the Prez got all cozy last night, Lee," Kara snarks upon seeing the two leaders the next morning. "You know…I actually may have heard something. Do you think they 'made up' in the traditional fashion," she asks, snickering.
"Yeah, right, Starbuck. It was a cold night. Get your mind out of the gutter," Lee retorts, a look of distaste and embarrassment running across his features. | 95caa1ebee754630afe003e7122702a8 | ['9f256162b9134fa69537ace7efec5d7f'] | 1. Leverage (hate!frak)
Laura hisses as Bill’s fingers dig into her hips, hard enough to bruise, while he fraks her roughly from behind. Her hands tighten around the bars of her cell, knuckles turning white, as she tries to gain enough leverage to push back into his thrusts.
Bill’s hand leaves her hip and grabs her left breast hard, causing Laura to cry out in pain. She holds back tears, breast throbbing, as her whole body jerks in time with Bill’s short, sharp thrusts.
“It this how you treat all your prisoners, Commander?” she gasps out, barb hitting just prior to Bill’s release.
2. Eyes Closed (voyeur)
Bill awakens late in the night. He’s been sleeping on his couch since Laura started living with him, ostensibly to have easier access to sick bay for her treatments, but, truthfully, he just wants her there.
Thoughts of Laura turn his attention towards his rack where he expects to see her sleeping soundly. While her eyes are closed, he sees, instead, her face awash with pleasure and notes her hips moving rhythmically beneath the blanket. While he can’t see the way in which she is pleasuring herself, he can watch it play out across her face, teeth biting her lip.
3. Silent Night (outside)
Lying beside him watching the stars, passing a joint back and forth, has turned to passionate kissing under the stars. Laura isn’t inclined to mind as she feels Bill pulling up her long, red skirt, allowing his hand to run across her leg as he does so.
Bill starts when his questing fingers hit naked, wet flesh, but he quickly recovers, stroking Laura’s folds before sinking two fingers deep inside her. His talented fingers create a melody of Laura’s moans filling the silent night air, until she tenses, inside and out, and gasps his name, nearly soundless in her release.
4. Coming Home (resurrection)
She’s a vision: healthy and whole with a full head of long, red hair. Bill believes he must be dreaming; he built the cairn around her body no more than a week ago. Yet, he feels it when she reaches out and caresses his face.
Unwilling to question the how or why, Bill sinks to the ground with her, peeling away her clothing until there is nothing left but her lush curves and pale skin. He luxuriates in her full breasts and explores every inch of her body down to the apex of her thighs. She tastes like coming home. |
0cee242c616c4c7a818893931043560d | ['9f2c1524b39f439aaff60a784460fbc8'] | "Mani, pizza never gets old. If that changes, the world just isn't right," Dinah insists, and Normani shakes her head.
"Whatever. I actually want to go _out_ to eat. Like, at a restaurant? Please?"
"Sure," Dinah agrees, and then smirks. "I think there's a Pizza Hut just around the- Ow!" She frowns and rubs her arm where the other girl smacked her. "Jerk."
" _I'm_ the jerk?!"
"I'm fine with pizza," Camila suddenly pipes in, and Dinah smiles, pulling the girl over to her and wrapping her arm around her.
"I knew I could always count on you, Mila," Dinah says proudly, before sticking her tongue out at Normani.
Camila giggles and leans up to press a kiss to Dinah's cheek. Lauren looks away.
"Alright, so are we going, or what?" Lauren mutters, grabbing her jacket.
Normani grumbles and trails reluctantly behind them as they leave the tour bus to walk to get pizza for the third night in a row.
>
Going out without bringing their security is a mistake. Apparently Fifth Harmony is a very well-known name in pizza plazas.
A whole group of teenage girls practically jump on them to get autographs and photos, and one even asks them to sing.
They politely remove themselves from the situation- and are then scolded by their head of security for not thinking it through.
And then, Miss Movin' On starts playing throughout the restaurant, and all hell breaks loose.
Their security team has to exit the group from the building so they can eat their pizza in peace- back at their tour bus.
Normani glares at Dinah throughout the rest of the night.
Camila, as expected, ignores Lauren...
That is until everyone else is asleep and the green-eyed girl pokes her head into her bunk.
Camila sighs and scoots over to make room on the bed for her.
"I thought we had to distance ourselves," Camila mutters.
Lauren interlaces their fingers and presses a kiss to the back of the other girl's hand. "Starting tomorrow."
2. two
And tomorrow, as promised, is when it starts.
Camila wakes up alone and cold in her bunk and sighs when she unlocks her phone to see new messages from their management team telling her that they have rehearsals for tonight's concert- in one hour.
She slips out of bed and pulls back the curtain, smiling when she sees five coffee cups with each of the girl's names on them.
She picks up the one with _Camila_ written in sharpie and takes a big sip, nearly dropping the cup when the hot drink burns her tongue.
"I just got them, dork," Dinah laughs as she enters the bus again, carrying a box from Dunkin Donuts. "It's about time you're up. Rob's coming to pick us up soon."
"Where's Lauren?" Camila asks, taking a _cautious_ sip of her coffee this time.
Dinah shrugs and sets the box down on the counter. "Not sure. She left pretty early this morning." She points to the donuts and looks at Camila very seriously. "Don't touch the chocolate ones. Those are mine."
Camila sticks out her tongue and walks back over to her bunk with her coffee.
Her stomach growls but she ignores it when she notices a folded up piece of paper sticking out of her pillowcase.
Her brows furrow curiously as she makes a grab for it, her fingers moving to unfold it quickly. Her heart leaps as she reads.
_Sorry for leaving so early. I was going to just text you, but I thought I’d be cliché and romantic for you. I’ll see you at rehearsals._
- _L_
Camila smiles and rolls her eyes.
Maybe things won't change as drastically as she thought.
>
Well, she's wrong. Or, she _was_ right, earlier. Things do, in fact, change as much as she had thought- if not more so.
The five girls meet up and work on their choreography, and everything goes relatively normal.
But Lauren doesn't stay later with Camila to help her out- since the younger girl is sometimes a _little_ clumsy and has problems keeping up- and instead leaves with Normani, Ally, and Dinah, while Camila stays with the choreography team.
By the time she's able to leave as well, she's exhausted.
As she's being driven to the ice cream parlor where the rest of the girls are hanging out, she scrolls through her Twitter DM's and tries to answer as many messages as she can before the app crashes.
Once she sends a tweet, her page usually blows up with messages and subtweets from fans trying to get her attention.
She stops scrolling when she sees a camren photo from when they were still in The X Factor.
She smiles. She loves that photo.
She stops herself from liking the tweet, knowing that it's probably not the best idea.
She exits out of Twitter right as her driver opens the car door for her, and she steps out.
When she enters the parlor, she's greeted by charming green eyes and a cup of banana ice cream.
>
"Alright, Amsterdam, I know you can be louder than that!"
The crowd roars and Camila giggles excitedly. She loves hearing all of the fans shouting and cheering. Not _for_ her, but _with_ her.
Camila walks around Lauren to hit her mark, and she can practically feel the other girl's eyes burning into her.
"We're going to take it down a couple notches in this next one, so get all your screams out now. On the count of three, I really wanna hear you, alright? Left side... three... two... one!"
The left side of the crowd screams as they're instructed.
Camila sprints over to the right side and holds her hand up to her ear. "Right side, let me hear you!"
The right sight joins in, and when Camila yells for everyone to let it all out, she swears the building literally shakes. | 28e3fece3b4d4321bf64992eb70208ca | ['9f2c1524b39f439aaff60a784460fbc8'] |
Don’t Let Me Go
She forces herself to wait.
She forces herself to keep her composure for the five seconds that it takes her to walk through the time portal and into her office.
Those five seconds are filled with silence, because Sara doesn’t call after her.
After the portal is closed, it’s silent for only a second more, before a sob escapes past Ava’s lips.
A sob that she quickly covers with the palm of her hand, because her new Time Bureau Director’s office walls are made of glass, and she wants to keep some of her dignity, if nothing else.
But then there are tears sliding down her cheeks, and her heart is racing too fast, and suddenly the weight of it all makes it difficult for her to breathe.
She manages to move forward, over to her desk, before she all but collapses into her chair.
She blows out a breath, trying to stop crying, because she shouldn’t be crying. She doesn’t believe she has the _right_ to be crying.
She uses shaky hands to log into her computer; runs her fingertips across the keyboard.
And she begins working.
Because work seems to be the only solution. The only distraction. She uses problems with the timeline to distract herself from _her_ problems.
She can’t handle it all right now. She doesn’t know how to feel.
Should she feel guilty? Hurt? Heartbroken? _Angry?_
God, does she wish she could feel angry.
Because anger is such a less vulnerable feeling than hurt.
But she can’t bring herself to be angry, not with Sara. She doesn’t blame her, not at all. She blames herself, of course.
She shouldn’t have left. She should’ve stayed and fought. She shouldn’t have let Sara end it.
But she did.
Ava blames herself.
She works and ignores the tears dribbling from her cheeks and onto the keyboard.
_I can’t do this, I won’t._
_I’m sorry._
She tries to block out the sound of Sara’s voice in her mind, in a never ending repeat.
She blocks it all out and tries to forget.
Because that’s all she can do.
She works on fixing all the mistakes Gary had made when covering for her.
Covering for her when she was over at the Waverider. With Sara.
She works on her assignments from today, then starts on tomorrow’s, eventually completing and signing on new missions for the rest of the week.
She works until her eyes burn with tears and tire, and her wrists ache from typing.
And then she stops. Because she’s _exhausted._ She doesn’t know whether it’s from the crying, the working, or the sting in her chest that just never seemed to go away.
Or maybe it’s a mixture of it all.
She checks the clock for the first time since she’s began working.
_3:47_
She stands, pushing in her chair. She stretches, letting out a heavy sigh.
She opens a portal to her apartment after leaving a note on her desk for Gary.
She falls back on her couch, squeezing her eyes shut despite the fact that she knows she won’t be able to sleep.
She tries to trick herself into believing that maybe, just _maybe_ the universe will give her a break. Maybe she’ll be able to open her eyes and this will all just be one _horrible_ nightmare.
It doesn’t work.
She opens her eyes. Sits up; looks around.
Her eyes catch on a bottle of liquor on her kitchen counter.
She knows there’s probably a better solution. One with less consequences.
But there’s always that one thought. That one thought that finds a way to shove past all the rest, making its way to the front of her mind.
_Why not?_
~
She doesn’t go into work the next morning.
She already finished all of her assignments for the rest of the week. And, because of the lack of sleep due to yesterday’s late-night drinking, she’s more exhausted than ever.
She still gets up. Slowly, with a groan, because her head is pounding like someone is playing it like a bongo.
Drinking last night wasn’t in her best judgement, but she doesn’t care. It was worth it, to get Sara off her mind.
Although, it didn’t really work.
And, by the intensity of her current hangover, Ava’s starting to doubt whether it was _actually_ worth it.
She lets out a sigh as she looks around.
An empty liquor bottle, tub of probably now melted ice cream, her Time Bureau pantsuit that she had slipped out of, changing into a tank top and pair of sweatpants.
And then her time courier, still on her wrist from when she had drunkenly debated going back to the Waverider to, _fight for love._
Ava knows it’s pathetic, she knows it’s a cliché.
She still accepts it as a reality, making her way to the bathroom.
She can’t bear to look herself in the mirror, so she doesn’t, just discards her clothes on the tiled floor and steps into the shower.
She turns the knob, flinching as the cold water hits her bare skin.
She allows her body to relax as the water begins to warm up.
She steps forward, closing her eyes as the water hits her face, streaming down, washing away all the memories and pain from last night.
Except, it doesn’t. In fact, it only seems to make everything hurt a little more.
She can’t say that she’s surprised. She’s not surprised that Sara didn’t call after her. Why would she?
Ava’s too insecure. She’s a workaholic. She doesn’t understand what Sara went through, and she’s not worth the time to have it all explained to her.
Sara’s better off without her. She has enough to worry and think about without her.
Ava’s just more of a burden.
She’s not surprised that Sara didn’t call after her.
Just like she wasn’t surprised when Sara bailed on their date. It hadn’t been the first time.
It hurt, but it wasn’t unexpected.
~ |
90777d9377d34cd1969b4144726b2024 | ['9f3b6ef1d0704378ad813dff0fe5c487'] | Mike's breathing grew heavy as he stared at El, her perfect ass fully on display, waiting for his aching cock. Leaning forward, he placed a gentle hand on each of her soft asscheeks and swiped his tongue over the tight opening between them.
"M-Mike..." A quiet whimper escaped from between the girl's lips as her boyfriend's hot tongue picked up its pace.
The dark-haired boy allow his face to sink further between her butt cheeks as he continued to work his tongue into her ass. Upon hearing hear soft moans, he pulled away, leaving her hole glistening with spit.
"Does that feel good, El? Do you want me to carry on?"
Turning her head to face him, the girl nodded, her teeth tugging on her bottom lip.
Mike was all too happy with her response and resumed eating her ass, letting the tip of his skilled tongue push gently into her. After a few more delicate licks, he moved his hand and pressed the pad of his finger against her hole.
"I need to get you ready, El. Is that okay?"
The girl turned and nodded as she did before.
Their exchanges were innocent. The same couldn't be said for what they were actually doing.
Applying gentle pressure, Mike slowly pushed his finger into El's tight asshole, forcing a audible moan from the telekinetic girl.
"Does that feel okay?"
As much as El was enjoying the feeling of Mike's fingers, it wasn't quite his dick, and she was getting desperate.
"Please, Mike. I want your cock. I need it in me right now!" she begged between moans, her impatience earning a smirk from the dark-haired Wheeler boy, who promptly retracted his finger from her ass in response. He grabbed hold of his cock, still slick with spit, and carefully pressed his swollen head against her opening.
"You ready, babe?" he asked, somehow able to make the question "Are you ready for me to shove my cock in your ass?" sound somewhat loving.
"Yeah, I'm ready," she breathed out to him. El shivered when several drops of pre-cum spilled from the tip of Mike's cock and smeared onto her asshole.
"Just tell me if you want me to stop, okay?"
"Okay, Mike."
El's hands gripped the edges of the table as Mike entered her. Her moans were loud and drawn out, prompting Mike to worry she would be heard. As it turned out, their friends were each too busy engaged elsewhere to notice. Or care.
"Huh... ugh!" El groaned and bared her teeth as the entirety of Mike's pulsing shaft buried itself in her tight asshole.
"Holy shit, El! Fuck, your ass feels so good around my cock! Are you okay?" Wheeler was clearly in awe at the sensation.
"Y-yeah," El breathed out. "Fuck me, Mike! Fuck my ass!"
Wheeler did just that.
His intentions of going slow were short-lived as more moaned demands spilled from El's lips.
"Oh, fuck! Faster, Mike! Fuck me as fast as you can!"
Wheeler did just that too.
Letting his hands rest on her asscheeks, Mike continued to thrust his hips forward, his full five and a half inches repeatedly slamming into El's tight butthole. He worked up to such a pace that his rapidly tightening balls were striking her soft skin with every thrust, the added sensation sending sparks of pleasure coursing through their naked teenage bodies.
"Mmm... uh... huh!" the telekinetic girl's moans were growing louder and louder as her boyfriend fucked her butt, though neither of them could care at this point.
Mike could feel El's ass contracting around his cock, attempting to squeeze his orgasm out of him. Determined for her to finish first, he slipped two fingers into her wet pussy. His tactic seemed to work as she quickly lost control.
"Mike, I'm cumming!" El screamed when her climax caught up to her.
His hand now slick with her wetness, Mike pulled his fingers away as the rest of her juices squirted down onto the wood.
Seeing this was enough to topple the panting Wheeler boy. His cock spasmed, his balls drew tighter and his voice broke into a low groan as he began to fire burst after burst of hot cum into El's ass. The Hopper girl was still reeling from her own orgasm as Mike Wheeler's thick teen jizz spurted into her. No words were leaving the boy's mouth, only unintelligible grunts and groans.
His moans were overlapped by a second voice as his spent girlfriend managed to force out a few words. "Come here, Mike."
As soon as his balls had been sufficiently drained, Mike pulled his now semi-hard cock from El's asshole and staggered over to the opposite side of the table.
"Fuck!" He let out another loud moan when El's lips closed around his softening member. Her hands grabbed onto his ass as she pulled him forward, letting her mouth sink down so that his pubes brushed her nose. Her tongue slurped up the sticky trails of his cum that were spilling down his length as she gently squeezed his butt cheeks.
Mike's cock was fully soft by the time El had finished cleaning it of his juices. She pulled her mouth off with a _pop_ and collapsed onto her side, Mike's creamy load still pouring from her used hole. She raised her hands, inviting him to join her.
The two young lovers lay hand in hand on the hard wood, parts of its surface now damp with a mixture of their juices. Leaning forward, Mike pressed a sweet kiss to El's lips before glancing across at the door.
"We're supposed to be regrouping in a few minutes. Maybe we should get dressed? We don't exactly want anyone to find us like this," he told his girlfriend, as if they were the only members of the party that were currently butt naked...
**Notes for the Chapter:** | 55f3baede0e343cda566c46267da65a3 | ['9f3b6ef1d0704378ad813dff0fe5c487'] | As soon as Will pulled his cock from Lucas' ass, Dustin greedily shoved it in his mouth, giving it a few deep sucks, before the horny teens stopped completely to allow their rising climaxes to fade.
Once they were ready to go again, they switched places.
Mike lay with his back on the table, just as Will had been doing. The Paladin groaned as his legs were pushed up and he felt something nudging at his lower end, looking down just in time to see Dustin's thick cock sliding into his ass. Will's saliva shined on Wheeler's opening, sufficiently lubricating the intruding member.
"Shit, Mike! You're so tight!" the Bard observed.
Lucas straddled the grunting Wheeler boy, moaning as his thick pulsing shaft glided down Mike's throat, his balls resting on his friend's face, laden with unreleased cum.
Finally, Will filled the gap and guzzled down on Mike's dick, his own ass inches from Lucas' face. The dark-skinned boy wasted no time and sank two fingers and his tongue into the tight hole, causing the Cleric to hum around Mike's erection.
The Paladin was writhing in pleasure as Dustin's twitching hard-on slammed into his butt, Will's hot mouth deepthroated his dick, and Lucas' dripping cock fed into his mouth.
After fingering Will's ass for some time, Lucas pulled his sticky rod from between Mike's wet lips and lined it up behind the butt in front of him.
The Cleric whimpered as his tight asshole was penetrated for the first time. Lucas' dick was the biggest of the boys, standing proudly at a little over six inches.
As such, Will growled when all six inches of his friend's meat were stuffed into his butt, the small patch of dark hair above the cock brushing against his skin.
In an effort to instensify his lover's pleasure, Lucas stroked Will's throbbing cock, the shaft still slick with Mike and Dustin's combined spit.
Lucas' erection now engaged elsewhere, Mike glanced around, desperate for something in his wanting mouth. Looking up, he found a solution. Lifting his head off the hard wood, he buried his entire face in Lucas' ass, now satisfied that he had got to explore all three of his friend's butts with either his fingers or his tongue.
The basement of the Wheeler home was alive with the sounds of slapping flesh, wet slurping and hot moans as the four best friends enjoyed their wild fucking session.
Feeling Dustin's dick wrench itself from his ass, Mike groaned. He found himself unable to look to his friend as Lucas was now riding his face, the dark teen's own cock still sawing into Will's hole.
At this point, Dustin was in possession of the only ass that hadn't been stuffed with a thick cock. Aiming to change that, he spoke up, his booming voice barely cutting through the loud moans coming from his three companions.
"Hey, guys! Any chance I could get some action over here?" he flashed his newly-toothed smile.
Lucas shot him a dirty look before he could end it with a purr.
At that moment, a thought worked its way into Dustin's head that made his cock pulse with excitement.
"I have an idea. Lucas, go sit over there," he pointed to the couch on the other side of the room.
Complying with the Bard's demand, Lucas pulled out of Will and lifted his butt from Mike's face, a few strings of saliva at first still connecting his used hole to his friend's mouth.
Wiping at the sweat from underneath his bandana, the still-horny teen apprehensively relocated to the three-seater, layers of shiny spit and pre-cum clearly visible on his dark cock.
Desperate to be fucked, Dustin practically sprinted over to Lucas. The Henderson boy wasted no time sitting down on Lucas' hard dick, all six inches fitting snugly in his tight asshole. The curly-haired boy released a low, drawn-out groan.
"Fuuuck yeah, that's it! Shit! Mmm... fuck my ass, Lucas!"
As quickly as the words left his mouth, Dustin could feel the cock inside him pulsating rapidly.
Lucas craned his neck upwards and brought his mouth to Dustin's, their tongues thrashing around in their hot, wet caverns.
The two other party members were staring in awe at the incredibly hot display their friends were putting on, before they themselves were invited to join the show.
Dustin motioned to Will, who slowly edged his butt down onto the Bard's throbbing erection.
The Paladin was the last to join, adopting a half-standing, half-crouching position. He pushed down and sank his ass all the way down on Will's sticky cock.
The four best friends were now stacked up on top of each other, fucking and moaning in unison as their cocks twitched inside warm, tight holes.
Lucas fucking Dustin.
Dustin fucking Will.
Will fucking Mike.
All four bodies glistened with sweat as they plowed into each other.
Unfortunately for Mike, being on top meant he didn't have one of his friend's butts to stuff his dick into. Still needing his erection to feel some kind of pleasure, the Paladin desperately reached down to stroke his intensely throbbing dick, his hand catching the arm of the sofa and sending his SuperCom crashing to the floor.
"Shit!"
Mike himself wasn't sure if his cursing was caused by his heavy-handedness or by the dick that was violently twitching inside his ass.
He glanced down at the floor, the walkie-talkie on its side but still seemingly intact, not that he cared at that moment.
The horny teens could feel their orgasms approaching once again as their rapidly tightening balls smacked against each other, the four sacks each filled to the brim with hot cum waiting to be unleashed.
Deciding to take up one more sexy position before ending their erotic exhibition, they unstacked themselves and moved down onto the floor of the Wheeler basement. |
d03cc603b29748279f42882eda4f3de2 | ['9f4c1012436642dbac5aa504858d3cfa'] | The violent hiss he heard brought his head up, bringing him to watch as Verlaine scurried, back hunched forward, to the only section of shelter the broad vicinity allowed.
_Perfect._
He killed the warning lights, smirking as the red-head triggered a minor trap he’d set not but minutes before the Bloodpack had arrived. Shrieking with shock, Verlaine was flung from the concrete floor into the air, ropes of iron swooping around her, soon followed by a secondary, looser set of confines she didn’t hesitate to identify as silver; the stakes of barbed metal gave it away.
“The fu--,” Chupa cried, seeing the blur of black and red soar across the way. He snapped his attention back to Blade above him on the ground, struggling against the pin. Smoke coiled up from his burn splotched face, the UV alert lights having caught him scarce times. His hands left the hybrid’s shoulders, forming for his throat, growling through clenched teeth.
“You ghosted Reinhardt, sunshine? It that true?” he demanded, eyes wide with rage. “Have you chalked up the death tolls? It’s time for casualties on _your_ side, Daywalker!”
_So close,_ Blade thought; his everything was just an inch out of reach. As a counter instead, he brought his own hands to the vamp’s face, shoving his head harshly down at the concrete as his oxygen ran low; repeated. The grip at his throat faltered for merely a moment.
That’s all he needed.
Thrusting himself up off the ground, he hauled the startled Chupa with him and, in one mighty effort, swung the creature outward, relishing in the contact he made against the rafters above.
Chupa groaned, more out of disgust than agony.
“Chupa—,” came a whisper from the side. Verlaine. “How the fuck do we warn the others? The beast had us trapped.”
Shaking his head in confidence, the blond smirked, “Not for long. I’ll get you down somehow; you take out that old man and raise the doors. I’ll take cupcake.”
Pulling himself from the cratered steel rafter he found himself on, Chupa hopped down to his adversary’s level. There was a fire in his eyes that hadn’t been there before that last assault; there was a plan now, a reasonable one, so long as neither of them fucked it up.
“Come on, chicken shit, let’s see what’s up now,” he bellowed from his stance of the room. He took slow, easing steps toward Blade, taunting him to charge first; and that’s why he was the brawn of the ‘Pack. He didn’t know better than to test the hybrid’s patience, wouldn’t count on the Daywalker’s tolerance to stretch beyond more level-headed humans.
“Yes,” came the reply. “Let’s.”
It didn’t take but a few extra steps for the muscle to come flying at him, a rebel yell distilling the air around. Blade kept his footing, jolting into the air as Chupa moved to strike. With his foe startlingly no longer there, he brought his attention upward, seeing the figure cascading backward—and away from him.
_Damnit,_ Chupa cursed, thrusting his hand up for the Daywalker. His fingers met with something ribbed and sturdy, bringing the grin over his lips at his luck.
_The katana._
5. Der Dunkel Ritter, Der Retter
Closing the cool, callused hand over the hilt of the enemy blade, Chupa swiped it from its sheath, turning it over in his hands as the Daywalker landed on his feet.
“Lose somethin’?” he taunted, switching off the spikes that sprang from the piece; Reinhardt had warned them off all those little tricks. “I’ll take good care of her, don’t you worry, buttercup.”
“How thoughtful of you,” Blade replied, mockery in his deep voice. “Good luck getting it past the security clearance to Hell.” With a sharp take off, he came barreling for the suckhead. He was moving before he had a plan of action, watching Chupa raise his own precious weapon around before he tore his eyes away; he knew what the vamp would do.
Fortunately, he had an idea himself.
The katana was slung overhead before his arms wrapped around Chupa’s torso, bodies jolting backward as they tipped with impact.
Verlaine braced herself in the confinements, the sword whirling overhead to fight the restraints. There was a clean sheen of collision and a short yelp as the descent startled her, despite her preparations.
Chains cascading around her, she tumbled to the ground, the concrete giving way beneath her harsh landing. Shaking off the dusty bits of pavement, she brought her physique to straighten, the cracks of rearranging audible to everyone bothering enough to acknowledge her. Giving a small sigh of relief, she turned to set her sights on the old man, settling them first upon her comrade.
“Chupa!” she cried, eyes locking with his as he was thrust beneath the skylight. Screaming, the vamp’s skin tainted orange, mouth and eyes aglow as he began to burn. He choked for darkness, pawing at the hands holding his useless throat tight under the rising sun. Hissing filled the air, blackened chunks crumbling to the dirtied floor.
Eyes fixating back to Whistler, she began to seethe, chest falling and rising sharply in pure rage, creating the illusion she needed to breathe. “You’re dead!” she screamed, crossing the open gap and leaping past the table separating the two. Her hands grabbed for the shoulders of his coat, pinning his squirming figure roughly to the cool floor. “Party’s over, jackass! Sure was fun,” she taunted quietly, gums tingling with anticipation. Her head dipped down, k-9’s ghosting over the skin of his neck.
“I’ll make sure this--!”
Verlaine screamed the short time she could, the silver bullets in her jaw and chest doing wonders for Whistler. Shoving her off, he worked his way to his feet again, not caring enough to pay mind to her pleading form that begged for life, begged for Lighthammer, and clutched to the table top for balance. | ddd986574e334008886a20048d8bedbc | ['9f4c1012436642dbac5aa504858d3cfa'] | “Unfortunately, time’s not something we’ve got a lot of. If that was her welcoming committee, we might want to think about skipping the party—.”
“You’re here…” Eric cut him off, his senses coming to him at once. His face knit into confusion, concern breaking through his stoic expression.
“No shit, been here long enough to save your ass and patch you up—.”
“You shouldn’t be—Josh. Don’t tell me it’s night already.”
“It’s barely dusk, Eric, and the kid is the reason I’m here. He said if we were to succeed in taking her down once and for all, you’d need all the help you could get.”
“And you listened to him? You left him alone?”
“The kid’s got a gun—.”
“And he’s lucky if he hits a sitting target--!”
“He’s gotten better, hasn’t he? You’ve been training him for months!”
Eric only shook his head, unable to say anything for the near daily sessions he’s had with Josh. They might last an hour with less than a full clip fired, Eric far too distracted by the younger’s nervous chatter and concentrated movements, strangely suiting for his being. It was because he knew Josh had no fighting potential that he often allowed the training to go undone, filled instead by the boy’s quiet laughter and soft voice. Whistler never asked how well he did; always assumed he was in the least making an attempt. Eric couldn’t deny the fault was his, and that he’d never have allowed for such an irresponsible disregard had any single detail been different. Instead of assuring the boy could fight for his life, he’d settled for listening to all the new stories and old aspirations.
“I’m not going back to him empty-handed, Eric,” Whistler spoke when the Daywalker didn’t, his gaze catching Blade’s with a ferocity he hadn’t seen in years—and he knew it was time to move on from this place.
Climbing up the rungs, Blade popped the steel trap and slipped up into the narrow enclosure above, the old man at his heels. The darkness left Whistler blind to the tight quarters, his hybrid counterpart able to take in what appeared to be a pantry, lined with shelves of wax candles, razor blades, syringes, and—
The Daywalker didn’t care to consider what the rest of the items were, sure to be haunted by whatever their purpose. Pushing open the rounded doorway, light spilled over them from skylights two stories above the ground floor, dimmed as the room lay unoccupied. It was mostly bare given its size, occupied only by a few plush chairs, a bulky chest of drawers, and a four post bed at the center, adorned by veils to obscure a farther view.
Fine by him.
Voiced from outside urged the two of them forward, pressing their backs to the wall opposite the pantry. The sounds were carried by the smooth stonework of the walls and floors, the language known to them only by their trade.
“If there has been but whispers of their appearance, that much is one thing. But those I ordered into the right flank catacombs have reported nothing back to me, and there are no traitors in this House. If you wish to calm me on the matter, you’re a fool, Kozachenco, and I’ll not tolerate such kind here in my presence.”
“I wish only to assure you, Master, that any efforts made against us are futile—.”
“If they were futile, you wouldn’t need to assure me of anything. Instead, you’d do well to place yourself in a position of preparation.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“Send out a search party when the skies first lose light. The old one you may kill; as for the half-breed and our dear son, bring them here to my chambers. My intentions shall not be made clear to them.”
“Of course. May your word be true.”
The clicking of heels echoed for a time before they were too far gone to be focused on, the door at Blade’s shoulder squealing as it opened by the hand of an enemy unknown.
With surprise on their side, Eric slammed closed the door after the subject had passed through, revealing himself to be the steward of the hive. A steward that was soon held by the threat of a silver bullet and led across the room to the bed where he collapsed, trembling with a fear no doubt selfish.
“Excuse us the intrusion, but we’re a little lost, see, and you look like you know your way around the place,” Blade played sarcastically, brows raised and a smirk wavering. “Mind telling up where to find Ulrike?”
“You think _I’d_ tell _you_ that? Have you met the damned _czarina_? She’d have my head!”
“What makes you think I won’t?”
“I—Oh God, please—.”
“If you tell me what I need to know, you won’t have her to worry about.”
“I’ve been warned plenty of your likeness, Daywalker, don’t think I’m blind to your cruel tricks,” he shot despite his hushed, wavering voice.
“Then you know I’ll torture you until you speak.”
Silence ensued the hybrid’s warning, the moronic sucker mulling his options between life and loyalty. His head lowered to allow his eyes to escape the gazes of the duo standing over him, wondering whether the half-breed and the elder would fall to slaughter or muster the strength to combat a foe such as his queen. In his research, neither idea seemed to take precedence over the other, and thus he couldn’t fathom on his own who he might side with—but he knew his master’s wrath best of all and couldn’t be shaken from it by a creature he knew a tale or two of.
In a voice of defeat, the steward raised his head to mutter “, Hail to the Queen.”
Three bullets took his jaw in an instant, one straying off the bone to his heart.
13. Trail of Ashes |
c2aca0192b1f4f77930275ae9f57ccd5 | ['9f625f43586b472284fa829709c48785'] | “It’s because my grandmother labeled herself as crazy that I even exist, Shimada.” Kenny exhaled and glanced at the viewport. “Gaghan wants to see Lemuris first. From Maverick’s descriptions, it sounds like the best place to start.”
“Looking for chunks of useless wood?”
“And for potential colonization,” Kenny replied. Heinz joined them, and the three of them wandered over to the couch. “There are plenty of people on Earth expressing concerns over human intervention with underdeveloped societies, at least in terms of any technology we take with us.”
“I just spoke with Welch,” Heinz stated. “The U.S.T.A. council recently received a list of individuals willing to forgo technology in order to leave Earth so they’re asking us to see if anything can be found for them. We simply need to get them there, if possible.”
“And who’s proposing the funding for such an endeavor?” Shimada demanded. His moment of calm ended, he whirled around on Kenny’s assistant. His eyes narrowed. A part of him despised how _efficient_ Heinz was compared to his own three, and he longed for the day when Heinz screws up so he could toss it in Kenny’s face. “Surely, the council knows we can’t simply ferry just anyone anywhere.
The younger man simply adjusted his glasses and glanced at his tablet, “It’s been brought to their attention that there’s a fund out there somewhere, and the council _has_ asked for verification. They’re currently in agreement with you, Director. The U.S.T.A. simply doesn’t have the funds for such an endeavor, and they won’t do anything until they have proof that this fund exists. Other than that, the only thing I know is that an Alexander Kirkland and Meadow Delacroix are spearheading this movement.”
“Great,” Shimada growled. “Just what I need. More of _your_ relations butting in where they’re not wanted.”
He huffed and stalked away from the two and towards the stairs. _The Calnus_ captain quickly sidestepped him upon his approach, and Shimada’s lips curled into a sneer. As he climbed the steps to his room, however, a small bubble of hope and anticipation arose within him. If some of Stephen’s relatives, blood or not, were involved, then the fund exsited.
‘Victorea saw this coming,’ he told himself. ‘Bethany and Lorelei agreed with her. One of them started it . . . or all three of them did, and that means we can actually do this. Maybe this mission won’t be such a waste after all.’
* * *
“Sir, is everything all right?” Edge asked upon approaching his hero. The commander _seemed_ okay, but his personal assistant appeared baffled. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No.” Commander Kenny chuckled. “He just received some news he’s not sure how to handle just yet. Give him an hour or so, and the news Heinz delivered will be his own idea.”
“Sir?” Edge tilted his head. At the same time, he thought, ‘Should I make some ground rules for everyone? And, even if I did, would the director even bother to obey them? I don’t like this.’
“We may have some help in the exploration process but on a rather . . . conditional basis,” Commander Kenny replied.
“Indeed,” Heinz added, “though I’m more confused about the relatives remark.”
“Cousins,” the commander stated. “I haven’t seen them since we started the construction on the Moonbase. It’s good to know they’ve been keeping busy.”
“You mean the names I mentioned?” Heinz offered a small smirk. “I see, though I didn’t know you were related to the Delacroixs.”
“Not officially, but I grew up with Meadow. You’d like her, Heinz.”
“Now’s not the time to be playing match-maker, Commander,” Heinz murmured, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink.
“No?” Again, the commander chuckled, and his mannerisms continued to baffle Edge. “Perhaps another time then. Captain Maverick, would you be so kind as to tell us our first destination?”
“Uh, yes, of course, sir,” Edge stammered out quickly. “Supreme Commander Gaghan has requested that we visit Lemuris first.”
“Any forested areas?” the older man asked.
By this point, Lymle, Myuria, Bacchus, Crowe, and Meracle had joined them, and the commander held out his hand to Lymle. The young girl promptly obliged him and stood next to him. She leaned her head against his knee.
“If you don’t mind me asking, Commander Kenny,” Bacchus said, “but how come you’re interested in knowing if there are any forested regions on Lemuris?”
“That’s easy,” Edge stated. “Earth is low on resources, and wood is something we can easily acquire.”
“I’m not sure I can condone the random mining of a forest,” the metal man murmured. “It could have a devastating impact on Lemuris’s atmosphere.”
“I agree,” Commander Kenny said. “My grandmother taught me as much when it came to Earth’s declining forests. But we can always harvest fallen branches and potential seeds from the trees. With them, we can at least try to rehabilitate our planet and stabilize our atmosphere, along with what was preserved in our seed vault near the North Pole*.”
“But most of the ground is unsuitable for such things, Commander,” Crowe pointed out. Edge nodded his agreement, grinding his teeth a little that he would even be doing so.
“For the moment, yes,” Commander Kenny replied. He glanced down and smiled at Lymle. “But, a few days before we left Earth, I spoke with some of our volcanologists. Mount St. Helen’s and Mount Fuji are acting up a little. They’re spewing some ash into the sky. We have a bit of a silver lining.”
“How is that a silver lining?” Bacchus asked before Edge could. “Wouldn’t that be more detrimental to the earth’s already unstable atmosphere?” | dc94ce9f874141c8a9f82b4f5b49abec | ['9f625f43586b472284fa829709c48785'] | “It depends on the culture,” Kenny responded smoothly. They strode along a winding corridor. “And my grandmother believed in reincarnation. Though she passed on a long time ago, a part of me expects to see her again before my death. I just don’t know if she’ll come back as a human being or something else. She once told me, after they’d discovered the Trappist B system and that it was capable of sustaining live, she used to live there once. She just instinctively knew she’d been there.”
“And how would you know who she is?” Gaghan inquired. A small chill stole over him. While Eldarians as a whole no longer believed in things like gods and ghosts, to hear of a human believing in such a thing was nothing short of both alarming and thrilling. “That is, if she were to come back as something else.”
“She possessed a very strong personality, Commander Gaghan,” Kenny chuckled. “It’s something she’s probably carried with her from each life. It’s also what’s probably gotten her killed in many of her lives.”
“Killed?” One of Shimada’s assistants echoed.
“Sounds like a bunch of nonsense,” another one of them muttered.
“How would such a conversation even come up?” a third one asked.
“Easily,” Shimada answered. He, too, chuckled, and it was quite the genuine sound coming from the director. “Victorea Schmidt wasn’t exactly a shy personality, as the commander stated, and she didn’t raise her children to be doormats, either. That’s why the commander and I have such frequent . . . disagreements.” There was an odd glint in the director’s eye, and Gaghan tilted his head. “By the way, Commander, the U.S.T.A. council contacted me. They approved of our little vacation to the Aeos exploration base. I’m so glad you asked them for me.”
“Any time,” the commander replied.
“Trip?” Gaghan echoed.
“Yes,” Commander Kenny said. “You see, today is a very special day for me, Commander. If my grandmother had lived longer than what she had, she’d be quite the old lady today, and part of how we used to celebrate was to take a hike in the mountains we lived near for holiday decorations. We can’t exactly do that on Earth any longer, but there are some new worlds out there that we can. Before you arrived, I put in the request for Deputy Director Shimada and me to travel to Aeos. It coincides with Captain Grafton’s request for further supplies.”
“And we can get some more crew members on the ground,” Shimada added.
A collective, surprised gasp rose from behind the three commanders. Given what Gaghan heard about Shimada and Kenny from the Earthlings exploring Aeos, the two actually agreeing and working together was something of a rare occurrence.
“That sounds quite charitable of you,” Gaghan remarked.
“I knew the commander’s grandmother long before he was born,” Shimada said. “And she helped me at a point in my life when no one else would.” He kept his gaze straight instead of looking at either him or Commander Kenny. “To be angry at such a simple request would be to dishonor my memory of her.” He lowered his voice. “It’s the very least I can do.”
“I see.” Gaghan kept his expression schooled, but inwardly he smiled. Shimada’s restraint on the matter pleased him greatly. “Perhaps then we can be of assistance to you in getting you to Aeos. Just tell us when you plan to leave, and we shall help you get there.”
“Five hours should be more than sufficient,” Shimada said. “Don’t you think so, Commander?”
“You might want to make it six,” Kenny answered. “Allow for the unexpected.”
“Very well then. Six hours it is.”
“But sir,” one of the assistants protested. “What are we going to do without you here?”
“Who said you were staying here?” Shimada snarled. “I have every intention of taking you with me!”
* * *
_Three days later_
“We’re entering Aeos’s atmosphere, Captain,” Faize murmured. “What are your orders?”
“Nothing as of yet,” Edge replied. He scrubbed at his eyes. “Just . . . let’s get some rest while we’re here, okay?”
“As you wish,” Faize mumbled.
Edge fought back the urge to scream and sigh at the same time, and he gripped his hair as tightly as possible. Since they’d rescued Sarah from a ritualistic sacrifice, his Eldarian friend had become quiet, almost reclusive from the rest of the crew, and Edge didn’t know what to do to get his friend to talk to him. Something bothered Faize. That much was certain, but trying to get the younger male to talk was like . . . well, Edge had heard the expression once of trying to get a turtle to use a toothbrush, but that made absolutely no sense to him. Turtles had no teeth.
“Landing time, less than one minute,” Reimi announced. “It looks like we have a full hangar. _The Aquila_ is here along with another Eldarian ship. This one’s larger.”
“It’s a supply ship that’s arrived from Earth,” Bacchus added. “According to my readings, there’s been an increase in the number of Earthlings at the base. There also appear to be some high-ranking officers among them, given the increased activity taking place.”
“Great,” Edge moaned when Myuria perked up at the mention of the _Aquila_. “Myuria, could you wait to kill Crowe until after whoever these officers are have left?”
“I make no promises, boy,” the Morphus woman answered. “But, given the unique situation, I believe I can wait until I find him alone.”
“That’s something, I guess,” Edge muttered. “Though I’d still prefer it if you didn’t start anything with him.”
“Again, no promises.” |
073698e326de41e9b71997cededa0406 | ['9f7191c5beaa487db0a0f1396b490fec'] |
Matches, Meetings, and Other Words that Can Start a Fire
**Author's Note:**
> Hi this is my first Captain Swan au that I have posted on this website. I am going to try to make this a multi chapter fic so I hope that you enjoy and review if you like or don't like it. I am always up for feedback!!
Emma Swan was a realist. She did not believe in true loves or happily ever after's. She even refused to watch Disney movies for Christ's sake. So why was it that at this very moment she was allowing her best friend to drag her along to witness the vomit-inducing love fest that was Mary Margaret and David Nolan?
They had been reduced to sick puppy love since the minute they laid eyes on one another during the first day of freshman orientation. And really Emma didn't mind all that much. She and David had hit it off quite well and they were actually forming a semblance of a friendship. It was just all the dooey eyes and lingering looks that made Emma reevaluate her inability to make friends since the only people she knew well was a couple who were attached at the hip. She was happy for her longtime best friend, she really was. Mary Margaret was the best person that she knew and she deserved all the happiness in the world but sometimes, like today for instance, she wished she had other friends.
