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f96677e1386344279362655eb2f8f204 | ['c179e04259674d43a94d3af7b2717f8f'] |
My Knight In Crappy Converse
**Author's Note:**
> Hey, sorry if this sucks, I haven’t exactly written fic in a while, and never for PR, but, here we go! Point out any errors so that i can make this ome shot more well written and grammatically correct!
Kim’s sleep was fitful, and frankly there wasn’t a lot, but she never expected the enemy that the Rangers had been training to beat to suddenly appear in her bedroom, and while her parents are away, leaving her unfit to fight, and with no one to help her. Rita hadn’t needed to use any force, any bit of strength, because she was besting the Pink Ranger in a battle of the mind.
“Please... stop... just leave me alone..” Kim tried to plea through silent sobs, greif amd regret filling her soul.
”Why stop when I only tell the truth? None of the other Rangers will come for you. None of them will care for your death. You are irrelevant and unwanted, Hart. No matter what you try to tell yourself. Not even the little dyke will care for your death,” Rita’s sentances continued to rip Kim apart, and Rita was only beginning.
”Thats... thats not true. Trini cares for me, she does! And t-the others do to,” She tried to fight back the bitterness in her heart, the uncertainty and hesitation in her words, but Rita heard it, _felt_ it. She had Kimberly right where she wanted her.
”But you know it not to be true, do they even know of your... _scandal_?” Kim tried to hold back tears. She hadn’t told them, hadn’t told Trini, in fear of the judgement and resentment that would undoubtedly follow.
Rita sighed, circiling the girl. “You know that what I say is true, Pink, you know the harshness of my words is only the bitterness of reality.”
Kim tried to hold back her tears, her silent sobs, but as she dropped to her knees, the tears rolled freely down her cheeks. Rita clicked her tounge, crouching slowly and placing a hand under the Ranger’s chin, forcing her to keep eye contact.
Rita smiled, and Kim could not stop the strong punch to her abdomen, nor the hand tightening around her throat. She barely squirmed, and did not make a sound. Another flurry of punches collided with her gut, her lungs gasped in protest of the lack of air supply. Kim squirmed, fear and instinct guiding her actions. She clawed at the hand around her throat, tried to free herself from Rita’s iron grip.
Feeling the Ranger start to protest her quick death, Rita lifted Kimberly by her throat, slamming her against the closest wall. Kim’s remainging breath left her, and she started to kick at her adversary, whose face was coming closer.
”This could have been quick and only a bit painful, Pink, but your naughty actions have made me draw out our little.. _altercation.”_
Kim kicked harder in protest, her lungs clinging to every bit of air they could. Kim couldn’t hold out much longer, and she prayed that one of the Rangers felt her distress through their Ranger Bond. Silent tears poured down Kim’s cheeks, her vision slowly fading.
“Kim!” A familiar voice. “Back the fuck up, you damn Monster!” A voice of rage and pure hatred. _Trini!_
Rita’s hand stopped pressing down against Kim’s windpipe, but only out of momentary surprise. “Yellow, how wonderful to see you!” Rita chuckled, throwing Kim haphazardly across the room, focusing her attention on the littlest ranger, but most certainly not the weakest. She crept towards the girl, but Trini did not flinch, she did not move at all as Rita grew closer. Without saying a word, the Yellow Ranger delivered a swift and hard punch the Rita’s face, and a swift kick to her gut.
”That’s for touching Kim,” she snarled, throwing a flurry of punches to her Rita’s abdomen. “That’s for hurting Kim,” she growled, pure hatred in her eyes. “An this-“ the girl said, pulling back her arm, which was now covered with Ranger Armour. “Is just for kicks. Or should I say, _punches!_ ” She hammered her fist into Rita’s face, connecting it with her jaw.
Rita growled, cracking her neck as she stood from the floor of the bedroom. She grabbed the ranger by her neck, slamming her into a wall, and repeatedly punching her in the gut. She grabbed the Ranger’s arm, twisting it at an unnatural angle until a painful _Snap! c_ ould be heard. Trini howled with pain, using her other arm to throw a blind punch, but it didn’t hit its mark. Growing aggitated, Rita picked up the girl, and threw her towards Kim, who was still laying on the floor, mostly motionless. Trimi landed with a hard thud, crashing into Kimberly’s body.
”Until our final fight, Rangers.”
Rita disappeared, leaving both girls in varrying amounts of pain. “Trini?” Kim croaked, her voice filled with worry. Trini lifted her head, her arm lay at an awkward angle, and Kim knew it would take time to heal, even with their Ranger powers. The shorter girl shifted herself to be eye level with Kim, neither girl moving from the floor of Kimberly’s bedroom.
“Are you okay?” Trini asked, her voice coated with pain, but she needed to know how Kim was first, before she could worry about herself. Kim nodded, her windpipe felt crushed and she thought at least one of her ribs was broken, but she was more concerned for her Yellow ranger. Trini nodded, some lf the anxiety left her face. The smaller Ranger bit her lip, thinking.