"I'm not really interested in being the third wheel tonight," Emma said as she watched Mary Margaret get ready for her impending evening with David. "Or a burden." She added as an afterthought.
"Emma, you know that you are never a burden to David and I. We love having you around," Mary Margaret replied. "Besides you're not going to be the third wheel tonight. I'm pretty sure David is bringing his roommate with him as well."
Emma shook her head in disbelief and said in mock surprise, "The Killian Jones is coming out with us tonight? I am floored. Shouldn't he be out hunting his prey tonight at the local bars?"
Mary Margaret laughed and turned around in front of the mirror to check her outfit out from all angles, "He's really not that bad of a person once you get to know him."
"Excuse me if I have a hard time believing that," Emma said while shooting Mary Margaret a look. "I've heard the stories from countless girls and they are all the same. He doesn't give a rat's ass about anyone but himself and that's including his penis."
And Emma had heard the stories. How couldn't she. He was all any of the girls wanted to talk about and by the sound of it he had either flirted with or had sex with about eighty five percent of their college population. She even knew of some guys that had a crush on him. Killian Jones was a legend at Boston University so forgive her if she wasn't too thrilled at the opportunity to meet him.
"Em, you know as well as I do that you can't judge a book by its cover. I'm sure half of those stories aren't even true. He's really a sweet guy and David likes him so will you please give him a chance before you go and hate every fiber of his being? Please for me?"
Emma could see in Mary Margaret's face that she was really trying her hardest to get Emma to agree to come out tonight. She had to admit, it was impressive the lengths that her friend would go to to get her out of their much too small dorm room.
So she conceded, "Fine but I swear if he tries to hit on me even one time, I can not be blamed for any harm done to his pretty face."
Mary Margaret squealed with delight and ran over to hug Emma, "I would expect nothing less. Now let's get you out of those sweats and ready for a fun night!"
Emma seriously doubted this but she was never one to bring down Mary Margaret's positive moods.
After careful consideration on Mary Margaret's part, Emma decided to wear dark skinny jeans, boots, a white long sleeved shirt, and her favorite red leather jacket. Mary Margaret tried to fuss with Emma's hair but she reminded her that the fact that she was even agreeing to go warranted no more favors on Mary Margaret's part. So she wore her hair down in its natural waves.
Just as she was about to tell Mary Margaret that this was a horrible idea and that she should just stay in the dorm and watch movies, there was a knock on their door.
"That must be them!" Mary Margaret was all smiles and claps as she practically skipped the five feet to the door. Before she opened the door, she paused and turned to Emma, "Emma, please please be on your best behavior tonight."
"God M, you must think I'm going to rip this guy's throat out," Emma said with exasperation. "I am going to be my most lady like self tonight." As an afterthought she added, "I promise."
"Yes and that is what scares me the most."
Emma winked at Mary Margaret and did a mock curtsey. Mary Margaret shook her head and sighed heavily while opening the door to reveal an obviously love-struck David and the legendary Killian Jones.
Now Emma was not one for swooning over a guy but damn was Killian Jones hot. He had dark hair, ocean blue eyes, the perfect smattering of scruff on his face, a lean body that was clad in dark jeans, boots, a V-neck that was questionable for children's eyes, paired with a black leather jacket, and topped off with a smirk that could kill.
David walked in and gave Mary Margaret a swift kiss on the lips and quickly hugged Emma hello before introducing his friend. | f534a328313048fca467e9cdc2ad7027 | ['9f7191c5beaa487db0a0f1396b490fec'] | "Emma, this is Killian Jones my roommate. Killian, this is Emma Swan. She is Mary Margaret's best friend."
Killians look graced over Emma slowly from head to toe. She had never felt so exposed from one look in her life. She felt as if she needed to go take a cold shower.
Killian stuck out his hand and said, "The names Killian Jones but I'm sure you have heard me my more colorful moniker Hook. It's a pleasure to meet you, love."
Emma laughed. She actually laughed. She couldn't help herself. The guy was outright ridiculous. He was way too attractive with an English accent no less and the first thing to come out of his mouth was a come on. It was way too much for Emma.
"EMMA," Mary Margaret said in a horrified whisper.
Emma replied in between laughs, "I'm sorry,"… "It's just,"…. "girls actually fall for this crap and find him charming. It's unbelievable."
Killian was apparently unfazed by Emma's behavior and retorted with an eyebrow raise and smirk, "Lass, I assure you that I am nothing but a gentleman and everything you have heard is believable."
Emma scoffed and not to one to be outdone steps closer to him and makes a point of looking right at his jeans, "They say a man always overcompensates for his biggest weakness," and raises her eyebrows in a mocking gesture while staring him right in the eye, "or should I say smallest?"
Killian laughs and shakes his head, "Oh Gods Lass when David said you were a spit fire he wasn't kidding."
David clears his throat, takes Mary Margaret by the hand, and steps between them to get to the door, "On that note let's get this night started."
"Yes love, lead the way." Killian says with a gesture of his hands.
And just because she knows her ass looks great in these jeans does she step in front of him and makes sure to swing her hips just slightly to get a reaction out of him. Who can really blame her?
Okay she has to admit that Killian Jones is not that bad of company. Sure every other sentence that comes out of his mouth is a sexual innuendo and he has an annoying habit of entering her personal space but in retrospect he could be worse. Emma can tell that he has a fond respect for David and she can see that he adores Mary Margaret and loves to tease her about leaving her things around their apartment.
They made it through dinner almost unscathed. Unfortunately their waitress who was apparently an ex conquest of Killian's, in a jealous rage at seeing him with another girl and the fact that he could not recall her name, took Killian's water and poured it all over him. Which he laughed off and said, "Nothing like a wet t-shirt contest, eh Love? You're next."
To which Emma replied by "accidentally" knocking her water off the table and subsequently spilling it all over his jeans.
She was now at David and Killian's apartment because there was no way that David was letting Killian get his brand new seats wet in car and Mary Margaret being fed up with Emma made her drive her car and take Killian there.
This being her first time in their apartment, Emma took her time while waiting to look around. To her surprise it was incredibly neat. Almost military level. She knew that David was a bit of a slob so she attributed the neatness to a habit of Killian's. In the living room she picked up a picture on an end table by the couch to observe it further. There were two boys who looked very similar in a familial way, except one had dark hair the color of midnight and the other was a dirty blonde. Their arms were around each other, they were laughing into the camera with the most carefree expressions she could imagine, and the sea was providing the backdrop. It was so obvious that these two cared for each other greatly that it filled her heart with an unprecedented amount of sadness. She had never had that sort of obvious unbreakable bond with somebody that even a stranger could tell by looking at a picture. Save for Mary Margaret and David, Emma could not think of one more person who she could even consider as her friend.
It was all making her moody and ready to go back to her dorm and hibernate for the rest of the weekend when Killian startled her and started talking, "That was my brother Liam and I."
Emma jumped and hurriedly turned around, "Sorry I was just looking," she glanced down at the picture in her hands, "I thought you guys might be related or something." She continued lamely.
Killian was casually leaned against the door jamb just looking at her with sweats and a t-shirt on and dammit if Emma didn't feel a flutter in her stomach at the sight.
"It's okay. That picture was from a long time ago. I was fourteen to be exact." Killian pushed himself off the wall and walked towards her. She held her breath as he got close but he just took the picture frame from out of her hands and looked at it.
So she said the only thing she could think to say, "You look happy."
"I was." He sighed and put the picture back where it belonged.
There was a flash of something in Killian's eyes that was familiar to Emma but before she couldn't pin it down it was gone and Killian was back to his innuendo and joking self.
"So lass it's usually me who gets the girls wet and out of their clothes on the first date and not the other way around so you should feel honored." He said with a smirk. |
470ac298430a47c0ae923a356e88f795 | ['9f721064f7cc47e29ec547b12d497941'] | Jesse swears he nearly got **whiplash** from how fast his head whipped up to see the door to his quarters slide open to reveal a tired Hanzo: his glimmer falling off as he shed his armour and weapons with a tired hiss, those stormy grey eyes landed on the shocked werewolf, _still clutching his phone,_ before he spoke.
"Ah, MCcree, I did not expect you to be waiting for me," his voice was like a godsend to Jesse. "The mission ended quite early due to missed intel. I also assume Genji told you of my arrival, yes?" Hanzo's voice was like coiled thunder; waiting to strike anyone who happens to have bad luck.
"How did ya-" the werewolf noticed that his phone was laying screen up and chuckled before he grinned. "Han, darlin'. Gimme a kiss? I missed ya" were the words he said instead. By now his show had ended **for sure.**
**"** Of course, cowboy. I must take a minuet first. I reek from the mission." before he stalked to the bathroom, an old acquaintance with the layout of Jesse's quarters, leaving said cowboy speechless.
" 'Course, Darlin! Take yer time" he replied lamely, shucking his hat onto the nightstand before looking towards the bathroom door when it opened. "Is somethin' wrong, honeypie? My sweetness? _My-"_ He was cut off with a low chuckle from that thunder tone.
"Yes, it seems my _werewolf_ has clearly not taken me up on my invitation to join me in the shower." He had a small smirk that quirked his lips up before smoothing his expression back into nonchalance and going back in side the bathroom, leaving Jesse scrambling to get up to join the Oni.
" _Ink me up, sugar."_ Jesse's voice was almost like a croon: a barely contained howl, snarl and purr all in one.
_He wouldn't want it any other way, for Hanzo to be tattooed on his heart like the ink on his arm._
**Author's Note:**
> Like this fic? feel free to leave a kudo and a comment! Maybe even two if you're feeling generous! It really helps me know what you, (the reader) wants to read! | 26df0a3415c44971bc5edd3d673deeec | ['9f721064f7cc47e29ec547b12d497941'] | "That over there is Quiet, she's faster and stronger than you so don't try anything, soldier." At his words Quiet switched her gaze from you to him, nodding slowly before pushing off of the wall.
\---------
Your first day in the squadron you had been assigned was... **rocky,** to say the least: you had to start training, learn more English than you had knew and to help use your native tongue, Pashto, for translating things.
As of now you had business to attend to: run to the medical platofrm, _which was **far** , _to give word about the newest recruits to the nurses and then you had to run back to your platform to prepare for training- which was going terrible. As usual.
"Hey, Hyena! You got time?," from behind you a muffled voice rang out, prompting you to turn around from firing your gun, watching as one of your squadmates ran up to you. He was a nice chap, you supposed, he never did anything wrong to you he was just...eccentric? He always had a mask covering his face incase he was called away.
"Yes, um...?" You blanked. You **blanked** on his name?! Oh god. He was never going to let you live it down-
"Ah, no worries, I forgot you've only just learned English, sorry. I'm Stalking Leopard- or Leo, whatever your choice is," he holstered his gun, his voice giving away to a almost happy tint? Ah, he seemed genuine enough.
"Thank you...? Did I say that right?" You holstered your gun too, stepping away from the training area so that others could shoot.
"Yeah, you did! No worries Hyena. I'll speak later, yeah? Things to do, you know?." He waved before jogging past you, going to do whatever he needed for the day.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> Ya like this ficlet? why not give this a kudo? why not two kudos and a comment, even?
>
> Metal Gear and it's characters belong to my man, Hideo Kojima.
**Author's Note:**
> If you like this series why not leave it a kudo? why not two kudos and a comment?? Share it with the people who you'd think would like it- unless they don't like blood and gore....show them another of my fics ^^*
>
> Also when You're speaking i put it in Italic to signify you speaking Pashto. I know, not a good way but eh, I'm trying.
>
> I'll add a second chapter since ma girl Quiet hasn't been mentioned much in this first bit. |
2d680a7490dc4250b4ca79743cfa73b9 | ['9f7ab0ee72ea4edb9e29e1d366469da5'] | "I'm afraid not. Will and I will be spending our time here." Hannibal said, a glint in his eye. Anthony raised an eyebrow at that, wondering what the mischievous alpha had planned.
"Alright, I'll go if only to give Hannibal and Will their alone time." Anthony said. The corners of Hannibal's lips twisted in the barest of smiles before he returned to the kitchen area to make two more plates. The alpha then headed upstairs with them. As soon as he was gone Abigail looked excited then apprehensive, and then excited again as if she wanted to tell Anthony a secret but wasn't sure if it was a good idea. Monroe snorted at her.
"He's cool, Abbi. Spill it." The alpha said. Anthony raised an eyebrow.
"I hope you're not thinking I am above juvenile high jinks just because I'm old. Ask Will, I'm very immature." Abigail smiled at that and "spilled" her secret.
"Okay, so Monroe got us fake ID's and we're gonna go to this swanky club! Don't tell Hannibal." She said with a huge smile. Anthony laughed at her excitement.
"I won't, although I doubt he would have much to say about it. I have a feeling he is not a stranger to illegal activities. However, If you get caught, I don't know you." He said with a smirk. Abigail's eyes widened but nodded quickly, being serious again. The girl was very young. "and as the oldest I am going to be watching how much you drink. I don't want you throwing up all over the parking lot and blowing your cover. Do NOT take drinks from anyone but us and the bar tender. If a bloke asks if you want a drink tell him you'll order with him at the bar. Don't leave your drink unattended. Got it?" Anthony felt it was his duty to watch over the younger inexperienced wolves and needed to make sure they stayed safe.
"Why not?" Abigail asked. Anthony's eyebrows rose and he looked at Monroe. Monroe just shrugged.
"Dude, I didn't know she didn't know that stuff. What do you want me to say?" Anthony sighed before looking at Abigail.
"You need to be well aware of your drink because someone could dose you. A long time ago a human put ecstasy in my drink... Let's just say things did not go swimmingly... for the human. I would hope no one here will have a similar experience." Anthony said. Abigail looked slightly alarmed, making Anthony sigh again. Monroe's eyebrows rose, looking at Anthony in amusement. Meghan had a similar expression.
"Okay, I'm nervous." Abigail said, taking a quick breath and looking down into her lap. Meghan piped up.
"Oh my god, Abbi, don't worry. If you are unsure about something ask us. We'll be there too. All of us have been to our share of clubs." Meghan said. Monroe nodded in support.
"Wh-what do I order at the bar?!" She asked. Monroe face-palmed.
"...I always get a screwdriver." Meghan said with a shrug. "Go with that."
"My go-to is a whiskey sour. Both are mildly sweet and easy to drink." Anthony informed her. Abigail nodded.
"I just drink beer." Monroe said with a shrug. Abigail took a apprehensive breath again and nodded. Meghan piped up again.
"Don't worry, Hon. Me and Kim'll help you! We'll go shopping and get a dress first. Oh shit- I'm excited! Let's go! Hurry!" She said, grabbing Abigail's hand and dragging her upstairs to get dressed to go to the mall. Anthony just raised an eyebrow and sipped his coffee, grabbing up Monroe's book and looking at the page he was on with interest. He was reading "A Shadow Over Insmouth."
"Honestly this story is much more relatable than the rest." He said with a smirk. The story was about a town filled with sea-monster people. "Although Insmouth is much more like Wolftrap or England than here. Here you don't have the cults and the superiority complex over humans." He said. Monroe made a face.
"There are cults?" He asked, dead-pan. Monroe nodded seriously.
"Quite a few. My parents were part of one in England. Nasty business. I was frequently not at home, as far away from it as possible, drinking, getting into trouble, sleeping on random people's couches... My parents did recently leave it but I do not have a very good relationship with them. Mainly because of my poor attitude as a youth and my chosen profession as a poet." He said with a laugh. Monroe listened with interest. "You said your family was no longer with you?" Monroe stiffened for a moment but then nodded.
"Uh, they died when I was fourteen and I hitch-hiked here from Minnesota...Abbi's from Minnesota too. I honestly got the idea to come here from her parents. They were supposed to be taking me in... that obviously didn't happen. Abbi's an orphan too. Anyways..." Monroe said, looking away. Anthony's eyebrows furrowed. There was definitely a lot behind what Monroe said but it seemed from his tone he was unwilling to disclose it for now. He turned the conversation back to lighter topics.
"Ah, that explains the accent." He said. Monroe looked up, scowling.
"I do not have an accent!" He said incredulously. Anthony laughed. "It's not like I grew up in back-woods Pine City or something I grew up in St. Paul. It's like, the same as Baltimore... kind of. You're the one who has the accent." | ddb651c977454e4fb7705dba12c55873 | ['9f7ab0ee72ea4edb9e29e1d366469da5'] | These tales haunted Will, made his mind wander into the deep. Why would they simply shut the entire floor off? Were they really hurting for money that much? Wouldn't there eventually be structural problems? What else lived in that dank underground forgotten place? And this was why Will had imagined this creature, black, skeletal, horned, with red eyes... He imagined it coming up from the depths of the school to walk the halls he and his classmates walked during the night when they were gone. Instead he saw a figure wearing a fox tail and ears run across the intersecting hallway. Will blinked, realizing it was Randall Tier. Maybe the boy was the school's own personal rat catcher. No need for a cat when you have a boy that thought he was a fox. Will snorted, crossing the intersecting hallway, looking down it to see Randall disappear around a corner.
Will entered the cafeteria to smell the stench of garbage. His nose wrinkled and saw that both Alana and Jack were there carrying their flour sack baby along with a boy named Jimmy and another boy named Brian. They all knew each other from classes here and there but Will was not exactly friends with the two boys. Will couldn't help it, he had to ask.
"What is that smell...?" He asked in disgust. Jimmy smirked, looking highly amused. He reminded Will of a rat himself. Not particularly in a bad way, his smile was just very large while his eyes were very small, his nose large and pointy.
"You know how today is supposed to be 'beef' stew for lunch?" Will nodded. "Well, I think the lunch ladies make it ahead of time in a big pot... someone threw it all over the floor. It must have been last night because it's already rotting." Jimmy explained. He nodded towards the cafeteria serving area and Will decided to go see for himself. The others followed him.
He walked into the serving area where the smell was thicker and slightly nauseating. He then entered the doorway into the kitchens, seeing that indeed, the large vat of stew had been taken from the walk-in freezer and was dumped all over the floor. After a moment Will saw that the stew, thick and gelatinous had been pushed into the shape of a large skull on the floor. Will wondered who would do such a thing... before long his imagination was making an appearance again.
Slowly, the stew slid back into its container, then was pushed backwards, back into the freezer, resetting the scene.
Will could see it distinctly in his mind, as if he, himself, was the culprit. Just after the last of the extra-curricular activities had finished up he had gone down the hallways, now dark except for the few flickering emergency lights. He felt no concern in the darkness. He felt powerful.
He entered the kitchen of the cafeteria with intent. No doubt the lunch ladies had created a disastrous concoction. He was determined to destroy the filth that they had made. No longer would anyone taste their disgusting portrayal of food. The school would be forced to whatever their plan B was. It was no concern of theirs. He opened the walk-in freezer door and saw his target: a large vat of stew, cold and ready to be heated.
Thankfully the vat had wheels and was easily moved. He simply rolled the vat out of the freezer, moving it a little further before closing the freezer door. Then he pushed. He pushed until the vat finally toppled over with a loud "clank!." The offensive liquid poured out over the floor. He had to step back for fear of drenching his shoes in the concoction, backing up before leaving with a wicked smile on his face.
"This is my design" He said as he left.
"What is your design? This? Did you kill the stew, Will? How juvenile are you? If you don't like the food don't eat it-" Alana said as Will came out of his imagination. Will blinked at her, somewhat dazed.
"No I didn't kill the stew, Alana!" He said in annoyance.
**Author's Note:**
> So, uh, this high school is based off of my high school from when I was a teenager... Like, what I described to you in terms of the flooded basement and cockroaches is all legit. I tried a lot of times to get into the basement and failed... I imagined mutants lived down there but I didn't imagine a wendigo...
>
> Also, the jocks in my high school REALLY needed to fuck each other. I refuse to believe that kind of behavior including trying to "goose" each other or grab each other's balls was just... straight guys having normal homo-erotic fun but fearing actually being gay? I dunno...
>
> I hope you're enjoying it. There's gonna be some underage Will-seducing in later chapters but honestly I don't see seventeen-and-a-half THAT bad... lol. I mean, Hannibal's a pervert regardless but...
>
> Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think but be gentle. I have a tender soul....? |
4419f44367bf4b96861a3731ed993713 | ['9f85b82ed8ac4867884f77b69823aa72'] | “You...you can’t do that!” Pearl yelled. She turned her head to the others. “Guys, wake up! Please!”
“Oh that’s not going to work. We’ve pumped those two full of drugs. Won’t wake up.” He grinned and giggled. “We ran out before we got to you. It’s a shame. That means we have to hear your filthy mouth.” He turned his head to the door. “Alright boys, move her out of here!”
A small group of Chums rushed into the room and pulled the unconscious Callie down, removing her bindings. They dragged her out of the freezer, eagerly giggling as they carried her off.
“Don’t do this! You’re all monsters!” Pearl screamed.
Shaw placed a hand on one of her cheeks and smiled. He slid a packet of salt from his pocket and tore it open with his teeth. With a flick of his wrist, he sprinkled salt into her wound.
“Gah, fuck!” Pearl shrieked in pain. It burned so badly. “You’re fucked, you hear me?! Fucked!”
“It’s like rubbing salt in an open wound,” Shaw stated. “You know, the metaphor for adding insult to injury? Well I just added extra injury to injury, so the phrase doesn’t really make sense if you think about it.” He guffawed, clearly entertaining himself.
Pearl went silent once more. She didn’t want to dignify him with a response. She had to place her energy into trying to get herself free. She was holding back her pain. This man did not deserve her misery. There was no way in hell she’d let him have it.
“Bye bye,” Shaw said in a singsong manner. He left the room and slammed the freezer door behind him, the lock clicking loudly.
\--
Callie was laid onto a clean metal table. Harnell and Shaw stood over her. They were about to begin the process of readying the subject for preparation. The first part of the process was to remove Callie’s tentacles, which would be messy, though thankfully quick.
“Would you mind handing me the knife, bud?” Harnell asked. Shaw nodded and handed over a rather large knife. It was one specially made for the purpose of de-tentacling Inklings and Octolings. “Did you sharpen this lately?”
“Oh uh, I just sharpened it yesterday.” Shaw nodded. “You’re good.”
“She’s properly drugged, right?” Harnell’s voice was filled with concern. “We really don’t want her waking up in the middle of this. She’s suffered enough.”
“Yes, we pumped her full of them!” Shaw exclaimed. “She’s out like a light.”
“Alright.” Harnell patted Shaw on the head.
The incision was quick. The knife slid in just beneath the base of her tentacles, just above the forehead. It was slow and laborious cutting through the tendons keeping the tentacles attached to the body. Harnell really had to exert a lot of strength to slice through the fibrous tissue. The following removal was not as hard, just a simple peeling away of the remaining matter, with a slight incision here and there. Harnell handed the tentacles to Shaw, who placed them into a small plastic tub beside the table.
“Okay, we’re done with that part of the process. We need to move on to the de-beaking. Do you have the pliers?” Harnell held a hand out to accept the tool.
Shaw gulped, “I uh...forgot them. I can go get them if you need-”
“No, it’s fine,” Harnell interrupted. “We need to get this done quick. I’ll just use my hands. Just hold her mouth open for me, will you?”
“Y-yes, sir!” Shaw nodded. He reached for a pair of prongs to his side. He pressed them to the corners of Callie’s lips, holding her mouth agape. “Is that good, Harley?”
“That works,” The chef huffed.
Harnell took hold of the top half of Callie’s beak, making sure he had a tight grip. He took a deep breath and began to pull forcefully. It didn’t budge much at first, though after a few sessions of pulling, the gums’ hold on the beak gave way. The top half of the beak was loose and starting to slip out. Short, thin strips of flesh tethered it to the gums. Harnell sighed and brought his knife close, cutting away the connecting tissue. The bloodied chitin was freed and quickly tossed aside into a garbage bin. The wound was cauterized with a quick once over from a nearby blowtorch. Harnell repeated the process on the bottom half of the beak. Once this was done, he removed the prongs and closed her mouth.
“Okay, de-beaked.” Harnell cracked his knuckles and looked Callie over. “I’ll prep her body for the oven. Shaw, you cut up the tentacles and get them all battered up.”
“Of course!”
\--
Pearl was stirred by a pleasant, familiar scent. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but whatever it was made her mouth water. She felt a harsh rumble in her stomach. Of all the times to be hungry, why now? The door to the freezer slowly opened up. Standing in the doorway was Shaw, holding a large plate.
“Got you some breakfast, m’lady!” The Salmonling announced, waltzing into the freezer. He held the plate up to Pearl’s face. A large slab of meat took up one half of the plate, while a heaping portion of calamari took up the other. “Aren’t you hungry?”
Pearl stared at the plate, fear in her eyes. Was that...what they’d done with Callie? To her regret, drool escaped her mouth at the sight of the food. She was feeling so hungry. She couldn’t though. That would be wrong.
“Say ‘ah.’ “ Shaw commanded, picking up one of the rings of calamari. Pearl was silent in response, but as if losing control of her body, her mouth opened wide. “Good girl.”
He pushed the squid ring into Pearl’s awaiting mouth, watching excitedly as she closed her mouth and began to chew. Pearl felt disgusted as the succulent flavor filled her mouth. There was this intense rush of satisfaction through her body with every passing second. She swallowed the morsel and took a deep breath.
“Was it good?” Shaw asked, smiling at her. “Nothing beats Harley’s dishes.”
Pearl did not respond. She simply stared down at the floor in disgust at herself. She had done nothing to resist. She couldn’t have been that hungry, could she? Hungry enough to gladly accept her own friend’s flesh? She could never sink so low, she thought. But this situation has quite clearly proven her wrong.
“Want anything else?” The Salmonling pushed the plate closer, the delicate aroma more powerful than ever. “It’s all on the house.”
Pearl shook her head, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She just wanted this to be over. This had to be some grotesque nightmare! She’d wake up any moment now. She’d be back in bed with Marina, and Callie would be just fine. Any time now. She just had to be patient.
“Alright, suit yourself.” Shaw shrugged. He walked out of the freezer and slammed the door shut behind him. As the loud locking mechanism sounded, the lights went off.
Nobody could see Pearl cry in the darkness. | 7691a137051443869ed1da54de68c8a6 | ['9f85b82ed8ac4867884f77b69823aa72'] | “...I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you or anything. It’s just-” She paused when she noticed the red liquid pooling around Clip’s head. “...Clip?!” Straps pulled Clip up from the table, screaming at the sight of the knife embedded into her neck and the noticeable damage to her face. “G-Gloves?!” Straps dashed to go get Gloves, but Goggles launched out from under the table and smashed his bat against her knees. She fell to the floor with a shriek of pain.
Goggles climbed on top of her and raised his bat high. He brought it down hard onto the back of her head. He proceeded to repeat the action until a large pool of blood had formed around her, along with his bat leaving behind a large crater. He was panting loudly in the aftermath, his heart was beating a mile a minute.
“Okay, almost done.” He reassured himself. “Just gotta find Gloves.” He climbed to his feet and immediately entered the door Straps had come through. It was a tv room of sorts. An old CRT monitor sat on top of a small dresser, and across the room was a set of torn-up sofas. Straight across from the entrance was another door. He slid his mask off of his face as he walked up to it and pressed his ear against it.
“I’ll show them I’m not a goddamn deadbeat,” Gloves grumbled. “I just have to...get back on my feet. Yeah. That’s it.” He sighed loudly.
Goggles pulled away from the door and placed the mask back onto his head. He delivered a powerful kick and tore the door from its hinges. Gloves turned his head to see the masked killer standing before him.
“W-who the fuck are you?!” Gloves shouted. “Guys?!”
“Nobody is coming to help you.” Goggles responded, holding up his blood soaked bat.
“N-no.” Gloves collapsed to his knees and clasped his hands together. “Please, don’t kill me! I’m not worth anything! I don’t own anything! What are you getting from killing me?!”
“Nothing, to be perfectly honest.” Goggles answered, slowly walking towards Gloves. He clutched his bat tightly, ready to deliver a killing swing. Gloves scrambled towards the wall, pressing his back against it.
“P-please! Have mercy!”
Suddenly, Goggles was thrown to the floor. Before he could turn his head up to see who had assaulted him, a rain of bullets tore through his body. Almost instantaneously, the life left Goggles’ body. He flailed in place for a moment before becoming still.
Standing over his body was a tall man, clad in a leather coat and a rubber dragon mask. He held a pistol tightly in his right hand.
“Oh thank you!” Gloves yelled, tears streaming from his eyes. He dashed up to the stranger. “He was going to kill me! I thought I was a goner. You’re my he-” The masked man immediately pressed the gun to Gloves’ forehead and pulled the trigger. Gloves’ body immediately crumpled to the floor.
“Another masked vigilante, huh?” The assailant whispered. He pulled off the dragon mask. An Inkling with yellow-green ink was hidden beneath the mask.
Rider sighed and sat on one of the beds in the room to catch his breath. At least the guy who got here before him did most of the work for him. Made the assassination and the clean-up job far easier. He slid his phone from his pocket and checked his notifications. A text from Headphones, huh?
Rider, make sure to call Goggles tonight and make sure he knows what time you’re picking him up. You’re supposed to be going to counseling tomorrow, remember?
“Oh right, that,” Rider muttered. He opened up his contact list and scrolled down to Goggles’ name. “Might as well do it now.” He pushed the call button and held the phone up to his ear. As the dial tone sounded, he suddenly heard Calamari Inkantation fill the room. “What the…?” Rider realized it was coming from the masked corpse lying on the ground. Wasn’t that...Goggles’ ringtone?
He gulped and approached the body. With caution, he gripped the chicken mask and pulled it off.
“...Goggles?” |
d43ea17d0cba40e9a0aa56aae5093a5d | ['9f90ec39aede4e2f9da39b2e00498cc5'] | _As he fell into Kageyama’s arms, something clicked between their soul wavelengths. A connection had been made. A fragment of themselves had been given to each other._
_It was as though Hinata and Kageyama had found a missing part of themselves._
_An electric jolt rebounded from their two wavelengths falling in sync and just like that, Hinata Shouyou found himself in the sturdy arms of Kageyama Tobio who held Hinata with the utmost gentleness - as though the younger boy was a newly hatched butterfly who had finally escaped his prison-like chrysalis._
_A new gift to the world._
_Hinata would be lying if he said his heart wasn’t fluttering ever so slightly in his chest when that happened._
_And Kageyama would also be a dirty liar if he denied the blatant shade of red his ears turned when Hinata transformed back into his human form and threw his arms around Kageyama’s neck, pulling the former into a tight hug._
_But the two would both agree to dismiss the quiet sobbing that came from Hinata as he buried his face into Kageyama’s shoulder. Hinata was happy though. Exuberant even! But most importantly he was grateful._
_“...Thanks, Kageyama.”_
_“...Don’t mention it, dumbass.”_
Of course no one could expect the two to find happiness as easily as that. This wasn’t some sappy shoujo manga after all.
Hinata and Kageyama had one of the most, if not greatest, _dysfunctional_ relationship amongst the DWMA students and faculty.
The two were constantly bickering, fighting, and competing against each other regardless of their established relationship as Meister and Weapon.
In fact, this whole “quitting-and-finding-a-new-Meister” sort of situation happened almost every other week. Hinata would get fed up with Kageyama’s sometimes verbal, sometimes physical, sometimes very verbal AND very physical abuse. Sometimes, his mind would only be filled with the thoughts of finding a new Meister. A better Meister. A Meister that didn’t constantly yell at him or whack him on the head or act like a general asshat every bloody second.
There would be explosions (mostly on Hinata’s part) and lots of cursing (mostly on Kageyama’s part) and some unlucky, unsuspecting Meister would be chosen by Hinata to become his new personal Meister. Only to find out, unsurprisingly, that they would be unable to bear Hinata’s weight and would(usually) end up laid out on the ground under Hinata’s Weapon form.
Sigh.
“Hey! Get the hell off of him, idiot!” Tsukishima snapped, shocking Hinata into reverting back into his human form. Hinata had then scrambled off Yamaguchi’s chest, sputtering apologies to the other with his posture hunched in guilt .
“Oh crap! Yamaguchi are you okay? I’m so sorry! You’re not hurt anywhere are you?” Hinata inched closer to inspect Yamaguchi’s body for injuries, but Tsukishima pulled his Meister away before the other party could recover the situation. The air was thick with tension, with Tsukishima gripping Yamaguchi’s arm protectively as he shot the offender a menacing glare.
“He’d be in no better shape with you around.” Tsukishima scoffed, helping the freckled brunette to his feet. Hinata visibly wilted at the icy tone, twisting the hem of his shirt with his head hung in shame. However, Yamaguchi — being the kind wonderful soul that he was — gave him a soft smile to show that no harm was done. Tsukishima, on the other hand, gave Hinata one last icy glare before he held Yamaguchi’s left arm over his neck and walked him to wherever his older brother was. It was common knowledge that Akiteru and Kei Tsukishima were both weapons to the kind-hearted meister, and the younger brother had deemed it wise to seek the elder— an elder who was _not_ Hinata— for some further assistance.
Hinata crossed his arms and sighed in defeat.
Really, he shouldn’t have expected a different result. While Yamaguchi might have been a gifted Meister with the ability to dual wield his two Weapons, it didn’t mean he had the ability to withstand Hinata’s sheer weight.
Looks like he was still stuck with—
“DUMBASS!!” Kageyama bellowed as he finally caught up to his unfortunately speedier Weapon. Hinata flinched. He was probably gonna get it now. Kageyama had worked himself into one of his fits of frustration and it was evident by the pulsing vein near his right temple.
Hinata braced himself for a walloping and squeezed his eyes shut, but to his surprise he received no such attack. Claimed by curiosity, he cautiously peeked through one eye and saw Kageyama frozen with beads of cold sweat forming on his brow. The sweating wasn’t from all that running he’d just done though. No, the look on Kageyama’s face could only be read as one thing. .
_Oh crap._
Hinata reluctantly looked over his shoulder and made unwanted eye contact with DWMA’s one and only Death Scythe.
Iwaizumi Hajime.
And boy did look _pissed_.
Before Kageyama had time to open his mouth and form a bullshit excuse to all the ruckus and damage the pair had caused, Iwaizumi cut him off.
“Save it. I’m just here to fetch you two. _He_ wants to see you.”
Hinata and Kageyama both felt their stomachs drop.
Oh no. If _that_ wanted to see them, there could be nothing but trouble spelled out in their futures. Trouble and probably some intense mental pain or physical pain, possibly both.
Most likely both.
This was Oikawa Tooru they were dealing with after all.
* * *
Oikawa Tooru, the most revered Meister at DWMA, second only to Headmaster Death, had quite the reputation. A man of devilishly handsome looks and an equally devilish personality could not be expected of anything less. He was incredibly skillful and studious, almost obsessively so— due to his somewhat unhealthy preoccupation with perfection. Oikawa had been one of the DWMA’s youngest graduates ever and he’d wasted no time culling souls to turn his Weapon, Iwaizumi Hajime, into a Death Scythe— something which Oikawa had deemed an example of _perfection_. | e505d6b1bf5b40f3bc2bfbf279344c1f | ['9f90ec39aede4e2f9da39b2e00498cc5'] | A broken violin and a topped music stand, sheets of music strewn all over the stage.
The apathetic eyes of a man and woman.
A couple.
His parents.
Kenma’s throat constricted as he felt a familiar lump lodged in there.
_“Being me can only mean_
Feeling scared to breathe
If you leave me then I’ll be afraid of everything
That makes me anxious, gives me patience, calms me down
Lets me face this, let me sleep, and when I wake up (I wake up, I wake up)
Let me be,”
The bassist who was acting as back-up singer sang the chorus and soon enough the song came to a close and the concert was over. Kenma lowered his arm and peered up with the rest of the audience at the stage where some of the band members were finally loosening up now that their set had ended. Kenma watched the main vocalist take a swig from his water bottle.
The guy’s name was Kuroo from what he could tell since the crowd had been chanting his name earlier in the concert. He was very tall and built with lanky muscle and his hair was positively wild, a dark black and sticking up almost like a rooster. But his voice and his eyes were utterly magnetic and succeeded in drawing Kenma in just like everyone else.
The way he moved around the stage like it was his playground and he was simply showing the crowd around his place was amazing. Kuroo had real stage presence and his charisma was incredible. Kenma felt the same longing and attraction that everyone in the audience probably felt for the guy. He was like an idol atop his rock and roll pedestal.
“We’d like to thank you all for coming out!” the drummer yelled out.
The crowd screamed in response.
“We love you guys so much!” the main guitarist followed up. He was the pretty boy in the group, his looks and attitude definitely qualified him for that position.
And as such, the ladies in the audience shrieked back words of love and adoration to him.
“Goodnight, everyone!!” the bassist waved as the band members started to exit the stage. This was the audience’s cue to start doing the same. Everyone began shuffling and shifting towards the pit’s exit and Kenma got ready to follow suit.
But a person tapped him on the shoulder.
Kenma turned around and saw a man in a black suit with a silver Bluetooth in his ear. He must have been a part of security or something. He had slightly messy dark hair and a calm, but noticeably bored expression on his face.
“Excuse me, but a member of the band would like to speak with you. Follow me please.” he said, unlocking the guard rail’s door and opening it for Kenma.
Kenma didn’t really know what to do. He was shocked that someone in the band wanted to see him. I mean, he was just one in the tens of thousands of people who had come out to see the Trash Kings play. And it wasn’t like he was friends with any of the members of the band? He hadn’t even listened to any of their music before tonight.
Kenma had no idea what the correct course of action was in this type of situation.
But he figured it would be rude to turn down the band’s offer to speak with them. Plus the guy in front of him was kind of intimidating. He didn’t seem like the type to take no for an answer.
So Kenma followed him up onto the stage and into the back to meet with the band members.
But what business could the Trash Kings possibly have with him?
\---
“Guys, where’s Akaashiiiii?” Bokuto whined as he spun around in a swivel chair. The Trash Kings were currently resting for a bit in their dressing room backstage before they got ready to head back to the hotel. Everyone was worn out so no one paid any attention to Bokuto’s complaining.
“Guuuuuuys, stop ignoring meeeee.” Bokuto’s voice reached an even higher frequency of annoying.
“Kuroo sent him out on an errand or something.” Tsukishima said.
Bokuto pouted. He really liked hanging out with Akaashi. Iwaizumi had hired the man a while back to be in charge of the band’s security detail once the Trash Kings began to get popular. Bokuto adored his fans, don’t get him wrong, but sometimes they could be a bit too much and things could get _weird_. One time a few “dedicated” fans had snuck onto their tour bus and took it upon themselves to snag some “memorabilia” before leaving.
Oikawa had lost his favorite pair of leather pants that day
He’d whined and bitched so much that no one could forget it either.
It was after that incident that Iwaizumi brought Akaashi Keiji as their head of security. Akaashi was a literal powerhouse, despite his nonchalant and cool demeanor the man was a 7th dan in karate and Sambo Kandidat Master. Akaashi watched the group like a hawk during all their concerts, tours, interviews, you name it.
Not to mention he was one of the few people who would _willingly_ humor Bokuto other than Kuroo. Akaashi listened to all Bokuto’s lame jokes, outlandish stories and junk. Albeit he did so with the same indifferent expression, Bokuto still really appreciated it.
Bokuto pouted some more and spun faster.
“Akaashiiiiii!” he called out.
“Stop spinning like that, you’ll upset your stomach and get sick on the ride home.” Akaashi said, walking into the room with a certain pudding-haired kid behind him.
Bokuto popped up from his chair and smiled at Akaashi like an excited puppy.
“Akaashi!” Akaashi frowned a bit but acknowledged the owl boy regardless. |
3729b7ce6db9405ba88f4b91d3c0c1b6 | ['9f9e4b1ba6314f2aac62392b503b73f7'] | Thorin sat against a tree and put his fur pelt back around Leah's shoulders, then wound his arms around her. She placed her head against his chest and closed her eyes. Thorin watched for a few minutes as she drifted silently to sleep. It never seemed to take long for her to fall asleep when she was against him.
For over an hour Thorin remained in the darkness, holding Leah to his chest and watching for any signs of danger. He'd come so close to losing her again, but this time she'd made a vow and sealed that by making love to him before they'd even wed. There was no doubt in his mind that Leah was entirely faithful to him; in fact, her loyalty could easily match that of any of the dwarves he'd had in his Company. There was never anything but honesty in her eyes and Thorin ultimately knew he could trust her even with his life. But the fear of losing him again was the point at which darkness crept into her. And when he thought on what had happened the last six weeks or so, he knew that he couldn't blame her for feeling the way she did. If the roles had of been reversed, could he ever be one hundred per cent sure that she wouldn't leave him in one way or another?
Fili began to wake and looked around into the darkness, stretching his tired muscles and yawning. He could make out the outline of Thorin sat by the tree. The first light was beginning to break across the sky.
“Thorin?” he asked, getting up and approaching his uncle. “Are you awake?”
“Yes, I took watch while you all slept,” Thorin replied. “I think we may need to get moving soon. Leah is willing to see if she can take us straight to Erebor from here. We will have to see if she has the strength to do it.”
Fili looked down at the sleeping girl on his uncle's chest. “She's braved so much for all of us. I cannot see anyone better to rule with you.”
“She's made many sacrifices for me and I could never ask any more of her,” Thorin replied, kissing her head. “Only that she be my wife.”
“I doubt she will say no to that,” Fili chuckled. “She adores you, Thorin. Anyone with eyes can see it plainly. I'm proud to call her my friend.”
Gradually Kili began to wake, and as he did, Thorin nudged Leah a little. “My love, we must move,” he said quietly. Leah yawned and gently pulled herself from Thorin's arms. She got up and stretched herself. While being asleep, her throat had become quite swollen again.
“I need some water,” she croaked. “My throat has swollen up again.”
“If you try and take us to Erebor, we will get you water there. If you cannot, Kili, go and find water for her,” Thorin asked. Kili nodded his head in response to his uncle's request. Leah took Thorin's hand in her own and then looked towards Fili and Kili.
“I think we all need to be joined before I can do this,” Leah rasped. In her mind she concentrated on the huge mountain and the walls which had been built outside it, housing statues in memory of previous kings, their faces immortalised in stone. She looked up in her mind's eye and saw the battlement where she'd stood with Thorin when he threatened to kill Bilbo. Then she saw a flash of light before her eyes, shining pure white. And then as the light disappeared, she opened her eyes. Instantly her senses became bombarded with sights, sounds and smells, all of which were very familiar.
Thorin's voice hit her first. But his words were fuelled with hate and anger. He was dressed in his regal robes and charging at Bilbo, ready to kill him if need be. And then suddenly she saw herself dash in front of Bilbo, protecting him.
“W...what are you doing here? But you're there,” Bofur called out, shocked and pointing. He was looking straight at Leah, but she was also standing approximately seven feet ahead, standing in front of Bilbo, stopping Thorin from harming him.
“What have I done?” Leah whispered. Then she realised: that had been the last thought she'd had before she transported herself. She imagined this very moment, standing here and watching Thorin become poisoned by his need for the Arkenstone. And she knew full well all along that Bilbo had been hiding the stone.
Becoming increasingly anxious, Leah closed her eyes again, ignoring everything that was happening around her and focused on the Thorin she had just seen and the present she'd disappeared from. She was in the wood, holding his hand with Fili the other side of her. The sensation of his hand in hers was the main focal point, until the white light sparked blindingly before her, and once again she was back in the wood with Thorin and his nephews.
“What happened?” Kili asked quickly. “You were standing here and then disappeared for a few seconds and reappeared.
Leah's eyes were wide with shock at what she'd just witnessed. “I can't even believe I just did that,” she gasped. “I...I ….went back in _time_.”
“What?” Thorin asked, gob smacked by this sudden revelation. “In time? How is this even possible?”
“I don't even know where all of this has come from. And this must explain why when I left Middle-earth and came home, no time had elapsed, so no one questioned my disappearance.”
“Think what this means, Thorin!” Kili cried out. “We can go back and change things from our pasts. Maybe so that we never died.” | 59ac4e5fe75f471495a412a25baabd53 | ['9f9e4b1ba6314f2aac62392b503b73f7'] | Evenings always consisted of you watching television whilst Richard looked over scripts and began preparation for his next role. You were now used to him spending a few hours before bed on his own, researching and writing. You were quite happy to let him do what he needed to whilst you remained comfortable, wearing your slippers, tucked on the sofa and flicking through the channels. You had already been to some of the tourist areas of New York during the day, wondering through the magic of the city that never sleeps. So evenings remained your wind down time.
By the end of the third week, it was time for Richard to leave for a couple of months in order to begin a new project. You both sat wrapped up together on the evening before leaving and he kissed your head. “I’m so glad you said yes to moving in. I couldn’t imagine not having you with me now,” he told you, gripping you tight.
14. Drabble Fourteen
**Imagine dating Richard, at at first are concerned about the age gap, then you realise you could not be any more right for each other**
You could feel the embarrassment and sadness radiating from Richard as you both sat down in the restaurant where he had brought you. Upon entering the restaurant and a nice old man had commented on your skirt, saying how lovely you looked. But then went on to say how pretty Richard’s ‘daughter’ was. You had smiled at the man, taken Richard’s hand and said, “He’s not my dad.”
“Don’t let it get to you,” you told Richard as you both sat down opposite each other in the corner of the restaurant. You didn’t have to be psychic to see that the comment from the old man had upset Richard; he couldn’t look you in the eye and his usual smile had disappeared.
“It’s not getting to me,” he lied, his words curt and to the point.
You knew that the age gap between yourself and Richard should not have been an issue. You had known each other now for a few months, having met while you were on holiday in New York. It had all begun as mere coincidence when he was behind you in a shop and picked up an item you dropped, and then you had seen him again whilst walking through Union Square towards Barnes and Noble.
After your second encounter in New York, he had asked for your number and you both met up again before you left to head home, going for a drink and meal. Then he had kindly paid for you to go out to him to the States, and had come in to be with you also. Your time together meant alternating between England and the States, despite Richard being English himself, but his work was mainly in the States and his apartment in New York.
You were fifteen years his junior, and at first you didn’t care, but now that comments had been made assuming you to be his daughter, and it was upsetting you, mainly because it was embarrassing Richard. This was the second time in the last three weeks that someone had thought you were family. You could feel his negativity washing towards you across the table, and you reached out, taking his hand. “It doesn’t matter about age. I love you so it shouldn’t…”
“I said it’s not bothering me,” Richard snapped.
“But it is. I can see it written all over your face. I feel just as bad as you because if something upsets you then it upsets me.”
You both ate and drank in silence that evening, until you exited the restaurant. There were few words if any between you. In the taxi and you tried to snuggle up to Richard, but he just sat with his back straight, staring out the window. In exasperation you pulled away and once the taxi had stopped, you got out and walked on ahead, ignoring his bad mood.
When back in the hotel room you approached Richard, looking up at his tall form as he was a clear foot taller than you. “Come and sit down. I want to talk about this,” you told him.
“Well, I don’t,” he snapped.
“I’m not one for ultimatums, but I’ll leave right now if we don’t talk about this. And I’ll go walking the streets of London if I have to. Please, stop shutting yourself off and talk to me.”
“I should not be having people telling me I look like your dad. It’s embarrassing and degrading,” Richard snapped. “I worry about the way I look anyway when I’m on camera; I’m constantly thinking about my age and if people will still employ me.”
“But that’s work, Rich, not our private life. People thinking you’re my dad should not have impact on your work because it’s me they’re referring to. I have a lot of people think I’m younger than I actually am, so it’s not you, it’s me. If anything people could think I’m immature.”
“I remember when we first met and I was terrified of asking for your number because I thought you’d think bad of me because of my age,” Richard admitted. “It’s quite an age gap.”
“And does that make us any less good for each other? Does it make us love each other any less?” you asked, taking his hand in yours. “The only people in this relationship are you and me, and if we’re alright with it then fuck everyone else. Mind my language.” You chuckled as you swore. “But I do mean that. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. And how old do you think you look anyway? I still think you’re mighty fine for a man in your forties.”
Richard laughed and curled his arm around your waist, pulling you into a kiss.
15. Drabble Fifteen |
ff78cdd948dc4357885b35a22a434a18 | ['9fb658a840d142d58510dc944168dd18'] | Draco gave him a predatory smile. “I know what you are Harry. And I know what you want from me. And I’m prepared to give it too you. All I want in exchange in whatever protection you can offer me.”
Potter’s eyed had glazed over slightly and he seemed to barely be listening to Draco. He gaze was fixed on the point just above his collar bone where Draco pulse was just visible, a faint blue line against alabaster skin. He started to move towards Draco, his gaze never wavering, but Draco pushed him away.
“Not until we agree terms,” he said firmly. “And anyway not here. Madam Pomfrey could walk in at any moment. Do you really want her to find you fucking me against a wall?”
That snapped Potter out of it. His head jerked up and he stared at Draco with a combination of shock and lust.
“Yes Potter,” Draco smirked. “That’s my offer. I’m offering you me, to do with as you want, so long as you don’t kill me. My body and my blood are yours. What are you offering in exchange?”
Potter looked thoughtful. Draco was pretty sure it was an act – he didn’t have to look at the visible bulge in the front of Harry trousers to see that he was so turned on he was practically incapable of rational thought. He did it anyway, licking his lips as he unconsciously recalled the first time (of many) he’d wanked to Potter.
“You’d have to stay near me,” Potter said. “I have a house and I think I’ll be able to persuade the secret keeper to let you in. I can’t really protect you if you’re not near me so… Ummm, I think you’ll have to move in with me for me to keep my end of the bargain. It’s a big house; you’ll have plenty of space. And Kreacher will be delighted to have you – he might even do some housework. You’ll be safe there – the place is more secure than the department of mysteries. Umm I think that’s the best I can do.” He looked shamefaced.
Draco pretended to consider his offer, not that he had any choice. And actually it sounded like a good offer. He could probably cope with living with Potter so long as he didn’t have to see him too often and wherever Potter lived would be the safest place for him. Plus he’d get to accidentally walk in on him in the shower.
Draco held out his hand. “Done,” he said and they shook.
As soon as the agreement was made Potter’s eyes slid back to Draco’s throat. Draco was trying hard not to show how turned on he was by the intense scrutiny but when Potter opened his mouth and Draco saw those fangs he couldn’t help meeping quietly. That was enough. Potter pounced, one of his hands tangling in Draco’s hair tugging his head to one side roughly, exposing his neck. Draco whimpered and pressed himself against the body above him. Then Potter’s mouth was on his throat, his fangs pressing against Draco’s skin just hard enough to tease and his breath ghosting across Draco’s neck, raising goose bumps and Draco had never been so turned on in is life. Until Potter bit down and Draco was sure he’d be disappointed because all his blood had flowed south. But apparently not all because through the haze of pain and arousal Draco was aware of Potter’s desperate suckling and he could feel a cool trickle where some blood had escape the corned of Potters mouth.
A door slammed in the direction of Pomfrey’s office and they quickly pulled apart. Potter collapsed back into his chair. He had a definite post coital rumple about him. The bulge in his trousers was even more obvious now and a little trickle of blood ran down from one corner of his mouth. It was all Draco could do not to jump him.
“Get out Potter,” Draco choked out. Harry looked shocked and hurt so Draco added. “I really don’t want Pomfrey to catch us but I’m not sure I can control myself around you. I’m going to jump you in a minute and I’d rather not be expelled for giving the nurse a heart attack.” Potter visibly relaxed but didn’t move. “Go Potter!” Draco exclaimed. “I should be out the day after tomorrow – I’ll owl you to arrange to meet up somewhere.”
Potter nodded and began to rise when Draco swooped forward catching Potter’s chin and swiping his tongue across the line of blood. “Goodbye Potter,” he whispered before he released him.
Draco was so elated with his success that it was two days before he realised he’d forgotten to ask Potter a few very important questions.
The day after his life changing conversation with Potter he’d tried his hardest to catch up on with some of his missed work (he’d spent the night alternately fantasising and cursing the fact that Madam Pomfrey was in her office and after years of caring for sick children was woken by the slightest little noise. He was having trouble keeping quiet just thinking about those delicious fangs. The next day (his last in the hospital wing) he spent doing a series of rigorous physical and magical examinations to test whether he was fit to return to lessons (and by extension face the massed ranks on now hostile Slytherins). So it wasn’t until he was packing up his possessions in lieu of returning to the dormitories that he suddenly realised there was much he didn’t know and hadn’t finalised. There was so much he needed to sort out, and he wouldn’t get much done if he let Potter distract him. Oh well, there was nothing for it – he have to meet with him, and hope he could keep his hands to himself until they’d sorted out the business of the day. | bbe2fb82695840cbbfb88fe381910602 | ['9fb658a840d142d58510dc944168dd18'] | “Then there was a rather sweet boy a couple of years younger who approached me to ‘mentor’ him, as it’s euphemistically called in Slytherin, because he thought he was a masochist and he wanted someone to help him learn and he heard about my reputation as a sadist, and that I was gay from another rather more vanilla lad he approached. Peters his name was. I was rather fond of him. He was always cheerful, and made these adorable little kitten noises when you hurt him. That lasted a term, on and off, but it was always mentoring, rather than real coupledom.
“There was a bit of a break, then Septimus Greenbatch, by far the most sadistic of all my lovers. That lasted a while, but I got sick of him cheating on me and in the end I chucked him. I sort regretted if afterwards because frankly, he was the closest thing to a properly sadist gay guy Hogwarts had. Other than me of course.
The most recent was Theo Walken, he was on the Quidditch team with me. He propositioned me in the showers after practice one day. I was always last out of the showers because those ones can be turned up much higher than the one inside the school, so I’d wait till my team-mates had gone and then have the closest thing to a proper hot shower you can get in this damned place. Theo let me think everyone had gone then once I was in the shower, well, basically he begged to be allowed to suck me off. What can you say to that except yes?! I found out later he’d been talking to Lucy Spencer, one of the women I hurt when I was trying to resist my masochistic urges. Apparently he decided I sounded pretty much perfect. He was the one who was into hardcore D&S. The lasted just over a term, but while I enjoyed my time with him, I was a starting to feel unsatisfied from the lack of sadism on his part. I love causing pain, but I need to be hurt. I considered just cheating on him, but I actually really liked him, so I just let him down a gently as I could.”
Harry looked surprised. “Considering your reputation, that really isn8 0t a very long list! I was expecting double that.”
“Oi!” Malfoy cried, hitting Harry in the shoulder and laughing. “Five in three years is perfectly respectable. I would ask for yours but I suspect I already know it.”
“Yeah, you do. Ginny.”
Draco raised one eyebrow. “You really never once felt the urge to take one of the many pretty girls up on the offers I know they must have been making?”
“They didn’t. Not to my face. I got letters, and I did hear the gossip, but only three girls have ever actually attempted to proposition me. Not counting the one who gave me a box of drugged chocolates.”
“A girl gave you drugged chocolates?!”
“Yeah, but Ron ate them, the great greedy guts. That was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. Well, it wasn’t so funny at the time; it was more a pain, but afterwards… The look on Ron’s face when we gave him the antidote was priceless!”
“I bet it was. But seriously. I can’t believe only three people have ever propositioned you. I assumed you’d be fighting them of!”
“I didn’t say only three people. I said only three girls. The total count is either 5 or 6, I’m not really sure.”
“How can you not be sure? And who are these other men?”
“Well one of them’s sort of obvious,”Harry said with a dopey smile at his lover. “And the other one was George Weasley. It was him who propositioned me but I’m pretty sure Fred was included in the plan, so that makes him sort of number six. So there you have it. My entire sex life. One lover, six propositions. That’s it.”
Draco smiled and snuggled up to him. “Clearly you value quality over quantity,” he said with a little smile.
Harry smiled too, then prodded him in the chest. “Oi you, no dozing off. I haven’t finished with you yet!”
Draco looked up at him and fluttered his eyelashes. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he replied, and laughed when Harry hit him playfully in the chest.
Bending his neck awkwardly because of their positions, Harry caught Draco’s mouth in a brief affectionate kiss.
Draco shifted position so that his head was level with Harry’s and kissed him again, deeper and more passionate this time. Harry moaned and ran a possessive hand down Draco’s side, fingers delicately tracing the contours of his silken skin.
They stayed like that for long minutes, kissing and touching, gen tly at first but soon they both grew more desperate. At last Harry pushed Draco away from him and began to undress the other boy. He’d already unbuttoned his shirt so now he slid it off his shoulders and proceeded to unbutton his trousers. Draco lifted his hips when prompted, allowing the other boy to remove his trousers and boxers.
He lay quite unconcernedly as Harry studied his body. He didn’t preen, but he was clearly confident Harry would like what he saw. He had every reason too. Harry thought he had never seen anything to beautiful. True, he had once thought that about Ginny, but there was something about the way Draco’s cock jutted proudly forward, proclaiming to the world that he fancied Harry, that did wonders to Harry ego, and for his nerves. He might be scared and inexperienced, but at least he had some clear way of gauging whether he was doing it right. |
7b8fafb7b5984f79a7ec4eb76d82127b | ['9fd9ea94c311406aa870eb86820de95a'] | I smirk, mentally appreciating the comment and wanting to choke the life from him. What a little _shit_ , Leo was.
“I feel you.” I responded awkwardly.
“So he leaves the choice up to you, if you wanna leave or not.”
“If I go with you, will I be making ties for the rest of my life?”
“Hell no. I'll find you a place to stay under my wing so this shit doesn’t happen again.”
The offer was a hell of a deal, but it pained me to leave both Mary and Tulip. Especially Tulip, that girl still had a nice future going for her. I sigh and look back at the man, clearly high off of something other than Mentats.
“What's your name?”
“John.”
“Last name?” He grinned, “That's another story for another day.”
His dreamy gaze was broken as gunshots rang in the air and mushroom clouds were seen over the trees behind the warehouse.
“What the fuck is _that_?”
Screams followed behind as Vinny ran toward us, his shirt decorated with spatters of blood, hopefully his own.
“Hey short stack you wanna tell me what the fuck is popping off?”
“Philadelphia...bombs...they fell...” He panted between breaths. It wasn’t until a huge cloud of smoke, sand and ash came rushing toward us that we realized what was happening. I stood in awe, eyes wide and mouth hung open, realizing how much of my life I had wasted in this warehouse. John ended up stabbing Vinny repeatedly before dropping the knife and grabbing my wrist, instructing me to run.
“What are you doing?”
“My best.” He shouted.
“That debris is going 100mph we aren’t escaping that! Besides what do I have to live for at this point.”
“Shit doll don’t say that...”
I could have ran with him, but I slowed down my pace after a while and eventually fell onto the ground. The radiation and ash minutes behind me, I held my knees to my chest and started crying. I spent 3 years – _3 fucking years_ – in that shithole only to be taken out by a nuclear explosion. It wasn’t fair. I guess that’s all I choked out between sobs, causing John to turn around and hug me. He rubbed my hair and apologized for everything. Except it wasn’t his fault, he didn’t have to, but he was sincere in his words. Then it came. Fast. The pain was too much, it burned my skin off right down to the muscle, the sand mixed in was coarse and scratched at the raw flesh. It burned, it burned so much. But it was worse with John I could tell as he basically shielded me from most of it. His eyes were closed and I swore he stopped breathing, causing me to cry in his chest, us both rotting into the apocalyptic wasteland that was being shaped all around us. | 2c4f6a9b620f41d3a5c3edf0200738be | ['9fd9ea94c311406aa870eb86820de95a'] | After Rin took note of all our orders she told the waiter, who didn't even adknowledge IA, IA furiously tapped Luka's shoulder.
"What?"
"Look over there." She says, pointing at the entrance of the restaurant.
Luka let go of my hand which caused me to look at the entrance too.
Two purple haired people.
And one was a guy.
23. XXIII
Luka's POV
"What the fuck."
Rin turned around too and threw her jacket over Miku who was arguing with her about how noticeable and ridiculous it was.
The purple haired guy looks in our direction and I ball up my fists, that bastard.If he didn't learn his lesson last time I would have to teach him again.
And this time I would leave reminders.
IA looked at my fists and back at my face, one of her "please don't do this" looks.
It wasn't until the two devils approached our table that my fist began to loosen.
It wasn't him.
In fact, they may have even been related.
"I see you ladies couldn't get enough of us.You were staring." The guy stated.
"Kind of rude you know." The girl added in.
The smug look on both of their faces pissed me off.Escpecially how _rude_ the girl was being.
"We're sorry we just thought you looked familiar." Rin apologized.
"Who's under the jacket?" The guy asks.
The girl reaches over the table and yanks it off. She smirks and returns to her normal pose.
"Its you.The girl from the news."
This bitch is making me mad now.
How dare she.
"Oh?" I respond.
She looks at me and then back at Miku.
"My father didn't rape you or anything." She says, picking up IA's glass of water.
She throws it onto Miku, "You're just a delusional bitch looking for attention."
IA stood up and punched her square in the jaw, sending her to the floor.She began to wail out punches as I locked eyes with the guy and l punched him in the nose.
Rin took Miku's hand and escorted her to the bathroom.
The employees watched, probably because they recognized Miku and who she was as well.
How fucking dare she say that? And her _father_?Is she taking up for him?
I grab the guys shirt collar and pull him forward,"Who the fuck are you?"
"I'm Greg Kaumi, Gakupo Kaumi's son."
I punched him harder, and I stood up.IA locked eyes with me and looked at both of them.
"You and your sleazy, wimpy banana ass father better stay away from Miku."
"And me." I say.
24. XXIV
Rin's POV
When we arrived in the bathroom, Miku collapsed onto the counter, crying.
"This is my fault.You guys keep having to go through this and I'm sorry."
I put my hand in her back, trying my best to comfort her,"Its not your fault, they started it.They disrespected you in a way that isn't acceptable."
Miku was going to say something but it was interrupted by my phone ringing.
The caller ID displayed Len.
"IA called me, said two Gapuko knockoffs started a fight."
I cleared my throat,"Yeah, where is she?"
"We're in the car and I suggest you get in too, those dopplegangers called the police."
"Fuck." I mutter under my breath,"Okay we're on our way."
I hang up and look at Miku who was now, looking at herself in the mirror.
"Why me?" She whispered into her reflection.
Looking at her like this made my chest tight. I don't know if that was a rhetorical question, but if it wasn't, I wouldn't know how to answer.
I wanted to know why her too.
She is a good student, doesn't say much, and is under the radar usually but this had completely broken her down.She feels helpless and in debt to us and no matter how many times we say 'its okay' she holds onto the words thinly. I wish I could have been her friend earlier, maybe I could have stopped this.
Maybe she'd be happy.
25. XXV
Luka's POV
Rin and Miku walked out the restaurant with Rin's jacket over their heads.A valet guy opened his umbrella and escorted them to our car.
The rain above me came down harder, reminding me of how I felt when I saw her.
Her eyes were puffy and red again and the lights of the car behind us reflected on her cheeks, which were wet too.
Miku got in first, making her sit in the middle of Rin and I.
Rin gave me a concerning look before addressing IA who was still riled up from the fight.
"IA what happened?"
"I decked her."
Len burst out laughing and IA slapped him in the face.
"That was uncalled for." He smirks, before pulling off.
"That's not what I wanted to hear."
"Then fucking ask Luka.She threw some hands as well."
"The guy was his son, I don't know who the girl was but she got decked as well." I said, staring out the window.
I didn't know if Miku wanted to be touched or anything, I was even afraid to look at her.
Maybe she needed me to look at her, or hug her or something.
"Should we report them or something?" Rin asked, looking at Miku and I for approval.
Miku did nothing but stare ahead, I shrugged,"Well what would they do?"
"A restraining order or something."
"I just don't get how he can just fuck up a teenage girl's life like this. Miku shouldn't have to be put down by fucking 20 year olds!" IA raged.
I was 100% with her in every way till Sunday but what could we do?
We were still in high school, trying our best to get a good enough education to be accepted into society but then there are girls like Miku, who's future is ruined before she could look at it in a new light. |
e2776f400d234269a209543e17a3449b | ['9fe6324c9ffa4a21b5d05206029dfb3f'] |
**Author's Note:**
> i need to stop with these AUs.
>
> no archive warnings apply for now but i'm indecisive so the plot might change.
>
> baz is a cold hearted killer and simon digs that.
>
> (in a few years i'm going to look back on my fanfiction and regret everything.)
>
>
>
> I HAVE NO BETA
>
> THIS IS PRACTICALLY UNEDITED
>
> THAT IS ALL
>
> have an interesting day!
>
> edit: (i was sleep deprived when i wrote this and accidentally wrote agatha as simon's friend-- this is not true, agatha is not living a double life. i corrected it to penelope.)
>
> edit2: (i forgot to add the relationship tags don't hate me please.)
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> baz is back, this time an assasin desperately searching for his ex. by the way he has a superpower and pretty much everyone else does too-- especially simon who has like three. talk about being the chosen one.
baz is used to getting hurt.
in this line of work, it's practically in the job description.
but with a gift like his, it's hard to say no.
\---
he walks down the street with his mother, a tall woman; imposing as he happily clings to her hand and smiles up at her. for a moment, her frozen facade fades as she smiles down at her son before looking forward again, mask steeled. this doesn't faze the young boy-- he knows his mother.
it's dark outside, the street barely illuminated by the lamps and the pair don't notice a figure silently pacing behind them.
they're nearly home when it happens; a flash of harsh light reflected off a silver blade and a few stunted screams-- his mother's gift is strong, and glows blindingly in the dark: slashing and ripping and hurting-- but one woman's gift against a group of armed men isn't enough. she dies because she is too slow, and buys her son enough time to run.
so he runs.
her last words ring in his ears.
" _i love you_."
he didn't have time to answer.
\---
it's the beauty of it all, the way he can hear her heart stutter from three feet away, the way she smiles and he copies her, a show of white teeth and she takes his hand, takes his lapels in the other and pulls him into the dance. baz smirks inwardly. he enjoys this; enjoys hearing the way her heart pounds and her heels tap against the polished floor. the music is subtle, which he appreciates-- it plays quietly in the background. baz does prefer jobs in more sophisticated areas; much like this one, the spacious house of an aristocratic tyrant.
he twirls her, skirt flaring around her legs and she giggles, gazing up at him with big, blue eyes.
he freezes for a second before carrying on.
later when he kills her, he feels no remorse. there is beauty in the way the light dies from her and the way he can hear her heart desperately try to keep working, muscles straining. he can hear the flutter of her eyelashes as he closes her eyes and walks out of her room, one hand pulling on his jacket and tie and the other pressing a comms button in his ear.
"she's dead."
\---
later at night, holed up in a stuffy room with agatha for company, baz fidgets with the hem of his shirt and agatha raises an eyebrow. baz can hear her breathing from across the room, can hear the scrape of a manicured nail on a dull steel knife that she twirls in her hand.
agatha is conventionally beautiful; white blonde hair reaching her waist and framing her face and a dainty figure with almond shaped brown eyes. baz can see why she gets her jobs done quicker than him-- normally it takes him half a day to lure his target but agatha is irresistible to most. normally she gets things finished in an hour.
baz used to wonder if that was her gift.
and she used to scoff at that. she used to be proud of her gift-- it made her powerful, independent, volatile. it let her manipulate people.
six years later, she won't talk of her gift. agatha wellbelove; one of the best agents in the business, retreated from field work. baz has always known it had something to do with her gift.
\---
she is seventeen: fresh from training, pulled taunt like an elastic band. she is razor sharp and dangerous.
she is eighteen: worn down slightly, when they meet, agatha has been with countless partners of various genders but this girl is exquisite. she is also fiance of the woman she was ordered to kill.
she nineteen: worse for wear, broken down by a toxic relationship built upon lies-- at this point agatha doesn't know if what the girl feels is real.
her gift is emotional manipulation and it happens on a subconscious level.
she is twenty: involved in a scandal with the business and the target and the target's fiance. she wonders if she was ever cut out to be a murderer, a liar.
she is twenty-one: the girl is dead. the target is dead. agatha wishes that she was too.
(she killed them both, it seems. one from a knife to the jugular and the other from a broken heart.)
she is a murderer, she is a liar.
(this becomes a mantra.)
\---
the next job is easy. quick and relatively painless. the man is a drug dealer, and exports phoney goods. baz feels nothing as he hears the weak heartbeat fade away and the corpse's fat fingers loosen from the stem of the poisoned wine.
he is halfway through a third cup of lukewarm coffee when the comms buzzes in his ear and agatha's voice filters through, cool and emotionless. | 68411a8d29ef4fdd8fc9a38a2d231ece | ['9fe6324c9ffa4a21b5d05206029dfb3f'] | "pitch, get back to base. we have a location on him.
there is a short pause-- his breath hitches, he hears his heart stutter slightly and hates himself for it. agatha sighs quietly, almost inaudible before speaking again:
"he also left a voicemail, specifically for you."
\---
" _welcome home_!" he chirps, almost sarcastic as baz wraps his hands around his waist and smirks, soft. simon hugs him back, briefly, before pressing a faint kiss to the sharp line of baz's jaw and another to the corner of his smiling mouth.
simon's bronze locks curl neatly around his fingers as he tilts his head, bending down for a heated kiss. he can hear the shorter man's hitched breath, can count the ertatic heartbeats that pulse in his ears-- against his hands.
they pull apart.
the next line is a whisper; baz wonders if simon even said anything at all.
" _i_ _love_ _you_."
baz doesn't answer.
" _baz_?"
the voice is questioning, slightly muffled and he pulls away from simon, brows drawn together. he looks down at simon, who smiles. his eyes are blue, blue like the sky on a spring morning, almost neon; glowing.
simon smiles, and a mole is missing from the corner of his eyebrow.
" _baz_?" the voice is louder. simon's lips don't move.
he is pulled forward.
a whisper against his neck, tucked above his collarbone and golden curls are pressed onto his chest. the warmth burns.
" _don't look for me_."
he wakes.
\---
it's fair to say that agatha doesn't approve of baz running after him. "you left simon for a reason." she murmurs, "you left him to protect him."
baz swallows down his fear. agatha's pale hair swishes gently as she prepares a pot of steaming hot tea, and it sounds like waves crashing against a shore of broken rocks.
she looks over from a cup. "why do you want to find him now?"
baz doesn't know how to answer. he is so used to just chasing simon around, desperately searching that he isn't quite sure exactly why.
agatha raises an eyebrow.
"i need to see him." he answers.
\---
he dreams of simon every night after listening to the message.
_don't look for me_.
it's almost disheartening, such an abrupt, distanced message. baz wonders what he thought simon would have said, though.
it isn't as if he left him nicely.
_don't look for me._
at night, when he can hear his and agatha's heartbeats from a few rooms away, he slowly falls into sleep and he dreams of the simon that would smile and his dimples would show, the simon that hoarded sour cherry scones and always smelt faintly of cinnamon and burnt oranges.
he dreams of the simon that flushed and stuttered when he was nervous or when baz complimented him, the simon that was stubborn and loyal and loving.
but he also always dreams of the simon that sobbed when baz broke his heart, the way he would curl into a ball and shudder as hot, angry tears soaked his skin.
he dreams of heartbreak.
_don't look for me_.
he wants to find simon, but he isn't sure why.
_don't look for me_.
he needs to find simon.
\---
simon snow has never been the best at hiding. the other children would always find him in a few minutes, which, he reminisces, was always probably due to his gift(s (he should say. there are more than one)).
he looks out the window, and watches the droplets of rain slide down the panels, breathing in and out, slowly. penelope walks into the room; head buried in a book, before noticing simon's ringing, a faint buzz at the back of her skull.
"hey, simon."
he turns around, startled.
"calm down. whatever it is, i'm sure it'll be fine." she says, smiling. the buzzing only decreases slightly.
he sighs flopping down onto the sofa and closes his eyes.
"what if he finds me? what am i supposed to say?"
\---
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> i love you like simon loves sour cherry scones. |
308a64d644744ae888d455f7b38a1e90 | ['9fee59577ef34df4a49e9b0a8e68e841'] | With a new pep in his step, Sam skipped into Jeremy's bedroom with an ease he used to think he was no longer capable of. He'd made up his mind. When he got back to the house, he was going to start rebuilding his relationship with Dean. After all, they'd survived sexual abuse, separation, and the death of their mother. Whatever it was they were going through now, they'd blow past that obstacle as well. With all that they've been through, there wasn't a single thing in this world that could possibly get in their way now.
Right?
* * *
From somewhere in the woods, far away from the prying eyes of a civilization gone sour, someone was digging a grave for two dead bodies lying on their backs at his feet. The worms that wiggled in the dirt were crushed beneath the heel of his boot as he reached a hand out to grab the plastic bags covering the bodies of his victims, chuckling wickedly while hurtling them into the shallow ground. It wouldn't be long before a jogger would come running by this area, noticing the hand sticking out of the earth, lifeless fingers hanging limply like wilted flowers that somehow lost the will to survive. Then, he would once again be recognized by the public for his handiwork, for his priceless works of art should be recognized. He was a modern-day Bosch of the criminal world, killing his victims in such ways that the colorful brutality of it was almost beautiful in both its simplicity and its graphic imagery.
He knew that everyone wasn't going to know about him personally, but that was alright with him. They only needed to know of his work, not the real person behind it. As long as it got him what he wanted, the person taking the fall for his crimes could take the credit all they wanted. In the end, he knew the real source.
Yes, it wouldn't be long now. Soon, the police were going to find the bodies of Claudette and Evan Peters. The public will rage and cry and ultimately point their dirty little fingers in a direction far away from him, and he will watch from afar as detectives Walsh and Bison allow those smug expressions to come over their ugly faces, smirking at each other as if this will finally be the day that they catch him.
But they won't catch him. He's too smart, too cunning. He will get away this time, and the time after next. He will bask in the light of victory as he watches them fall all over each other, yelling to the sky because they just didn't have it in them to catch the illusive killer giving them a run for their money.
Burying the parents of Virginia Peters, the killer stood up and made his way over to his Jeep Wrangler, getting into the driver's seat and pushing his foot on the gas pedal before he'd even shut his door. Smiling, he drove off into town with a glint in his eye and a white knuckled grip on the steering wheel, revenge a beautiful tune in his ears that blocked out the sound of the radio as he came face to face with the Singer household coming up on his right. Parking across the street, he picked up his leftover bowl of popcorn and looked through Dean Winchester's bedroom window, smirking as he watched the boy wrap his left hand up in gauze.
Soon, he was going to get his revenge on that motherfucker. He would make him take the fall for his crimes, bringing about a barrage of pain and misery that would eventually make poor little Dean cave under the pressure. Then, when the police are closing in on him, he'll confront the teenager by reigning down his own brand of bloody vengeance that'll make even the gods jealous.
It will be glorious.
It will be insanity.
It will be a murder to remember.
_Just you wait, Dean_ , he thought to himself. _Your ass is mine._
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6. Welcome Home
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> Sam tries to reconcile with his brother, which leads to a huge confrontation, Bobby finds out Dean has become a suspect, and John finally returns from his hunting trip.
_In and out. In and out._ | 2aa8d78ede674dec8e0669debc6f3082 | ['9fee59577ef34df4a49e9b0a8e68e841'] | Sam wrapped his arms around Bobby as they got to their feet, squeezing the old man for all he was worth. "I love you, Bobby. You're like the father I never had."
Bobby's face fell at Sam's words, his eyes automatically moving to a picture on the boy's dresser of John and Mary smiling bright at the camera, with a freckle faced Dean holding little Sammy in his protective arms. The picture was taken four months before the fire that took Mary's life, and it never failed to upset Bobby when he looked at the beautiful family John had, knowing that the stubborn old coot never appreciated them as much as he should have. It went back full circle to the boy he was with now, telling Bobby in no uncertain terms that the little time he spent with these kids was enough for them to think of him as their father. John had no idea what he'd done to his sons, and now it was up to Bobby to pick up the pieces of their shattered hearts and try to put them back together again. If he couldn't . . . then this family would be lost.
"I love you too, kid," he replied, his arms tightening around Sam. "I always will."
* * *
"So, if you were to write a paper on the reason behind the incestuous coupling of the Dollanganger's, you could say that Chris and Cathy had no choice about the way they felt for each other. It was through the unnatural way they were brought up that set the tone for their relationship, was it not? Locked up in an attic where all they knew was each other, it seemed almost inevitable that things would turn out the way it did, didn't it? What are your thoughts on the matter? And how would their upbringing be a basis for your views on sociology and its impact on the world? Would you say that our personalities and the way we view the world are the result of nature or nurture? Maybe a combination of both? Could it be possible for us to put our personal views aside and tackle such a taboo relationship subjectively?"
Sam sat in silence as he listened to his English teacher discuss a book that hit a little too close to home for him to take seriously, astonished at how easily life could find a way to throw his and Dean's sex life in his face. He hated how his brother managed to follow him wherever he went, but he hated this contempt he'd developed for himself even more. He just couldn't seem to find it in his heart to forgive himself for his naïvety, or recognize his innocence in something that Bobby would always insist wasn't his fault. He thought that by getting out of the house, he could take a break from constantly thinking about it all, but that effort has proven to be utterly useless. He suddenly hated his teacher with a passion he didn't even know he was capable of, and he wished that he could find the courage to throw his book right at the man's head for making him relive the past for the millionth time in a row. The corners of Sam's mouth stretched into a smile at the thought, but that one iota of happiness evaporated when a tap on his shoulder made him jump in his seat, cursing under his breath as he turned around to confront someone Sam couldn't remember ever seeing before.
"So, what do you think of the book?" the boy questioned.
"I think the subject matter is a waste of my time," Sam snapped.
When the boy tilted his head quizzically, Sam sighed. "I'm sorry. Just having a bad day. It's not your fault."
"Hey, that's okay," the boy smiled. "I'm Adam."
Sam smiled back, taking the hand Adam offered. "Sam."
"Yeah, I know who you are. You sit next to me in History class as well, though you're always so into yourself that you probably haven't really noticed."
"Sorry about that. Been really busy with school and family and all that stuff. Didn't mean to shut everyone out."
"It's cool. So, now that I've introduced myself, I can ask if you wanna go out sometime."
Sam tensed. "What, like a date?"
Adam let out a breathless laugh, hanging his head in embarrassment before looking at Sam from behind long black eyelashes. "Uh, yeah. I mean, I've always noticed you and . . . well, I think you're kinda cool. I've wanted to ask you out for a while now, but have always been too shy to do it. Now that I've finally mustered up the courage, I think it's only fair that you agree. You know, because you're such an . . . accommodating boy and all."
Sam smiled despite himself. "Oh, really? Is that so?"
"Yes, that's so. You're always helping Felicity with her homework, or staying behind to help a teacher clean up before next period. Might as well be helpful to me while you're at it."
Sam was silent for a moment, thinking it over. He may have felt a little guilty that he was actually considering agreeing to a date when he already had so much to deal with at home, but he was entitled to one night of fun after everything he'd been through, wasn't he? Would it really be a crime for him to go out with a boy who seemed kind, funny, smart and, above all else, _not_ his brother?
"Sure," Sam said hesitantly. "Sure, that'll be great. But just one night."
Adam grinned, biting at his lower lip in excitement. "We'll see."
* * *
Bobby was going to do it. He wasn't ready for it, but he was going to do it. |
076eefc919c84bcc9bfd6e804b1970e7 | ['9ff60bdd985943f3a36fd28480433233'] | Sensation
**Author's Note:**
> Part of a 30 Day OTP Challenge - 27) Rough
"Harder," moaned Rewind, his spinal strut arching, his pelvic region grinding onto Chromedome’s spike. Chromedome groaned, his spike snapping into Rewind’s valve to the hilt. His venting cycled hard, his fans whirling as they fought against the condensation forming in the room.
He paused for a moment, letting Rewind rotate on his spike. The calipers grasped snuggly around the intrusion, creating a delicious tightness around his spike. Chromedome moaned, his helm tilting bad on the berth as he basked in the feeling. Interfacing with Rewind was always intense for the larger mech, for multiple reasons, but mainly because of the sheer amount of _sensation._
Rewind bucked hard in Chromedome’s lap, trying to encourage his partner to move. “Please, Domey." His smaller digits flittered underneath Chromedome’s armor, causing the other mech to squirm in pleasure. More pleas spilled from his mouth as he ground himself on Chromedome’s spike, begging to be fragged hard and good.
Whimpering as Rewind plucked at a particularly sensitive wire, he grasped Rewind’s hips, stilling his motions. He rubbed at the plating, teasing his smaller partner further. Rewind whined in frustration, scratching at Chromedome’s chestplate.
Rolling his hips in slow motions, stimulating Rewind’s valve nodes, he plucked at wires hidden underneath Rewind’s hip armor, continuing to tease his partner. Before Rewind could protest further, however, Chromedome gripped his hips tightly, pulling him nearly completely off of his spike before slamming back into him.
Rewind’s helm lobbed backwards, a wordless scream leaving his vocalizer. His ceiling node was hit with bruising force and his back arched impossibly more, pleasure coursing through his circuits. Gasping, his fans struggled to keep up with his overheating frame.
Chromedome continued to pound at Rewind’s valve, bouncing the smaller mech on his spike. His servos dug into Rewind’s plating, denting the metal. Rewind was limp in his servos, lost in pleasure, gasping as his fans failed him. Ozone built around them, and they both knew that they wouldn’t last much longer.
Chromedome pushed in a few more times before overloading, his spike hitting Rewind’s ceiling node one last time. The valve spasmed around him as Rewind overloaded as well, the smaller mech whimpering as he rode it out. He slumped against Chromedome as he came down from his overload high.
They laid together for a few moments, both trying to control their venting as they basked in the post-overload bliss. Chromedome removed his digits, tell-tale dents left behind in their wake. His half-hard spike remained sheathed in Rewind’s valve for now.
Rewind snuggled into Chromedome’s chest, dozing off into a light recharge. | 05c2739d48eb47da8b339b9a29786734 | ['9ff60bdd985943f3a36fd28480433233'] | Lesson Learned
“Hello, Rewind,” greeted Prowl, tersely. He forced himself not to sneer as he entered his office. The black minibot sat on top of his desk, half sprawled over a stack of datapads. He gave a lazy was when Prowl entered, which only succeeded in toppling more datapads and aggravating Prowl further.
Prowl glowered, the datapad clutched in his servo crackling slightly as he forced himself not to strike the cheeky minibot. “I assume you’re waiting for Chromedome.” He looked pointedly at the other desk across the room, only mildly disorganized compared to Prowl’s unfortunate workspace.
Rewind wiggled his aft on the desk, scooting until his legs hung off the side. He swung them lightly where they hang, a few more datapads carailing off the side in his wake. He shrugged when they made an awful clattering noise, the definitive noise of broken tech also following their descent. “Yeah, well, I’m certainly not here for you.”
In Prowl’s mind, Rewind looked more like a petulant youngling than a fully grown mech, and that was the only thing keeping him from murdering the other right now. He gave a tight lipped grin, stooping to pick up the damaged files. “Wonderful, I’m sure he’ll be here shortly.”
Rewind gave a non-committed hum, swinging his legs further until they barely brushed against Prowl’s chevron. A growl escaped Prowl. Oh, how he hated this mech. It didn’t matter how close he was with his partner, it seemed that Rewind made it his personal mission in life to be as annoying as possible. Primus knew what Chromedome saw in the little mech.
Standing, Prowl clutched the broken datapads to his chestplate, the simple fact that they weren’t anything important keeping his temper in check. Even so, he shuttered his optics, gave a deep breath through his nasal ridge, and started to count to ten. When he was finished, he calmly asked, “why must you sit on my desk?”
It was a redundant question, really. Every time Rewind came to visit, he insisted on sitting on Prowl’s desk. Never Chromedome’s desk, just Prowl’s. It was almost like he realized how irritating Prowl found it and decided to do it out of spite. He made no secret over the fact that he hated Prowl as much as Prowl hated him.
Rewind lolled his helm around lazily. “Cause I know it makes you mad.” He leaned further back across the desk, his elbows resting over its surface in a blatant display of disrespect. His gazed lingered on the remaining mess on the floor. Prowl had no doubt that he would be smirking if it wasn’t for his mask. “It’s funny watching you clean up afterwards.”
Slamming the broken datapads on the floor, Prowl loomed over the smaller bot, his EM field lashing out in anger. Rewind flinched at the action. “I’m getting really tired of your attitude.”
Rewind’s visor brightened, looking at Prowl challengingly. “What are you gonna do about it?”
With a snarl, Prowl flipped the smaller mech onto his abdominal plating, planting a servo firmly on the middle of his back. He audios vaguely registered a loud squeak of protest from the mech beneath him, but he ignored him. Sadistic glee entered his processor as he drew his servo back and whacked Rewind on the aft with a satisfying clang. A wail of protest echoed around the room, but Prowl ignored him, continuing with his motions.