“So, are you okay? Your arm looks pretty bust-!” Kimberly squeeled in surprise at the feeling of the shorter girl’s lips colliding with hers. Kimberly did not hesitate to kiss back with more force, she had waited a while for this, she wasn’t going to just pass this opportunity up, even if both girls felt horrible and were in dire need of rest.
“Kim?” Trini broke the kiss, worry clouding her eyes. Kim looked into the eyes of the girl before her, her savior. Her knight in crappy converse.
“Hmm?” Kim hummed, acknowledging the girl. When Trini didn’t keep speaking, Kim gently took the hand on Trini’s good arm and caressed it, waitimg patiently for Trini to speak.
“I just... I felt your distress from our Ranger Bond, and I was so damn scared..” The Ranger said, tears trickling down her cheeks. Kim kissed the girl’s tears, holding her close. “A-and when the connection started to fade, I-I thought that.. That I was too late.” Kim started to cry, and brought the other Ranger closer.
“Never. I’ll never leave you. I promise,” Kim whispered, not wanting to disturb their moment. She leaned forward and gave Trini a gentle kiss before getting up to tell the boys to meet them at the football field. | 0e4f5ed817b04fc09f9ecba52a040a05 | ['c179e04259674d43a94d3af7b2717f8f'] | "Alright Rubes, I didn't find the- W-Weiss?!" His voice cracked and surprise was evident in his voice. Ruby didn't open her eyes until she felt a feather light touch on her cheek. Her eyes shot open and she realized that it was Weiss' hand that had been placed on her cheek. Ruby smiled and continued to cry, but she was reduced to hiccups and silent tears. She decided to be bold. I mean, she hadn't seen the girl she loved in almost a year, so who was going to argue with her for wanting to be bold towards Weiss?
She placed feather light kisses all around Weiss' face, lingering for only a second over her scar, before finally pressing her lips to Weiss'. There was only a slight hesitation before she could feel her partners lips moving in sync with hers. Ruby could taste the longing and desire on Weiss' lips and she was sure that Weiss could taste her own.
Before the kiss could get any more heated, a wolf whistle pierced the silent library atmosphere. They broke apart and Ruby looked to see Jaune with a blush the shade of Pyraah's hair and Rylee with an impressed look on her face. Ruby smiled at the blush on Weiss' face when she realized that they were not alone.
"Guys, this is Weiss," Ruby began, motioning towards the girl who she had only now realized had been sitting in her lap.
"My partner."
2. Chapter 2: Sisters Together Again! And Weiss!
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> Okay, so this got a bit more attention that I assumed it would and I got a few people asking for a bit of a sequel to the White Rose reunion, so here's a Yang, Ruby, and Weiss reunion! I hope this is good and that you enjoy it!
> (There will be a Bumblby reunion, but this needed to happen first)
>
> :D
Yang pushed her motorcycle as hard as she could, she _needed_ to get to Mistral. She needed to see her sister again, as well as have a bit of a talk with her for fleeing Patch with only a note for a goodbye. Yang was angry and hurt, angry at Ruby for leaving and angrier at herself for pushing her away. Sure, she had a right to be depressed, she had lost her _arm_ , but that wasn't a good reason to push away the person closest to her. She's already lost an arm, her team, her school, her friends, her ___partner_ , the list goes on. She sure as _hell_ was _not_ about to add her sister to that list. So yeah, she was angry, mostly at herself, but still.
But the second her motorcycle roared into Haven's little plaza, that anger was washed away and replaced with relief. There, only 15 or so feet away, was Ruby and the four others she had left with.
_Wait._ She looked over the people next to Ruby. There was Jaune, Nora, Ren and... Weiss?! Yang would like to hear the story of how Weiss got here later, but for right now, it was all about Ruby.
She hopped off of her motorcycle and sprinted towards Ruby, tackling her in a hug. "Yang!" Ruby yelled. Yang could hear the smile on her face. She squeezed Ruby until she was gasping for breath, coughing out simple sentences like, "Help!" and "Weiss...stop...laughing!" Yang gently puts down her sister, only after giving her one last squeeze for good measure.
"God, I missed you, Rubes! How've you been?" Yang asked, smiling from ear to ear. Ruby panted for a few seconds, shot a glare at Yang, and then answered her question. "I've missed you too Yang. I've been good, also, we found Weiss!" Ruby's smile was large and infectious as she looped an arm around Weiss's waist. "Hah, looks like Rubes out grew you, Weiss! Who's the shortie now!" Yang spoke, light laughter emitting from her throat. She gave Weiss a quick hug and an, "It's good to see you, Weiss."