“You should,” smack, “learn some,” smack, “respect!” Each smack was harder than the last, punctuated by Rewind’s loud cries of protest. Prowl continued relentlessly, uncaring. His servo began to ache around the fifth time, but still he continued. Rewind flailed his legs, attempting to kick the other mech. Prowl avoided this by standing between Rewind’s legs, effectively immobilizing him.
Eventually, Rewind’s vocalizer diluted into whined sobs, still trying to escape the offending servo. Prowl servo was beginning to grow numb, but still he continued. When Rewind’s vocalizer fritzed into static, he finally relented, hanging his poor servo by his side. He bore his weight on top of Rewind’s back, growling in his audio, “I hope you’ve learned your lesson now. I’m not afraid to show you again.”
He pulled away from Rewind and the smaller mech scuttled off of the desk, fleeing to the opposite side of the room. He rubbed his sore aft, his optic visor wide with shock. He nodded mutely.
"Good," said Prowl, sitting at his desk. |
b7440da723f645bf90f6a42f57284486 | ['a01536d667c6465daa9251f95d0eb89e'] | Triathlon
John Tracy: outer space lover, bagel hugger, marathon runner.
John would come down (or rather, be forced down) onto Earth at regular intervals. This meant he would be come down at least every five months. He would spend a month on Tracy Island and then head back up into the black abyss of space. During that time John would run, sleep, eat and repeat. This led to him getting faster and faster until one day he entered a marathon. And won.
First he'd lounge by the pool, watching out for a wild Gordon because everyone knew that staying by the pool was a risk. A risk of getting pushed in. Clothes and all. One time Gordon had managed to get Virgil by the pool in his rescue suit with all of his tools in the pockets. Virgil left the pool area wet and soaking with a wriggling, pleading Gordon locked under his arm. Gordon wasn't seen for the rest of day. While John was reminiscing of that time, he found himself shoved.
Arms flailing in the air, workout clothes flapping about, the sound of rushing air and then water. John knew one thing at that moment and that was Gordon was going to pay. He surfaced with his ginger locks plastered to his face.
“GORDON!” John shouted as he swam over to the edge of the pool.
“What, Johnny? It's a triathlon. You swim and run." Gordon replied.
“And cycle.” Scott added as John's head resurfaced at the edge of the pool with a simple
“No.”
Scott and Gordon began laughing as a confused Alan came up to join them.
“What do you mean no? John that's what a triathlon is.” Scott strikes at his younger brother.
“I know what a triathlon is! But I'm not going to take part in it.” John replied, climbing out.
“Why not?” Gordon asked, helping his older brother up. John mumbled something in response sounding much like ‘Imumblethatmumblemumble’.
“Sorry, what?” asked Alan who should've been able to translate his fellow spaceman's words but due to the quietness and speed it came out at was unable to.
“I can't cycle that well.” John finally let out.
“Oh, well I'm sure Alan here can teach you.” Scott said, pushing Alan forward and almost into John and back into the pool.
“Ya! That way you can then do the triathlon.” Gordon and Alan both exclaimed.
“No, I'm not doing it.” John said.
Gordon was thinking hard, his face scrunched up in thought before he exclaimed a shout of ‘I've got it!’.
“Ok John, I'll give you ten bagels if you do it!” was Gordon's brilliant plan. John thought hard before negotiating a higher amount of bagels.
“Make it eleven and you've got a deal.” John replied to which Scott asked why eleven. “Because that's an awkward number, so you'd either have to do two batches - one a full set and then one on its own or order more than eleven at a bakery.” He explained.
“Alan write this down!” Gordon commanded.
"Yes sir.” Came the youngest's response. “Eleven bagels, a swim suit and googles, a hat, cycle helmet and bike.” Gordon called out.
The only problem was that Alan wrote ‘beagles’ rather than bagels. But no one knew that, yet. It was a good hour or so after the incident and Alan was on his computer looking for where to buy the products. First on the list where the ‘bagels’ however poor Alan here wrote beagles so the young blonde typed into the search bar: ‘where to purchase beagles’. And as you can expect pet shops came up. As did pictures of these lovely creatures. A horrified shriek of
“JOHN EATS THESE???!” had Alan ready to fight his brother. And that's when Scott came in. Hearing the shout of terror his mother hen mode activated and brought him to a curled up Alan rocking on his side on the floor. Looking up from his baby brother he saw the computer up on a page of beagles. Not understanding, Scott helped Alan up and asked what's wrong. "J-John eats those.” Alan said pointing at a beagle picture. Scott laughed at his brother before explaining that those were beagles and John ate bagels, bringing up an image of one for good measure. “Oh.” Alan replied.
However in the midst of Alan's panic he had accidentally ordered twelve beagles. How? He didn't know - but he did know that there'd be a delivery of twelve beagles at their post box on the mainland that they'd have to pick up.
John never did get his bagels but he did get two new dogs. Each dog was named and given to a Tracy. Brains and Kayo getting one also. Each dog got a suit to match its owner at it's 'bird. John's and Alan's got space suits and went up into space. Gordon's got a wet suit and went down with Gordon in four. Brains’ one had received a lab coat and googles.
John competed in the triathlon and he came second. | 1f7326983373493b8b73fb103eaf2ac9 | ['a01536d667c6465daa9251f95d0eb89e'] | There was a mission. A space mission. John had to stay up in five to monitor them - them being Alan and Gordon.
Gordon was going to kill Scott: it was his fault that he was sent up here with a space lunatic. John had buzzed in saying they were needed, Scott answered as he was walking by and then suddenly Gordon was going to space. Which was not ok.
John had said it was urgent and so Scott grabbed the aquanaut by the shoulders as he spoke.
"Gordon, suit up - you're going to space." Scott had said as he steered his baby brother and pushed him to Three's seat.
"Wait, what?!" Gordon had struggled.
"Alan will look after you!" Scott had almost shouted.
"Wait, the same Alan who broke a window by walking into it playing on his console?" Gordon was terrified.
"Gords, it's fine - you'll be fine," Scott tried to reassure the young squid. "Besides you have to learn sometime and that time is now." And with that Scott fled.
"WAIT BUT WHY CANT VIRGIL GO?!" Gordon shouted after him as both brothers disappeared to their assigned places.
"We can't find him!" Scott had shouted back.
Gordon, now suited up, was waiting in the hangar for his very late brother. Scott had walked in, seen Gordon had and tried to leave before he was spotted. It didn't work.
"Hey! Why can't John do this?" Gordon called as he walked over to Scott.
"John has to monitor you guys." Scott, ever resourceful, replied.
Now both blondes were seatbelted into Thunderbird Three. Alan looked over at his older brother with a grin as he pushed the levers and buttons to go.
"ARE YA READY, SPONGEBOB?" Alan shouted with a grin as they took off.
"NO!" and with that they were blasting off into space.
Scott was safely hidden away under a palm tree by the pool, sat on a deck chair and sipping a piña colada.
"Ah living the life." Scott said, relaxing until he faintly heard a scream of terror. Gordon.
Virgil was to be found in the infirmary with Brains an hour after Gordon was blasted into the cold abyss of space. |
85b9f4843c854a9aae395d1656e585f4 | ['a02049e1d4ef49b9800e1be013b670a0'] |
He's A Lumberjack (And He's Okay)
"So," Deande smirks, "Montana, huh?"
"Montana who," Rath says, attempting innocence.
" _You_ know." Deande is still smirking. "The _lumberjack._ The one you've been staring at since you got here."
"Right, Montana. The _lumberjack_. And I wasn't staring," Rath adds, unconvincingly. "I was, um. Reconnaissancing."
"That's not a word, Rath." Deande is laughing at him now. Rath feels distinctly underprepared for this conversation.
"Anyway," he says, in a desperate attempt to change the subject, "have you seen Miko? I think I'm coming down with something. Been sneezing a lot."
Deande sniggers. "Coming down with the _love bug_ , maybe. Or an STD, I don't know what you get up to in your free time."
"You would know," Rath says snottily, and retreats in search of Miko before she gets graphic.
"USE PROTECTION!" Deande shouts after him, cackling.
***
Most of the Battleborn take breakfast at the same time, so Rath has an audience when he storms into the dining hall and over to Deande, slamming something on the table hard enough that most of the hall's occupants flinch (barring Phoebe, who is uncaffeinated and therefore technically dead).
Deande squints at the small black thing, then up at Rath. "It's, um, very nice? What is it?"
"It's _cursed_ ," Rath grits out. "Someone on this ship hid a _cursed rock_ in my _quarters-_ " he pauses, glaring venomously at everyone in the room, "-and when I find who did it, there will be _blood_. And _screaming_."
The culprit does not immediately give themselves up and beg for mercy. Rath huffs and storms out again.
"Ooh," Mike says, having finally gotten a glimpse of Rath's 'cursed rock'. "Montana, isn't that- mmmmmffgh."
"SORRY, BUDDY." Montana 'accidentally' wraps his oversized hand around Mike's helmet. "DIDN'T SEE YOU THERE."
Montana removes his hand after a second and Mike gasps for air. "It's cool, man," he pants. "I said, you thought it matched his nail- mmmmmmmffffgh."
"WHOOPS," Montana says, shoving his hand up against Mike's faceplate. "DID IT AGAIN, SORRY. I'M REALLY CLUMSY TODAY."
***
("Oh, this thing," Orendi says later, poking at the little black rock. "Yeah, Mike said he was supposed to give it to Rath. I told him to just stick it in his room or something."
"It's... cursed, though."
"So?" Orendi pokes at it again. "It's not, like, a _major_ curse or anything. It's just annoying. I think it makes you sneeze."
Deande eyes her hands and tries not to think about where they've been.)
***
Mike corners Rath in one of the ship's corridors a few days later.
"Heyyy, Rath," he says, shiftily. Literally - he's shifting from one foot to the other, faceplate pointing at a particularly interesting spot on the ceiling. Rath is immediately suspicious.
"So, uh, you know the weird cursed rock someone hid in your room - someone who wasn't _me,_ haha, I mean, it was definitely someone _else_ who did it-"
"Do you have something to tell me, Mike?" Rath interrupts.
"-it was me!" Mike blurts out. "We didn't know it was cursed! Montana thought you'd like it and I was trying to help and we both feel really bad about it because he really likes you and what if you hate him and _I'm so sorry please put the sword away_."
Rath sheaths his sword and considers Mike for a long time, after which he does something Mike has never seen before - and, quite frankly, would be perfectly happy to never see again: he smiles.
Mike is going to have nightmares about this moment.
"Tell him I said 'thanks'," Rath says, still smiling.
"Um," says Mike. "Is that, like, a sarcastic 'thanks' or a yes-please-date-me 'thanks' or- aaaand you're leaving. Okay."
***
("THAT WAS A GOOD 'THANKS', RIGHT?" Montana is vaguely hopeful.
"I don't know! He just walked away!" Mike says. "Montana, your crush is creepy."
"AT LEAST HE SMILED," Montana says. "THAT'S GOOD. PROBABLY."
"Please don't remind me," Mike shudders. "Please. For the sake of my mental health.")
***
Rath chats companionably to a few of the other Jennerit as they wait out the latest snowstorm in a convenient cave and buffs out the scratches in his armour - that last Conservator had been an absolute _bitch_ to deal with. As he pulls off his helmet to inspect the damage, the group goes silent.
"Rath," Ambra says, after a minute, "I do believe you're going grey at the temples."
Rath is suddenly very absorbed in his helmet.
"...Yes, well," he mutters, "I'm too old to care about that sort of thing anymore."
"It was totally black two weeks ago."
"Maybe I've decided to go back to my roots," Rath says, unable to help himself.
Ambra rolls her eyes and looks ready to drop the subject - until Deande cuts in.
"He stopped dyeing it last week," she says slyly. "Right after Montana-"
" _Deande,_ " Rath hisses, betrayed.
" _Right after Montana_ said he liked it better grey," Deande says, talking over the top of him.
"Wow," Ambra smirks, "you are _seriously_ pining."
"Rath's in lu-urve," Deande sings at him. Ambra unsuccessfully tries to hide her laughter.
"Yeah, well, you- you're a _bottle-blonde_ ," Rath snaps. "She's actually _ginger_ ," he confides to Ambra in a stage-whisper.
Horrified silence descends upon the cave. Phoebe, poking at a Varelsi corpse at the front of the cave, nearly drops her scalpel in shock. Deande glares daggers at Rath for a long moment before storming off to sit with some of the others.
"She's not actually - _you know_ ," Ambra whispers, "is she?"
Rath snorts. "Who knows."
***
"SO," Montana says awkwardly, dropping down beside him. "DID YOU KNOW THAT, UH, CAVES ARE REALLY ECHOEY?"
"JUST THOUGHT I SHOULD MENTION IT," he adds, almost-casually slinging an arm around Rath. "WE CAN HEAR EVERYTHING YOU GUYS SAY."
Rath shifts imperceptibly, leaning into Montana, and glares at Ambra, who appears to be having some kind of fit.
***
("Don't worry," Mellka says afterwards, "I'll still love you, even if you haven't got a soul- wait, Deande? Where are you going? I WAS JOKING!")
**Author's Note:**
> ive never played battleborn in my entire life but i love this stupid emo vampire | 041c06f2851e4216ab54f946be1774fe | ['a02049e1d4ef49b9800e1be013b670a0'] |
first things first i'll eat your brains
They're just outside the kiln when Hua Cheng drops to the ground and _shudders_ , his skin rippling, peeling from his flesh like a pupating caterpillar. Xie Lian reaches for him, terrified that the proximity is hurting him - but Hua Cheng shies away from his touch, curling into himself.
"You should go back," Xie Lian says, something unpleasant churning in his gut at the thought of Hua Cheng enduring so much pain for his sake. "I will continue on-"
A low, pained groan cuts him off.
"Ge ge," Hua Cheng says, voice muffled against the ground, "please close your eyes."
Xie Lian doesn't understand, but obediently closes his eyes anyway - he trusts his San Lang will not steer him wrong.
An odd, musky smell fills the air, and a deep rumble shakes the ground, reverberating in Xie Lian's chest.
He may not have the spiritual senses of a _real_ god, one without seals, but he is still a warrior with 800 years of experience. He knows when something big is approaching - and this, whatever it is, is _huge_.
He snaps his eyes back open, disregarding Hua Cheng's advice - because Hua Cheng is on the ground, curled into the fetal position and shaking, and if he stands there with his eyes closed like a fool and lets him die, he will _never forgive himself_ \- except Hua Cheng is not there.
Where he was is a slowly spreading pool of ichor, shimmering the deep, dark, midnight blue of raven feathers. A trail leads from it, and Xie Lian follows it with his eyes, some unnamed emotion forming a lump in his throat, up and up and-
Ink-black flesh glistens wetly under the perpetual moonlight that shrouds Mt Tonglu. Ichor drips from it in thick, fat teardrops, leaving a slimy, viscous trail behind the creature. For it is a creature - it looks like no known animal Xie Lian has ever heard of, in the heavens or in the mortal realms. Patches of scales ripple along its flanks, shifting and reforming as the creature breathes, and then one of them opens, and Xie Lian stares into the eye, instantly familiar even on a body so different, and says:
"San Lang? ...Is that you?"
The creature - Hua Cheng, it _has_ to be Hua Cheng, Xie Lian would know him _anywhere_ \- rumbles again, and in a voice that reverberates down to Xie Lian's very bones, says, "Ge ge, you opened your eyes."
Heat curls low in the pit of his stomach, and Xie Lian struggles to keep his composure - he wants that voice pressed up against him, he wants Hua Cheng to call his name -
He clears his throat, and in a voice that barely trembles, says "San Lang promised to show me his true form."
Hua Cheng retreats away from him, a forest of disjointed, grasping limbs pulling his enormous bulk over the dirt. Xie Lian follows like Hua Cheng holds his leash, stumbling over rocks, arms outstretched and dizzy with a burning need to _touch_.
"San Lang!" he calls. "San Lang, please don't run away from me."
Hua Cheng stops, but the scales remain scales - his eyes are closed, refusing to look at Xie Lian's face. It isn't hard to see that he's upset, insecure about this form, and Xie Lian carefully reaches up to touch an exposed joint. It cracks as Hua Cheng flinches, the angle where bone meets bone twisting into something non-Euclidean that hurts to look at, but Xie Lian does not release his grip. He smooths a thumb over a dent in the bone, and tries to clear his mind, to comfort Hua Cheng in his time of need; but desire fills his head like never before, makes it impossible to think.
_Shameless!,_ he scolds himself. _San Lang is upset and you're- and you're-_ _shameless!!_
"San Lang's true form is..." he says, eventually, "... _beautiful_."
It comes out breathier than he'd intended, revealing too many of his true feelings, and Xie Lian flushes down to the roots of his hair and hopes Hua Cheng doesn't pick up on it.
Hua Cheng seems to hesitate a little, and then the bone Xie Lian is holding _melts_ , dripping through his fingers like warm candle wax and reforming until he's holding a close approximation of a hand - too big to be human and with an uncountable number of fingers, but a hand nonetheless - and Xie Lian _wants_. He wants Hua Cheng's infinite hands on him, he wants to kiss the gaping maw and its blinding-white, needle-sharp teeth, reaching back into a pitch-black throat, a constellation in flesh. He wants Hua Cheng so badly he can't breathe.
"...If ge ge thinks so," says Hua Cheng, something like fondness, or perhaps gratitude, colouring his voice as it reverberates through Xie Lian's body once again, and Xie Lian has to bite back an _extremely inappropriate_ moan.
Hua Cheng heads towards the kiln, evidently finished with the issue for now, and Xie Lian stumbles along in his wake. He clutches Hua Cheng's hand and lets himself be led over rocks and between trees, dazed with the sheer force of desire that runs through his veins, and thinks: _I'm in so much trouble_.
**Author's Note:**
> so LINK on twitter wrote LINK about hua cheng's true form being this terrifying beast and xie lian loving him anyway and it had all these themes of acceptance and love and whatnot
>
> and then i, LINK, saw it and was like 'haha what if xie lian got it up for hua cthulhu tho'
>
> i wouldve said something on the thread bc this WAS directly inspired by it and credit should go to them for Having This Whole Idea In The First Place but i feel like turning up in someone else's thread like 'hey i wrote filth to go with your beautiful discussion of self-acceptance and unshakeable love' is, uh, not a great way to make friends nahmean |
2633b118f4a440d0b038b2a9f6174d21 | ['a052c4e3af884396990f54268be7a656'] | It takes Clarke a full five seconds to respond, she’s so shocked. “ _Yes._ Of course it would be. Are you telling me you’d rather sit around for a few years and die than live?”
The lack of words is Octavia’s response.
“Well, that’s your choice, but I personally would like to live past the ripe old age of twenty,” Clarke said, fighting to keep her voice even, “so I’ll be—”
She’s interrupted by a call – more of a scream really – from across the camp. “Clarke! Octavia! _Get over here!_ ”
_Raven._
-
When they get to the control center (which is really just a slightly larger tent), Octavia opens the flap for Clarke and lets her in first. She still can’t quite meet Raven’s eyes these days; just another person she’ll never be able to stop apologizing to for the monster she had let take control.
“What is it?” Clarke asks Raven, with that unusual lilt to her voice that suggests both hope and resignation. Only Clarke can believe something will work while also believing it’s impossible. “What do you need?”
Raven glances over at Octavia and actually _smiles_ a little. Without meaning to, Octavia flinches at the unexpected gesture; Raven notices this and turns her eyes to Clarke instead. “The radio. I got a connection.”
“A connection?” Clarke asks, voice full of wonder. Octavia only stares, noticing for the first time the large machine dominating the tent. It’s the same one Clarke’s practically lived over for the past three months. “Raven, are you saying—”
“I got a contact,” Raven confirms, grinning madly. “Clarke, they _contacted_ me. Bryan, Bellamy, all of them. They did it. They’re alive.”
Octavia feels like she might sink to the floor; Clarke does. “We…we can go home?” Octavia asks, barely daring to even believe it.
Raven nods rapidly. She hasn’t seen the mechanic this happy in ages, since before Mount Weather. Or maybe she’d never been this happy; her life always seemed to be tinged with so much sadness. Now, though, Raven looks like nothing bad could ever happen again, like the sun has come out and night’s not going to come. “Yes. They confirmed it’s all safe for us now. We can really do it.”
Clarke presses a hand to her mouth like she’s going to sob if she doesn’t. Her eyes are glittering. “How—how is everyone? Bellamy and the others? Are they doing okay? Do they need medical attention?”
Smiling, Raven hands her a receiver she’d been holding in her hand. “Why don’t you ask?”
After a long moment of hesitation – more out of shock than unsureness, Octavia knows – Clarke grabs the receiver with both hands and whispers into it with a shaky voice. “Hello? Who’s there?”
“Clarke? Oh, geez, it’s good to hear your voice.” _Bryan._ Miller will be thrilled. “How’s everything over there?”
“We’re fine. We’re all fine. Ready to go home.” Clarke pauses, now definitely sounding unsure. “But how are you guys? Is—is Bellamy okay?”
“Yeah, he’s fine,” Bryan says. “A little worse for wear compared to the rest of us, because you know how he is, but he’ll recover. I’d let you talk to him, but he’s sleeping right now. Unless you’d like me to wake him up….”
“No, no, that’s fine,” Clarke says. She sounds like she’s choking; on which emotion, Octavia can’t decipher. “Let him sleep. I’ll talk to him soon anyway, right?”
“Right,” agrees Bryan, full of pride. “Miller’s doing okay, too, right? Raven said he was, but I want two sources, just to be sure.”
“He’s fine; out on a little scouting mission right now, but he’ll be back very soon. I’ll send him right to you, okay? He’ll be ecstatic to hear your voice.”
“Same here,” he says, and Clarke nods gently even though he can’t hear her through the phone. Octavia understands what they mean—they’ve both been waiting a long time to hear from someone they love.
If she’s being honest (which she hasn’t for months and months, really), she has been, too.
-
Weeks later, they’re home.
Octavia didn’t think it would happen, but here they are, back on the same shores they started at, and everyone’s scrambling to get onto solid ground. She comes off slowly, trying to savor the experience for once, but there’s not the incredible moment of awe for her like everyone else; no brightening of colors, or realization of how good she had it, or desire to bask in it forever. It’s the same as when she left, if maybe a little emptier.
Maybe that’s okay, though. Octavia’s had her fill of fantasizing things; it’s time to look at the world as it is and stop expecting it to love her back.
Through the flood of people, she manages to find Clarke – it isn’t hard, really, the girl is like a spark in a pile of coals – and goes to her, seeking a familiar face. She’s straining to see above the crowds, and Octavia knows why. Beyond the hordes of people and possessions is Bellamy; the team promised they would wait by the sea to greet everyone as they arrived.
The thought of seeing her brother again is nearly setting Octavia on fire, in every way possible, so she can’t even imagine how the girl beside her feels. She remembers how Bellamy had kissed Clarke before he left, and more than that she remembers the way Clarke had slowly sunk to the ground after he was gone, her fingers on her lips. “What do I do without him?” she’d whispered, when Octavia finally had to pull her along into the boats.
“You do what he’d want you to—keep going,” Octavia had replied, and despite everything, Clarke had done it. | 6a6652a98f8d44319b1111bd7180a985 | ['a052c4e3af884396990f54268be7a656'] | > but i promise i'll try to have the next update out soon, i'm basically done editing it so that's good. in the meantime TELL ME UR THOUGHTS. ADVICE. PREDICTIONS. ANYTHING. SERIOUSLY. IF YOU JUST KEYBOARD SLAM I WILL LOVE YOU
>
> catch me on tumblr @sherlockvowsontheriverstyx
7. Remind Me to Thank You (If We Live Through This)
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> the aftermath
> \--
> alternate title: the Day Trip chapter
Bellamy dropped to the ground and the bullet sailed over his head; the shooter, on the other hand, let out a wail of pain and crumpled, dead. He let out a sigh of relief that the assailant hadn’t had bulletproof armor on, then felt his stomach do a flip-flop at the realization that he’d shot a man, again.
Except this time, he hadn’t missed.
Forcefully, he turned his attention to the others. “You all right?” he called uncertainly to Clair, getting to his feet. He’d heard her scream, but hopefully it was out of fear rather than pain. “Lincoln? You okay, too?”
“I’m fine,” came Lincoln’s reply. Clair didn’t say anything, but he could see her up ahead, limping towards the dead man in the trees stiffly.
“Idiot,” he muttered under his breath, sprinting to catch up with her. “What are you doing? There could be more of them.”
“They would’ve come out by now,” she argued, shaking off the hand he put on her shoulder. “I want to make sure he’s dead.”
“Trust me, that was a fatal shot,” he said, wincing at how calloused he sounded. They stepped over the bushes and peered at the body; sure enough, the man was still and dead-eyed beneath the dark clothing. Bellamy swallowed down bile and knelt beside the body, searching for some sort of identifier. Finding none, he took the gun and handed it to Clair – “Looks like you need one of these after all” – then together they pushed him farther into the bushes, though it probably wouldn’t help with all the noise and ruckus their scene had caused.
“What did he want? Did he recognize you?” Clair asked urgently.
Bellamy shook his head. “No, I have no idea who he is. And as for what he wanted....” He went over the scene again in his mind—when he had run, the shooter had only fired once or twice, but when Clair had run the same path, he’d fired his pistol like it was a machine gun. And even with the fake worry of another assailant on his head – he mentally thanked Clair for that one, but also made a note to never tell her that aloud – the man had turned every ounce of his energy on the girl who couldn’t kill him, ignoring the larger man with a gun.
It didn’t make sense, but he had to face it. The man wanted Clair. _Clair_ , specifically. He had to know who she was. But then why kill her, if he knew how valuable she was alive? His brain was swirling.
“Bellamy?” Clair asked, poking him in the arm. “What he wanted?”
He blinked and looked at her, surprised that she’d actually used his name for once, then swallowed. “No idea. Maybe just some extremist who was looking for trouble and ran into us.”
By the frown Clair had when she turned away, she didn’t believe him, but what else was he supposed to say? The truth? She wouldn’t be able to handle it.
He winced at that, thinking of all the lies he’d piled up by now on that idea, on the notion of protecting people. Protect Octavia, protect Miller, protect Clair. It was all the same ugly lie, underneath.
“Come on, we need to go,” Clair said, pulling him out of his thoughts again. “I think people are coming.”
Bellamy looked and, sure enough, a few people were starting to creep into the park, including a few scouts. He cursed and pulled her away, checking that Lincoln saw them; he made a subtle nod and started out a different direction to avoid attention.
They met up again where they had first entered the town, making sure to keep a much lower profile than before, and waited until Miller met up with them.
“What _happened?_ ” he demanded as he came, hands full of new clothes and supplies. “I went to the park and not only was no one there, but there were scouts crawling everywhere and they were hauling off a dead guy from the bushes. I had to dodge thirty different questions about who I was with and what I was doing here.”
“Long story short, we got shot at and returned fire until we won,” Bellamy said, not wanting to discuss the whole thing right now. “Did you recognize the guy?”
Miller shook his head shortly. “Total stranger. He didn’t seem to have symbols from any of the clans, either, including Skaikru.”
“I noticed that, too,” Bellamy said, though he hadn’t actually thought about it until now. “Maybe a dissenter? A scavenger?”
“Who was planning what? To kill and eat us? Not likely,” Lincoln cut in as he took the clothes from Miller’s arms and sifted through them for anything that would fit him. “I’ve seen plenty of scavengers—Trikova, we call them in the forest clan. The shadows. They keep to themselves; don’t like trouble.”
“Yeah, well, this one did,” Clair said, “and he was well-trained, too, which I haven’t seen from any low-lives I’ve come across. Speaking of which, he grazed my leg and got Bellamy full in the arm. We’re going to need some sort of medical attention.”
Miller bit his lip worriedly and sucked in a breath. “I don’t know how we’re going to, especially after this development. Sticking our faces in public is going to be equivalent to a target now, I’m thinking.” |
805a2bcf9c804346b59d718d40d3ae9e | ['a062b4d9891940d096e7a049b1cf48d5'] | “No, I. I just know. Please.” He said and it must’ve worked because she came home, and she hugged him long and hard. He never found out what had happened at the well but he didn’t want to know. They believed him after that, they held their distance at first and it started to feel like he should leave again. Stiles tried not to let it hurt him but Scott quickly broke down and stopped tiptoeing around him and soon after Melissa did too and soon they were all back to being alright with eachother. He had these feelings that something would happen from time to time but he rarely to never saw something again for the longest time.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> So this is a thing that's happening now, as a result of watching way to much Reign the past week. This won't be updated once a day, but hopefully this wont stop being super fun to write and updates will come relatively quickly. I hope.
> Let's see where this adventure takes us.
3. Tedious business
“Peter Hale! Always a pleasure to run into you.” Deucalion sneered and Peter was sick and tired of people sneering at him. “My Lady,” he continued sweetly to the lady Peter had been chatting with. His sister was adamant he should marry, bastard or not, there were women desperate to stay in court, desperate enough to marry a court ladies bastard brother. Laura had started to warm up to him outside of their own home, seeing how people usually treated him.
“To what do I owe the pleasure Duke.” he had no interest in doing this longer than necessary.
“Couldn’t help to notice that the sweet Lady here seemed cornered.”
“On the contrary Lord Deucalion, I find Lord Hale utterly interesting, we share the disdain of being here. Good night Duke.” She said and walked off leaving the two men on their own. Where she had used Duke as his title Peter had simply used it as a nickname for the Archduke.
“Yet, she let herself be frightened off, you have no business here Peter, tell me, why do you accompany your sister to these things when you have no claim real to anything?”
“Business Deucalion, because when my sister might be very good at these things I’m excellent at them and she trusts my judgment, like when I strongly recommended she turn your proposal of marriage down.” He smirked and Deucalion looked infuriated. “Good night, I have a lady to find.”
“Ah yes, a lady of questionable virtue, suitable for the bastard.”
“Good, then I need have no moral qualms of further destroying her virtue then, marriage is a ridiculous concept anyway.” He didn’t know what possessed him to say it, but he had always found marriage a strange concept. Many men did, but in a court closely tied with the belief of a new God you should keep those thoughts to yourself.
“Lady Talia!” a large man bellowed and Talia smiled kindly. Peter was ready to find the lady from earlier and propose a rather ungodly meeting.
“I may be widowed Count, but I’m still a Duchess, not just a Lady of this court.” She said and somehow she made it seem like it wasn’t a reprimand, but make no mistakes, it was.
“Of course, my apologies. I heard about Lady Laura’s engagement to Lord Parrish, you must be happy they found love in one another.” He said and Talia smiled broadly.
“It does please me that no intervening was needed, true love is better than any other marriage, no matter the status, now Count, me and my brother have other business to attend to.” She courtsied and Peter bowed and then they fled.
“To the kitchens.” Talia whispered and Peter followed. They laughed as they made it to the winecellar and found a nice bottle. They always had a rivalry of sorts but they never hated eachother, Talia loved sneaking away wine and food from her father and have tiny feasts with Peter and their brother and when and if caught she always took the blame. Peter never dared. His father wasn’t evil, but he was intimidating and more than a little ashamed of Peter.
“I know you hate court Peter, but haven’t you found someone to share your time with? Find yourself a wife Peter! It saddens me to see you lonely brother.”
“Talia, we both know I ‘love wallowing in self-pity and being lonely is the easiest way to be bitter about my status’.” He countered and she sighed.
“I know father did a number on you, but you don’t deserve to be lonely, I don’t care what he thought about the matter, but you are as much of a loving man as any. You were never wallowing in self-pity, you’re scared he was right, don’t let him be right, don’t start to be bitter, that’s what he wanted from you. I don’t want that Peter, no matter who or where or whatever you need to make it happen you have my support. Just don’t become the bitter wallowing man father wanted you to be, because you’re getting closer every year Peter. Enjoy life. I would lose all my entertainment if you stopped being snarky to everyone who belittles you. I love seeing regret on their faces.” She said and hugged him. He smirked, he loved that too.
“Fine, maybe I just need some wine, but not too much. There is a lady with questionable virtue who requested my presence. “ Talia raised her eyebrows but just placed two cups on the table instead. | 9ff4c4d8683e4fa38fda519f55b05e90 | ['a062b4d9891940d096e7a049b1cf48d5'] | “Ma’am, to borrow books from our library you need to have a library-card so that we can keep track of our books and so that people can’t just keep them once they’ve walked out of here.”
“I’m not going to steal it!” she said in her high pitched voice.
“I realize that but I can’t give you this book or any other book, like the one you need later without having lent it to you via our system and for that you need a card.” Please just understand! He begged.
“If I knew that it would be this much hassle and unexplained and hidden agendas I would’ve just bought the book I needed.” Like he tricked her into signing a two year contract on Verizon without explaining.
“Ma’am. It’s free, and all you need is a card, I need your ID for less than a minute to register you. Then I’ll lend you the book, and after that you are free to go, I can even reserve the other book for you so that no one else can borrow it until you’ve had it.” He tried to come through to her. He really did.
“So the government have all my personal information?” she said like he didn’t understand the concept of library cards. He wanted to shout at her that the government already had all that but she seemed too paranoid.
“Ma’am, I can’t help the rules, either you’ll let me borrow your ID and we’ll get you a card or you’ll have to buy the book.” He was finished with her. So finished. She huffed and just gave him the most murderous eyes he’d ever seen, which is a hard feat considering the psychopaths and the murderers and so on he’d met, and walked out of there.
“You handled that really well Stiles.” His colleague said before she patted him on the shoulder.
“Yes I agree.” Peter said and smirked.
“I just wanted to rip her wig off and go cry in a corner!” he said once they were out of earshot from his colleague.
“Never again say that I am difficult!” Stiles said after a while pointing his finger at Peter.
“I won’t sweetheart.” He said and kissed Stiles, an older man sitting on the bench they walked passed smiled and cooed at them. Which: nice.
“I finished it.” Peter said as they sat down at the diner.
“Finished what?” Stiles asked as he snatched the menu from the stand at the table and started to read his options thoroughly.
“My novel.” Peter said casually as he scooped up another menu and mimicked Stiles reading until the boy dropped the menu with a jerk.
“WHAT?” he yelled. “Oh my god! Does that mean I can read it now?” He asked and almost bounced in his seat.
“Yes it does, it’s on the kitchen table at home.” He said as he continued to read the menu even though everyone knew that he would order the steak, rare, and that stiles would have a burger with curly fries and a milkshake.
“Can we go home now?!” Stiles asked.
“Let’s eat first shall we?” Peter said and raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, fine.” He mumbled back and waved the waitress over.
Once he was in the door of Peter's apartment he tore his jacket of and threw himself into the kitchen and almost pushed the table over as he threw himself over the draft. Peter let him sit there, just made him a cup of tea and left him to it. Stiles was trapped in the text, reading about the noble men and women having sex and affairs and murder and it was a bloody mess, literally but it was fabulous, real, raw and a tad bit creepy. The noble lady in love with the handmaiden, the master of the house planning his brother’s death. Drama. Stiles loved every minute he sat there letting his tea go cold while reading about these people and their state of minds and affairs and views on life and death. He may or may not have started to understand in what patterns Peters brain worked. He sat there until his ass got sore then he sat in the couch, with a new cup of tea Peter made. A cup of tea he didn’t even notice until he’d read the entire script and put it down. Peter looked up from his own book as Stiles yawned and looked at the clock. Four in the morning and he was tired to the bone.
“Did you like it?” Peter asked with a credulous look as Stiles just stared at him.
“Oh my god Peter yes! I may be biased but holy smokes, drama and suspension sure is your thing.” He giggled as he praised his boyfriends work. “Fucking brilliant!! I’m gonna order like five for work and I’m gonna like shamelessly promote it by the front desk!”
“Please do, I’ll have to give it to my publisher first though.” He said as he rose to go to bed.
“Well what the hell are you waiting for?” Stiles asked.
“Your input. I wanted you to read it first.” He said as a matter of fact, like it was obvious before he dragged Stiles with him to the bedroom and smothered him with passionate kisses before he tied him to the bedpost and fucked the ever living hell out of him on Stiles request, they both fell asleep happy and in each other’s arms. |
cdd39c9d5a4a4a46956f1b60035149e2 | ['a088fb032bc148839f4fffb45021aeb0'] | “Oh.” Yoongi said, his laughing fading quick as he helped spread his legs open further. Seokjin touched softly where the skirt fell on Yoongi’s thighs. He really wanted to keep this moment in his mind forever. His hands travelled up, pushing the skirt along with them. It was his turn to get to his knees. Yoongi bit his lip and smirked as Seokjin nudged him closer to the edge of the table and started peppering light kisses up the insides of his thighs. Seokjin took it slow, making sure to cover every inch he could on one leg before moving to the other. His fingers pressed against the skin roughly enough to make small round marks that he watched disappear after a few seconds. He then kisseed right back over where his fingers just marked on the creamy skin. It’s all Seokjin’s dreamed about since he saw them poking out of his cut up jeans, and he really didn’t want to stop but Yoongi had his hand tangled in his hair, giving small tugs to grab his attention.
Seokjin finally pulled back and raised his head up to gaze up at Yoongi who grinned back at him. “Gonna do anything else or just kiss me?”
And while Seokjin would absolutely love to just spend his time in between Yoongi’s legs like this, he nodded. “Gonna finger you.”
“Yeah, fuck.” And Yoongi was ready again, licking over his lips. Seokjin pushed his hips back to gain better access before he’s moving to his feet again. Yoongi lowered himself further onto the table, resting on his elbows. With his legs spread wide, Seokjin moved his hands up underneath the skirt and got a hold of the fabric of Yoongi’s underwear. Yoongi lifted his hips and Seokjin tugged them down in one go, only to see the lace white panties with a blue bow across the front. Seokjin felt light headed when he saw them and groaned quietly, fingers clenching around the material.
“Y’can keep ‘em if you want.” Yoongi mumbled in a slurred voice. Seokjin rolled his eyes but considered it. He tossed them to the ground though, and started hiking up the skirt even more. Seokjin could see the tent Yoongi’s cock made and bent in to kiss the tip softly through the fabric. Yoongi whined softly, but Seokjin was already getting back down again so he was level with the table. With Yoongi almost flush with the edge of the surface, Seokjin brought his head forward without any other warning and had his tongue glide along Yoongi’s perineum. With a audible gasp from above, Seokjin smirked and continued moving his tongue along the sensitive area. Yoongi got another firm grip on Seokjin’s hair with a free hand, and he tugged hard as his lower body shuddered from the feeling.
“Fuck, don’t stop.” He said through gritted teeth. Seokjin wouldn’t dare, letting his tongue move lower to brush along the ring of muscle that twitched slightly at the feeling. Yoongi whined low, his head thrown back. It was music to Seokjin’s ears as his tongue traced and swiped across the hole. He made sure it was glistening with his saliva before he shifted back enough to bring his fingers into play.
He dragged his thumb through the saliva that’s built up before he slipped it into Yoongi. His thumb met natural resistance before it was sinking into him slowly. Yoongi moaned softly and hooked his left leg up over Seokjin’s shoulder while Seokjin pressed his finger deeper only to pull it out teasingly. He did the same thing, moving it into him slowly before he thrusted it easily. Yoongi’s legs tensed up slightly but as the movement continued, he’s pressed down against the finger inside him. “More.” He whined out.
Seokjin obliged, pulling his thumb out before he twisted his hand around. He spat into his index and middle fingers and slicked the two up with his thumb. Yoongi was eager and rocked his hips down into nothing, but Seokjin gave his thigh a small pinch. “Patience” Seokjin mumbled, and he was back again at Yoongi’s hole with his two new fingers. Yoongi felt the pressure of both fingers nudge at him and moaned a bit louder as they finally sank into him. He cried out at the pleasurable stretch. It was good and the slight burn that radiated through him made him shudder again.
Seokjin’s fingers moved slow and deep to open Yoongi up the best he could. He twisted inside before pulling them out most of the way only to thrust them in faster. Yoongi was squirming, his hips jerking against Seokjin’s hand every time he pressed in. He rose his hand up after giving a small tap to the side of Seokjin’s head. “Curl ‘em… like this.” And Yoongi demonstrated, hooking his fingers down in the air. “And press…” He said breathlessly. Seokjin pressed his fingers back in and did as Yoongi requested, hooking his fingers and pressing in. Yoongi nearly screamed out, his groan is so loud and ringing through the kitchen. He arched up off the table and eagerly pushed his hips down onto Seokjin’s fingers.
“Yes, fuck, fuck.” He chanted while Seokjin smirked at himself, thrusting out before he pressed back in again to push back against the spot. The whimper that came out of the younger boy made the blood rush back to Seokjin’s dick, and he really wanted to fuck him right then.
Seokjin retracted his fingers and pushed himself back up to his feet. He took a hold of his own cock and thrusted into his hand a few times, sighing contently. Seokjin’s eyes dropped down over the already mess of a man on display below him, his thighs marked red and covered in saliva that led down to his hole. Seokjin could have already came again, but he stopped himself when he realized something important. | 5d5814dc543f4289826dd9cdb55534ae | ['a088fb032bc148839f4fffb45021aeb0'] |
let's have a ball
**Author's Note:**
> just a sweet uwu fic for u on this valentines day i wrote this for jas, the biggest minjoon stan i know.
>
> if u don' have a valentine just remember yoonji will always be there for u she loves her little freaks
“I’m never going to pass Algebra 2,” the young boy sighs into his arm. His head is pressed into the fold where he rests it on the desk top he sits in. His legs kick out on either side of the seat in front of him and he sighs out in defeat.
“We’ve been in this class for two months, you’re _ fine,” _ the boy next to him hisses before reaching out to kick at the other’s shin. He whines out and his large eyes glance over in annoyance. “Besides, you’re a _ Freshman _ in Algebra 2. I’m a _ Junior _ in Algebra 2. I think you’re doing fine, Kookie.”
Jimin, the junior in the Algebra 2 class, shifts in his seat as the teacher makes her way in from the hallway and Jungkook, the other boy, sits himself up in his seat, tugging books forward once he’s off the desktop. He straightens out his dark blue blazer that weighs down on his shoulders, trying to look presentable still too early in the morning. From the corner of his eye, he can see Jimin roll his own eyes only before reaching up to fix the natural part of his dark black hair, letting his bangs curl in across his forehead.
They both shift and settle, watching the other kids of their class filter in through the door before the bell rings. However, it does ring, loud and shrill, making everybody tense around them before class begins.
“Alright, everyone, good morning. We’re going to be going over last night’s work and then reviewing a little for your-” the teacher continued on before Jungkook and Jimin were sharing glances. Behind them a few seats to the left of the room, sat two empty seats and they were usually filled. Their eyes widened a little, worried that something was wrong, but mostly just shock that the most important seats hadn’t been filled.
In front of them, the teacher mentioned taking roll call which gave the students a few moments of chatter amongst their friends and Jimin was quick to lean across the row between his and Jungkook’s desk to whisper.
“I swear, if I got up at 6:00 am with you for _ nothing,” _ he whines and Jungkook’s brow creases a little. “Our luck, of fucking course.”
Jungkook goes to say something but Jimin is leaning back in his seat again, letting out a defeated ‘yeah’ when the teacher asks if he’s here. He just slouches back in his seat and keeps his eyes forward. Jungkook frowns, looking forward as well.
Today was important for the boys. Well, for high school boys looking to pick up dates for the formal happening in February, the Valentine’s Ball. They had gotten up early, Jimin sleeping over at Jungkook’s place, made sure they had every hair set right and uniforms ironed and pressed to look dignified and sophisticated. (Jungkook sometimes forgot to even wear his blazer and tie and Jimin nearly always wore the wrong type of white cotton shirt, going instead for his nice silken lace trimmed long sleeved button downs. They were both always fined for uniform violations.) They made sure they didn’t use strong cologne, only the nice stuff they snuck from Jungkook’s older brother’s room while he was still sleeping and made sure their breath was minty fresh.
They also made sure to do it the period before lunch, right after Algebra. They could walk their soon to be dates to lunch across the student union and find seats together, maybe at a table or out in the cool comfortable nearly Spring air and talk about the dance. They could maybe even break off before the end of lunch, the two boys walking the two others to their next class.
However, they weren’t even in this one and maybe Jimin’s blood was boiling because he knew he should have done it when he had the chance alone in the library with the most gorgeous date. Jungkook wanted to do it with him, though, said he needed Jimin for courage. The freshman had never had a girlfriend, let alone asked somebody out, and he was going for a sophomore. That’s a huge step for him.
So Jimin, like the very good friend he is, knowing Jungkook since they were both playing in the dirty sandbox at daycare, waited. But, look where it got him.
Class had started, and Jimin wasn’t paying attention, his mind going over the words he was going to say to win over his date. Beside him, Jungkook was eagerly taking down notes and answering when he was asked questions. Jimin just sat in silence, his eyes glancing between the board where math equations were written and his teacher who spoke softly but with intention, teaching well to the class.
Jungkook was a bit mad, too, his fingers clenching the mechanical pencil between them a bit hard. It’s not fair, he thinks. He finally builds up the courage he needs to finally ask his crush to a dance, a sophomore crush, and it fails.
There’s a knock at the door but the students continue copying down what had been written on the board, save for Jimin who just looks disinterestedly down at his desk. The class was nearly half over but the small voice that can be heard saying “Sorry, Mrs. Davis held us back” has the hairs standing on the back of Jimin’s neck. |
dfb911392a7b464eaae12ad6f22c64cc | ['a0a64578754b4326a882432a7ffc19ca'] | Yes Poke the Bear
**Author's Note:**
> I've been writing this on/off for about a month. After several rewrites, I've decided that if I don't post it now, I probably won't post it at all.
>
> Too many ideas/WIPs, way too little motivation!
Mac usually didn't mind stakeouts, especially on the rare occasions when they happened in luxury hotel rooms like this, but having to deal with his current company...
Well, it hadn't taken long for Mac to become restless.
He continued pacing across the room, fidgeting with one of the complimentary pens he'd found. He glanced toward the windows.
Murdoc was straddling a chair taken from the dining table, watching the circle drive at the hotel's entrance. His arms were folded on the chair's back, and he was leaning forward so his chin could rest on top.
He'd barely moved the entire time.
Mac had thought he'd completely zoned out from boredom, but then he noticed that his gaze wandered at times. What Murdoc found so interesting, Mac wished he knew, because he'd tried following his gaze multiple times, but never saw anything.
Mac sighed as he realized that he'd broken the pen's ink reservoir, covering his hands in ink. He threw the destroyed pen into the trash can and went to the kitchen sink to wash his hands. He scrubbed as much of it off as possible and dried his hands on a towel before he picking up another pen and resuming his pacing.
He was coming up behind Murdoc, about to pass by when he noticed it.
The back of Murdoc's neck was exposed.
His own hands were ice cold.
This was one of the dumbest ideas he'd ever had.
Mac knew better than to provoke Murdoc, but now, he couldn't stop glancing mischievously at him.
Murdoc seemed to be in a "good mood" today. He hadn't threatened Mac, just followed him around while talking about how much he'd missed seeing Mac. And of course, being alone with Mac in a hotel room was irresistible.
The first few times Mac had paced by him, Murdoc had watched with an annoyed look. Now, Murdoc's senses appeared to be deadened to Mac's presence. His gaze was passive and his expression seemed a little... sad.
...Although, none of that would stop Murdoc's mood from flipping to rage if Mac's little prank pissed him off enough. Mac still felt slaphappy as he reminded himself that Murdoc is always dangerous.
He'd worry about that later.
As he came up behind Murdoc once more, Mac committed.
He pressed a hand to Murdoc's bare skin.
The reaction was immediate and (in Mac's opinion, anyway) immensely satisfying.
He felt the startle, and instinctively stepped back as Murdoc's body jerked into action.
Murdoc swore sharply as one hand flew to the back of his neck. His other hand pushed off the top of the chair's back as he began to stand up. His foot caught on the chair leg, upending the chair before he was clear, causing him to trip and fall sideways.
Murdoc is one of the most dangerous assassins in the world, and yet, here he was, sprawled on the floor, chair laying partially on top of him with his leg still caught in it. The whole situation was ridiculous.
Mac burst out laughing and stumbled as he headed to the far doorway to put space between himself and Murdoc.
"Seriously??" Mac was laughing so hard he almost didn't hear.
Mac pressed his back against the doorway and nodded in response as he put a hand on his stomach to help catch his breath. He closed his eyes and forced himself to take a few deep breaths. By the time he reopened them, Murdoc had untangled himself from the chair and stood up. Mac couldn't stop the goofy grin that spread across his face, even though Murdoc was staring.
Mac couldn't exactly read Murdoc's expression, which made him a little uneasy. His eyes were narrowed, but Mac was sure one corner of his mouth was slightly upturned. At least Murdoc wasn't death-glaring him.
"That was fun!" Mac hoped his light tone and grin would break any tension.
Finally, Murdoc shook his head before turning back toward the windows.
He'd handled that better than Mac expected-
Murdoc dramatically groaned. "Oh come on, Angus!! You're such a tease!!" | 507add4d291546198140e915b7915b4e | ['a0a64578754b4326a882432a7ffc19ca'] |
Two Friends Are Better Than One
"Handcuffs? Ooooh, whose kink is this?" Murdoc turned his wrists against the cuffs, hoping the jingling would get a reaction.
He was ignored while Mac pushed on his shoulders, directing him to sit in front of Bozer on the counter. Bozer lightly pulled on Murdoc's arm to encourage him to slide back and make space for Mac.
"Why do all the people I try to be nice to have a handcuff fetish? I mean, I feel like when I let someone live, they repay me by turning on me, and then I end up in these." He emphasized his point with the sharp sound of the handcuff chain being pulled taut.
Mac and Bozer sighed as they exchanged an exasperated glance. Neither of them wanted to touch that comment. Ignoring his weird comments was usually the best option, but they could sense the impending rant about handcuffs, how painful they are, which types are the hardest to escape from...
Mac hoped a slight insult would be enough prevention. "Okay, well have you considered that the problem is _you_ , because you instigate?"
Murdoc gasped in fake offense. "Me?? I didn't start anything. I was just seeing what my besties were up to."
"That's what you're calling it, huh?" Bozer couldn’t contain an eye roll as he gripped Murdoc’s belt with both hands to pull him closer. "Come here."
Murdoc made himself as heavy as possible. Resisting wasn't nearly as much fun anymore since he'd already pulled the non-con charade on both of them. So maybe he'd never be able to play that game again, but he could at least be annoying.
"I'm thinking...no."
Why did he bother thinking Murdoc would cooperate? Bozer kept one hand on Murdoc’s belt and wrapped the other arm across his stomach, then yanked him backward, pulling a leg onto the counter for leverage. Murdoc kicked his legs out as he was fully pulled onto the counter, preventing Mac from getting too close.
"Bozerrr! You're killing me, rudely _yanking_ my arms like that! Just pull my shoulders out, why don't you!"
They didn't want to actually hurt him, so Bozer ran his hands along Murdoc's arms, down to his wrists to make sure there wasn't too much pressure on the handcuffs. His shoulders and arms felt fairly relaxed once he sat up straight and laid his hands on Bozer’s leg. As expected, he was just being dramatic.
"Oh, you're fine." Bozer ruffled his hair. "Kinda cranky, though."
"Don't touch—"
Mac used the distraction to straddle the counter, pulling Murdoc's legs around himself to trap them open. Murdoc considered struggling as he watched Mac get comfortable between his knees, but allowed himself to be leaned backward against Bozer. Escape wasn't an option when he was sandwiched like this. And it certainly wasn’t a desirable one, since this was going to end fantastically for him. Although, he’d have to keep his hands to himself...
"Awww, is it baby-making time already?"
"No." Murdoc received the reprimand from both of them as Mac taped his mouth shut.
"Time to keep all your mood-killing comments to yourself!" Bozer let his hands wander to Murdoc's waist to untuck his shirt. Quiet growling served as warning as they pushed his shirt up and ran their hands under it.
Mac was delighted that Murdoc’s wriggling intensified. There was usually a short period before Murdoc relaxed and got re-accustomed to being touched, but lately, he’d developed the tendency to resist. It was probably a secret turn-on for Murdoc. One he’d never admit to. But Mac would.
"Don't know if the squirming and growling is for your benefit or ours, but I love it." He directed his heated gaze into Murdoc's annoyed glare, and let his nails trail up and down Murdoc's sides.
Sometimes it was nice to just hold Murdoc and relax. For a few minutes, they could simply enjoy each other’s company and forget about the world. Maybe this time they’d just cuddle pile on Murdoc—
Murdoc involuntarily shuddered under Mac’s soft touch.
Cuddling would come later. Now was the time for sexiness.
Mac ghosted his fingers along the top of Murdoc's pants before beginning to unbuckle his belt. "We're going to have so much fun."
Murdoc gave a soft protest noise and tried to pull back, but Bozer wrapped an arm around him to hold him still. His eyelids were heavy with desire as he watched Mac pull his belt off. Mac had barely undone the button and zipper before Bozer slid a hand into Murdoc's pants, causing a hard jolt.
"It's so much better when it's not your own hand, isn't it?"
Murdoc fought to stay quiet as he pressed himself into Bozer’s hand. Bozer let him get into a steady rhythm before pulling his hand out without warning. In his frustration, he failed to stifle a needy moan.
Mac ran his hands up Murdoc’s stomach and across his chest, enjoying the feel of his muscles tightening as his breathing became heavy. “Did you really think we’d make it that easy?”
Murdoc growled and closed his eyes as he let his head fall back. This wasn’t going to be as fun as he’d thought.
\-----
"Think we've teased him enough?" Bozer thoroughly enjoyed watching the hot mess they’d reduced Murdoc to. His chest heaved with shallow breaths as he half-buried his face into Bozer’s shoulder. "You look good like this." The glare he directed up at Bozer was blunted by exhaustion and the fact that his hair was haphazardly stuck to his forehead.
Mac drew Murdoc’s attention by lightly running his nails back and forth along his hips, causing Murdoc to twitch as his breath hitched. "You're so tired, aren't you?" |
d795f4fba07743efb2e89e1d4ec619b9 | ['a0a9af39d3094e1799cb68517f1e75b6'] |
The Rest
**Author's Note:**
> My beta is busy, so I'm posting this without her input. I might edit it more later. Also, if you recognize it, it's probably from the movie.
>
> So I saw Endgame in the afternoon on the 26th and I'm still crying two days later. The writer in me thinks that Tony's character storyline was beautiful and perfect; he had his family and got closure with his dad and the other Avengers, which is basically everything he needed. As a character and a hero, he deserved to have that ultimate role to play. He deserved to save the universe, and his death was perfectly him. Tony Stark was Tony Stark through and through until the bittersweet end.
>
> But that's the writer in me. The rest of me is still sobbing in a corner somewhere. If we exclude the possibility of Captain Marvel using the gauntlet to bring him back (because as of now I think that's the best solution, although maybe not one he would have wanted since it implies that other people can and perhaps should be brought back as well, and that's a whole new can of worms), this is what I think should have happened. Tony deserved more, but we deserved more, too.
>
> *Edited 4/29 after seeing Endgame again. All I did was change "munchkin" to "Maguna"
“We’ll be okay,” Pepper says. “You can rest now.”
They all watch Tony take his final breaths.
*
_This doesn’t have to be the end._
Everything is pitch black. He can feel the sensation of opening his eyes, but nothing changes.
“Is this what death feels like?” Tony wonders aloud. “I thought there was supposed to be a light.”
He remembers the blackouts that would happen in the months after the decimation; how hard he worked to get the world’s technology up and running properly again; how thankful he was to have a wife and then a child to come home to. Even with the end of life as the world knew it, he’d still found his own little light in the darkness.
*
“This doesn’t have to be the end,” Stephen says.
Pepper looks up at him, tears streaming down her face. “What do you mean?”
“The Iron Man helmets have been observing Tony’s brain waves for years,” the former neurosurgeon answers. “With the stones, we can—”
“Strange, my best friend just used them and died for it,” Rhodes cuts him off. “He wouldn’t want anyone else doing that, now that we’ve won.”
Stephen shakes his head. “We would be using them differently. I can use the Time Stone to find the data across this time stream. Miss Maximoff can utilize the Mind Stone to weave them together and pave the way for his own thought patterns and personality to return. And Mr. Barton can use the soul stone to draw his spirit back.” He turns to Shuri. “If the princess is willing to gather and shape the vibranium to give him a body, then we can bring him back to life.”
Shuri nods her acuquiecense. “He just saved the whole universe. Of course I can make him a body.” She raises an eyebrow and makes a spinning motion with her fingers. Amused, Stephen smirks and opens a portal back to her lab in Wakanda. “Thank you. I’ll get on it straight away.”
As soon as the portal closes, Peter scrutinizes the Sorcerer. “No offense, Doctor Strange, but what makes you so certain this will work? Did you see it in the future?”
Stephen glances at Tony’s body, remembering. “Whether I did or not is irrelevant. The Universe itself wishes it so.”
*
_You have a choice._
Slowly, stars start to appear in the distance.
“Oh, boy. I thought I was done with space.” Tony recalls lying on the ground of Morgan’s tent, the two of them poking their heads out, staring at the sky for what felt like long hours and mere seconds. “Who am I kidding? I’d stare at space forever if it meant more time with her.”
*
“You have a choice.” Stephen looks at the people gathered around him, all of whom know and care for Tony Stark, and focuses on his fellow stone holders. “Are you completely willing to play your part?”
Wanda and Clint glance at each other. “Vision would have wanted me to give Stark another chance,” she says sadly. “And his daughter deserves to grow up with both of her parents there.”
Clint clenches his fists. “I hate using this stone, knowing that Nat is gone because of it….” He trails off until Wanda places her hand over his, and he takes a deep breath. “But Wanda’s right. Nat would have wanted this. And if I can help a kid get her father back, I feel like I have to.” He stands tall, returning Stephen’s gaze. “If you say I’m able, then I’m wiling.”
*
_Do you want to go back?_
Tony thinks about Pepper and the fifteen years he got to share with her. Longer than he’d expected, but less time than he had hoped for. Was it enough?
He thinks about Morgan, more precious than anything else in existence. He’d wanted to see her off on her first day of school. He’d wanted to help her with her homework and tutor her in science and math. He’d wanted to scare off all the boys that would flock her way. He’d wanted to walk her down the aisle. He’d wanted to tell her he loves her three thousand times, and then three thousand more, and so on, knowing it could never be enough.
He thinks about the pain he left behind, both his own and that of those he loves, and longs to protect Morgan from that pain. If he can return to his old, broken body and get even one more moment with them, just to make things more bearable, then it’ll be worth it. | aabd980ffe3045c4ac945050f3ac496a | ['a0a9af39d3094e1799cb68517f1e75b6'] |
1. It's my birthday?
**Author's Note:**
> I wrote a sequel! I totally did not expect such amazing responses in the first 48 hours after posting. You guys are amazing! Also, I realized yesterday that Tony's birthday is today, so... Happy birthday, Tony ;)
>
> I have a second chapter planned for this fic (hint: it's birthday smut), but I don't know if I can get it finished before the end of the day, so I wanted to get this out first.
>
> Please leave kudos and comments; they're greatly appreciated :D And thanks to everyone who takes the time to read my work!
>
> My beta is still my best friend, illegalplayer :)
Stephen awakens surrounded by the Cloak’s warmth. He opens his eyes to find Tony watching him sleepily while petting the red cloth over his stomach. “Good morning,” Stephen says, smiling at the man’s bleary-eyed look.
“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Tony replies happily, turning onto his side with a groan. “Yup, still feeling it.”
Stephen grins. “I told you I’d make sure you would.” He reaches out to brush his fingertips against the lingering scratch marks on Tony’s torso, occasionally putting pressure on the bruises scattered across his abdomen and earning little whimpers.
“God, I knew you were sadistic,” Tony whines. “Cloaky, make him stop.” The Cloak lifts its collar to face him while moving the part of its fabric that rests over his morning wood, causing Tony to gasp and buck up into its touch.
“I don’t know, Tony, I rather think you’re enjoying it,” Stephen teases. He pushes Tony onto his back and leans down to lick at the inflamed lines on his chest, the heat of his tongue making them sting. “Don’t you agree, Cloaky?” The Cloak perks up at the nickname, pleased that it managed to arrive at an understanding with its sorcerer. It nods its collar eagerly, still rubbing against Tony’s cock.
“If you keep that up,” Tony says through gritted teeth as he digs his fingers into the bedsheets, “I’m not going to last much longer.”
Stephen smirks. “That’s the goal, sweetheart.” He kisses his way across Tony’s tan skin to lap at his nipples, still slightly swollen from the night before.
“Ah, fuck,” Tony hisses, raising a hand to run it through Stephen’s hair and grip the back of his head, keeping his mouth in place. “Stephen, please….”
Stephen shivers, sucking a nipple between his teeth and nibbling it softly. He begins to rut into the mattress, needing friction against his aching cock. Noticing this, the Cloak carefully pulls him over to straddle Tony’s hips and wraps part of its fabric around both men’s dicks, holding them together as it strokes up and down.
“Cloaky,” Stephen gasps out as he pulls slightly away from Tony’s chest. “Fuck, that feels amazing.”
“God, where did you learn this?” Tony asks through his panting, lifting his hand from the sheets to pet the Cloak’s shoulder pad in encouragement. He tugs Stephen up with his other hand to meet his mouth in a sloppy kiss, both of them too aroused for finesse. The Cloak watches them, reaching its collar to nuzzle their cheeks as they make out.
When they eventually part for air, Stephen looks to the Cloak and asks, “Is there something you want us to do?” The Cloak nods hesitantly, its curiosity getting the best of it. “Can you show us?” With another nod, it leans forward to run an end of its collar over each man’s lips. In response, Stephen opens his mouth to allow the fabric entrance, which it slowly takes. It presses at his teeth in wonder, then stretches further to probe at his wet tongue, jolting back in surprise when Stephen responds in turn.
Tony laughs quietly and kisses the piece of fabric against his lips. “Cloaky, you’re adorable.”
The Cloak ruffles, embarrassed, and tightens around their cocks in retaliation, causing both men to moan. Seeing an opportunity, it dives the pointed cloth of its collar back into both of their mouths, muffling their sounds as it continues to stroke their hard cocks.
Staring into Tony’s eyes, Stephen watches as the other man begins to suck gently on the fabric between his lips. Never one to back down from a challenge—even one issued by a magical piece of cloth—the sorcerer decides to be more aggressive, licking forcefully at the fabric and shuddering when the Cloak chooses to push back, exploring the entirety of his mouth.
Tony looks on with hooded eyes as his human lover lets his head drop forward, overwhelmed by sensation. He hums while sucking gently one last time, and the Cloak shivers before pulling out of his warmth. “Cloaky, I think he’s close,” Tony says through his panting. He leans up to whisper into the taller man’s ear, “Come for us, Stephen. Please.”
With a muffled cry, Stephen lets his shaking body fall onto Tony’s as he comes hard. The inventor gently runs his fingers through Stephen’s hair while the Cloak strokes him through his orgasm, slipping out of his mouth so that they can both hear his deep whimpers.
“Oh, fuck, that was hot,” Tony says, his pupils completely blown and his breath leaving him in shudders.
As Stephen returns to himself, he huffs softly with a laugh and leans down to suck at Tony’s earlobe. “Your turn, sweetheart.” The Cloak lets go of Stephen’s softened cock and continues stroking Tony’s, with the sorcerer’s cum acting as a lubricant. The cloak snuggles between their bodies to rub the soaked ends of its collar against Tony’s swollen nipples, earning moans from both men as it touches Stephen’s sensitive body as well. A few moments later, Tony falls apart, sinking his teeth into Stephen’s neck as he releases his load.
The three lay there, both humans catching their breaths while the cloak settles against them. “Cloaky,” Tony speaks up, “You deserve a reward, as well. Maybe I can help clean you?” |
7bafc37c6b9d4de5b6a4b60e8372bfa8 | ['a0ad16ddf7f943878a83c38948aadf0a'] | The guard is calming down, when Golden Freddy comes back again. He slowly approaches the sitting guard with a concerned and curious look on his metal face. He helps the security guard up, who whispers a thanks in return and they enter the prize room, where the Puppet is sitting on his box, waiting for them.
"You are really, really loud and it sounds like a little girl." The Puppet says, as they stop in front of him. "Why did he scream?" He asks his old friend.
"Don't know, yet." He says and slowly takes the guard in a hug, while the puppet stops his music box.
"He told us to wait! You are only going to make it worse, he might make it two days!" Toy Freddy says, as Toy Bonnie stops just before he enters the stage. "I know we don't are on good terms..." Chica begins and plays with her fingers. "But this can't be the _right_ choice, right?" Chica says and Foxy agrees with an worried aye.
"I just want to help OUR guard and that is what I am going to do!" Toy Bonnie says and leaves the backstage.
"I'm going to get him back." Bonnie says and begins to move, when a distinct voice says. "Wait!" And makes him stop and looks at Mangle.
"Do you really think, we are going to let his BULLY going to 'get' him?" The Toys agree and even Freddy slowly nods.
"Bonnie, let her get him. Nobody wants to have an angry Golden Freddy." Freddy says and Bonnie walks back to his position with a sigh, as Mangle leaves the backstage.
"Ok, just be calm and tell us what happened." Golden Freddy says, as he breaks the long hug. The Puppet remained silet this whole time and waits for the story.
"I was about to enter here and suddenly my phone rings." The guard stops for a moment. "Ok, take your time." Golden Freddy says with a gentle tap on the shoulder.
"There was this soft voice and it told me he isn't gone and is waiting for me. He said my name and I asked if he was the purple guy and this guy hang up." The guard says and the Puppet rools his eyes.
"Really, the purple guy? Sounds like a hooker to me." The Puppet answers. "Old friend, this is serious!" Golden Freddy tells the Puppet who blink with a shrug and without closing his mask. It made the guard shudder and he begins to lean against Golden Freddy who let's out a sigh.
Toy Bonnie is about to get into hearing range, when two hands on both shoulders stop him.
"Please, the _other_ animatronics are going to hate you. I don't want them to hurt you, please." Mangle begs and Toy Bonnie sighs. "Ok, but it doesn't feel right." He answers her.
"Do you think Golden Freddy can't help our guard?" She asks and he turns around. "I know he can solve it. I just have to help!" Toy Bonnie explains.
"You 'have' to? Is this why you try to avoid to get involved in our fight?" Mangle asks curios and Toy Bonnie slowly nods.
"I-I didn't mean it like that! It's just the right thing to do..." Toy Bonnie says and lowers his head, but Mangle lifts it and gives him a kiss on his cheek.
"It's ok, just follow me to the backstage." She says and he nods, before both walk back.
"The purple guy is a known killer. His... list is long and our guard here is the next target." Golden Freddy says and the Puppet is thinking.
"He isn't real and if he is, then what are the chances? Henry was in a similiar situation and it turned out to be a hooker." The Puppet says and Golden Freddy is now silent.
"Uh, it was a guy. I don't think it was a hooker." The guard says and the Puppet snorts. "Doesn't change my conclusion. Do you have prove the purple guy is even in this place? Maybe he is in another country or died in an accident." The Puppet makes it clear to them both.
"We have time to think about this later and you can watch our guard." Golden Freddy finishes and the Puppet is crossing his arms.
"What? I am not guarding a guard from the dark." He says and the guard looks offended. "I am not afraid of the dark, but I am afraid to die!" The guard clears it up and it made the Puppet roll his eyes.
"And that's bad. I have to solve the animatronics problems, before they make a regretful decision." Golden Freddy explains, as the guard turns to him.
"Can you tell them to take me seriously?" The guard asks and the Puppet suddenly laughs.
"I try and my old friend will not leave you alone." Golden Freddy says. "Fine, but just tonight." The Puppet exclaims in a serious tone.
"Thanks, Puppet."
As Golden Freddy returns to the others, he hears them argue and decides to let it play out.
"I tell you all again! I'm not shaking my plastic clone his dirty plastic hand." Bonnie exclaims with crossed arms and Toy Bonnie doing the same.
"I don't even want to look at this piece of stinking robot bully. He won't ever deserve it!" Toy Bonnie explains and the other animatronics are beginning to 'solve' this problem.
Golden Freddy coughs really loud and everyone is now focussed on him. "What did I tell you all?" he asks and suddenly everyone looks worried.
"I have done nothing wrong, I just didn't want to shake his hand." Toy Bonnie defends them. "Yeah and I see no need to shake his hand, if he doesn't even try." Bonnie improves it. | d01aec95b94e4ac093269c835be7abef | ['a0ad16ddf7f943878a83c38948aadf0a'] | "Scott tends to talk a lot. People actually like pranks, might be a scare prank and it might come as video on the internet." Golden Freddy concludes.
"You use the internet?" The guard asks with an open mouth. "I tend to talk a lot too, that's Puppets and my secret. Don't tell anyone." Golden Freddy tells him and the guard nods.
"Seems like your time is over." The Puppet says, right as it turns six. "Good night." He says, before climbing in his box and closing it.
"Rude." The guard says and Golden Freddy laughs. "See you tomorrow, 'guard'." Golden Freddy says, before he walks away.
**DAY**
The guard stops his car in the middle of the street and sees his burned house with some firefighters around it. There is a sign in front of the burned house with a 'motto' as the firefighters say.
_"A guy might like purple, but seeing the world in it isn't possible"_ Detective Mike Schmidt writes it down on a note.
The guard asks what it means and the detective smiles sadly. "You are lucky, only three people survived the purple guy longer than an hour of his announcement."
"I managed to get them in order." Golden Freddy says and Scott nearly opened his mouth without speaking.
"I am impressed and are you sure it will hold?" Scott asks and Golden Freddy smiles as he takes out a foto.
"Ok, I am happy. Thank you very much, Freddy." Scott says and Golden Freddy leaves without saying a word. A few moments later, Scott opens up his communicator to Henry.
"Seems like our plans aren't needed, isn't this great?" Scott asks and Henry smiles, as Scott gives Henry a copy of the foto.
"Seems like it." Henry says, as he sees the foto and Scott turns off the communicator.
"This is bad." Henry slams a fist on his table. "I need to find a solution, quickly or... I have it!" Henry laughs, before he walks to workshop C. He enters it and sees the funtime animatronics, Henry takes out his cell phone for his working partner.
"Plan C might not be needed, but we can't stop working now. Scott made plans for the future and you can never have enough animatronics." Henry says and his partner yawns.
"I work way too much, but I won't let you down, boss! Gonna give the detective a cup of coffee first." His partner says and Henry rolls his eyes.
"Screw the coffee and come here to work!" Henry orders him. "Roger!" His partner says, as Henry hangs up. "I am paying him too much." Henry mutters.
"I gotta need to get payed more." Henry's partner says on the end of the phone.
For the rest of the day, the animatronics are fine and could focus more on their work.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> By "you won't be able to move next night!" Think about it. Those aren't just six hours, it's from the closing time of this restaurant to the opening time.
> It's really 'horrible', imaging you can only move when you work. You can sleep, but can you sleep until your work begins?
>
> Writing this story is really fun... I just need to keep myself from rushing it, because I tend to skip a few scenes. You may notice the 'weird' chapter title and you are right in a way. You may call it foreshadowing, but I call it 'smart future'... Yeah, I don't know what I am trying to say either :D
> (I know how act 3 is, even if I may not write past act 1... makes sense? No? Good, because it shouldn't!)
3. Purple has two colours
**NIGHT**
The night starts calm for once. The toy animatronics are the first to spread across the restaurant, while the others are taking their time. Foxy seems more annoyed than before, as he walks to Freddy.
"I need to speak with your gold version." Foxy says and looks around a little twitchy.
"And what's the problem now? The toys haven't done anything, while I watched them." Freddy says curious and Foxy takes of his eye patch.
"I haven't even had much time to learn how to speak like a pirate. From what I noticed, pirates are a little outdated right now and I demand to sing with my friends." Foxy explains and Freddy blinks.
"I can't do anything and I don't know where he is." Freddy rubs his head and Foxy rolls his eyes, before he points up. Freddy looks up and sees Mangle above them.
"I am sure Scott isn't going to like it, when he hears how 'Foxy the pirate' isn't even trying!" Mangle giggles and begins to crawl away.
"Maggy, you don't want to do this! We always find a way for revenge." Freddy warns her and Mangle jumps to the ground.
"You don't even know my name! Maybe you do and decided to make fun of me?" Mangle sounds hurt and Foxy is taking a step back, while Freddy takes a step closer.
"Sorry, uh. What is your name again?" Freddy asks and Mangle fakes a very good shocked expression, before she comes closer slaps him. The slap echoes through to restaurant, while Foxy points his hook at her.
"First, you all try to degrade us and now you don't even remember our names!?! What piece of garbage work as 'stars' and since when can you just ask this to a woman who you don't even know?" Mangle finishes, as most animatronics enter the backstage.
"Get the fuck" "Language!" Both Freddy and Toy Freddy say. "Away from him!" Chica yells and pushes Freddy behind her to protect him. Toy Bonnie begins to play with his fingers, as Bonnie enters. |
366e8e2cdff04f82aa3bc00a7154939e | ['a0b6f6f3b93a4491a3e9cd2f339582c3'] | “It won’t be for long, Mother. Once I settle everything, you will be free to stay wherever you like. If you like it here, we can start anew in this place. That hill nearby is a nice position for a new castle.”
“I don’t need any castles, my son, all I pray is for you to be safe.”
“You don’t need to worry that much. I am sure at least some of the samurai will remain loyal once they learn that I am alive. Now, I must hurry,” he turns away, rushing out to leave.
“Tahomaru,” she cries out, “the time we spent here together will always be the treasure of my life. I have so many memories of you now. Thank you for that,” Nui can’t suppress her tears any longer.
The boy turns abruptly, then strides back, firm and fast, and hugs her tightly. He stays like that for a while, burying his face in his mother’s hair. Jukai can tell that despite everything, it is _now_ that he is the most happy. His soul is whole and complete.
Many perils await him still; probably he will have to fight and to kill; but Jukai knows that the peaceful moments they've spent in this old humble house will keep him on the human side from now on.
“Sensei, please, take care of my mother,” Tahomaru says once they are outside, bowing down to him.
“It will always be your home. Come back any time you want.” Jukai takes a breath before adding, “Come back _together_.”
“We will,” Tahomaru simply says and mounts his horse.
The snow is melting on the hills, turning into fluid water. A million tiny streams meander among the stones and thickets in wandering curves before finding their way to the river, where the flow is clear and strong. Jukai places his hand on the woman's slender back as they watch the boy rushing down the road he has chosen.
2. The story of the lingering night
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> Takes place directly after the previous chapter. Tahomaru returns for his father's funeral after having spent the winter with Nui and Jukai as a simple villager. Tahomaru's perspective.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> Finally, I'm posting the continuation. Actually, it was written long ago, back in summer-autumn of 2019, but at that time i was still unsure whether i am truly going to proceed with this fic. My head started to develop a large plot full of new adventures, but my RL was so busy and hectic i couldn't balance the both. So, this whole year, i've been writing down small bits that appeared in my head from time to time without any clear purpose to post them, until there was enough material for a dozen of chapters at least. I am the type to get stressed easily by schedules and expectations, so this relaxed approach was refreshing. At the same time, the lack of schedules and expectations resulted in the work hardly progressing. Was it even something worth writing, or i shouldn't waste my time, i began to wonder (well, if i could, i would've probably ditched it around the time i realized it's going to be so long. But no use. It haunted me and wouldn't let me go). Fuck it, i decided at last, let's just post it and come what may.
>
> Tldr: this chapter is only the beginning of the mess, and the things won't be progressing fast, all because i love the characters and the world of Dororo too much, and wanted to indulge myself for as long as i can :D
> You may notice that each chapter is preceded by a short introductory scene after which goes the title. This is the anime pattern i wanted to follow (like, a short scene - OP - episode itself) for no particular reason.
> I will try to post a chapter per week for now (~6 chaps are already written completely), and then we'll see how it goes.
_Fwoosh._ A flare of orange in the dark. He brings the fire to the wick, protecting it with his palm. _This one… is for the child who was lying on the barren ground, his ribs sticking out, one of his arms devoured by the hungry dogs feasting on the dead flesh like heinous vultures…_ He squeezes his eyes shut, but it doesn’t drive the image away. Nothing ever will.
Tahomaru, a blunt pain in his chest, resumes his way up the long corridor—an illuminated path he is arranging to welcome his enemy—and stops before another lamp. _This one… is for the woman who sat by the wrecked house, her features indistinguishable, rotted to the bones by the illness._ Maybe it is for the best that _she_ had fallen in the battle before the plague could turn her face like that, too, he can’t help but think.
“This one… is for the little girl in her arms,” he whispers, his throat squeezed tightly, as he ignites another fire.
Hundreds of faces light up before his eyes, flashes of warm fire against the blackness. So bright and so fragile. His memory holds way more faces than there are lamps in this castle. They all had died so the one could live on. If the deal was wrong, shouldn’t they have existed in the first place? Should they have never been born? Is it the law of the merciful gods his mother has always been praying to?
Another flash. He is setting his life aflame with his own hands. A few moments later, this fire will spread all over the castle. It will become the funeral pyre of the Daigo domain. He doesn’t know it yet.
Or maybe he does.
_“My brother and I were taken hostage by the enemy when we were young. Had the Daigo land not flourished, we would not be here.”_
“This one is for Hyogo. This one… is for Mutsu.” | a9c6e370ffa74b448b2f1384a2230d39 | ['a0b6f6f3b93a4491a3e9cd2f339582c3'] | “I… _wish_?” Her agate eyes are wide with trembling tears as she repeats the word she must have been taught to forget forever. She pays no attention to her soaked and disordered kimono, to the pain the splashed tea must have caused.
“Yes. You must do what you truly wish. This is my final order to you,” Tahomaru says, struggling to control the tremor in his voice as his heart pounds in his chest. “I shall make sure that you and your family never want for anything; you can stay wherever you like, in the castle or down in the village, or even somewhere far away from here…”
The tears are running down her cheeks and her voice is shaking as Furi manages to utter, “But all I want is to serve you, my lord.”
_Why?_ Tahomaru turns away in an unbearable frustration, suppressing the desire to pull at his hair. He doesn’t understand a single thing. Is it about her sense of duty engraved deep into her being, or her genuine love for him? _Love?_ Is there even anything left to love in him? What is he supposed to do? All this is suffocating. These eyes and these hands, these disordered layers of the crumpled silk… And these walls, and the chambers of the lords long gone, the sunlit gardens and the blooming plum trees—they are no longer offering comfort; they are like a frail dream decorating the dark immensity of the dead landscape. A desire to flee, somewhere, far away, suddenly takes over his mind. How the hell can he rule the domain if he can’t deal with his own servants? The outside world is so large… Hopefully, once he’s found his brother—
“My lord…”
Deafened by the pulsing of blood in his ears, Tahomaru barely recognizes Furi’s words.
Her voice is still a bit shaky but collected as she says, answering his unspoken question: “Day by day, I have been watching you working hard to avert the doom of this land. You were giving your everything to your people. You barely slept; you trained day and night; you were out helping villagers more often than you visited your beloved mother. That night… you sacrificed your own heart. I was moved deeply.” Furi’s voice breaks, and she takes a deep breath before continuing: “I am just a weak woman, but my strongest desire is to help you with everything I have to carry this burden. I will never ask for your attention again. Please, allow me to just stay by your side as a silent shadow and serve you, in whatever way you want me to. Because this is what I _truly_ _wish_.”
Tahomaru’s cheek twitches as he tries to still his heart. He can only nod, unable to look at her, yet accepting the request.
He must not run away. Eternally mutilated with the ugly scars, reminders of all his faults, he can never, ever run away from them.
~
The long day of ceremonies begins. The news spread fast, and samurai from across the land rush to Great River Castle to greet him and to pledge their lives and the lives of their families to the service of the new Lord. Everyone praises Tahomaru, son of Daigo Kagemitsu, the young ruler of the Ishikawa domain, the one who returned from Hell and brought back hope to their land. They love him. They trust him. They are ready to follow him.
It will not be for long, Tahomaru repeats in his thoughts, accepting yet another pledge. His duty is to put everything in order and to pass the rule to his brother, the true heir of Daigo, once he is found.
Tahomaru will do all he can to persuade him to take over this land. He will choose the most loyal and sincere samurai to help him and guide him; he will make sure there are no unrests, and the others, too, realize what he realized that day. Hyakkimaru, blessed with his unhuman strength and agility, might seem a wild, half-wit demonic creature barely able to communicate, or so Tahomaru would talk himself into believing; but in truth, he was not.
That day, Tahomaru understood it painfully clear.
Hyakkimaru was the true heir blessed by the gods to bring down what had been built on his blood. He was not only strong but wise and merciful. He was the one to stop his blade and spare his brother’s life.
~
The funeral feast is held on the same night. Many songs are sung, and many poems of war and valor are read within the great hall of the old castle. The samurai, violent and brutal warriors, cry like little children over the stories of heroic deaths as the young crescent moon goes down behind the sea, and hundreds of lights illuminate the valley. Daigo Kagemitsu is glorified as a tragic hero who sacrificed his son along with his own soul for the people but was brought down by the cruel and almighty Fate in the end. Hyakkimaru is considered a hero, too; for at this moment, there are no foes and no allies, only the poetic tragedy of doom. Although the stories of his fights with the demons are mostly made up, exaggerated and embellished, as no one can know those for certain, they move the warriors’ hearts, and tears overflow their eyes just like sake overflows their cups. The ones sung by a blind biwa player are especially good and detailed.
The songs glorifying himself Tahomaru tries not to listen, focusing on his sake and the narrow, ever so slightly freckled hands of Maeda’s daughter filling his cup, instead. Suddenly, he remembers those freckles. In their early childhood, even before Father brought Mutsu and Hyogo, they used to play together with her and other highborn children. Those were some stupid childish games with no thoughts of training or future duty… |
a51ce108fa784a9d9f3dfa16969968c3 | ['a0c348c3239d484ba993d38b2ed1a2ac'] | 'No, I don't think so, just giving you a heads up.'
'Roger that.'
Joker looked at the crowd outside, zooming in closer to get details. They were walking wounded, multiple species pulled together by a common need. Men, women and children, some in uniforms, some with torn or burnt clothing, all in need of aid, there were no blank faces, no emotionless eyes. They were all moving freely and definitely aware of their surroundings. A man in a C-sec uniform stepped up to James who half raised his weapon and the man stopped, a pained expression on his face.
'This is the Normandy, isn't it?' He glanced up at the ship. 'This is Shepard's ship.'
'That's right,' James nodded, still cautious.
'Is she here?'
'Why do you want to know?' James was frowning and Joker could feel his growing edginess from the bridge as he skipped a few unnecessary checks to make the pre-flight faster.
'We want to thank her,' the man sighed and Joker felt himself relax.
'No, man, she's not here,' James placed his hand gently on the man's shoulders. 'Joker, can we get a medic out here and maybe some supplies.'
'Roger that,' Joker was already on the com letting the medic they'd picked up on Earth know that he was needed outside.
He also sent a message to the cargo bay and asked Steve to bring up some ration bars and water. He knew they had plenty on board because Shepard had been fastidious in ordering supplies to see them through long term space flight. It wasn't long before the sound of a cargo hoist behind him made him turn.
'Joker, what's going on?' Steve was pushing the loaded hoist forward.
'We've got wounded and hungry people outside, thought we might help.' He eyed the crates, 'is there dextro stuff in there.'
'Yeah, grabbed a bit of everything.' Steve nodded and headed out the airlock, the medic and several crew members on his heels.
Joker watched as James opened a crate and bent down to hold out a ration bar to a child that had stepped forward. His face told of horrors he'd seen, his shaking hands told of the fear he'd felt and he suddenly threw himself into James' arms and buried his face in his neck. Joker could see the emotion James was trying to hold in as he picked the shuddering child up and held him securely against his chest.
'Are the monsters gone,' Joker heard the child whisper.
'Yeah,' James' voice trembled, 'the monsters are gone.'
Without letting go of the child and struggling to hide tears James used his free hand to grab ration bars and hand them out to others who came forward. As the medic and Steve handed out food and water and offered aid Joker could see the relief on the faces of those who had thought they were going to die, tears rolled freely down their cheeks as they accepted aid. They reached out to touch the crew as they moved among them, needing to know they were real, that they were safe.
Joker found his own emotions breaking through. It was over. They'd been fighting this war for so long there was an unreal feeling to its end. He was still waiting for the next alarm to sound, for the next planet that needed saving, for Shepard to give him the next set of co-ordinates that they needed to get to in a hurry. He watched the people outside and knew the casualty list would be unknown, there was no possible way they could account for all the dead. He wondered where the child's parents were, how many had been orphaned by this war, how many parents had lost their children, how many brothers and sisters had been lost.