She pulled back and looked at the two of them with a gentle smile. Seeing the two of them together made her long for Blake to be by her side, to be able to hold her close and tight and just be _happy_. She missed Blake, and though she had a smile on her face it didn't reach her eyes. Weiss deduced the problem in a few mere seconds. "Blake?" She asked, a sad smile on her face. Yang nodded once, nice and slow. The smile still didn't reach her eyes as she watched Weiss and Ruby interact, giving each other quick pecks on the cheek when they thought she wasn't looking. But what stung the most? The smiles on their faces as they held each other. The _genuine_ _, loving_ smiles they gave each other. She fought to keep the tears from dripping down her cheeks until she could cry herself to sleep silently. And every night, dreams of Blake Belladonna invaded her mind and she awoke the next morning torn, not sure if she wanted to go back to sleep where she could finally see her partner again, or stay awake so she didn't have to face the sting of reality twice in one morning. She always chose the former, because any second she got to see her partner, reality or not, kept her from breaking down, even though she always did after a few weeks of the painful and vicious cycle. Yet she always chose the former, hoping that _maybe, just maybe,_ she would wake up to find her partner's face next to hers.
But she never did.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> Yeah, this one's a little short and it's got a bitter ending, but don't fear! The Bumblby reunion will come soon, there will be tears (of joy!) and many beautiful fluffy moments, of course with a bit of angst (or should I say YANGst. lol, gotta love those puns)! Alright, hope you enjoyed! |
a4581e026a51491ab8247cb95c7e7848 | ['c192dcf869b54ade9c11beb14a80fecc'] | Lan SiZhui gave a firm nod and straightened himself up even more. “Mm, and I will help…” Then he hesitated a moment before adding… “if I may.”
Lan WangJi studied the young man for a moment and nodded once more. “Come, let us begin.”
They moved to the mossy ground beneath the aged magnolia tree and settled themselves with their guqins. Lan WangJi struck the first note and Lan SiZhui followed only a heartbeat behind. The air rippled with energy as they both poured their spiritual power into every note they played. It echoed outward with the heartfelt summons, the plea for a certain soul to respond.
It was a slow, gradual gathering as spirits answered the call. As always, each was asked the same question.
_ “Are you Wei Ying?” _
Sometimes the answers were strong, vibrant notes, others were softer so that one needed to listen closely for them. But each one gave the same reply.
_ “No.” _
As the evening wore on, Lan SiZhui had gained an entirely new level of admiration and respect for Lan WangJi. He considered the disheartening disappointment and frustration he was feeling after so many negative responses, and it had only been a couple of hours. He felt an empathetic ache deep in his own heart when he thought of feeling that for thirteen years that Lan WangJi had been searching for this one soul.
Suddenly, a faint reply made his heart stop and he looked over at Lan WangJi.
Lan WangJi had asked the same question he had countless times before, but the soft whisper on the strings might as well have been shouted.
_ “Yes.” _
His golden eyes flickered with hope, relief, and a myriad of other emotions as he searched the hazy, formless mist that had gathered. He took a deep breath, steadying his fingers as he sought confirmation of what he thought he’d heard.
_ “Wei Ying?” _
The response came, still faint whispers on the strings but he heard them clearly all the same.
_ “I’m here, Lan Zhan.” _
Lan SiZhui bit his lip as he barely dared to breath for fear of disturbing the moment. He had never in his life seen more than the faintest hint of emotion on his mentor’s face, but now those emotions played across Lan WangJi’s features unrestrained and unmistakable.
As suddenly as the reply had come, silence fell and the gathered spirits vanished as though they’d been forcefully dispersed. The two cultivators looked at each other in shocked confusion.
“I didn’t…” Lan SiZhui felt a flash of worry that he might have done something wrong but he was sure he hadn’t, had he? It was hard to miss the anguish that filled his mentor’s golden eyes.
Lan WangJi swallowed hard as he shook his head. “No, something happened, but I don’t know what.”
Footsteps interrupted any further discussion as Lan JingYi approached them. He offered a deep, formal salute and bow.
“Please forgive the interruption, HanGuang-Jun.” Then he turned to Lan SiZhui. “Lan QiRen sent me to get you, SiZhui. There’s a village that’s asked for help with walking corpses, and he wants you to lead the mission.”
Lan SiZhui nodded, and then turned to Lan WangJi, hesitating as his heart ached anew for the elder Lan.
“Go. Be careful and remember your training. Both of you.”
“I will, HanGuang-Jun.” Lan SiZhui quickly wrapped his guqin and rose to join his fellow junior.
Lan JingYi nodded as well. “We’ll be careful, HanGuang-Jun.”
As the two juniors disappeared back up the path, Lan WangJi brushed shaking fingers across the strings of his guqin and was unable to hold back the tear that slid down one cheek. His voice wavered, little more than a pained whisper...
“Wei… Ying... “
**Author's Note:**
> The main idea of the story was largely inspired by a couple of pieces of art I've seen of LWJ and young LSZ together with the guqin. And it kinda built out from there as I imagined the scenarios that might unfold between them.
>
> I wanted to get some of this story posted in time for SiZhui's birthday. Finally completed, with one chapter more than originally planned. But overall I'm pleased with how the story unfolded. | f46a9b424a2c475387bec29099fb12ba | ['c192dcf869b54ade9c11beb14a80fecc'] | Hua Cheng’s jaw tightened as he struggled to rein in the maelstrom that had been running rampant in his heart and mind for the last week. He really wanted to keep from making even more of a fool of himself in front of his god than he already had, snapping at him like that. He managed to shrug and shook his head. “It’s fine, Gege. I’ve just been… busy. I’m sorry. I need to go.”