He thought of Hilary and found himself gripping the arms of his chair. Would he ever know if she was alive, if she'd died a slow painful death, if she'd been turned into something grotesque that someone had been forced to kill. Had she somehow survived, had his father survived. His hands were shaking as he struggled to hold back the tide of emotion that threatened to drown him. Did he have anyone left to live for, if Shepard ….
'What the …'
Joker's head snapped up to Garrus' feed and his eyes widened in disbelief. Garrus had stopped and he could hear the startled questions from behind him that were quickly silenced as Dr Chakwas dashed forward. Walking towards them was a keeper, it arms holding a limp form, battered, burned and bloody. It was almost unrecognisable but he knew her body as intimately as he knew his own. Joker gasped at the damage, there were layers of skin missing, muscle and bone protruded and armour melded with what little skin was still intact. How could she survive that?
The thudding of his heart drowned out everything else as he watched the keeper gently lower Shepard to the ground and Chakwas reached out to feel for a pulse. His body shook uncontrollably and somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he was probably going into shock. He couldn't stop it. As Chakwas ran her omnitool over Shepard he wrapped his arms around himself and huddled into his chair. Tears ran freely down his cheeks.
'She's alive, barely,' Chakwas went to work as Kaidan bent to help her and once she was happy Shepard was stable enough to move she stood up and turned to Garrus, 'we need to get her back to the Normandy now!' As if sensing his distress Chakwas spoke into Joker's ear. 'Jeff, she's alive.'
Joker's body trembled as exhaustion, fear and relief fought for control. It wasn't until he felt hands on his arms that he tumbled back into reality. He gasped for breath as he looked up into the concerned eyes of Steve. | 68ed9713c2e24586b115ae869e59772e | ['a0c348c3239d484ba993d38b2ed1a2ac'] | 'My father was on to something.' She paused and swallowed and James could see she was fighting back tears. 'The Leviathans are an ancient race, older than the Reapers. It's possible they created the reapers as they are built in the image of paintings we've found.'
'If they created them why aren't they controlling them?' James asked between mouthfuls.
'We don't know. Maybe they lost control somewhere along the way. Maybe they went down the same path as the quarians and the geth.' Ann stared at her hands before continuing, 'once I have access to my father's latest data I might be able to tell you more.'
'Question is,' Garrus dropped back into his seat, 'will they help us?'
'I'd be asking if we can trust them.' James said, earning questioning gazes from everyone. 'What? If they've been around for so long, allowing races to be harvested, why should we expect them to stand with us. They've hidden for this long, what makes you think that will change.'
'We have the Crucible in this cycle,' Liara pointed out.
'Yeah, what does it do and how do we use it?'
'I'm sure we'll figure that out,' she shrugged.
'You sound doubtful, James.' Shepard looked at him from under a creased brow. 'You don't think it will work?'
'Shit, Lola, I don't know. It just seems … convenient.' He pushed his plate aside as he placed his arms on the table and leant forward. 'Why are we finding this now? No offence doc,' he held up his hand towards Liara, 'but we've known about the Mars archives for thirty years, scientists have dug all sorts of stuff out of them, then all of a sudden this thing pops up right when we need it. It feels off.' He sat back and stretched out his legs, 'but I'm only a marine, not a scientist. What do I know?'
'It's a good point,' Ann looked at him and he felt a small surge of pride. 'Does Leviathan have some sort of plan, we know they can control people so is that what they're planning for us. Get us to destroy the Reapers and become the dominant race.'
'Well this war just got a lot more creepy.' Garrus muttered.
'What if destroying the Reapers is not the only option?' Everyone looked to EDI waiting for her to clarify. 'By destroying the Reapers Leviathan loses their ultimate method of control. If, as Ann suggests, this is the same as the geth and quarians perhaps they are more interested in regaining control over their creations.'
'You think the Crucible could do that?' Shepard asked.
'It is possible. Until we discover what the catalyst is the function of the Crucible is unknown.'
'How do we know the Crucible is not some giant indoctrination device,' Garrus held up his hands as all eyes fell on him. 'Only putting it out there.'
'But the Crucible doesn't come from Leviathan, it comes from multiple races.' Liara put forward her argument.
'Does it?' James ignored the glare she gave him. 'How do we know?'
'Commander, the salarian ship is about to dock with us, they're happy to return Dr Bryson to the Citadel.' Joker spoke over their heads.
'Thanks, Joker.' Shepard pushed back from the table and stood up. 'This is getting us nowhere. Until we find Leviathan we're guessing. I suggest we focus on that for now. Ann, if you follow me we'll go meet your ride.'
James watched her leave before clearing the table. He caught Liara as she headed back to her quarters.
'Hey, doc, have you got a minute?'
'Of course,' she indicated for him to follow her.'
'Thanks, I wanted to ask if you've got any more news for the crew.'
'Actually, yes I have. I've been a bit lax in passing it on, with other things happening.'
'No problem, doc,' he followed her into her quarters, a little slower than necessary, hoping his job wasn't going to be delivering death notices.
65. Chapter 65
**** 65 ****
James sat at the mess table, reading his report for the Cyone mission, taking an occasional sip of the coffee in his hand. Up until serving with Shepard he'd never thought much about his reports, they were just words to explain what happened. Since reading some of hers and knowing that his experience could help others he made more of an effort to put in full, helpful and detailed reports. It might take him a bit longer but he believed the time would be worth it. He'd learned things from Shepard's reports and he hoped someone could learn from his.
Captain Riley and her team had impressed him. An N7 graduate working with other species in a joint effort to preserve fuel supplies and keep ships flying. He admired her determination and commitment. When her teammate had gone down and they were getting overrun he had no doubt she would sacrifice herself to save the others, just like Shepard. He hadn't hesitated when Shepard sent him to her aid. If he wanted to earn the right to be among their ranks he had to be professional and committed. Yes he hated leaving Shepard and Garrus but being a soldier meant following orders, it didn't matter that he worried about the woman he loved and his friend as long as it didn't distract him from his task. Praise from Riley and Shepard after caused a rush of heat to his face but he accepted it with a nod and no small amount of pride. He hadn't put that bit in his report though.
'Something interesting?' Kaidan sat beside him, coffee in hand.
'Just my report for Cyone,' he lay the datapad on the table.
'Ah, you've got the Shepard's report style sickness.'
'The what?' |
a48c9f40ae4e45f7b2014e7d13887e2e | ['a0cb6193ed3342d8b9a1e5380e0a096d'] | “Nah, not yet.” He decides. “Why don't you get back to what you were doing?”
Lance’s cheeks burn, but he's not one to be outdone when it comes to cockiness, and the smirk playing at Keith’s lips is doing... _ certain things _ to him.
He pushes down his embarrassment and reaches for his cock, finally curling his hand back around it and pumping slowly. He starts light, hesitant, not quite up to the pace he’d been at when Keith walked in, and Keith’s eyes follow the motion, dark and wanting. He licks his lips when Lance swipes his thumb over the head, and it pulls a frankly pathetic moan from Lance’s throat.
He’s panting now, tightening his grip around his dick, his head falling back against the headboard when he squeezes at the base. He can feel Keith shifting at the end of the bed, adjusting himself to move closer to Lance. Heat is bursting low in his stomach like fireworks, spurred on how Keith keeps moving further into his personal space, hand splayed on Lance’s thigh and feeling how the muscles twitch and tense as the beginnings of orgasm edge in.
“You’re close,” he murmurs, breath hot on Lance’s neck. His hand inches up Lance’s thigh, tauntingly close to the base of his dick, and Lance whimpers. He nods wordlessly, mouth open and gasping as he fists his cock, hand pumping up and down faster and faster the closer he gets. He feels Keith’s smirk against his skin, and then Keith’s pressing gentle kisses up and down the column of Lance’s neck, pausing every now and then to suck and bite at the places he knows from experience are sensitive.
Lance groans again, tilting his head to give Keith better access. He feels the heat in his stomach knot into itself, his balls pulling up tight, then Keith’s biting down _ hard _ at the crook of his neck and a sound he refuses to acknowledge pulls itself from Lance’s throat. His vision practically whites out when he comes, but he feels it, spilling hot over his hands and against his chest.
He barely has time to fall into post-orgasm clarity before Keith is getting up off of the bed, grabbing a few tissues before helping Lance clean off before tossing them away. Lance pulls his boxers back up, relaxing back into the bed as Keith climbs back into it alongside him, kicking his shoes off and sprawling out next to Lance.
“So…” Keith begins. “Sex demon?”
Lance sighs, rolling his eyes at him. “You can’t even deny it. I totally created a monster.”
Keith snorts. “Yeah, okay.”
“I’m serious!” Lance insists. “I’m surprised you haven’t gotten down and dirty with half of the people on campus since getting to experience the wonders of Lancey Lance.”
Keith laughs this time, swatting at Lance’s arm.
“Like I’d ever do shit with anyone other than you.” He scoffs, rolling his eyes. He says it casually, matter-of-fact, like he doesn’t think his words will knock the air from Lance’s lungs the way they do.
“Right,” Lance manages, pushing down the breathless feeling clutching at his chest and watching Keith readjust himself on the bed, oblivious to his inner turmoil. “No way.”
4. rule number four
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> “What’d you just say?” He asks, brows furrowing. Rolo looks back at him lazily, taking a slow drag from the joint.
>
> “I said Keith seemed pretty pissed about you and Allura. He have a crush on her or something?” He asks, blowing smoke out his nostrils, and Lance’s blood goes cold.
>
> “What?” He says shakily.
>
> “I mentioned I saw you and Allura run off to go fuck or somethin’ at that party,” Rolo says matter-of-factly. “Bro just stormed off.” He takes another long drag of the joint, eyes lidded.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> THIS IS VERY LATE! me and erica are both in school rn so we've been pretty held up. hope y'all enjoy though
>
> tw for drug usage at the end of the chapter
“I feel like I keep asking you this,” Keith starts, putting his book down. “But are you okay?”
Lance looks away from where he’s scrolling aimlessly through his phone, eyes darting down to where Keith’s head is resting on his lap. He smiles, shutting his phone off and setting it aside. The two are relaxing on Keith’s bed, Lance leaning against the wall while Keith casually rests against him, Lance’s hand occasionally playing with the hair that’s splayed across his lap.
“I’m fine. Just today getting me down, that’s all.”
Keith frowns, tilting his head slightly. “What's today?”
Lance stares at him, brows raised. “Valentine’s day? Day of love and accidentally making more Scorpios, all that shit.”
“Oh,” Keith says, blinking. “I totally forgot about that.” He frowns. “Also, what's wrong with Scorpios?”
“Says the Scorpio,” Lance retorts. Keith rolls his eyes, sitting up and turning to face him.
“Very funny. But seriously, what’s going on?” He asks again. Lance groans, letting his head fall back against the wall.
“I just...it's bringing attention to the fact that I'm not good enough, y’know?” He sighs. “Like…for a relationship.”
“Wait, what?” Keith says, surprised. _ “You?” _
“Yeah, duh. I irritate people and get on their nerves a _ lot, _ most people just look at me and see some arrogant goofball─”
“You’re wrong,” Keith blurts out, grabbing Lance’s hands and cutting him off. “God─you’re _ so _ wrong, Lance.” He pauses, frowning. “I know our whole…deal started because we were talking about how people look at me, but I wish you’d realize how everyone looks at _ you.” _
Lance’s mouth falls open, staring at Keith as he takes a deep breath, shifting nervously before looking Lance right in the eye. | 424624fe9a0441b193623376f189799a | ['a0cb6193ed3342d8b9a1e5380e0a096d'] | now please never talk to me about anything real estate for three weeks
**hunk** _Today at 1:10 PM_
mood
**keith** _Today at 1:15 PM_
hey
so
lance and i found an apartment
just. wanted to let you know, i guess
**krolia** _Today at 1:20 PM_
Congratulations!
I’m excited for you.
**keith** _Today at 1:23 PM_
thanks
so am i
✦
“You are not carrying me through the threshold.” Keith says, arms crossed. He’s giving Lance Look #247, _‘I love you but will not hesitate to kill you in your sleep’,_ the way he so often does. Lance just grins back, holding his arms out.
“C’mon, please? It’ll be fun!”
“No, Lance.”
Lance pouts, then sighs. “Then you leave me no choice.”
Keith eyes widen suddenly, arms falling to his sides and taking a step back. Lance grins once more, taking a step towards him.
“Lance, I swear to God if you take another fucking step─”
“Too late!” Lance yells, rushing forward and wrapping his arms around Keith, who yelps and scrambles in his grasp.
“Lance!” Keith shouts. Lance ignores him, adjusting his grip so he’s carrying Keith bridal style. Keith finally relaxes, arms looping around Lance’s neck. His face his flushed, and he’s giving Lance a fond look disguised by a scowl. Lance just kicks the door open and eagerly carries Keith into their apartment.
“Welcome home, baby,” Lance says, finally setting Keith down. Keith leaves his arms looped around Lance’s neck, pressed flush against him.
“Why thank you, honey,” Keith teases, then stands on his tiptoes to press a kiss to Lance’s lips. His toes curl as he places his hands on Keith’s hips, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Eventually, they both pull away, Keith instead resting his head on Lance’s chest to look at the open space of their apartment.
“I never thought I’d live to see the day that we would finally agree on a place.”
Lance snorts, ducking his head to press a quick kiss atop Keith’s head. He pulls away and let’s his head rest against his surprisingly soft hair (that never fails to infuriate Lance), gazing out at their shared place.
“Well, you did it. Now for the hard part. Are you ready?” Lance asks. Keith pulls away, smiling softly with determination in his eyes.
“You bet.”
2. i want so much
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> Later, after spending a few hours with Krolia, Keith returns home. He pulls his apartment keys out of his pocket, humming to himself as he pushes the key in. Once he turns the key, he hears a loud, mewling noise.
>
> Keith’s blood runs cold, as he moves to look around. He hears it again, and hesitantly follows it.
>
> “Oh,” he says when his eyes fall upon two kittens, curled up next to each other. “Oh no.”
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> heads up: there is a time skip from the end of ch1 to the beginning of this chapter, but that's probably around six months?? give or take a few but yeah! we hope you like this!
_ “Okay, but should I tell the story of the time when a squirrel took a shit on Shiro’s head or the time when five ducks imprinted on him and followed him around for a month?” _
“As amusing as either of them sound,” Lance says, running a hand through his hair. “I think you’re overthinking this.” Keith frowns at Lance, letting the pencil fall from his hand.
_ “I want this to be perfect.” _
“No matter what embarrassing story you tell, Shiro’s gonna love it. However, I would like to formally request that you tell me every embarrassing story that you can remember for my own personal gain.”
Keith laughs, an action that Skype (that motherfucker) breaks up with static glitches. Lance still grins, lifting his hand to gently touch the screen.
“This suuucks,” Lance whines. “I hate doing long distance.” Keith smiles gently.
_ “Just a few more days, babe. Then you’ll come back home and we can do anything you want.” _
“Oh?” Lance says, removing his hand to wiggle his eyebrows at Keith. “Anything I want?” Keith blinks, then his face scrunches up, cheeks going pink.
_ “You’re so gross,” _ He grumbles, but Lance can hear a laugh in his voice. He grins at him, propping his head on his open palm.
“But seriously, don’t stress too much over this speech. You have months to write it, it’s not like it’s a late assignment that needs to be turned in at midnight.”
_ “Speaking of midnight,” _ Keith says, checking his phone then looking back at Lance. _ “It’s midnight here. And since the east coast is three hours ahead…” _
“Okay okay!” Lance laughs, putting his hands up in surrender. “I’ll go to sleep.”
Keith smiles. _ “I love you.” _
“I love you too baby. Get some sleep, I’ll talk to you when we’re done filming.”
Keith nods, and Lance mournfully moves the mouse over the red button to end the call. He hesitates, blows a kiss to the screen, then presses the button.
The call ends, leaving Lance staring at the white screen of Skype. With a sigh, he closes his laptop and stands up from his desk in his trailer, heading to his bed. He flops onto it, letting out another longer sigh.
Lance stares up at the ceiling, spread out on the small bed that he’s still not used to, wishing only to have Keith laying next to him.
✦
“I need your help.” Keith says, barging into Krolia’s apartment when the door finally opens.
“If this is about that best man speech you have to write, I will kick you out the window.” Krolia replies, shutting the door. She leans against it while Keith hops up onto the barstool, placing his notebook on the counter and pulling his pencil out of the spiral. |
bc9dde120b144dc2b2118ef4134bebb8 | ['a0dbe082750f46118d8456defb3de10c'] | Once again, Penelope clears her throat and chokes back her cough. She can practically taste the petals on her tongue and if she opens her mouth, she’ll just empty a handful of petals at Josie’s feet. Instead she just raises an eyebrow, as to say, ‘You do it, too’, the message seems to be clear because Josie averts her eyes, a slight blushing covering her cheeks.
“At least have the decency to do it in your room,” Josie says, sending her one last glare before turning around and leaving, without so much as a glance back.
Penelope watches her go.
And as soon as the door is closed, she is back to coughing up yellow petals and blood on the sink.
//
After the bathroom incident, Penelope confines herself to her room. Only going out for classes, mandatory assemblies and sometimes meals—she’s gotten pretty good at sneaking into the kitchen.
She avoids the library, always managing to make MG go get the books she needs. She avoids Josie and Lizzie in equal measure—which isn’t hard considering they’re attached to the hip—and the few times that she’s run into them she’s only smirked or winked their way then walked away.
Josie starts looking at her with worry, confusion and suspicion, and Penelope feels _that_ annoying feeling in her throat start to intensify.
She takes immediate action, risks being discovered by bothering Lizzie for a day until there’s no more worry in Josie’s eyes when she looks Penelope’s way.
She misses one game, two parties and even the annual talent show but she’s too busy vomiting to really care.
She doesn't really like extracurricular activities anyway.
//
But as it turns out, it wasn’t only Josie’s worry that she had to be concerned about.
She wakes up with a fever that makes her feel like she’s on fire and freezing at the same time. She feels no air reaching her lungs. She can’t _breathe_. Fuck. She rolls out of bed as best as she can, reaches for the trashcan and vomits. She vomits petals, blood, and more petals. A burning fire taking over her chest.
She huddles up in a corner of her room with her trashcan on one side and a roll of toilet paper on the other, opting to not leave her room at all.
That’s how Hope finds her.
To be honest, Penelope is pretty damn proud of herself for being able to keep this a secret for so long. But, of course, Hope’s the first to find out—after they saved Josie, they grew close, until the cough started, and Penelope started avoiding her.
She helps Penelope up and carefully places her on the bed, retrieving to the bathroom only to come back with a wet cloth that she proceeds to place on Penelope’s forehead.
“Didn’t take you for a nurse, Mikaelson,” Penelope says, it comes out weak and Hope’s frown deepens.
She doesn’t ask her who it is, but she has a yellow petal in the hand that isn’t holding Penelope’s. It’s pretty obvious anyways, it’s not like it’s a secret that she’s still madly in love with Josie Saltzman. It seems that the only person who doesn’t know is Josie herself.
Not that it matters. It won't change anything.
Penelope feels the need to say something, anything really, but the petals won’t stop coming. All she can do is throw up petals covered in blood.
Her breathing starts to go back to normal after a few minutes, and she only becomes aware of the blood on her lips when Hope’s hand softly cleans it.
“How bad is it?” Hope asks, looking from the petals to Penelope’s face.
“As bad as it looks,” Penelope answers honestly.
“The nurse—”
“Won’t help.” It’s not that kind of a disease, after all. There’s no cure for unrequited love.
Hope insists anyway. “She might. At least something to slow it down.”
“Fine,” Penelope relents, too tired to fight.
Hope practically carries her to the nurse’s office.
//
The nurse’s no help, just like Penelope said.
“Hanahaki disease,” the nurse says, as if they don’t fucking know that already. “You're in love.”
_Yeah, no shit._
“We already knew that,” Hope snaps, grabbing a tissue and wiping the blood from Penelope’s chin. “Can you give her anything for it?”
“I can give her something for the pain, it might help a bit,” she tells them with a frown. “Have you tried talking to whoever it is, maybe—”
“No, not happening.” Penelope coughs, and more yellow petals fall to the floor.
“Or,” the nurse begins cautiously, taking a closer look at a petal she picked up form the floor. “You can have the surgery.”
Penelope shakes her head furiously. “Yeah, no, that’s not happening either.”
She’s not going to have a surgery that’s going to take away all her feelings for Josie. It’s not going to take away just the love, it’s going to take away the admiration, the comfort, the interest, until she feels _nothing_ , absolutely nothing for Josie. She isn’t going to do that. She loves her too much to do that.
Just thinking about Josie has her coughing up more petals.
“There is really nothing you can do?” Hope asks, glaring at the nurse like it's her fault that Penelope's sick.
“This is all the information I have,” the nurse sighs. “I highly recommend telling this person…”
“I already said no,” Penelope cuts in. “That’s not happening.”
The nurse sighs again. “You know what will happen if—”
“We know,” Hope interjects, arms crossed and jaw set.
//
Every once in a while, they are given a day to go into town, and even though the last thing Penelope wants to do is go out, Hope drags her to Mystic Falls, insisting that getting out will do her some good. Penelope tries to tell her that she could literally start puking petals at any second, but Hope promises that she has it covered. | dc9b5bf42fe14afa978526851b3d56ce | ['a0dbe082750f46118d8456defb3de10c'] | It doesn’t start off as bad as Penelope expects, she actually manages to get through getting a coffee and a walk around the town square before something happens. One minute she is laughing, enjoying herself for the first time in a while, the next she’s seeing wolf-boy fucking _kiss_ Josie and running off to the nearest tree, heaving out petals, the pain making her fall to her knees.
She tries telling her body to stop, but it doesn't seem to listen. No matter how much she tries, she can't _stop_.
“What the hell?”
Penelope recognizes that voice. It’s MG.
“Are those _petals_?”
“We’ll tell you everything later, just get her somewhere no one can see her.”
“But—”
_“_ Damn it, MG. Do it. _Now._ ”
She feels herself get carried and rushed away, feeling cold as the wind hits her sweating body. She’s placed on the ground and she can breathe after what feels like forever and her stomach and throat have stopped hurting. Her eyes being to flutter, she can hear MG telling her something but as hard as she tries to concentrate it just sounds like incoherent words.
Penelope feels herself passing out. She tries to think of something beautiful, just in case it’s the last thing she sees, and the only thing that comes to her mind is Josie’s smile—the one that hasn’t been directed at her in a while.
And that sight makes her finally let herself give into the darkness.
//
Penelope blinks her eyes open to see one worried face leaning over her as she lays sprawled on the floor. Her chest hurts, she closes her eyes for a second and reaches a hand up to her throat that feels dry.
“You were out for a couple of minutes,” Hope says, her mouth pinched.
“I needed a nap,” she says, voice raspy, sitting up and taking the offered water bottled.
“You’re not funny.”
“I’m hilarious, and you know it.”
Hope rolls her eyes, helping her move so her back is against the cool brick wall then taking a seat beside her. “You really scared me, Pen.”
Penelope swallows. “Thanks for having my back.”
“Thanks for letting me be here for you.”
“Your welcome,” Penelope says, smiling slightly. “Although I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?”
Hope smiles, shaking her head. “No, you definitely didn’t.”
The door bursts open and MG walks in, looking both determined and angry.
“What’s got you in a mood?” Penelope asks, taking a sip of her water bottle.
“You,” MG says, waging a finger in her direction. “That’s who.”
“I—”
“I knew it wasn’t just a _cough_ and I let you get away with it,” he gives her a look. “But not this time, you are going to tell me what is going on and you are going to tell me now.”
“MG—”
“I’m serious, Hope,” he says, and Penelope has never seen him so upset. “She _fainted_ and was vomiting _petals_. That’s some crazy shit, so no more beating around the bush. Tell me.”
//
“There must be something—,” MG starts, looking frantically between Hope and Penelope. They’ve filled him on the basics: Hanahaki Disease, throwing up petals, unrequited love, surgery not an option, no other viable solution. “We need to do something. Maybe Jo—,” he tries again and they both glare at him making him stop talking. He huffs and drops down next to them.
“I could give you my blood then you would come back?” he tries, doubtfully. His voice is tight, like he’s trying not to cry. They all know it’s an idea that Penelope would never agree with. She’s a witch and witches believe in the natural order of things, if this is how she has to go then so be it. Her magic is a part of her, the only thing that she feels connects her to her family. Losing her magic isn’t an option just as much as having no feelings for Josie isn’t one either. She’d rather die first, which is what _will_ happen first.
Penelope just shakes her head and MG sighs. “There’s nothing you can do.”
MG shakes his head. “No. I’m not accepting that.”
“MG—” Hope starts, placing a hand on his knee.
“No, Hope,” he says, sternly. “This isn’t fair. It’s not fair that she’s allowing herself to die over this. It’s not fair that she’s _willingly_ letting herself die.”
“What you’re saying isn’t fair, MG,” Hope scolds.
MG ignores Hope and looks directly at Penelope. “I never took you for a quitter, Penelope.”
He’s up and gone before Penelope can even call after him.
//
Penelope isn’t surprised when she finds MG at her door a day later. He’s got a guilty smile on his face and a plate of chocolate chip cookies in his hands.
“I know I was rude yesterday,” he starts, holding out the plate.
Penelope nods. “Yeah, you were a world-class jerk.”
“There’s a reason for that,” he insists.
“I’m listening.”
He sighs. “I saw you puking blood and I felt helpless. You’re one of my closest friends, Peez. I don’t like seeing you suffer.”
Penelope softens, taking the offered plate and opening the door wider for him to come in. She doesn’t know what to say to that, she can’t give MG false hope, but she doesn’t want him to think that she doesn’t care.
“I…”
MG takes a seat on the bed. “I know, you don’t have to say it.”
Penelope nods, joining him on the bed and taking a cookie. She hopes it doesn’t taste like iron.
“You look…good,” he says, after a few moments of silence.
“Nice, MG, for a moment I almost believed you.”
“I’m just trying to make conversation!” MG defends. “You’ve just been so absent lately. I’ve missed hanging out.”
“I’m sorry,” Penelope says. “I just prefer to puke my guts out in private.”
MG winces and shakes his head. “I wish I could just fix this.” |
d4eefd9c1f1c40b9a54d759a7d53182e | ['a0e0a5ce1c0d4a2b93bb1d65a03fdc4e'] | The Boys Are Too Refined
Arya did not particularly fancy holding feasts for the High Queen of the southrons.
But her sister Sansa _lived_ for such things; swathed in her silks and soft furs she could've passed herself off as a southron as easily as Arya'd be spotted as a Stark Queen.
Though, in truth, Arya did very little to make herself presentable to a Lord; to anyone truly. Very few people bothered to glance twice at the Queen in the North's younger sister, and that was how Arya liked it. No second glances; no annoying suitors.
Her little brothers would make fine husbands or knights one day, or that was what Father told them. Personally, Arya was certain that she could hold a blade much better than Brandon; but whenever she told her brother as such, Father or Mother would tell her stop teasing.
Lord and Lady Stark, as they were now called since stepping down for Sansa, had made strong ties to the Storm Queens by betrothing little Rickon to the only daughter and heir to their House, Shireen Baratheon.
At four-and-ten, Arya found it strange to have her little brother already betrothed at only five. To a girl of the same age as herself. But at least his life would be a good one; the Baratheon Queens and their Lords had resounding ties to the Lannisters from Lord Stannis' brother Robert. That meant gold, and lots of it.
To say that Arya hated the fat Lord would be wholly an understatement. He'd been invited along with his wife and Queen, Cersei Lannister, and their brood. But her father adored him, and so Arya stilled her tongue for his sake.
Arya did not think much of their oldest, a pouty-lipped skinny man, that bore a strong resemblance to his uncle. But the younger brother, the spare, made strong attempts to catch her attention; she almost found it endearing. Tommen Lannister offered her a horse as a gift the second day that his family stayed in Winterfell. A strong destrier with a mane the colour of her House.
Arya offered the boy a smile. "Thank you, my Lord. What is her name?"
Tommen, as it were, was much shier, more demure than his horrid brother. Arya decided that she liked him. "Ah-um, her name is Filene, Your Grace." He folded his hands behind his back, stepping away from the horse. "Lord Willas Tyrell bred her very well, yes?"
Arya ran her hand through the mare's fringe. "Yes, quite well. Thank you," she said again, grinning. They chatted a little as Arya lead the horse into a stall, and then headed back to the keep.
.
.
A few weeks later, her mother announced that she was to wed Tommen Lannister, and that she was to take the title of Lady of Riverrun.
.
.
Arya Stark, for she looked a direwolf no matter that her mother and title said she was a fish, sat on the edge of her wedding bed, wearing nought but her undergarments and feeling foolish. Tommen Lannister, now Tommen Tully, sat beside her; equally awkward with his long legs and eager-to-please attitude.
Arya sighed, stretching her legs from under her chin. She turned to see him watching her warily. "Are you still a maid, Tommen?" she asked, watching the slight fear on his face turn to embarrassment.
Tommen did not answer, but instead nodded once before turning his eyes away. Arya snorted, moving until she faced her husband.
"It is okay to be one, Tommen. I still am." At her words, he lifted a brow and Arya laughed. "Mother said that it would be harder to find a husband because I'm not as beautiful as my sister. That men usually liked a woman who didn't know how to do…" she trailed off, a blush touching her face. "Well, and that I only have the title of 'Lady' probably has more to do with my mother not wanting me to fool around with the little lords that came into Winterfell every so often." She told the last part in a rush of breath that gave her nervousness away.
Tommen looked thoughtful.
"I think you to be prettier than your sister," he told her softly.
Arya moved closer to him, hands resting boldly on his thighs, nose touching his. Arya smiled at him, watching as he mirrored her.
"And I think you to be prettier than your brother," she returned. Tommen grinned at the jape, and leant forward to brush his lips with hers.
As he did, he froze, moved to break away from her and most likely to apologise as he usually did when he did something out of turn; but she stopped him by pulling herself into his lap and tangling her hands in his blonde hair. Her husband squeaked, and she pulled her lips from his to kiss his rosy cheeks.
"Are you sure of this?" she asked him, met his eyes, which were now dark instead of green.
Tommen nodded dumbly and Arya laughed, pulled him down to her and they fell into one another. | 392c3f21d1194206855d7eccb06bf77b | ['a0e0a5ce1c0d4a2b93bb1d65a03fdc4e'] | A Second Dance of Sorts
**Author's Note:**
> Aegon/Arya because I'm a sucker for this paring, no matter how sweet Tommen is in the fics I write.
> I can't help myself. Just read and enjoy.
Visenya climbed atop Lightwing, breathing hard. The dragon's wings unfurled, and Visenya had barely enough time to chain herself to the saddle before the great violet serpent was hundreds of meters in the air. She could hear and see a flurry of men now at the Pit; they would not be able to catch her now.
Her father had only recently died in a Greyjoy Rebellion, along with several other High Lords and their men. Her ever-ambitious elder sister Daenys claimed that it was to be _she_ who inherited the Iron Throne.
After openly proclaiming that it was not within her rights to sit the throne, Visenya Targaryen fled to Dragonstone; to her mother and uncle Jon, for fear of retribution.
.
.
Lightwing wasn't all that big; only barely the size of one of Drogon's forewings from snout to the tip of her tail, but her flames were lilac and could melt rock. Being smaller than the other three eggs that were lain by Rhaegal meant that she was quicker despite her lack of strength, and Visenya reached Dragonstone within the day.
Lightwing's great mailed sides were heaving as they landed on the rocky shore, her wicked claws digging divots into the sand, and the she-dragon let loose a scream that echoed off of the mountain and hills.
Her mother was running down the stone steps, Jon Snow not far behind. Daenerys Targaryen had retreated to her ancestral home the moment the raven that carried news of her husband's death had reached King's Landing.
But she wore no black, preferring the leathers and vests that her Dothraaki khalasar were renowned for. Her thick, silver-blonde hair was tied back and was adorned with tiny, golden bells that tinkled as she walked.
Visenya dismounted and winced as her mother enveloped her in a warm, distinctly motherly embrace. Her thighs ached, and her neck had a kink from her hunching over the saddle to shield her face from most of the wind. But she clung tightly to her mother all the same.
Her tiny, stubborn mother.
"Come inside, Visenya. You must be tired." Her uncle Jon's quiet, but firm tone came.
Visenya pulled away from Daenerys and nodded. "Yes," she said, and stepped back to her dragon. "Me and Lightwing both."
The she-dragon's violet scales glittered in the lame reds and oranges and pinks of the dying sun, turning them a darker colour; almost blue. The serpent hummed and rested her head by her mistress's legs.
Daenerys Targaryen nodded as well, arms open and welcoming. She did not ask why her daughter had all but raced to her; Visenya suspected that she somehow already knew the way mothers somehow did.
After seeing to Lightwing, Visenya went to meet her family for supper.
.
.
Little Rhaella squealed with excited glee at seeing Visenya again, pale pink lips pulling back to reveal slightly crooked teeth. Though it had only been barely half a year since they'd last seen each other.
Rhaella launched herself into her elder sister's arms, and Visenya caught her with a grin.
"Senya!" she cried. "I missed you!"
Visenya placed her once again upon the smooth stones of the keep, genuine happiness bubbling up from her chest. She ran a calloused hand over her sister's silver-blonde curls. "And I you, little sister."
Jon Snow glanced away from them then, and made for the supping hall.
"Come along, sweetling," their mother called, drawing Senya's attention away.
And later, Rhaella made Visenya promise to see her again before she left, to which Senya replied she might be staying a while.
Rhae seemed pleased with her response. |
4fcfe04a3f7c431795615aa777cd46c5 | ['a0fc46356e3d4bad9e4508ce6c4eae50'] | “Maybe Tony Stark will notice my robot and I’ll get an actual Internship-,” Flash was smirking straight at Ned but Ned only shook his head in annoyance. The voices of the other kids on the trip were steadily whispering behind them as they walked.
“-who do you think Stark Jr. is,”
“Maybe we have a class with him or something-,”
“Do you think he’s on this trip or-,”
“Of course he’s not on this trip! That’s like taking a tour of your own home-,”
Ned shook his head a little in amusement because, oh yeah, that was a thing.
The kids were trying to sort out who could possibly get this much attention from SI.
Honestly, Ned wondered how kids so smart could be so dumb about this kind of stuff.
“Hey Dead, if you think my design was great with a bunch of crap in a box how do you think it would look with actual materials.” The students standing nearby glared at Flash, trying to pointedly turn back to their conversations. “Maybe Tony Stark will-,”
“Actually the entire point of the exercise was to show that a great design doesn’t need fancy stuff to work. Having expensive metals doesn’t matter if your design is bad.” Maggie said, a tight smile on her face as she gave a stern look to, surprisingly, the teacher who was completely absorbed with the roaster, making sure all the kids were in the group together.
“I may remind all of you,” She said, turning from flash and speaking a little louder for the rest of the room to hear. “We have a strict no-bullying policy while your all on SI property, remember the waivers you signed.”
Ned pretended to cough, leaning into his hand to hide a smile.
Flash glared at him gritting his teeth.
**Stark Jr.**
Maggie, kept her eye on that kid, Dash or whatever, while leading the group to their next stop on the tour.
“The Hero’s Vault.” She said gesturing out into the room. The kid’s oohed and ahhed appropriately as they all filed into the room. “These are displays of the weapons and armour of heroes, you might recognize a few names.”
“Is that the Widowbites!”
“Wow, the Iron Man armour!”
“Is this Spider-Man’s suit!”
Maggie smiled as the kid’s dispersed into the room. She turned to look at the teacher who was still going over the roaster religiously.
What originally seemed like a responsible adult who was making sure his kids didn’t wander off, was suddenly a really incompetent person that couldn’t see ten feet away from the paper he was holding.
Maggie cleared her throat a little standing next to the teacher who was still looking from the roaster, up then back down to the roaster again, matching names with faces.
“Uh, sir?” The teacher looked up making eye contact with Maggie.
“Yes?”
“Don’t you think,” Maggie started, her smile shaking as her voice badly hid her anger, “That maybe you should be watching your kids?”
“I am,” He said like Maggie was dumb, gesturing to the roaster and Maggie grit her teeth.
“No, like actually watch the kids. Like how their interacting and what there doing and saying to one another. Maybe you could go up and ask a kid what they like about one of those displays or just- something?”
The teacher started to glare at Maggie and Maggie tensed up, “Are you criticising how I run a classroom?”
Absolutely yeah. Maggie wanted to say.
“Of course not,” Maggie said instead. “I just think that maybe the kids could benefit from talking to their teacher a little more one on one you know,”
And maybe putting you directly in the crossfires could make you see what’s right in front of your face.
That part was left unsaid however and Maggie suddenly felt really tired as the teacher turned to her.
“I don’t tell you how to do your job,”
Which is something no one who actually does a good job at their job has to say.
“You’re right.” Maggie said with a smile that made her feel like she was back in retail all over again. “I don’t know how it’s like as a teacher, I'll just go answer any of the questions the kids might have,”
Like a teacher…
Maggie moved away from the conversation because there really was no getting through to someone who didn’t want to hear criticism.
I bet he thinks he’s such a great teacher. Maggie thought to herself and really, don’t they always.
Maggie pulled away from him, mentally running through how satisfied she was going to be when Ms. Potts and Dr. Stark rampage on Peter’s school.
She could only imagine the amount of zero’s on that lawsuit.
“Isn’t that Stark Jr.’s name!” A kid yelled.
Maggie turned to see a small group of kids huddled around a Spider-Man suit model.
That guy was a really popular hero, Maggie would give him that.
She wouldn’t have picked spandex if you asked her though. | 1d91c517116d49d1ba826193ebf3b3eb | ['a0fc46356e3d4bad9e4508ce6c4eae50'] | A loud knocking on the door startled him, making him croak out a ‘just a minute’ before tensely pausing. He couldn’t face anyone like this, hell he couldn’t even handle looking himself in the mirror, and that’s when his face is in decent shape.
Virgil pulled himself back up to his feet, leaning against the sink and running the water. He pulled a few paper towels off the roll and wet them, pressing it to his face and holding it there.
A flash of colour and a short paragraph of words on the bottom of his left wrist had him turning his attention back to his skin. The writing was fairly recent according to the vivid, unsmudged colour. The red ink meant that it was one of Roman’s messages. The single light blue check-mark next to it meaning Logan hadn’t read it yet, but Patton had.
Virgil shifted his hold on the paper towels uncomfortably, pulling his right hand up to hold them as he slowly pulled his left wrist away from his face to be able to read the message.
Something twisted in his gut at each word, suddenly wishing he hadn’t read it. Wishing he didn’t have to have something else to agonize over for the rest of the day.
‘Let’s meet! Cedar Cafe 11:00 saturday?’
Virgil felt something clench in his stomach, mind turning the words over.
They were meeting, they were going to start to see each other and talk to one another and soon they wouldn’t need to write anymore.
Virgil was going to be left alone again. The brief period of time where he had nothing, no soul-mate drawings and no light had been so long ago he didn’t know how he had once survived that way. Soon the colours would stop and the term “Soulless” would suddenly become an appropriate insult. Even if he technically had a soulmate, or in his case soulmate’s, would that matter?
It would be so easy to forget that. Without the ink, without each doodle and note to remind him of the warmth the glow of happiness gave, who’s to say he wouldn’t be able to just brush these last few years off as a sad hallucination.
Virgil’s breathing wasn’t coming, the shaky tipping feeling making him stumble as he turned quickly, vomiting in the toilet.
He settled on the floor, leaning against the wall next to the toilet, legs haphazardly splayed in front of him.
Watching them these last few years had been his only respite from a turbulence filled life, but he would be selfish to try and force that. What kind of soulmate would he be if he jeopardize their happiness for his? Not that he could do anything to stop them in the first place. They’ll meet, fall in love the way fate intended it, and Virgil will be alone. Also, the way fate intended it.
Pulling himself off the floor Virgil had a new resolve in his short list of mental rules, to put their happiness before his, since they have the possibility, the capacity to be happy in the first place.
He rinsed out his mouth before tugging the tap to turn the water off. He tugged his jacket off the mirror before shakily pulling it back on himself. Covering the words and notes that will soon be washed away with time, taking the only hints that there was light in the world with them. His eyes burned as he yanked his hood back over his head, opening the door.
Virgil jumped at seeing a teacher standing just outside of it, foot tapping impatiently and arms crossed.
“Well, you sure took your sweet time, what are you doing out of class?” Her strong voice irritated Virgil’s concussion addled eardrums making him cringe.
“Uuuh- bathroom?” Virgil said, shoulders hunching as he slouched further into his hood.
“Bathroom huh? Do you have a bathroom pass?” She crossed her arms and tried to hold the ‘im the adult in charge here’ power over him but Virgil only felt the helpless bubbles of resignation in his stomach. He was so tired.
“Nope.” He said, shrugging his shoulders.
Her eyes lit with a fury he had seen in many adults before her. The Indignation of being opposed, disrespected, by a ‘no-good-kid’ was most definitely rising in her chest. She grabbed his upper arm and pulled him to follow her.
“The principle might have something to say about that!”
He gritted his teeth at the contact, her hand digging into his already bruised skin in a harsh way. His mind flooded with his mother’s reaction, whether or not they’d call her. Whether or not she would be forced to drive from work to the school once again because of something he did, because of his own stupid mistakes.
Of course they would call her. That’s always what happened. This always went one way and his fears only increased with that knowledge.
There was no room for hope in these situations, and as the teacher that Virgil had never met before pulled him into the office, he was able to make eye contact with the office lady with stony apathy.
“My goodness! Mrs. Higgs what happened to his eye!” She said, startled eyes raking over his face with pity.
Mrs. Higgs’s face fell to one of confusion before she pulled him to turn towards her her hands gripping his upper arms. One hand moved to grip his hood and he ducked his head as she pulled it off.
The brightness in the area hit him full force and he sighed in pain, eyes squinting against the heavy lights.
Mrs. Higgs let out a small hiss at the sight of his uncovered face before her mouth thinned into a straight line. She suspiciously looked at his eye, before taking his chin in her hands and turning his head so she could get a better look at it. |
ab5b1cc2391b442e995f3d2599c7960e | ['a106e61632614c78ade87cac5444305b'] | "Sweet," Daniel muttered to himself in unconscious mimicry of O'Neill. He'd have to do what he could for it with strips torn from his clothing. Then he noticed what he had been half aware of all along, that he was no longer wearing his own fatigues. Instead, he was clad in a sleeveless white tunic that came barely to his knees. No wonder he was so cold. His prison was scarcely warmer than outside, and this light garment couldn't begin to keep the chill at bay. Goosebumps had broken out, and he shivered continuously.
Rather clumsily, he managed to tear a strip from the bottom of the tunic and wrap it around his arm, almost whimpering with the pain. Nothing to clean the wound with so he could only hope to stop the bleeding. Once he had the bandage in place, he felt a little better, and he propped himself against the wall although the effort left him shaking and sweating. He could concentrate fully on the worry that permeated him. "Where are you, Jack?" he muttered.
He needed to discover where he was and what had happened to Jack. There had been too many of the dogs. Jack must be...hurt worse than he was. He didn't want to take that thought any deeper. Loss of blood had left him lightheaded and a little disoriented, but he knew he had to get out of this cell. Cell? Was it a prison? Was he trapped here? He couldn't be. He had to find Jack. If O'Neill's wounds hadn't been treated, either, then he would need help quickly, and it looked like there was no one but Daniel to give it. Jack had to be hurt worse than he was, and Daniel didn't think he could take his absence to mean that the locals were busy bandaging him first.
He staggered painfully to his feet, a groan forced from him as he pushed himself erect and a wave of pain flowed through his arm. With the wall for support, he circled the room on unsteady bare feet, exploring it as thoroughly as possible, checking for seams that might indicate a doorway or any evidence of writing, even if he didn't recognize the language. If a way out existed, it must be in the ceiling, out of sight in the darkness above his head. He couldn't get out that way. Trembling with fatigue from even such slight exertion, he sat down to wait for his head to stop swimming. "Jack? Sam? Teal'c? Can anybody hear me?" he yelled.
"There is no need to shout."
Daniel's head jerked up wildly at the prompt and unexpected response. He was still alone in the cell. The voice came from a speaker grid set just below the viewscreen. He should have guessed he was under observation. The towers had watched them all along. With an effort, he forced himself to his feet again to confront the threat. "Who are you?" he demanded. "Where is this? What have you done with Jack?" Better not to mention Sam and Teal'c in case they were still free, although his shout had already alerted the observer to the fact that he and the Colonel hadn't been alone. If the tower spires were remote cameras, the people here already knew how many people were in their party. More of the dogs might have already attacked Carter and the Jaffa. They might be....
"We have done nothing with him," a female voice replied carelessly as if it couldn't matter. "The greathounds killed him, not us."
Daniel jerked with all the impact of a staff weapon blast. No! It had to be a lie. He wouldn't believe it. "Killed?" he faltered. "You mean Jack's _dead_?" They had to be lying. It wasn't true. _Don't let it be true._ "No, he can't be." His voice hardened accusingly. "You saved _me_ from them. Why didn't you save _him_?"
"The greathounds are many and vicious," the man said indifferently. "As you see."
The screen flickered to life to present a view of the barren valley leading to the ruins with the carved walls, and Daniel watched miserably as the beasts dragged Jack down just as they had in reality. The security cameras had videotaped the episode. He heard Jack warning him away, and his own determination not to desert his friend, saw the greathound that attacked him, the light that shot out and stunned him. He vanished from the scene without a trace. Teleportation? Jack yelled his name and tried to get to him, erupting out of a tangle of greathounds, bleeding from many wounds. Maybe he thought the light had vaporized Daniel. Even injured, he was fighting like crazy. Although Daniel had hoped that the speakers were mistaken, that Jack had managed to survive after all, he could not doubt the evidence of his own eyes as the beasts dragged him down again and one of the remaining greathounds went for Jack's throat, then raised it's bloodstained muzzle to bay harshly in triumph. Daniel shivered sickly on the verge of throwing up. Unbearable pain ran through his body. He couldn't stand it. Jack couldn't be dead so horribly. But there it was on the screen, unbearably real.
"You could have saved him, you know," The woman sounded bored. "If your aim had been better, if you were quicker...."
"No!" he protested with violent revulsion. Was it true? Had Jack died knowing Daniel had failed to save him? Had he died blaming him? It couldn't be, not when Jack had warned him off, had tried to save him. But maybe he hadn't been quick enough. Maybe he could have blasted the one that had ripped Jack's throat out. He turned his face away from the screen and didn't even try to stop the anguished tears sliding down his cheeks. | b3f6eb0b505240a48dc1910ee4fbc341 | ['a106e61632614c78ade87cac5444305b'] | "Oh, good, I get to be a test case?" O'Neill was still in there pitching. "Okay, Doc, do your stuff." He nodded at the older man.
The healing gizmo hummed to life as the alien doctor placed it firmly against the Colonel's arm. Jack grimaced, then his eyes widened in surprise. "I didn't know it would feel like _that_ ," he blurted.
"I told you it was great," Daniel reminded him. "Are you okay?"
"I'm getting that way fast."
"Amazing." Frasier had her fingers on O'Neill's wrist, feeling his pulse. "This might be the best thing you ever brought back through the gate."
"And we have a new ally," Sam put in with a grin. "One at much our own level of technology. We shouldn't have the problems we had with the Nox or the Tollans. And we have the Gate coordinates to their colony worlds. We can send these children home as soon as we've had a chance to debrief."
"That's very good news," Hammond replied, heading for the older man. "General George Hammond, in command of this project," he offered, holding out his hand. "Welcome, Dr. Prin."
Teal'c translated hastily. "They do not speak English," he explained as the man pumped Hammond's hand, then touched his own chest. "Jaxo Prin," he introduced himself.
"I can speak their language, General," Daniel explained. "It's very similar to the language on Abydos, although some of the vowels are different and the accent's pretty thick. It shouldn't take me long to get the hang of it. They can understand me, anyway, and I can get what they say as long as they talk slowly. I think SG-1 should visit their colony worlds. I can interpret. We've got a lot to talk about."
"That sounds like an appropriate mission, Dr. Jackson. I'll take it under advisement." He turned to issue orders. "Find these people some food and clean clothing, and a place to rest until we can get them home. Teal'c, will you accompany them to interpret?"
"I will." The Jaffa spoke to Jaxo Prin, turned a questioning eye to O'Neill, then he rose and he went with the soldiers that led the Nakhti teens away to be assigned temporary quarters, the oldest boy lagging back until the doctor dismissed him with a careless wave of his hand. When they had gone, Prin helped Jack to sit up, curving the healing device around the Colonel's arm and securing it in place. He said something to Daniel.
"You need to leave it on about fifteen minutes," Daniel translated. "At least that's the most I can make out of their time system. I'm not sure what a 'unit' is, though it's probably comparable to a minute. This is fascinating."
"You went through a similar treatment?" Frasier asked him, reaching out to grasp his wrist and take a pulse.
Daniel nodded. "And I'm fine now. It's still slightly tender, but not so bad." He grimaced at the woman's expectant look. "Oh, come on, I'm okay."
"I want to see the affected area."
"But I'm fine--"
"Now, Dr. Jackson."
When Frasier used that tone of voice, even Hammond didn't dispute her. Hiding a smile, the General watched Daniel heave an exasperated sigh as he took off his pack and set it down on the ramp, then pulled off the native tunic he was wearing. Turning his back on Frasier, he displayed a large, faintly-reddened patch in the small of his back. That could have been a serious wound, if it had looked anything like O'Neill's arm.
"Jaffa?" the doctor asked, poking it with her fingertips. "You are a lucky man. That must have been nasty."
"I think we nearly lost him," Carter admitted, fading remnants of her worry lingering in her eyes. "We didn't want to say so at the time, but it was pretty close."
"And it wasn't Jaffa." O'Neill's mouth might have been drawn tight at the pain of his own injury, but more likely it was because a member of his team had been endangered. "It was the kids. They thought Danny was a Goa'uld."
"He hardly looks like one," objected Hammond, wondering if he shouldn't assign guards to watch the children.
"No, but he had that artifact. Apparently they assumed it made him one. And we had Teal'c with us and they decided Daniel was a Goa'uld and Teal'c was his First Prime or something. We got that all worked out, though, and they fixed him up. He was out there taking crazy risks with the Headpiece."
"He saved Teal'c's life," Sam chastised.
"Yeah." O'Neill shook his head. "A crazy mission. But at least we made some new friends."
"Was the artifact you took with you of any use?" Hammond asked, knowing he'd have to call the briefing as soon as possible. There were a lot of things going on here.
Daniel grinned. "It repels staff weapon fire--and other energy fire," he said. "It was fantastic."
"One of them alone might not be enough to carry on a mission," Jack replied, sitting up cautiously. He grinned when the motion didn't upset his equilibrium. "I wonder if it could be duplicated."
"I think it's made partially of naquadah," Daniel replied.
"Then I'm going to suggest we requisition this artifact for study to determine if it might benefit SCG to duplicate it."
"Dr. Jones won't like if it he can't get it back."
"He'll get it back if we can duplicate it, Daniel," Sam reassured him. "General, those children we brought back possess latent psi abilities. Their entire culture does."
"We theorize that's why the Goa'uld were so interested in them," Daniel said. "I think they'll make really good allies for us."
"Then the mission was a success." The General smiled. "I'll see you in the briefing room in one hour for debriefing."
***** |
9f08a1285507464b8326612914951a32 | ['a1190ebaf5e2476ea8599efee8a75af0'] | Better Than Any Picture
**Author's Note:**
> Comments are much appreciated, as I'm just getting my feet wet again with posting fic.
Eliot drifted into consciousness slowly, registering the soft patter of rain on the roof before anything else. It was rare that he woke up that way, instead of suddenly, to his own internal clock, the phone, or a nightmare. He’d been exaggerating a little when he’d said he only slept 90 minutes a night, but like all good lies, it had some basis in truth. More often, although less and less as time went on, it was that he slept 90 minutes at a time, waking up as one dream ended only to fall into another as he went back to sleep after making a perimeter check.
It was hard to tell how long he’d been out because the sun that made it through the curtains was muted by the gray clouds outside. Parker was curled against his side with her head on his chest, looking more delicate and innocent in his arms than he wanted to think about. Sometimes his biggest regret in life was that for the most part, the people who’d hurt Parker the worst were already dead, and he couldn’t get his hands on them himself. Hardison was on his other side, snoring softly, his head on his own pillow, but one of his hands resting on Eliot’s stomach, just inches from Parker. He should have felt trapped, but instead he just felt warm and safe. They’d all woken up sometime around 6, and had the kind of sex that only happened half-awake in the pale light of dawn, then drifted off again, curled around each other.
They had nowhere to be and nothing pressing to do, so Eliot just let himself soak in the quiet. This was something he could take with him no matter where he went, the memory of this feeling, better than any picture he couldn’t carry in his wallet anyway. After a while, Parker’s breathing changed and he knew she was awake. He felt her stretch her legs below the covers before she curled them back up and blinked her eyes open.
“Will you make chocolate chip pancakes?” She asked, just as abrupt as she’d ever been when it was only them.
“That’s all you ever want for breakfast besides cereal.” He said, his voice still quiet and rough with sleep.
“That’s not true.” Parker argued. “Sometimes I want bacon.”
Eliot couldn’t help but chuckle at her pout, and he felt Hardison start to stir as well. Hardison gave the kind of yawn that shook rafters and stretched his arms over his head.
“Bacon sounds good.” He offered his two cents as he blinked blearily at them.
“Then go make some.” Eliot replied.
Hardison looked at him like he’s grown two heads. “Excuse you? Parker, did he just say what I think he said? Because if I remember right, and of course I do, last week he told me that if I tried to cook in his kitchen again, he’d cook me.”
Eliot glared at him. “That’s because you keep starting fires! And we’re not in my house, so it’s not my kitchen.”
Hardison scoffed. “Anywhere we go with a kitchen, it’s your kitchen. Besides, it’s not my house either. How nice would it be if we burned this lovely cabin down? Then we’d have to pay for it, and you know how Parker feels about losing money. Not to mention I think I’m allergic to all this fresh air, but I let you drag us out here anyway. You totally owe me bacon.”
Parker was nodding along enthusiastically. “I really do hate losing money if I can’t steal it back. And Hardison did set the kitchen on fire last week.”
Eliot let out a put upon sigh. “I finally get to pick where we spend our time off and you two want me to slave away over a hot stove.”
“You like cooking.” Parker poked him in the chest. “And pancakes are easy. But you make the best ones.” The puppy dog eyes she leveled at him were totally unfair. Hardison leaned over him to join her, and it was so ridiculous he gave up. Not that he wouldn’t have anyway.
“Fine.” He grumbled. No use in letting them think he’d been planning to cook for them when he got up anyway. “Get off me so I can shower and then I’ll make breakfast.”
“Yay!” Parker bounced off the bed and started rummaging through her suitcase for clothes. Eliot let himself enjoy the view of her ass for a moment.
Hardison just rolled over like he was going to go back to sleep. Eliot yanked his pillow out from under his head, ignoring his sputtered protest.
“Coffee.” Eliot prodded him. “I expect it to be done by the time I get out of the shower or no bacon.”
He ignored Hardison’s scowl and swung his legs out of bed. “I’d suggest you get out there before Parker tries to make it herself. You remember what happened last time.”
He snickered as Hardison sprang out of bed and skidded into to the hallway without even looking for clothes to put on. He’d never tell that Parker knew damn well how to work any coffee pot she came across, she just liked getting Hardison worked up. | f2e8f74befeb4b53a2341f0cfdc0a542 | ['a1190ebaf5e2476ea8599efee8a75af0'] | “Actually,” Bucky said, muffled a bit by the fact his head was stuck in the fridge, “I think the terms were there can either be tickling or sex sometime this decade, but not both.”
Darcy pushed herself up in time to see him emerge from the fridge with three bottles of beer.
“And I’m the only one with boobs in this relationship, so clearly there’s no argument to be made for tickling,” she said.
“I don’t know.” Bucky shook his head as popped the tops. “Steve’s are pretty impressive these days.”
Darcy shrieked for the second time since she’d been home as the pillow that had been behind her was yanked out and thrown at Bucky.
“Hey! Watch the brews!” Bucky turned his back to protect the bottles and the pillow bounced harmlessly away.
“Fine.” Darcy sniffed. “I’m the only one with a vagina.”
“She’s got a point, Buck,” Steve said, with mock seriousness.
“I am very fond of your vagina,” Bucky admitted.
He leaned over the back of the couch, handing Darcy, and then Steve their beers. Both of them lifted their heads in unison for kisses. Bucky rolled his eyes, but complied.
All further discussion of Darcy’s vagina was halted by the doorbell ringing.
While the boys were still on their last slices of pizza, Darcy gathered up the empty boxes. There really wasn’t such a thing as leftovers in their house even with Darcy’s Lewis family tradition of better too much food than not enough. She began to break up the boxes more to have something to do with her hands than a need to save space. Every time one of them was gone for more than a week, there was always a little fission of nerves before they reacquainted themselves in the bedroom. At least for Darcy. It was a leftover insecurity she was learning to live with, but hoped would fade eventually.
When she looked over, Bucky and Steve were kissing. Steve pulled away first and rested his forehead against Bucky’s with a ridiculously fond smile. Bucky shook his head and sat back, but there was no sting in it as he ruffled Steve’s hair.
“Come on.” He said, standing up and holding out a hand to help Steve off the couch. Steve was already leaning into his space again, but Bucky looked over Steve’s shoulder instead of leaning in to meet him. Maybe he’d already satisfied himself that Steve was there and whole in the shower. Sometimes, especially on nights like tonight, they forgot themselves with each other until they’d satisfied themselves of real and here.
Mostly, it didn’t bother Darcy. After all, she’d probably be pretty clingy too if she’d been reunited under the same crazy circumstances as Steve and Bucky. When it really did get to her, one of them inevitably noticed and turned their focus on her in a way that banished the doubts, even if it was just making dinner and a long foot rub when she got home from work. Darcy knew enough about psychology to have some idea of what Bucky’s and Steve’s therapists might say about the relationship, let alone that Bucky was in one at all, but especially this one, but it worked, even when it didn’t sometimes. And right, wrong, or sideways Darcy was very much the counterbalance in their relationship.
“I think this is the, ‘then sex’ part of the evening.” Bucky smiled at her.
She set the boxes down on the counter as her heart did a little flip in her chest. Bucky had a lot of looks that ended with them in the bedroom, but this one wasn’t particularly sexual. It was an open smile that quirked up at one end and crinkled his eyes. It was playful, confident. That kind of happy, open smile was still a rarity. When she reached them, Steve pulled her in for a long kiss, just as thorough as the one he’d given Bucky. She wrinkled her nose when he released her.
“After everybody brushes their teeth it is.”
“I love it when you talk dirty, baby.” Bucky said, his hands settling on her hips.
Darcy leaned her head back to look at him.
“Teeth. Brushed.” She insisted, but she took a nip at his jaw while she was there.
“Yes, ma’am.” Steve answered for Bucky, taking a few backwards steps towards the bedroom, bringing them with him.
“Now who’s talking dirty?” Darcy smirked. Steve’s answering grin was nothing short of cheeky.
Darcy waited until both Bucky and Steve had brushed their teeth to brush her own. Mostly because she didn’t trust them not to get distracted. While they were long past the point that things like morning breath mattered, she held these homecomings close to her heart and she didn’t want them to include pizza breath in bed.
When she left the bathroom, Bucky and Steve were already naked on the bed. Bucky was straddling Steve, sucking marks into his neck that would probably fade in minutes. Steve had his head tipped back, his eyes closed with the sensation. Darcy stripped out of her work clothes and let them fall where she stood. Steve would be too distracted to notice she hadn’t put them “where they belonged” until the morning.
2. Chapter 2
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> In which the thing after pizza happens
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> This is really my first posted attempted at the smut part of a fic and it hasn't seen a beta. So..if it's confusing or not that great or you see an error go ahead and tell me(gently?) but I also hope anybody who's been waiting for the second chapter likes it. |
6c5ca2aa7649419a83e837a0f602fe14 | ['a137b6cd851a4e7998512b619f6906f2'] | "You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," he whispered at her lips.
"The only reason he deserves you," said Sulu, pulling her back, and then closer, until she was against his chest, looking up at his eyes, "is because you decided you want him." Sulu ran his thumb down her cheekbone, letting it rest lightly on her bottom lip.
Uhura couldn't say anything. The way Sulu was looking at her -- not like Spock, with an expression she couldn't guess at, or like the guys at bars, like the Captain, when she felt like a piece of candy they couldn't wait to try. Sulu was looking at her like it was a privilege only a few men were lucky to have, like there was nothing he'd rather be looking at in the universe.
Chekov was staring at her too, she could see it in the very edge of her peripheral vision, and stroking her hair. His breath was warm against her neck.
"I," was all she managed to say, before Sulu kissed her.
As he leaned in, Chekov leaned back, so that she was flush between the two of them, Chekov's warmth against her back, Sulu's against her breasts. The kiss was searching and open-mouthed enough that she could breathe through it, so she heard herself gasp when Chekov kissed her closed eyelid, then started a trail down her jaw.
"What," she said, and felt the two of them at her mouth, one licking, one opening. First Chekov, light touches with his tongue on hers, then when she gasped again, it was Sulu, rubbing soft, then rough. For a few minutes all they did was kiss her in prolonged turns.
She was panting a little, her eyes still closed, when they gave her a moment to breathe.
"I mean, Jesus, Pavel, she's fucking gorgeous," she heard Sulu whisper over her.
"I know. Hikaru, I want to."
"Me too."
She opened her eyes to see the two men staring at each other.
Chekov noticed she'd opened her eyes first. He lowered his head to whisper in her ear.
"Please, let us?"
He sounded controlled, like he was trying not to beg. Uhura had to close her eyes again at the hot jump his voice sparked in her stomach.
"Maybe _he'll_ never be able to tell you," said Sulu, running his hand down her neck, resting it right at her heart, "but God, Nyota, we can."
She let out a whimper, and thank God they knew it meant "yes."
Sulu kissed her again, and it was wet and hot, and a little messy because Sulu and Chekov were trying to undress her between them, and because Chekov was making little noises, apparently at the sight of Sulu kissing her. Messy sex, some part of her brain that was still working said, imagine that: messy sex, and then Chekov was licking down her bare shoulder while still making those little noises, and her brain went respectfully quiet.
Chekov pulled her closer as Sulu lowered his kisses to her clavicles, then her breasts, sucking her nipples through the fabric of her bra. Uhura gasped, then gasped louder when Chekov moaned a little against her neck.
"God damn, Nyota," he whispered, in Russian again. "Your voice is so fucking... Say something."
I'm sorry, but I'm finding speech a bit difficult at the moment, she might have said if Sulu hadn't been breathing cool air on her nipples. Chekov seemed to understand, though, because he cupped one hand between her legs and started stroking her through the already-wet fabric.
"Ah," she cried softly, and both Chekov and Sulu _rumbled_ at it.
"This thing," said Chekov to Sulu breathlessly, pulling at the elastic of Uhura's bra.
"I know, I hate them, I can't do it," mumbled Sulu against her navel.
"I can't either!"
Uhura let out an impatient whimper, took her right hand from Sulu's hair, reached back and undid the clasp in less than three seconds, and let her hand settle back onto _Chekov's_ hair.
"Fucking awesome," Sulu whispered, gazing up at her in wonder for a moment.
She had to close her eyes again when Chekov reached around to take her tits in his hands, cupping and squeezing and caressing with, actually, surprising restraint for a teenager. When he pulled away, Uhura turned back to give him a hurt look. He only grinned down at her wickedly and licked the pads of both thumbs.
"Women like it like this, don't they?" he said, reaching around again, to knead her with both palms while his cool wet thumbs circled her nipples.
"Ah! Fuck," she said breathlessly. "And -- fuck -- and how would you know?"
"I read a lot."
"No speaking Russian in bed!" Sulu had paused in pulling down Uhura's panties, and he was looking decidedly churlish.
"He's just jealous because he never understands me when I come," Chekov told her, his voice hot in her ear. "I've seen him with Russian dictionaries when he thinks I'm asleep."
Uhura laughed breathlessly, bonelessly, her back arched and feeling so good, so stupidly happy, and then Sulu ran his tongue up her slit and her laugh turned into a wail.
"I said no Russian," murmured Sulu, his voice vibrating against her clit, and Uhura cried out something wordless.
"Fuck, Hikaru, make her do that again." Chekov was rubbing her nipples more roughly, his voice gone hoarse.
"Maybe I won't," said Sulu in a false-petulant voice, but he had already turned serious, parting Uhura's legs and spreading her open with one hand. He began to lick and suck at her clit, alternating with a smooth up-and-down stroke with two of his fingers.
"Ah! Fuck, ah, oh please, please," said Uhura breathlessly, her back arching, her head falling fully back onto Chekov's shoulder. Chekov gasped, his hands going still; she looked up through half-open eyes to see him staring at her.
"Hikaru," he said.
"Mmm?" Another vibration. Uhura arched again, keening. | d4391eae3bb1408795c5569e1cce78d3 | ['a137b6cd851a4e7998512b619f6906f2'] | "I wanted to feel cool at least once in this getup," he explained to Chekov and Sulu's questioning glances. They subtly adjusted their hats, too, apparently seeing his point.
"Ms. Rand, please put in a commendation for Lieutenant Uhura, who saved our butts and looked damn good doing it," Kirk continued, scrolling through the status reports. "Mr. Scott, well done not coming down yourself."
"I am nothing if not pragmatic."
"The bridge is yours for a little longer. We have to go get changed -- it's starting to look like a Cagney movie in here."
"Classy but anachronistic, Captain," Scotty agreed.
In the corridors, Sulu and Kirk compared their "gangster sneers" while Spock walked up next to Uhura.
"I must admit, Nyota," he said as they walked, "I am puzzled American females of the Depression era did not wear similar clothing to their male peers. I find your disguise particularly pleasing from an aesthetic point-of-view."
Uhura flashed him a grin. "Don't thank me, thank Michael Jackson. I completely stole his outfit."
Spock tilted his head.
Uhura stopped, causing Sulu and Kirk to nearly collide with her. Chekov, who'd been excitedly telling the two of them about the history of organized crime in Moscow, crashed into a bulkhead.
"Spock," said Uhura, noticing none of this. "You know Michael Jackson."
It wasn't a question.
Spock tilted his head a little more.
"That would seem to be a particularly common English-speaking name," he said.
"Whoa, wait," said Kirk, who'd been listening. "Spock, you know Michael Jackson, right? Like -- know him."
"I have read references to a twenty-second century entertainer by that name, yes."
"He was _twentieth_ century!" exclaimed Uhura, looking shocked.
"Ah, my mistake."
"Wait a second," began Kirk and Sulu in disbelief, talking over each other.
"You do not know the dancing music of Michael Jackson?" Chekov cried, outraged, and Spock blinked at him.
"It was my understanding Mr. Jackson was American in nationality," said Spock, looking as if he'd lost his only ally.
"Yes, descended from famous Russian ballet family!"
"Come on," Uhura said firmly, taking him by his jacket sleeve. "We're going to watch _Thriller_ , right now."
"I'm unsure if that's the most appropriate --"
"That's an order, Commander," said Kirk, leading the way to Uhura's quarters. |
5bb2e43d410a4536ac35bf9763dbb2c4 | ['a1a68eb8b4ea4174bcf29ae6f2f5a0de'] | For Worse
KC was nestled in on the couch that was provided by the resort in their condo.
She was holding the television remote in her hand, aimlessly flipping through the channels provided by the island. Dante was settled next to her, running his fingers through her hair and sometimes looking up at the screen.
“You know there’s never anything good on here.” Dante’s voice was quiet, he didn’t want to ruin the peacefulness of the moment.
“Mm.. Sometimes there’s something on that’s interesting.”
KC continued clicking the remote until something… peculiar caught there attention.
It was one of the news broadcasts for the island.
“Is that Rylan?”
Dante sat up quickly, his ears (ones that he had been so used to hiding until now) flattened against his head as he saw Rylan and Dottie being taken, rather aggressively by two officers. They weren’t police officers, that much both Dante and KC knew for a fact.
“ _ -The Guardian Forces have claimed that every werewolf is a threat until the Ultima is found on the island. They have officially stated that they will be arresting and interrogating all werewolves found on the island, and will not be afraid to use violence if one resists arrest or tries to attack the guards. _ ”
Dante felt a dull pain in his stomach, and KC could tell he was panicking.
Dante had slight mannerisms that only a few people, including KC, could pick up on. One of which was the way his hands twitched when he was nervous.
“....Dante?”
Dante looked at KC, his eyes were glassy and he was shaking ever so slightly
“Dante I’m not gonna let them get you.”
“But what if they try to hurt you-”
“They won’t.”
Dante swallowed heavily. He could feel the panic settling into every nerve in his body.
“We’re gonna stay safe for as long as possible. Don’t worry.”
She gave him a small smile as she took his hand, “For better, for worse.” | 02b3cdf5e4d9441ca60aa37acf6b833e | ['a1a68eb8b4ea4174bcf29ae6f2f5a0de'] | Family Films
Nephrite stared blankly at the sheet of paper that was sitting in front of him. Ama was asleep in her rocker that was settled in front of the tv. She would only sleep if one of her mother’s tapes was on.
Nephrite drew a deep breath, “It’s just a letter.” Yeah, just a letter.
He picked up the pencil that was laying on the desk and began writing.
About halfway through his letter, Ama had woken up and began crying,which immediately turned Nephrite’s attention to his daughter. He picked her up gently and cradled her in his arms.
“What’s wrong kiddo?”
Neph glanced at the vhs player and noticed the tape that had been playing had slightly popped out. “Oh I understand now. You want to see your mommy.” Nephrite felt a dull pain in his chest when he said that, he wanted the same thing. He set Ama back in the rocker and kneeled down by the cassette player and tv. The tape started to rewind, and the pain in Nephrite’s chest increased as he saw Belladonna on the screen, along with himself.
The play button clicked as the tape began from the beginning, and Nephrite heard her voice.
“ _ Charlie is it on? _ ”
The camera was focused on the floor.
Nephrite heard his own voice. He was watching the film as intently as Ama was.
“ **_Yeah you see the red light at the top of the camera?_ ** ”
“ _ So it’s on? _ ”
“ **Yep.** ”
The camera shakes a little bit, then steadies on Belladonna, who is visibly pregnant.
“ _ So, Charles, today is very special. Do you know why? _ ”
“ **Hmmm…. I believe today is my eighteenth birthday.** ”
“ _ That’s right! And on such a special occasion I got you something amazing. _ ”
Belladonna walks over to a backpack that’s resting on a chair near the wall. She reaches inside and pulls out a fairly large book.
“ **You got me a book?** ”
“ _ Nope! Your gift is inside the book. Give me the camera, I wanna be able to see your reaction whenever I want.” _
The camera shifts towards the floor and shakes as it’s handed over to Belladonna.
“ _ Turn to the page that’s marked!” _
Nephrite could hear the giggle in her voice, as if she were right there again.
He watched himself turn towards the middle of the book, balancing it on one hand.
He (the one on the film) clasped his hand over his mouth. He turned towards Bella, a grin coming over his face, “ **Is this…..** ”
“ _ Say hello to your baby, Charlie.” _
The vhs clicked off again. At this point, Ama was asleep, while Nephrite looked at the static screen in front of him. He turned to look back at his desk, which still had the half written letter on it.
“I think Bella will want to hear how Ama’s doing.” |
69cb3192e5b948c8b6073da512b395d9 | ['a1b1571e1dc0431185dc7a671d79172d'] | Worthy
As Loki regained hold of his mind, he realized what Thanos had made him do. No, what he had done. He looked up at Thor, and could see in his face that he knew something had changed. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Thor shook his head.
"Not now. Just help." Thor said. He flew off with Mjolnir.
Loki nodded and started fighting the Chitauri that he had summoned under the mental control of Thanos.
Then he saw Thor plummeting from the sky.
Loki cut down the two Chitauri approaching him and sprinted in Thor's direction.
When he reached him, his brother had already crashed into the street. A small crater surrounded him and his hammer sat a few feet away.
Loki knelt down and propped Thor's head up. "Thor! Thor, say something!" Tears came to his eyes, but Loki didn't care about seeming weak. Not then.
Thor groaned. "Loki... I thought that I had lost you... That the true Loki was gone..."
"No. No, I'm here, Thor. I'm so sorry for what I did. I will accept any punishment. But please, don't die..." Loki's voice cracked.
"You don't have to... apologize... It wasn't you. It was Thanos..." Thor whispered.
"Stop it."
"Loki... it's not your fault... please just promise me that you'll go home... Mother and Father can't lose both of their sons..."
Loki sobbed. "Stop it! They're not going to lose you!"
"Brother, you can see as well as I that I'm dying. Please just go home."
Loki trembled. "Not without you!" He decided to do something he'd wanted to never do again. He used the power that he had as a Jotun, and froze Thor's wound.
He picked his brother up and heaved him over his shoulder. Without really thinking, he grabbed Mjolnir.
And he lifted it. | e3982775abce4556bffb09254999674d | ['a1b1571e1dc0431185dc7a671d79172d'] | Symphony
The haunting melody echoed in the dusk, a lone violin singing a tragic tale. The chilling, ominous howling of the cold wind added to the sound of despair.
A group of ravens and crows had gathered around one tombstone in the graveyard.
Standing in front of the stone was a pale, thin figure in dark clothing. He held a dark violin. The source of the music. He ignored the birds and continued playing.
Meanwhile, a man was walking past the black gates of this lawn of death to pay homage to an old friend. He heard the eerie, baleful tune coming from the general direction of his destination. It was far away, but sound traveled well there. The land was flat, and any trees that had once grown there had long since withered away, as if they had given in to the depressing, dreary, almost sinister nature of the place.
Everything here was death.
The only colors were black and grey. Even the decayed grass, which should have been brown, was a dull and monotonous grey.
The man knew that he didn't belong there. It was a place only for the dead. But he ignored the icy terror creeping up his spine. He needed to do this. To pay his respects to his friend.
As he got within sight range of the music, he noticed the ring of black birds. This was not a superstitious man, he had never believed in omens or any of that nonsense, but this was unusual and frightening. He absentmindedly remembered that a group of crows was called a murder.
These birds, these prophets of destruction, were the only living things there, and they resided there in great numbers. And every single one of them had gathered to hear this music.
The man got closer, proceeding with great caution.
Soon, the piece reached its crescendo, and the birds reacted immediately, and in such a manner that one would think it had been choreographed. They took to the air and swirled around the pale figure as he played the dramatic ending to his symphony.
The man looked at the gravestone behind the ghostly figure. It was the only white stone in the cemetery.
This was the grave of his friend.
He stepped closer. "Even in death you're a better musician than I." He commented.
The figure set down his violin and it vanished. He smiled. "I'm surprised you came. It's been awhile."
"Yes it has. I had to come once more. This is the last time."
"But you will come back to me in the end, won't you?"
"Of course, my friend." The man placed a handful of red roses in the hands of the figure. The only color in the entire place.
"Thank you. I will see you then, my friend." The figure smiled.
The man nodded and left silently.
The figure set down the flowers and began another melody, summoning the ravens and crows to escort his friend safely away from the graveyard.
The next time the man came, there was a second white gravestone next to the first. A few years had passed, and the man's gift of color had long since embraced its fate and died.
But the figure was still there, exactly as he had been. Waiting to greet his friend.
"Hello again." The man said. He was now as pale as his companion.
"I've missed you." The figure said with a smile.
"You won't have to miss me anymore. I'm here now."
The figure nodded and picked up his violin. He sat in front of the two white stones and began to play, gesturing for his friend to join him.
The man sat with him, and his friend began to play his song.
The birds returned to their master, for whom they had so much respect. They perched wherever they could hear the melody.
But none sat on the white gravestones of their master and his friend.
The stones, side by side, were labeled with nothing but names.
"SHERLOCK HOLMES" "JOHN HAMISH WATSON" |
6874a8500a9047659294a052d1174c63 | ['a1b5e93f382e41839b54a34f3b584113'] | ( _Even still, his tactics are brutal, efficient, and clear. There is no subtlety._ )
Her double knows erasure of self is the final outcome ( _the only solution to Fifth's equation_ ) and can see no other alternative. "Now you understand. I can't go back to him. And I can't let him find me," Samantha says. Sam is smart enough to hear the implications. _You must destroy me_.
There is no plan B.
"We can protect you if you help us," she says, trying to think like a soldier and not a refugee from a war of her own making. The SGC runs on negotiation, a barter system, an eye for an eye ( _a twisted sense of fairness forms the foundation for relations with every alliance and enemy_ ). Tit for tat and the whole world goes 'round.
"What do you mean?" Samantha asks. She knows what Sam is asking of her, but she needs to hear her say it.
But Sam misses the unspoken question ( _she still sees Jonas Hanson's face in Fifth's_ ), and feels a ruthless impulse to exact revenge like she never could before. It simmers like a fire in the pit of her stomach. Neither one will not hurt her again. She finds a plan B, and damns the consequences.
Right now she is no soldier.
"Tell us exactly how he modified himself and the other Replicators. Help us make the disruptor work again," she says.
"I want you to destroy me," Samantha responds, shaking her head and moving back against the wall. "I can't help you destroy all the others."
_I can't help you destroy everyone like me._
"Yes, you can," she says. Sam can see her own eyes burning in the reflection of her double's gaze. She will break them all. For both their sakes.
( _tick tock tick tock_ )
S
It's really no wonder Samantha turned on both of them. Sam and Fifth created the same conditions for erasure of self, and the strain tore against who she was until there was nothing left. Fifth stole her past. Sam tainted her future. But they both asked for the same thing.
_Destroy who you are_.
She almost falls under the weight of another miscalculation.
"Teal'c, what have I done?" she asks, staring glass-eyed at the pewter-gray remnants of her double's burning determination.
"You cannot be held responsible for the actions of the Replicator," he says in a low voice, and she knows he doesn't understand. He gently takes her arm, and leads her back through the Stargate. Before she steps through, she bends down and scoops a small handful of silver dust. She stares at it, before closing her fingers tightly and feeling the abrupt coolness of the shivering wormhole.
The General is waiting for them at the base of the ramp. She is silent as Teal'c explains what happened in clipped sentences. She opens her hand and gazes at the grains in the palm of her hand.
"Bring back a souvenir, Carter?" asks the General.
"Yes, sir," she answers in a soft voice.
Back in her lab, she gently empties her hand into a sterile petri dish, and wonders if she became a weapon after all, if Fifth knew her well enough to know her need for revenge would drive her to ask Samantha for something she would not ( _could not_ ) give. The General didn't want her to bring the Replicator particles back to her lab, but she has to find some way to fix her mistake. Only this is not a mistake. It's a miscalculation … one Fifth expected her to make. She wonders what else he knew about her. But she cannot tell them that. "She deactivated these cells when she separated them from her arm," she says instead.
"Can we be certain they will not become active again?" Teal'c asks, standing closer to her lab table than he usually does.
"She deliberately shut down the cohesive energy between them so that it would be more difficult for me to figure out how she made herself immune to the disruptor," she says.
"Now how do you know that?" the General asks, frustration making his words cut across her scars. The edges crack and bleed, but she doesn't blink.
"Because that's what I would have done." There isn't any other answer.
The General's shoulders drop. "Carter …" he starts. He doesn't know there's nothing left to say.
"Sir," she interrupts, "If you don't mind, I've got a lot of work to do. We've never had the opportunity to study human form Replicator cells before. If we can learn something from them, this won't be a total loss." The room is cold and she draws into the warmth of her jacket and the equipment humming quietly on the table.
She leans over her microscope and can't see the look in the General's eyes when he says, "This isn't your fault." They insist on believing in free will. _The choices of others are not your choices_ , her mother used to tell her. But she remembers leaving him behind.
It all comes back to that.
"I'm not so sure about that," she says, trying to explain, but for the first time her dozenhundredthousand words are not waiting. She searches wildly for her ghosts, but they are standing in the shadows, staring at her silently, saying nothing. All she has left is a clinical recital of cause and effect. "Fifth came here because of me. She rejected him because she was made like me. Now we've got Replicators in our galaxy, and they're immune to the only technology we have that could have stopped them," she says, inexorably identifying the links in a chain of events which always come back to her.
"None of us correctly anticipated the actions of the Replicator," says Teal'c quietly. | f4ceabea933548679ce958e202af1f21 | ['a1b5e93f382e41839b54a34f3b584113'] | But Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter? She thinks Fifth would laugh.
"Many regards on occasion of your promotion, Colonel Carter," says Teal'c gravely, and she jumps. He gently pats her back in the Jaffa version of a hug, and she wonders if he knows what's coming.
"Yeah, Sam," says Daniel. "This is really great. Congratulations."
She smiles vaguely and excuses herself as soon as she can. She needs to get home. Call Cassie. Clean out her refrigerator. Eat real food for once. Daniel nods and says he understands. She wonders if he does.
"Going home so soon, Carter?" She hears his voice at the elevator and stops.
"Yes, sir," she says, clasping her hands in front of her to keep them from rubbing against her scars.
"Well someone deserves a fruit basket," he says.
"Sir?"
"I've been trying to make you get a life how many times now, Carter? I've lost count," he says. "Or maybe it's the promotion? If I'd known all I had to do to get you home was promote you, I'd have done it ages ago." She flinches at the look in his eyes.
"It's just a little headache, sir," she says. "It's been a long few days."
"Ah," he says, and she knows he doesn't believe her. She tries not to blame him.
"I … I'll see you tomorrow, sir," she says.
"Sure," he says, smiling a little.
She sighs, and reaches up to run her fingers along her forehead. They come away wet. She closes her eyes and hears whispers in the back of her mind.
She doesn't remember driving but somehow she ends up back at her house. She lays down on top of her bedcovers in her uniform, staring at the ceiling. The bedside lamp is off, but the setting sun casts splotches of red and orange along her cream walls. She thinks about calling Pete, but decides it can wait until tomorrow. There's a stack of his clothes on the floor. She heaves off the bed, picks them up, and lays them carefully in the bureau, in the drawer she cleaned out for him. He's coming to visit over the weekend ( _baring alien invasion or the destruction of Earth_ ), and she knows enough to know her dreams would be worse the first few nights. Then they would fade, and she would go back to dreaming of pushing limits on her motorcycle, talking to her plants, gazing through the canopy of another world's forest...
She's always been able to dream safe, mundane things.
In a few days Pete should be fine. Daniel is the one who thrashes in his sleep, after all, calling out in dead languages for people she's never met. She doesn't know if the General has nightmares. Her only clue is the strange tick he develops along his temple when he's sleeping deeply. She supposes conditioned caution is too ingrained for him to call out in his sleep. Teal'c claims not to dream at all.
But Jaffa humor still eludes her sometimes.
She falls asleep just as the color fades from her walls, sliding in so gently she thinks the nightmares may pass by...
_…you're drifting down gray hallways … floors ceilings walls closing in on you … self-destruction patterned by the heaves of still, concrete stones … White coats tell you it cannot be done. It cannot be done._
_… he can't be saved …_
_… you see him then, skin hair eyes soul pooling against bandages stained red with personhood and pus … And you ache inside, pain radiating from your chest in dull, throbbing whorls … a young voice inside your mind cries for fairness, but there is none._
_"Because despite the fact that you've been a terrific pain in the ass for the last five years, I may have... might have, um, grown to admire you, a little. I think."_
_Not the best good-bye, but he understands it's all you can give._
_"That's touching."_
_"This will not be your last act … on any official record."_
_… you hear a whisper then … "It won't, Jack … it won't.."_
_Face like stone, soul empty, it doesn't matter …_
_… he's just another one you cannot save …_
_And then he drifts away, his eyes closing and his body relaxing on the exhale of a liquid breath. You stare at the empty sheets, and in the sudden darkness of the infirmary you have the crazy thought that something else should have happened._
_… you drift again … and see the death of your son in the mines of a forgotten off-world concentration camp …_
_… you think hell is not a lake of fire and ice as in the poem DanielJackson showed you, but a valley full of gray acidic dust that burns and scrapes your throat on every inhale._
… your son is brave, eyes gazing straight ahead as the fire flashes through his chest. His body does not fall, but folds down, pulled by the heaviness of rusted armor. His eyes are closed, and you imagine he is asleep, his face innocent and young as only a child at rest can be … and you feel a wild battle cry straining against your throat …
_But a Jaffa does not rage._
_He takes revenge … until the old gods become …_
_But then your eyes open, and you realize it is not your son staring at the glowing end of staff weapon. You are surprised at the relief that spreads outwards from your heart … you straighten your back and wait._
_You will die free._
When she wakes her pillow is spotted with blood. She must have bitten her tongue during the night.