He walked past Xie Lian and disappeared out the door. Xie Lian could only turn and watch him leave, again, as confusion spread over his face. Why was his husband acting so strangely? Had he managed to do something wrong without even realizing it? He wanted to stop the Demon King and ask, but the words died in his throat before he could say them and then San Lang had vanished again. He swallowed hard as he tried to decide what he should do now.
****
The nights in Ghost City could never really be called dark, with the myriad colorful lights from lanterns and fires that spread through the city. Even the QianDeng Temple glowed with a steady, warm light from lanterns hung all over it. Perched on the rooftop of the Temple, Hua Cheng’s mood was almost dark enough that he didn’t notice the light. His heart and mind were extremely troubled. It concerned him when it really sank in how horribly irritable and short tempered he’d been earlier in the evening with his husband.
Of course, Xie Lian hadn’t said anything, he never would. But Hua Cheng found his own behavior unacceptable in the presence of the one person he valued above all else in the world. It just reminded him all over again that he truly was unworthy of the god he cherished so dearly. Suddenly, a sound nearby caught his attention. He had lost track of how long he’d spent up here mired in his thoughts. Sighing softly, he leaned his head back against the ornately carved rooftop decoration he sat beside.
Hua Cheng didn’t need to look. After all, there was only one person who would actually care enough to come looking for _ him _ . He felt Xie Lian settle down on his left side- not quite touching, as if wanting to avoid disturbing him, yet close enough that it was impossible not to know that his beloved god was there. He glanced over, and his brows dipped downward as he saw the quiet concern and unspoken hurt written on Xie Lian’s beautiful face.
“Gege? What is it?” He was satisfied that his voice was steady when he spoke, even if his heart wasn’t.
Xie Lian tipped his head to one side, studying his husband’s face for a moment. He smiled warmly and shrugged. “I was just going to ask San Lang the same thing.”
Hua Cheng forced a smile to his lips and shook his head. “It’s nothing Gege needs to worry about. I’m fine.”
Xie Lian shifted, closing the already small distance between them. He leaned lightly against Hua Cheng’s side and reached over to take his husband’s hand in his own. “Is this alright?”
It took Hua Cheng a moment to swallow down the lump that had settled in his throat at the gentle touch and the realization of just how very much he did not deserve this. After several heartbeats he finally managed, “Of course, Gege.”
2. Chapter 2
When his husband accepted his touch, Xie Lian felt his heart calm a little. However, as they sat together in silence it was impossible not to notice the tension still evident in the way Hua Cheng held himself. He was clearly still bothered by something.
Xie Lian chewed at his lower lip as he tried to ignore the thoughts that started gnawing at him. It was a losing battle. Hua Cheng had told him he didn’t need to come with him, and he’d looked very unhappy when he had shown up without any warning. Xie Lian frowned. If he was honest with himself, his husband had actually looked angry that he was there when he’d walked into Paradise Manor, and the place had been wrecked.
The Demon King wasn’t without a temper, he knew that well enough. But that temper had never been directed at _ him _ . Had he somehow done something wrong? What could he have done to upset his husband so much that he didn’t want him around? He tilted his head to look over at Hua Cheng.
His head was leaned back against the roof decoration, and his eye was closed. Xie Lian studied his husband’s face and even though it was obvious he was trying to project his typical nonchalant calmness, he was far from relaxed.
The god shifted, moving to kneel in front of the Demon King. He kept hold of Hua Cheng’s hand, as much to ground himself as to hopefully help convey his sincerity to his husband.
“San Lang? I… ah… I hope it really isn’t too troublesome for me to have come. I know you’d said that you’d come back to Puji when you could. I know my San Lang is very good and strong, so I’m sure even big things wouldn’t be much of a bother. I shouldn’t have worried, but you were gone for a week… I’m sorry, San Lang… I… I missed you and I was concerned. I remembered that you said it didn’t matter what number I rolled with the dice, if I wanted to see you, then... I would see you... I rolled two sixes and that usually never happens unless you share your luck with me… I was afraid it might have meant that you needed me... I… I apologize if that wasn’t so.” |
cd74287fb0594b87ba71caa514a752dd | ['c1a60ed6f9854206b5b89a09c3e88715'] |
1. dream in the making
**Author's Note:**
> YALL READY FOR SOME ANGSTY TEENAGER, KINDA HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL-LIKE DRAMA ??? LETS GOOOOOO
>
> ok, we're in for the long haul here!! get ready for relationship building and drama~ note, when kevin and jacob are talking, they're doing so in english unless otherwise!! (plus eric with either of them uwu)
>
> hope you enjoy!!
⠀⠀"Interested in joining a band? You can perform at—"
⠀⠀"Not interested."
⠀⠀"By any chance, do you want to join a band—"
⠀⠀"No thanks."
⠀⠀"Would you like to join a band I'm forming—"
⠀⠀"No."
⠀⠀Kevin heaved a deep sigh as he watched another person shuffle away from him down the hallway. He looked down at his clipboard laying on top of his books and binders—at the top in fancy calligraphy, _Potential Band Members_ —and found no names. _It's been like this for thirteen days_ , Kevin internally grumbled, hiking up his backpack before beginning to drag himself to the lunchroom.
⠀⠀For as long as he could remember, Kevin loved to perform. Singing, dancing, playing instruments—he loved it all. There was something about picking up the guitar and sitting on his piano bench, or standing on the stage to dance or belting out his favorite songs that brought him happiness like no other thing did. He had done musicals, taken vocal classes, participated in recitals, and performed in the choir of his church for several years among other things. He could hardly begin to explain his love for performing.
⠀⠀When he had transferred to his new high school in Seoul at the beginning of the year, fresh from Canada, he had hoped for some sort of program where he could pursue such interests. Alas, he came up empty-handed and was forced to ask to form such a club or program, and only the other week or so, his idea had been approved by the school staff. However, there was a condition: he had to find another person to join him in two weeks, or his currently-nonexistent band would be terminated and he would have to wait until the following year to begin recruitments again.
⠀⠀A group of rather muscled and large guys charged by him, one knocking all of his things from his arms and sending him to the floor. The guy absentmindedly called out, "My bad!" over his shoulder before he disappeared around the corner with his friend group. Kevin blew his black fringe out of his face, irritated.
⠀⠀ _This fucking blows._
⠀⠀He shrugged his backpack off, then picked himself off of the floor and began to gather all of the papers that had fallen from his binder's hold, silently moping the entire time. "Stupid jocks," he mumbled underneath his breath, "stupid people not wanting to join my band. Their loss, not mine." Kevin sighed as he crammed some more papers behind the front cover. His band was doomed before it even started. He looked at a drawing he had stuffed into the plastic cover of the binder, the picture depicting him playing keyboard and singing while an empty drum set and guitar sat in the background. Running a thumb over the drawing, Kevin ran a hand through his hair and began to chew on his bottom lip. Should he just give up now?
⠀⠀A person suddenly crouched down next to him and began to grab the rest of the papers that had been knocked from his binder. Quickly handing them to Kevin, the person stood up and began to walk away. Hastily, Kevin also shot up onto his feet and called out to the retreating mysterious person, "Hey! Thank you so much for the help!"
⠀⠀The guy turned around and smiled sweetly. "Yeah, no problem," he said before turning a corner and disappearing. Kevin blinked in confusion. He hadn't looked at the face of the helper for more than a few seconds, but it looked strangely like Ja—
⠀⠀Kevin suddenly stopped the thought in its tracks, hitting himself in the head with the flat of his hand and wincing from the pain. There was absolutely no _way_ that the guy had been who Kevin thought he saw. To end up at the same school after being separated the way they did was too much of a coincidence, if not impossible. Kevin gazed in the direction the mysterious guy had went, then shook his head as he bent down to gather his bags and books.
⠀⠀"You're _over_ him, Kev," he muttered to himself under his breath. "Stop thinking about him. You're fuckin' seeing him everywhere now." Thankfully, as he walked to the cafeteria, the guy that had helped in the hallway was forgotten as his worries for his band pushed to the forefront of his brain again.
* * *
⠀⠀Kevin felt he was wearing the disappointment he felt on his face too carelessly as he sat down in his seat with his tray of food. His friend Eric pointed at him with his chopsticks.
⠀⠀"Nothing, huh?" Eric asked. Kevin shook his head.
⠀⠀"No one." He heaved a big sigh, poking at his food. "I want this band thing to work out so badly but it's impossible if no one even wants to try it. . ." Kevin mumbled under his breath. Eric pat him sympathetically on the back.
⠀⠀"You know I'd join you if I could," the younger boy said with a sad smile. Kevin nodded moodily. He knew that, if only Eric weren't already currently occupied with sports, his younger friend would've joined him in a heartbeat. Eric _was_ pretty talented in the performance area, despite his image being more jock-ish than anything. However, that wasn't the case. | eb36a79453654460998578d2e133a17b | ['c1a60ed6f9854206b5b89a09c3e88715'] | ⠀⠀Kevin knew his sister had no answer for him, but took comfort in the fact that she pulled him closer, as if that was her way of showing her solidarity with him. He leaned his head against her shoulder (even though it was a bit uncomfortable because he was significantly taller than her), and he closed his eyes as his chest began to ache, a sudden urge to cry rising in him. "I just wish these feelings would just go away, you know? I hate it how he still has that much power over me four years later, even if he doesn't mean to. It's so fucking annoying," he complained loudly in a choked voice, burying his face into his hands. It was hard to hear his problems aloud, and he couldn't help the lone tear that rolled down his face as images popped into his head. He really thought he had finally beaten Jacob until Jacob decided to waltz back into his life and it infuriated him like no other thing ever had.
⠀⠀"You wanna know something weird that happened?" Stella asked softly, running her hands through Kevin's black hair like she used to do when they were much younger to sooth his nerves. When Kevin sniffed and shook his head, she said, "Jeff texted me the other day. He was in town for the next couple of weeks for a shoot and wanted to meet up, even though we hadn't talked in four years."