S
The next morning she goes to the infirmary and gets a prescription for headaches. The nightmares ease for awhile ( _but not for long_ ). |
c748d9c54c094192afc9ecb068c44727 | ['a1b8b29ff6d447f3a5bfd6995b8f02e1'] | And She Wonders
**Author's Note:**
> Prompt number two was 'Spell', which looking at it, doesn't exactly have something to do with this piece anymore but it inspired me to write it, so be it.
>
> Unbetaed, mistakes are my own.
>
> Don't own the show or the characters.
>
> No magic, no curse.
She doesn’t believe in magic, no. Doesn’t believe in fairytales and that whole Disney crap either. True Love doesn’t exist, she knows that, learned that. Learned that the hard way. She had come home late from the office one night, earlier still than she normally does. That’s when she had caught him, had caught him with another in their bed. Instead of yelling, screaming, or arguing with him she had pulled two duffle bags out of their closet. Ignoring him and his whore completely. Not responding to any of his attempts to get her to talk. He had died for her that moment.
Regina had done so much for him, had financed him through culinary school, putting his carrier behind her own. She had born him a child, their son. Henry. Her everything. She had endured fight after fight with her mother for him, believing that he was worth it, that he was the one. Her prince charming, oh how wrong she had been. Mother will be delighted to find out that she was right. Her stomach twists with the thought of informing her mother, of telling her son why they wouldn’t stay with Daddy, why he only would see him on the weekends.
Granted, the girl had left. Had snuck out shortly after Regina had stepped into the bedroom, their bedroom.
And Regina would too.
She fills the two bags easily, one for her and one for Henry. He still tries to get a response from her, tries to get a reaction from her, anything, really, but she ignores him, ignores him still and won’t stop to do so until they appear before a judge to end their marriage. She would file for a divorce, starting tomorrow…or perhaps today should she get a hold of one of her partners in the law firm before morning.
There isn’t much in her bags, a few clothes, a few of toys for Henry, the book she had filled with memories of the first five years of his life. She wonders, wonders briefly how long he had fucked the whore behind her back, if it had been going on for weeks, months, years perhaps. Henry stayed at his Grandparent’s over night each Thursday since six months now, Regina unable to pick him up from school after his PE class, his mother more than willing to spend time with their little prince, spoiling him like he deserved to. And she wonders, wonders still if he used that day, and that day only to betray her in the worst way possible or if he had other days, other whores, other places.
She never found out, never truly wanted to know. That day, after she stepped out of their shared home, carrying two duffle bags to her car, not having once responded to his bagging pleas of let me explain and talk to me please, he died for her and the belief in true love, fairytales and magic along with it.
Regina knew, that all that crap Disney and romantic comedies tried to make you believe, didn’t exist. Daniel had taught her that lesson with ease. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if there was something like fate, like meant to be, or if it all was only one big coincidence.
She wondered when she kissed him at midnight on New Years, when he was not much more than a stranger to her; she wondered when he introduced her to his son, a brown mop of curls and dimples, barely fours years old; she wondered when he met Henry and her son easily decided that he likes him, likes him as much as Roland likes her; she wondered when her mother — her mother who never believes anything or anyone is good enough for her, approved of him; she always wondered.
Even now, now when he is moving above her, inside her, in and out of her. His weight braced on his arms on either side of her head, her arms wrapped around his frame, pulling him down, close, so much closer towards her. Regina wonders even now, when she meats him thrust for thrust, the pace he set hard and fast. One of her hands sneaks up to the back of his head, manages to fist into his short hair while her own head falls back, with a moan rolling of her lips. He smiles, smirks, she can feel it, can feel his lips against her skin, against her neck, moving up, kissing, nipping, marking. She wonders still, wonders if she was meant to meet him, how she met him, she wonders while he pushes her closer and closer to the pleasurable abyss that is her orgasm, she wonders while his name rolls of her lips, with her back bowed of the mattress, clutching onto his back, his skin.
Regina knows that fairytales and magic don’t exist, knows true love is something Disney made up, she learned that the hard way, still she can’t help but wonder, if perhaps, just perhaps the man laying beside her, one of his arms draped across her body to hold her against his, has her under some kind of spell. Giving her hope, allowing her to believe in something like fate. | d764d0c4245a40db85a8f8fd89b409ea | ['a1b8b29ff6d447f3a5bfd6995b8f02e1'] | “What do you think baby girl, this one?” Regina asks the little girl, sitting comfortably on her arm while she holds up a small – probably still too big, white dress with a simple purple bow resting on top of a pure band around it’s waist “Or that one?” she asked, the white dress placed over the already full shopping cart, holding up a soft pink dress with flowers placed around it’s seam.
Alexandra who had been nothing but patient the whole time despite that they got closer and closer to her lunch and nap time, hummed looking over both dresses. “Dis.” she said after a moment, pointing at the white dress.
After nodding her agreement, Regina places said dress in the already filled cart and decides that it was enough for the both of them today. Pushing the cart one-handedly towards the register, holding Alex still in the other, she can’t help the big smile that moves along her lips, finally, finally fully understanding that they in fact had become a family of four.
\----
Within the next couple of weeks, Regina and Emma set up their daughters room, cleaning out the guest room across Henry’s bedroom to make space for Alexandra’s belongings. Much to their son’s dismay, Alex’ room wasn’t set in the jungle but rather in a kingdom. Pictures of castles, crowns, princesses and princes lining the walls. The purple monkey – Harriet, Henry had given her found her place still, inside Alexandra’s bed besides a fat, pink and white unicorn the little girl had chosen as hers the day Regina had taken her shopping. They still played explores and went on adventures through the house or the backyard on a daily bases, along with a new game Alexandra came up with, nights an sessis, where Henry was the brave knight, protecting his sister the princess, along with her unicorn.
It was three months after they had returned from Boston, the beginning of March, not quite spring yet but warmer already when Alexandra addressed them as Mommy and Momma, copying Henry. Up until that day they had been Emm and Gina, no matter what. She had cried for Emm after a nightmare, asking after Gina the first time she had gotten sick. Henry was Hen, or Bahba – brother, depending on their relationship and moods.
They easily had fallen into a routine together, Regina would drop both their children off at their daycare after a breakfast they ate together, no matter the hurry they were in. Occasionally she would take both Henry and Alexandra into the office with her, have them play and pretend they too were working wile she took care of minor paperwork until Emma would come and join them for lunch, taking their munchkins home after her short shift at the Sherif Station. If that wasn’t the case then Emma would usually pick them up from the daycare after her regular shift. Regina didn’t always manage but she tried every day to be home in time for dinner and bedtime, excited to read together with her wife for their children, before they too spend time together. Usually curled up on top of the living room couch, holding onto each other and relishing in their love.
It had been a short day in the office for Regina, two of her afternoon appointments had cancelled, leaving her with the rare opportunity to accompany Emma to pick up Henry and Alexandra from daycare. Their little baby girl was the first to notice them, Henry still busy with blocks and cars that crashed into them. With her arms held out wide open and the cry for Mommy and Momma falling of her lips she came running towards them, excited and happy to see them. It was Regina who caught her in her arms, hugging her tightly while Emma’s breath hitched before she joined their hug, Henry crashing into them a block and a car still in hand, joined in too, only moments later.
That night after she had checked on both their munchkins Regina found her way into their bedroom, Emma already on top of it, below the sheets, a book in hand, the glasses she only ever wears when she’s reading, perched on top of her nose; Regina can’t help the content sigh that escapes her lips when she moves to lay beside her wife.
“Do you ever wonder if it was supposed to be that way?” Emma asks, the book finding it’s way to the bedside table.
“You mean, you driving me crazy? Pushing me to the point where I am more than ready to throw you out of the town own-handedly?” she hums in response and Emma only chuckles.
“Well, I’m still here.”
“Only because of your reckless behaviour.” Regina commented dryly and again Emma only laughs.
“I wouldn’t call surging forward to kiss you reckless. Necessary? A good thing to do? The right thing to do? Yes. But reckless? No.”
They had fought, argued again over something pointless, completely meaningless. Emma hadn’t finished her paperwork on time or she had forgotten something. Thinking about it, Regina didn’t remember, neither did the blonde but regardless, it had lead to an argument, a heated fight. Regina had trapped Emma eventually, between herself and the Sherif’s — then deputy’s desk. She had thrown question after question at the blonde, between countless insults that had left her lips. Instead of answering the blonde had leaned forward, had captured Regina’s lips mid word with her own, sealing them with a kiss. Her first reaction had been to push the blonde away, to slap her and finally, finally fire her, get rid of her. But that thought only had lasted for a second, for a fracture of a second before her arms had wrapped around Emma, pulling her flush against her body, holding her close and stopping her from stepping away, leaving. |
8786a3130195458a855de012a4646e73 | ['a1dbdd8f9f27471888bae850b2415fb4'] | “Thank you, Sakaguchi-san, but I think I’ll stay for a few more minutes. I have more I wish to say to Sakunosuke-san.” Ango stopped for just a moment, turning his head to look at Atsushi. He didn’t seem shocked, or angry, or anything negative right then; instead he only offered the boy a gentle smile.
“Very well. Take care, Atsushi-kun.”
Atsushi watched as he went, eyes racking over the cemetery, looking for a sign of Dazai. When he found nothing of the sort, he turned back to face the gravestone. He placed his hand on it once more, closing his eyes as if in prayer.
“It sounds like you really loved him, Sakunosuke-san. I think he loved you, too.” Silence fell following the words, disturbed not even by the breeze.
“He would have loved you, Atsushi-kun.” Once again, a voice stirred Atsushi, but it wasn’t an unknown one - not one that startled him. He opened his eyes looked up. Dazai leaned against the tree, facing the rear of the gravestone. He looked tired, his hair messier than usual, his waistcoat only half buttoned and his collar half popped.
“Dazai-san, I --” Dazai held up a hand and shook his head as he moved forward, lowering himself to the ground behind the gravestone, leaning against it with his back. His head lolled back as he sunk down further until it rested against the granite.
“He loved orphans. He adopted five of them, in fact,” Dazai offered, fingers drumming against his knee in a broken rhythm. “He loved them so much that he requested of me to protect them just the same.” Atsushi could only stare at the back of Dazai’s head, blinking. He said nothing, and Dazai didn’t indicate that he wanted him to.
“I will never go back on my promise to him, Atsushi-kun… however, may I please humbly request to be left alone right now?”
**Author's Note:**
> hi, i'm still not over the grave scene in dead apple, bye | 079496cff587492ba2c4a09af76770fa | ['a1dbdd8f9f27471888bae850b2415fb4'] | “I told you! You guys have to be more --” Sakura cut herself off with a yelp when Oda suddenly shot up, reaching forward and seizing Kousuke around the waist, gently lifting him up before placing him on the ground on his back, Oda’s knees on either side of him, but not pinning him there. Kousuke stared up at him, wide-eyed.
“Never give your enemies a second chance, Kousuke,” Oda advised, pushing himself to his feet, letting Kousuke do the same as he stepped away from him. Katsumi made a noise, and Oda looked to him to see stars dancing in his eyes.
“That. Was. So. COOL!” Katsumi yelled, jumping up and down. “Can you teach me that move, Oda-san?!” Oda hummed for a moment, watching the boy until he stopped jumping, an apprehensive expression on his face. Oda shrugged.
“I don’t see why not, but you better not try to use it in your games, you hear me?” Katsumi nodded vigorously, a huge grin spreading across his face once more.
“Yes, Oda-san!”
“Are you going to say hi to Shinji, Oda-san?” Oda looked down at his side to find Sakura there, tugging at the hem of his jacket. He nodded at her.
“Yeah, I am. Have you been helping him get some rest, Sakura?” Sakura hummed in affirmation, though worry creased her brow.
“He’s been coughing a lot, is he going to be okay?” Oda crouched down to meet her, pulling the bottle out of his jacket pocket, holding it up for her to see.
“He’ll be okay, as long as he drinks this when your uncle and I tell him to,” Sakura looked at the bottle, her eyes widening with recognition as she stuck her tongue out.
“Yuck! I wouldn’t want to be him, right now!” Oda laughed as he stood, promising them that he’d be back before he had to go.
The door to Shinji’s room - or rather the guest bedroom once upon a time - was slightly ajar, just cracked enough that Oda could see a beam of light streaming through it as the sun dipped further down the horizon. Oda pushed it open slowly, poking his head in. It was stuffy and warm, isolated from the rest of the floor and free of any open windows. Oda sighed as he stepped through the door frame, crossing the room and towards the window, which he opened up to let in some fresh air. Immediately the scent of sickness began to vacate, and Oda himself felt better as he turned to Shinji and sat on the edge of the bed.
The boy was curled up in a ball under the covers, snoring quietly. Sakura had done an excellent job getting him to sleep, Oda thought, as he placed a hand over the boy’s shoulder, gently shaking him. The boy made a noise as he stirred, slowly turning until he was on his back, looking up at Oda. He smiled up at him, but it was weak and tired. Oda returned it with his sympathetic smile, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to Shinji’s forehead.
“How are you feeling, kiddo?” Shinji was silent for a long time, long enough that Oda would have wondered if he had fallen back asleep if it weren’t for the fact that his eyes were still open. Shinji rolled over with a groan, pressing his face into Oda’s thigh. Oda rubbed gentle circles into his back.
“You…. today…. You?” Oda tilted his head and leaned down, laughing as he stroked Shinji’s hair.
“I can’t hear you, kiddo, you have to lift your head up,” Shinji nodded against his thigh and complied, staring up at him.
“You have a job today, don’t you?” Oda blinked at the boy. Was it that obvious? He didn’t attempt to keep it a secret from the kids what he did; they were far too smart for that. All he could hope is that they understood that this life was one they could never pursue themselves. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if his precious kids ever walked down this road; he couldn’t even forgive himself now.
“What makes you say that?” He opted for instead of the alternatives.
“You always come to visit before a job,” Shinji said as-a-matter-of-factly. Oda was silent, his fingers absently threading through Shinji’s hair, when the boy broke the silence again. “It’s okay if you do, Oda-saaaan,” he yawned through the honorific, covering his mouth with his hand and laying back down on Oda’s thigh. “As long as you come home.”
Oda made a silent promise, then. A silent guarantee that, no matter what happened, he would always come home. No matter what would happen, no matter what he’d have to do, he would still come home to his children.
They stayed like that for a few minutes. Shinji had yet to fall back asleep and stirred when Oda fished the medicine back out of his pocket, holding it out in front of them. He could feel Shinji recoil against him, whining quietly. Wow, he thought, kids hated this stuff. He laughed, patting Shinji’s hip until he pulled himself up to sit cross-legged.
“You know you won’t get better unless you take this, Shinji,” Oda murmured, beginning to screw off the cap.
“I’ll take my chances,” Shinji said quickly, pushing himself away from Oda until he was backed against the wall. Oda looked back at him, blinking for a second, before shrugging, turning his head so that Shinji wouldn’t see his smile. |
7a5ef26c2b92435db0a66dc274b474db | ['a1e5d677b5b34a9fbe94d552c6742f51'] |
1. The lake
**Author's Note:**
> A collection of drabbles written by Moonie711 and Girlyfandomfighter13
>
> We are
>
> THE FLUFFERS
It was a beautiful day outside.
The birds were singing, flowers were blooming, on days like these..Monsters like Dust spent their time at the lake.
"come on dust bunny! i told ya' i dont need those!" A tiny Horror whined in protest, struggling against the larger and older skeleton as he tried to put his waterwings on, which the little cannibal was having none of.
Since being turned toddler, Dust had taken it upon himself to watch after and care for his companion, not that much had changed from their day to day life since then, as Dust had always been an extremely protective and dotting mate to begin with, and even more so now that the runt was so vulnerable.
A piece of his soul ached at the situation his cannibal had been put in, as going from lover to child had been an extremely difficult adjustment for the pair at first, but like most things Dust had managed to adapt to the situation, and admittably it felt _good_ to be so needed and depended on.
_"c o m e o n t r e a t , p u t t h e m o n o r y o u r n o t g o i n g s w i m m i n g ."_ Dust stayed firm on the matter, sitting with the cannibal in his lap as he tried to force the flotation devices onto him.
_But stars was Horror fussy today._
"no! e-everyone's starin' at me, i-i look stupid!" He pushed against Dust, getting absolutely nowhere in his struggle as the alpha held him tight, preventing him from escaping his embarassing fate.
_He was wearing the damn floaties one way or another._
"t h e y a r e n ' t s t a r i n g a t y o u , t r e a t ." Dust reassured, which wasn't true at all, as nearly the entire beach had been gawking at the pair since they'd first arrived, and although it made Horror feel extremely self conscience and awkward, Dust remained surprisingly indifferent, paying them no mind as he was used to it anyways.
_This was his day with Horror, and no outsider was going to ruin it for them._
"b-but.." The cannibal trailed off, staring up at his caretaker with a defeated pout as he stopped struggling and let his arms go limp, allowing Dust to slip the floats around his arms effortlessly.
"t h e r e , w a s t h a t s o h a r d ?" The alpha mocked and rolled his eyes at how dramatic and difficult the little runt had been, as despite how embarrassed he might have felt in that moment they both knew it was for his own safety.
_Skeletons couldn't swim afterall._
"mad at you.." The cannibal mumbled and crossed his arms in a pout, refusing to meet his alpha's gaze as he stared at the sand instead.
_Unfortunately for him though Dust wasn't done._
_"t h e n y o u r r e a l l y g o i n g t o h a t e m e f o r t h i s . ."_ His grin stretched wide as he pulled out a piece of rubber from his pocket, stifling back a laugh as he waved it in front of the cannibals face teasingly.
Horror instantly paled at the sight.
_Oh no._
_He was not wearing that!_
_No way in--_
"the hell!" The cannibal let out a squeek as he tried to make a run for it, not even taking a step before he was pinned down in Dust's lap by his gravity magic, making the little runt cry out in fusteration.
"cheater!" He called out in protest, making Dust chuckle lowly beside him as he held him close, something that would typically make the little cannibal shiver if it wasn't for how irritated he was.
_"c o m e o n t r e a t , d o i t f o r **d a d d y** ."_ The alpha purred in his ear, making Horror's face light up a bright crimson in response.
_It was official._
_Dust was trying to kill him_
_He was going to die of embarrassment._
"b-but d-dus--" He stopped short, quick to catch his mistake.
"-- **daddy**.." The cannibal corrected himself, making his mate grin in response as he was pleased to see the runt play along with his game.
_It was just a petname afterall._
_There was no harm in a little teasing._
"i-i dont wanna.." Horror fidgeted under the alphas gaze, making him smirk as he watched the flustered expression on the cannibals face grow.
_"w e a r i t ."_ It was not a request, and to show how serious he was, handed over the poka-dotted showercap, wanting his mate to put it on himself.
And he did.
Taking the decorated showercap into his hands, Horror stared at it disdainfully before deciding to obediently complying with his mates request, sighing dramatically in defeat before slipping the stupid thing onto his skull.
It was uncomfortable but snug, successfully protecting the hole in his skull by preventing any water from getting into it, something Dust always fussed over.
_There, now he was ready._
"can i..?" He looked up at his mate expectantly, who gave him a quick once over to make sure the swimming cap was on correctly.
Thankfully Horror passed his inspection.
_"a l r i g h t t r e a t , g o p l a y ."_ The alpha nodded his approval and motioned towards the lake. | 32a21f5045fd4b85863b2a2b06415628 | ['a1e5d677b5b34a9fbe94d552c6742f51'] | Only made him grunt in approval that she indeed was a _flower_ ready to be picked.
_And he was ready to tear it out of the ground._
First however, she needed to loosen up. To have the first orgasm that would help his thick cock penetrate her. _Jeez_ she was already so wet. As if her sex welcomed him in. He would give his tongue deep inside. Enough to cause another wanton moan to leave the poor girl. Finally letting go and a new wave of pleasure washing over her.
Horror already was drinking up the juices that squirted onto his face. Clearly victorious as his heart shaped eyelight watched as she finally came down from her high. Her eyes blown wide as she stared at the ceiling. Now fixated on how noticeably brightened her eyes had gotten.
A calming warmth seemed to wash over the room.
“H-hey Horror?” She called out hoarsely to the skeleton as he pulled his tongue out of her. Using the sheet to wipe off his face as he slowly moved up towards her flushed face.
Once finally coming out of her haze, she stared away from Horror as the ceiling became interesting in a strange way. Still in such a euphoric state as her heart slowed down. It was defining in her ears as she had begun to climax. And now, so quiet. The only thing she could hear was her breathing, and the small buzz from Horrors magic as he shuffled closer to her.
Pressing himself to her side and licking up the side of her neck. Gathering the sweat that had dropped below her ear.
“stars, ya definitely are a _sweet_ one.” He mumbled out against her skin. Once again petting at the scar on her tummy. Causing her to give a giggle and turn her eyes to him.
They glowed like small Christmas lights. Still wanting for more as she leaned forward and captured his teeth with her mouth once more. Not caring that she could taste herself on his teeth.
Her legs slowly moved on her own as she was now pushing Horror onto the bed. Still kissing him as she mounted his pelvis. She was expecting to find just cold bone there, however she was surprised when something, hard, hot, and girthy poked at her sex. And looking down between them, she could see the dark blue ecto cock glowing between them.
The mixture of the color from his cheekbones and that of his eye light seemed to mix and swirl together.
It looks like a lava lamp…
Horror would burst out into laughter as he covered his face. Clearly cheeks now blue as he couldn't help but laugh. Skylar of course flared into a pink color. Confused in when the sudden outburst.
“wow, ya really are a virgin if ya sayin shit like that!” He wailed out as he ran his hand down his face.
And that's when Skylar realized…. _She had spoken that aloud._
With a whine she quickly his her face behind her hands. Speaking in a muffled tone.
“Sh-shit I'm _s-sorry_!” She quickly apologized, trying to wriggle herself away from Horror underneath her. Of course the time she actually got the courage to take the lead and she says something to ruin it. Just the way he was still chuckling made her discouraged.
At least until he pulled her hands away from her face. Giving a soft and caring smile.
“yer so damn cute.” He uttered and pulled her down to him. With a soft kiss he would slowly bring back that confidence she had slowly been gaining this whole time.
“come on sweets, show me watcha got.” This time Horror egged on the now blushing mess. Grinding his cock against her sopping pussy. Making her let out a small growl of her own… Which made Horror perk up in interest.
Sitting up straight, Skylar's glowing eyes looks down at Horror. Still looking so shyly as she would reach down between them. Wrapping her fingers around his shaft. And giving it a firm stroke.
Horror would grunt out again at such a tug. Jeez it has been a while since he's had his ecto cock treated like this.
Skylar watched the magic swirl in his cock as she pumped his cock harder. The same magic swirling seemed to begin to gather at the tip of his cock. Precum slowly began to leak as she was entranced by the way he moaned and groaned underneath her.
“a-alright alright fuuuuck.... if ya keep doin that imma erupt!” He quickly stopped her with his hand and watched as she jolted out of her trance. Looking back at him as he would take his shaft from her.
But his voice snapped her out of it as she looked over at him. Her eyes already drooping as they returned to their normal color. The warmth on her shoulder disappeared as it left behind small teeth holes where Horror had bit her.
She would look over at him with a tired smile as he chuckled and pulled her naked body against his. Curling himself around her as he himself felt very tired from their activities.
“W-wait….” Skylar tried to pull back and looked at Horrors now confused face. Being concerned that she was ready to just up and run. That she was just going to abandon him after she agreed to this….
“But Horror, what about Dust?” Her voice asked, breaking the illusion that they could just put it aside and just have it be the two of them. Horror would simply smile and brush the hair out of her face.
“i'll take care of it alright? ya think i’d really do this without havin some sort of plan?” He asked her. Searching her face for any denial that he was wrong. |
ff1d2cca731d41a595455699359e9bbc | ['a1f2d29d477c405c8c47af0e8617f0c0'] | There was a growl - had Racket snuck a dog into the room, or something? " A day or so. . . " He answered. "They got ya meds, I was on watch duty. Actually sat down to eat with 'em, which was totally not an awkward moment." Not awkward. _ Sure _ . Hitoshi had a bit of trouble believing that, going by his current knowledge of Racket (though that wasn't actually all that much). "Now I'm tryna rest before I take Lipton back to the pack."
" **Pack?** " Hitoshi wondered aloud. " **Like, a wolf pack, or a pack of dogs, or what?** "
" . . . street animals ." Was the answer. "Dogs 'n' cats that no one wants 'round. Forgotten 'n' unseen."
"Oh, so like me then." Hitoshi said. Then his mind caught up to what his mouth had said, and he wished that in that moment, he could throw himself into the talons of Sunbird to await death.
". . . nah." Racket said after a few moments. "Ya have family that loves ya. The pack. . . the pack's only has itself."
"They have you." Hitoshi said, not thinking again, and again, wanting the throw himself to the waiting claws of death.
"Hah." Racket laughed at that. "Good one. Nah, I'm part of the pack. **Part of the unseen, ya know?** "
"Well, you're being seen _ now _ ." Hitoshi said. " **And besides, even if you're a _part_ of the pack, you should still at least _kinda_ qualify as seeing them, right?** "
A snicker. " Not what I meant an' ya know it. There's a whole slew of people 'n' animals that the neat an' tidy people like to ignore. We don't exist to them." That. . . Was a fair point, but it also got Hitoshi wondering just how much the other boy had gone through to get this mindset. " **I know it's kinda hard to understand, an' I ain't sayin' ya life's bunch of roses compared to mine, but to those who're left behind or are unwanted?** We ain't seen, an' we ain't heard."
The room fell into silence, apart from the jet engine purr of the cat.
"Well, I. . ." Why was it always so hard to talk about the things that you knew you needed to talk about? Why was it so much easier to talk about the things that you _ didn't _ need to talk about? "I. . . Kind of know that feel. Of being left behind, unwanted." Sunbird, _ why _ was this so hard to say? Oh, wait, it was because Hitoshi had had it drilled into his head that he wasn't worth anything, and that complaining about it or mentioning it would only lead to trouble. "I mean, most everyone ignored me or acted like I just didn't exist for some kind of sick amusement, or would beat me up when they didn't ignore me, so I. . . Kinda know how that feels." God, he was rambling again. Get it together, Hitoshi. "What I mean is, I'm sorry that you and your pack have had to go through that." There. That was an actual response instead of rambling about himself.
"Nothin' to be sorry for." Hitoshi could _ hear _ the shrug in Race's voice. "It's how things are, an' ya didn't put me or other homeless folk on the streets." Once again the room fell into silence, as Hitoshi tried to think of what to say next. Then, Racket spoke again. ". . . If ya really sorry, become a hero. One that doesn't just look away when a starvin' child comes to tug ya sleeve."
". . . I'll do my best not to let you or the rest of them down, then." Hitoshi said, voice suddenly soft. "I swear on my lungs. I won't let you down."
The room fell back into silence, and this time it stretched for several minutes longer than the previous few times. Hitoshi wanted to break the silence, but as it went on it got harder and harder to find something to say, and eventually he just lay in his bed, with the still unnamed cat purring in its comfortable curl.
Movement from the foot of Hitoshi's bed had his eyes snapping open from where they'd been drifting closed, and he watched as Racket quietly padded over to around where Hitoshi's arms were.
"I'm gonna take Lipton back to the rest of the pack, now." He said, and his voice was quiet and soft.
"Okay." Hitoshi replied, voice just barely a whisper.
Carefully, Racket reached over and picked up the cat - Lipton - and gathered it in his arms. Then, he slowly got onto Hitoshi's bed to exit the room through the window, taking care not to step on any of Hitoshi's arms or legs. He took care not to step on Hitoshi at all, really. Racket seemed to be trying not to disturb Hitoshi at all, because whenever he put a foot or hand down in his journey out of the window, he always put it somewhere farther away from Hitoshi, so as to avoid making the bed dip too much. Racket was a kind person, it seemed.
Then, almost as soon as he'd been _ in _ the room, Racket was _ out _ of it, along with Lipton. The room. . . Seemed colder without the two of them. It was colder when Hitoshi waa alone. He had, in the two days so far that Racket had been in Hitoshi's presence, allowed himself to hope that Racket would stay for longer, that maybe Hitoshi wouldn't go back to being alone. | a0349ff1addf4e83889932f45df98c19 | ['a1f2d29d477c405c8c47af0e8617f0c0'] | > probably a few people reading this, because i brainstormed ideas with some of you, but oh well
>
> i'd like to give a quick thanks to RougeDruid and his writing lair/server and the folks on it for bringing up the topic of a yakuza izuku and cementing my desire for to write a yakuza boss inko, as well as the folks on MythrillKitty's Bad Breath server for a) being so nice and b) giving me lost of ideas for angst. Myth, if you're reading this, that means you. you gave me lots of ideas for potential angst. stop hurting your kids p l e a s e
>
> also: i love pol. he's here to stay. i'm not getting rid of him.
>
> also also: i am,, trying my best to write izuku accurately. i'm just a genderfluid teen trying to accurately write another genderfluid teen
6. You Never Knew Your Mind Was Dark
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> An interlude from the screaming singing mess of everyday life -
>
> a streetmutt given a shelter
>
> a pair of mesmers finding a new child to protect
>
> and a boy of silver words with a new brother.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> _hoooooo boy_ , this chapter is a _beast._ it's over _fifteen thousand words_ , making it the longest single chapter i've ever written to date.
>
> moving along from THAT, this chapter is my favorite aside from the first chapter, mostly because it introduces an OC made by my friend LINK. The OC has had,,, not the best life, but it'll get better! I actually had a lot of fun writing this chapter, and Dogi provided the quotes/actions for said OC.
>
> that being said, one of the commenters remarked on the previous chapter how they felt that it jumped around too much in terms of POVs, so since this chapter is mostly in one POV for the majority of the chapter, I hope this helps and is easier to read!
>
> chapter title is from Don't You Dare Forget The Sun, by Get Scared
Hitoshi was having an internal crisis. The memories of what he’d overheard kept swirling in his mind. He’d had his suspicions before, of course. His Ma was one of the highest ranking members of Kaiyou Meka, and she’d made sure that Hisothi and Pa knew this. Loyalty was important in their family, as was honestly, and logically, it made the most sense to tell your spouse and child that you were involved in something dangerous, so that they could at least protect themselves somewhat.
Hitoshi had had a suspicion that his Ma’s boss - the true head of Kaiyou Make, not the individual acting heads scattered over the different chunks of their gang’s territory - was Midoriya Inko. It made sense with how much his Ma seemed to respect her (how much _ everyone _ did), and how she always knew which gangs were doing what, and how she knew so much about not getting captured by the police, but. . .
Hitoshi hadn’t expected to be _ right _ . Somehow that was the most difficult part of it all. Because he _ knew _ Midoriya izuku - Hitoshi was _ friends _ with the cryptid-child! And now he _ knew _ that Midori’s mother was the head, and. . . Hitoshi had the choice between telling Midori, or not telling Midori.
These thoughts persisted throughout the day, even when Hitoshi tried to take his mind off of it.
“ ** Hitocchi? ** ”
“ **Yeah?** ”
“ **Would you be willing to take out the trash?** I would do it, but. . .” She gestured to the cat peacefully sleeping on her lap.
“ I’ll do it. ” Hitoshi answered, getting up off the couch. It would be good to have something to do, rather than just sit around and stew in his thoughts. Grabbing the trashbag of, well, trash, Hitoshi began the trek towards the dumpster that was located behind their building. It wasn’t necessarily a long trip, but it was one long enough that Hitoshi unfortunatly found himself getting lost in his thoughts. _ I should tell Midori, right? But if their mom hasn’t told them it’s probably for a good reason , _ but _ if _ -
Hitoshi shook his head violently from side to side, hoping to clear his thoughts. _ Focus, Hitoshi. Just. . . put the garbage in the dumpster, and you can wallow in your indecision later . _ Mind made up, Hitoshi traveled the rest of the way to the dumpster with minimum wallowing-in-thoughts. Lifting the lid off of the dumpster, he swung the bag into it with one arm, and he almost turned away, had he not heard a quiet “ _ ow _ .”
Hitoshi slowly turned around, and lifted back up the lid of the dumpster. Peering in between the bags of trash, he dropped the lid in his surprise, which shut with a loud _ bang _ . Scrambling back up from where he had fallen, Hitoshi lifted the lid back up again, with a tighter grip on it. He grabbed his phone from the pocket of his purple hoodie, turning the flashlight on. The muffled noise of protest from inside the dumpster confirmed that Hitoshi had seen correctly: there was a person in the dumpster. |
317c123987ad47b09e5ee9d8b00c7377 | ['a1f4bb28021b46e7a4e9ead86b3e8531'] | “Can you take back your offer, Yaku?” Begs Lev, he's been decimated in Mario Kart too many times and doesn't wanna go through the failure of it again.
Yaku sighs, “I wish I could, but it's too late,” Yaku’s hand lazily gestures at the floating disc that's inserting itself into Yaku's gaming console with a little use of Kenma's magic.
Yaku and Lev reluctantly begin playing Mario Kart with Kenma even though they both know they're gonna get decimated every round. After Kenma leaves Yaku is gonna throw that disc into the ocean so this can never happen again, because too many lives have been lost because of this game. It was pretty funny to see Lev get crushed the first time they played it together a few years back, though.
They're racing on rainbow road now, Lev is in fourth place, Yaku’s in second, and surprisingly, he’s quickly catching up to Kenma, whose obviously in first. How Yaku is actually gaining on Kenma is beyond both him and Lev, but Yaku may finally have a chance, he doesn't want to get his hopes up, but things will never be the same if he can accomplish this; one thing's for sure, Kenma is seriously off his game today, Yaku and Lev don't know it, but Kuroo's the reason why.
Kenma can't help it, the realization is still so recent and fresh in his mind that it's just impossible for it to not eventually wander back into his mind. Kenma's trying to focus, he really is, but thoughts of Kuroo and that selfish, impossible, hope that just maybe he sees Kenma as more than a friend is intruding every crevice of his mind.
Can he really justify the cuddling as just friends? Can he really justify Kuroo's promise to him? Kuroo said he wouldn't leave him, it was a monumental promise to make for someone who he hadn't even known for half a year, and still doesn't. But it was late at night… they were both emotional…
…does Kuroo even remember it?
Lev gasp loudly, “oh my god! Yaku passed Kouzume-kun! Yaku’s in first place!!” Lev’s shouts of astonishment pull Kenma back to reality, shit. Lev’s right, Kenma's in second place and Yaku's leaving him in the dust, Kenma hadn't even realized that he’d stopped pressing the go button all together until just now.
Kenma keeps his poker face and kicks himself into third gear, this race is gonna be a close one. “Yaku, Lev?” He asks, getting their attention while everyone keeps their eyes on the game, “I haven't known Kuroo for a long time, you both know that, but I've grown very close to him very quickly,” pink dusts Kenma's cheeks, “we've spent time with each other and told each other personal things, things that I would never tell anyone else that I had know for such a short amount of time… I feel so at ease with him, l-like he'll protect me or something.” Kenma's face is getting red with embarrassment but he refuses to look away from the screen, they're on the home stretch of the final lap and he's gaining on Yaku, Lev and Yaku are really wondering where Kenma's going with this. “I-I think— actually, no. I know,” Kenma takes a deep breath, “I have feelings for Kuroo, it’s more than just a crush, and I really don't know what to do about it.”
Whatever Kenma's friends were expecting, it certainly wasn't that.
Kenma has never been one to have a crush or have feelings for other people, his first one was in middle school and it was extremely short lived, which is why Yaku and Lev would've never guessed that Kenma actually had feelings for Kuroo. It's so surprising, that it's enough to make Yaku let out a shocked, “what,” as the controller slips from his hands and for once Lev is just speechless.
Kenma's face is burning, “yeah, weird right? Oh, it looks like I won.” Kenma won but the game is already long forgotten in the minds of Lev and Yaku.
“Tell us everything,” Yaku emphasizes on the everything part. This may be harrowing for Kenma, but hey, at least he won Mario Kart and kept his prestige in tact.
Tsukki swings a punch charged with crackling magic meant to hit Bokuto right in the jaw, but Bokuto dodges it with ease, “you gotta be faster, Tsukishima-kun, put your whole body into it when you swing!”
Tsukki clicks his tongue, and turns to face Bokuto while swinging his fist once more, this time Bokuto grabs his arm and twists it while shoving him another direction, making Tsukki lose balance and fall, “too slow!” Calls Bokuto, who hasn't even broken a sweat.
Kuroo watches from the benches, “you're using the magic part of your ability but that's only the half of it, use your psionic abilities too!” Advises Kuroo from his spot on the bench.
“Well maybe my psionic abilities would actually come in handy if I were fighting spirits in the astral plane, but that's not the case,” snaps Tsukki, annoyance in his voice as he gets back up, “what's even the point of this?”
“Oh calm down princess, you’ll need it one day; what if someone you love is in danger? What will you do then?” questions Kuroo. Tsukki goes quiet, “get creative with your psionics, use telepathy and telekinesis while you fight, incorporate them into your own fighting style.”
“Look at you, Kuroo, actually giving good advice for once.”
“Tsukishima Kei, I'll have you know that I only ever give the best advice, because I am just that kind, in fact, I am always this kind,” Kuroo places a hand over his heart.
Tsukki rolls his eyes, “you've just been commentating on the sidelines the entire time, why don't you take Bokuto’s place?”
Kuroo shrugs, “alright fine, I will.” | d5b984c73703412e9e224ac778555247 | ['a1f4bb28021b46e7a4e9ead86b3e8531'] | “Kuroo Tetsurou. Pleasure to meet you, Yaku-san.” Kuroo gives him a small smile and Yaku gives him one in return.
Lev bursts through the door, immediately hurling himself towards Kuroo, sending out his barrage of questions about fighting and what it was like to fight Bokuto, effectively ruining the nice and calm moment; much to Yaku’s annoyance.
Yaku makes his annoyance known when he smacks Lev’s shoulder, scolding him on how impolite it is to barge into a room yelling so loudly. Kenma passes Kuroo a cup of water and Kuroo thanks him before he downs it all within moments.
After Lev gives himself a formal introduction to Kuroo— not wanting Yaku to keep on pinching him— Kenma invites Kuroo to come play video games with them. Bokuto assures Kuroo that it's fine for him to go and so he joins the trio in their trek upstairs to Kenma’s room.
Lev suggests the four of them play Kirby Air Ride with excitement, green eyes shimmering; ah, poor, poor Lev, he never stood a chance against anyone in that game. Kuroo and Kenma are constantly battling for first place and Yaku is right on both of their tails, but poor Lev can barely even get his character to move without running into the wall every five seconds.
After eight rounds ultimately ending in a tie between Kuroo and Kenma, Kenma suggests they play Mario Kart, to which all three of his friends say a unanimous, “no way.” The three of them know the dangers and humiliation that comes alongside playing Mario Kart with Kenma all too well. Instead, they play Bomberman together, and Kuroo is absolutely bursting with pride when manages to get Kenma to laugh, it's not super loud or anything, but it certainly sounds cute.
Though Kuroo's body is a little sore from his sparring session with Bokuto, he pays no mind to it.
As midday darkens to evening both Lev and Yaku have to head home. Lev steps out of the house still waving goodbye and of course accidentally knocks the top of his head against the door frame, making Kuroo and Kenma snort in amusement while Yaku scolds him about paying attention to his surroundings as they leave.
After dinner Kuroo spends the rest of the night helping out around the house.
A week later Kenma's carrying out his usual nightly routine of putting on his oversized pajamas, scrubbing his face, and brushing his teeth in the bathroom while Kuroo dozes off in his familiar form at the foot of Kenma's bed, except, Kuroo seems to be wide awake tonight, as he has recently been this week.
Kenma knows Kuroo won't admit it but he knows that Kuroo's been having nightmares, he just doesn't know why.
He's tried everything from simply asking Kuroo how he slept the night before to straight up confronting Kuroo saying that he knows the Kuroo's been having nightmares, but no matter what Kenma tries Kuroo still keeps a his lips shut tight and tries to change the subject. And every time, Kenma lets him.
Akaashi tells him that Kuroo will tell him when he's ready. But when will he be ready? Because Kenma can't help Kuroo if he refuses to even admit there's a problem in the first place. He doesn't like seeing Kuroo tired in the mornings because of a bad sleep and wide awake at night because he doesn't want to go to sleep for fear of what he'll see as he sleeps.
Kenma sighs as he steps out of the bathroom and heads towards his bed, for now he guesses he'll just have to wait for Kuroo to talk about it to him; whenever that may be.
Kenma turns off the lights with a wave of his hand as usual and gets comfy in the warm sheets. “Goodnight Kuroo,” he speaks into the darkness of the room. A cat’s meow is his response.
Smoke, curling through the air, it's ashy tendrils festering with toxicity ready to poison the lungs of the innocent in a moment's notice.
Kuroo hadn't had this dream in nearly 300 years.
Yet, here it is again for the sixth time this week, back to haunt him.
He's 19 again, returning from a midnight walk through the forest when he sees a haunting orange glow emanating from the village ahead and smells the faint foul scent of smoke. Immediately panic and dread swallow him whole. He's running towards the village as fast as he possibly can, feet tripping up over large roots and deep blue colored yukata snagging on low hanging branches.
He doesn't bother to notice how he gets to the village much quicker than he should've.
It's doesn't matter to him, because his fears are true, the village is burning.
The intense heat emanating from the fires all around him, hissing and spitting in their orange and yellow shades, make Kuroo want to throw up. He wastes no more time and bullies his paralyzed legs into motion, bolting towards his own home, the screams of frightening lovers and crying children all around him. And just barely audible, a hissing voice is heard, “it's your fault.”
Anxiety swells in his throat.
And as Kuroo sees the crackling flames licking hungrily at the wood of his own home he really feels like he's gonna throw up.
Oh god. What about his mother? What about his little sister? Again, the accusing voice hisses within his ear, a little louder than before, “all your fault.”
Kuroo's charging into his burning home before he realizes what's happening. His nose is immediately hit with the thick acrid smell of smoke but he braves on, he first sees his mother's room, through watering eyes he can see that it's been completely consumed in the inferno, no way anyone in there is alive.
Bile, warm and putrid rises up his throat, this time, Kuroo hunches over and throws up. |
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