⠀⠀Kevin furrowed his brows together in confusion. That didn't seem part of the older Bae's character. While Jeff was typically as smiley and positive as his younger brother, he was notorious for long grudges. "Didn't you guys get into a fight?" he asked weakly, dimly remembering his sister holing herself in her room and spending most of the evening screaming. He had never learned what had angered her so much though, only being told that her and Jeff had fought. His sister nodded.
⠀⠀"Yeah. He called me to say that he was leaving the country. From the airport." Stella laughed as Kevin winced, sucking in air through his teeth. She shrugged and continued with, "We were pretty good friends because of you two being together so much so I basically yelled at him saying that I hated him for deserting us, that he was a dick and selfish and that he should never come back. He yelled back that I didn't get what was happening and that I was being crazy and jumping to conclusions like always."
⠀⠀"I mean, you _do_ do that a lot," Kevin reasoned. He yelped as Stella smacked him in the stomach.
⠀⠀"I don't need to be reminded, thank you," she said curtly. "Anyways, we were both angry at each other and it ended with, like, us both screaming _fine_ at each other. In retrospect it was kinda funny, but still, you can imagine the shock I got when I got a text from him."
⠀⠀Kevin frowned. He pointed at his sister's phone that was sticking out of her back pocket. "What'd he say?" he asked. Stella pulled her phone out and unlocked it, tapping the texting app before handing it to Kevin, who took it somewhat eagerly.
> **jjbae**
> Hey is this still Stella Moon's #
>
>
> **stellamoony**
> Yes it is? Can I help you with something? I don't have your number saved.
>
>
> **jjbae**
> Oh cool I got it right then. Hey, it's been a while. It's Jeff Bae, Jacob's older brother? Used to hang out all the time?
>
>
> **stellamoony**
> ...Jeff, it's been four years and we didn't exactly leave it on good terms, as I'm sure you're aware of
>
>
> **jjbae**
> oh lol yeah ik but I was thinking... I'm a photographer now in uni and I'm coming back to Canada for a little bit so is it possible we could meet up or smth
>
>
> **jjbae**
> It doesn't have to be fancy or anything we can just go to tim hortons and chill
>
>
> **stellamoony**
> Can I get a reason first? I know you, Jeff, and you're not the type to just extend an olive branch this easily. And don't think I've forgotten what Jacob did to Kevin when they were younger.
>
>
> **jjbae**
> I really want to meet you irl though, and I feel like it would be better if I explain stuff that way instead of over text. It's a lot and i think you and Kev deserve apologies. I think it's spring break at UBC so are you free then? I'll be here for a couple of weeks for my next job
>
>
> **stellamoony**
> I'm going to Korea to visit my parents and Kevin for break. If you're available after that and you're still in the country, we can meet up. You're paying though.
>
>
> **jjbae**
> Ok I will don't worry your little head about it. I'll see you maybe next weekend then?
>
>
> **stellamoony**
> Yep. Bye Jeff
>
>
> **jjbae**
> see ya
⠀⠀Kevin blinked in confusion. What could've been so important that Jeff would've reached out to his older sister after four years of silent animosity? Why did Jeff feel they deserved apologies, and what did he want to explain? He tentatively gave the phone back to his sister and asked, "Any idea what he wants?"
⠀⠀She shrugged hopelessly, stuffing the phone back into her pockets. "Absolutely none. I'm gonna go to the meetup thing though and tell you everything. Sounds like it concerns you," she said simply. Stella slung an arm around his shoulder and said, "Hey, all I'm saying is that Jacob Bae better watch his back if he doesn't wanna taste my rage, you feel? |
61111d489659476282bcabe597473f55 | ['c1d4a9e9b9f7478a862a9636f0b98383'] |
He is My World (And I Lost it)
His heart was soft against his sternum.
It was beating… his breathing was slow.
His touch, still warm, as he held onto the hand that reached out to his own; the fingers he felt wrapped themselves around his smaller hand, it was grasping his fingers tightly—as if it was desperately clinging onto him.
To make him stay.
To _make_ him _stay_.
But that was it, was it not? He was slipping. The magic that was foreign to his system was coursing through his veins. He was warned that Lorenzo’s magic was not going to be accustomed to his body. He was warned there would be consequences—he ignored them. For anything, anyone… he ignored them. He no longer felt powerful or _needed_ without his magic. He begged Alec to understand. He begged the man to see that Magnus was not suited to be a _mundane_.
Centuries did he live. None of them were lived as a mundane.
But the pain. The _pain_. It was enough for him to scream out in a language he hadn’t spoken in… how many years? How many years had he spoken in _Bahasa_? That was how painful it was. For him to break his strong façade, for him to break his walls down further and directly in front of his Dear?
It was _enough_ , Magnus realised.
He saw himself there. Laying in bed. Completely immobile. He saw the emotion on Alec’s face; he saw _nothing_. An unreadable shadow loomed over his face as the taller male sat by his comatose state. Though, that hand was tight around his; it was slowly going slack as he watched Catarina enter the room with an expression Magnus knew—it was nothing good.
_Magnus’ body is rejecting Lorenzo’s magic._
Now the expression returned to his beloved’s face; it was of an anger Magnus very well knew Alec was capable of showing off. To be frank, Magnus did like seeing that side of his Dear Alec because it was absolutely adorable. Except… for that time. If the Shadowhunter had magic, the Institute would be non=existent and would be in flames.
_I’m not going to let this son of a bitch get away with it._
_Alec…_
_You do not understand, Catarina._ Never had Magnus seen tears in Alec’s eyes. _Magnus is my world. And if he dies, I swear I will—_
_Then go._ Catarina was near emotionless. _Do whatever you need to do._
When Alec was gone… when Catarina left… the Warlock was alone for the longest time; his soul…or rather, his consciousness was finally sitting by his body’s side. Magnus… never felt so vulnerable. He felt so cold, so worthless. He could not leave without killing himself; he forced himself to rip consciousness from the body. Even in a comatose state did his mind work magic. Even in a comatose state did his body still scream for the pain to stop.
Other than occasional check-ups by Catarina… nothing happened; nothing changed.
“Magnus.”
Except for sudden chill in the air—he knew that voice, and he hated that voice; the Warlock turned his attention to where he hard that ungodly sound. His eyes met his for a second and from brown, warm eyes… a bright orange cat-like magic swept over them like a wave.
“Lorenzo.”
He heard said Warlock release a very dark chuckle as his body was against the doorframe; his arms were folded against his chest. Was he, too, a spirit? Or was it his actual body?
“Was my magic too much for you, Bane? That you happened to separate yourself from your body?” The much, much younger Warlock asked as the annoying sneer stuck to his lips. “You are making it seem your body is dying—“
“That is because it is.” He said, interjecting with a notion to shut Lorenzo up. His eyes were like a cat’s, though no longer the pristine pale yellow but now a warm orange. He was _angry_. Angry because Warlocks were able to accommodate magic— _any_ magic. Any foreign magic, Warlocks were half-human; they had the ability to use any magic without problems. “ _You_ made me like this; you dared to lie to _me_. You dare put a destructive seal in _my_ body, and for what? Is your new life not enough?!”
His anger caused a seizure.
Shadowhunters poured into the room; right then, did he realise, Lorenzo did remove his consciousness from his body. Magnus was so close to killing him but when he saw Alec—his heart jumped in his chest. Anger was not its doing; did Alec… do something without knowing? Most likely: Alec may be of strategy but he was able to attack or even speak without thinking.
“What did you do to him?”
“I only did kick him out of my _home_. He was being irrational, and I just wanted to remind him who he was at that time—“
_Magnus! Stay with me!_
He was dying, was he not? Magic was coursing through his veins much, much faster. Magnus watched as his body was turning a horrid blue from the lack of oxygen; from the like of warmth that his beloved was desperately trying to share. His heartbeat was a thunderstorm; machines were off the charts. What kind of death was that?
“I swear if you hurt him—“
“I did not,” Lorenzo cut through his sentence, walking into the room with the same horrendous sneer on that face of his. “You can clearly see that Alec is absolutely fine. I just happened to speed up the process.”
“Why?” Magnus asked, his hands by his side clenching to form fists. “What does my death mean to you?” | f7a73c1a4e7a4b7198e0eef570c55f3e | ['c1d4a9e9b9f7478a862a9636f0b98383'] |
1. 제 1 장
He always sat there.
In that spot you took over.
He was always watching the sunset becoming one with the horizon. He watched with awe. He watched with amazement. You watched it with him when you were no longer busy with schedules or any sort of practice you had.
Times like that, you kept close to your chest. Especially moment where both of you shared your own stories. He shared his childhood, you did the same. His was uglier than yours but you paid no heed—you listened when he spoke, you cried when he cried.
You were there as his rock.
His gravity.
You were his reminder that he deserved all good.
It was a feat of yours, discussed the others one day when you were around and he was not. They wished they had that but you were the only one who had that fine silk in you words and softness in your voice.
It was what made you so loveable… and his boyfriend.
But one day… it vanished. Your smooth touch, your velvet voice. It all went dark when he spilt a story you would have never expected out of his lips.
_Dementia_ , he said.
_It's serious_ , he sighed.
_A_ _nd_ _it’s_ _happening sooner than expected_ , he choked.
He started forgetting their schedule, their home, their company's whereabouts. It turned to the worse once: he forgot a member's name.
_I forgot who Minhyung was._
It took him seconds to remember what he forgot.
_It really does hit with a vengeance._
Now it took him days.
_I may even forget you._
He was slowly ridding of his own world without even wanting to.
He stood there. At the edge. The fear of heights forgotten but the want to spill tears was not. You could see his chest jittering, his body shaking; you felt cold. Like you could not control was what happening in front of you.
He wanted to run.
You said, _please don't._
He needed to run.
You said, _please don't leave me behind, hyung._
The next few days were torture. You watched him succumb to the illness he was diagnosed with. The others had no idea what was going on but you dare not say anything. Not even the managers knew what was going on.
_What’s wrong with him? We had a schedule but he didn’t show up._
_Hyung, we had a stage today... he didn’t show up and he promised._
You reminded him. And you watched him crumble.
_I’m losing them. I am losing all of them. I don’t want this to happen. Please make this stop._
_I will try my best to help you but this is your fight, hyung... I’ll be in your corner of the ring. I promise._
It was a cold night some time in December when the both of you needed the air after a fight with the other members. You aimed for the rooftop to get your mind off of things, unaware that time passed faster than expected.
The fight was immature... but necessary. Evidently, the others were kept in the dark with nothing but lies filling their minds and hearts. They had no idea they were losing a member—and they were losing him fast.
You could only keep a clutch on his hand for so long before you too, lose the one you loves.
_If I end up forgetting you... you have to let me go._
_You can’t ask me to do that—_
_I am not asking. I am telling you to let. Me. Go._
The man in question rested in your hold and became ice, freezing with the weather that threatened to drop a lot lower if they dared stayed longer. Your arms shifted, the cold pricking at his skin and caused him to groan.
You told him to wake up. He did.
Silence.
You told him to get back inside. He didn't.
Silence, once again.
That was when you experienced it first hand. Clearly, you did not expect it to happen. Though, with the way his body and demeanour seeped into a shadow, your heart clenched in your chest and your teeth gnawed on your lips.
_Who are you?_
_Taeyong_ … _it's me, Jaehyun_ , a pause. _I'm… a friend._
He had lost his world without even wanting to.
Jaehyun had to let go.
2. 제 2 장
You followed him without hesitation.
You were the last he had forgotten.
He begged you to stay though not with him... with the others.
You disagreed. You knew it was dangerous to have the other be left alone, having to rely on that sheet of paper in his pocket.
He needed a hand to hold. A shoulder to lean on. A body to hug.
You could not have Jaehyun be the soul to take care of Taeyong.
He left him.
He left him without hesitation.
Yes, you heard the sobs at day. Yes, you heard the screams at night.
But he shouldn’t have left Taeyong alone.
Even if he was begged to leave him alone. He should not have agreed.
Hyung, you need someone to take care of you.
_Listen to me. I will only be a burden—_
_Only someone who doesn’t love you would think you’re a burden._
You followed Taeyong.
You terminated your contracts without warning, the other members thinking they requested for a long hiatus. Little did they know the two of you had left for years.
You both did not run so far; you both decided to hang around in Jeju; the house was small, yet the happiness built within was gigantic.
What made your heart shiver in your chest was the memory of Taeyong forgetting who you were after a long while; you saw him desperately cling onto the one man who kept himself by his side—you. When his mind could not freeze the memory, his body remembered. His body remembered the same feeling he felt when with Jaehyun.
Love. |
78ac193272954af2b1cf9684a542364f | ['c1ec0b72c2864760b3140cdd929258e1'] | Sam does and Darcy does the same. Then she flips her hands over, showing the marks. Sam does the same.
"Your right hand projects, your left hand receives. In this case your intent is projecting your desire to communicate into my strength, or Dean's. His desire to communicate is projecting into your strength." She grabs Sam's hands. "A closed circuit. And he is there. He wants to communicate. Visualize that circuit closed, just the two you. It'll work at keeping other things out."
"You can feel him?"
"I feel something. Like I said, there's a whole lot going on in a hospital. I'm not sure. But you should probably go. Go talk to your brother."
Darcy slips the spirit board, glass, and stones into the velvet bag. She's about to put the Sharpie in too when she stops and looks at Sam.
"Do you trust me for one more thing?"
"Anything."
"Unbutton your shirt."
Sam frowns and blinks several times, then reaches for the top button of his brown plaid flannel. Darcy climbs onto the table and sits cross-legged in front of him, marker on the table next to her.
Once all the buttons are unfastened Sam blushes and drops his hands to his sides, gripping the edge of the bench.
"Relax," Darcy whispers and peels back his shirt and jacket revealing a nasty crescent bruise where Sam's chest slammed into the steering wheel of the Impala.
She exhales and looks Sam in the eye, watching him for a flinch that she's crossed a line, and places her hands gently in the center of his chest, thumbs and index fingers forming a triangle.
Her hands are warm, almost like a spark when she touches him and Sam gasps. Then, as the warmth settles and radiates out through his shoulders and into his core, he closes his eyes and breathes deeply. The sensation spreads like warm butter melting into a baked potato.
"Good, " Darcy says as she closes her eyes too and focuses healing energy through the center of her hands.
Once her prayer is complete, she opens her eyes and picks up the pen. Darcy slides his shirt and jacket back over his left shoulder. Sam blushes a little deeper and swallows hard but doesn't open his eyes.
Darcy smiles at his timidity as she lays her right hand over his heart. The beat picks up pace at her touch.
Sam doesn't react outwardly until the pen cap squeaks open and the felt tip moves over his skin above her hand. He looks at Darcy, pen cap clenched in her teeth. Then he looks down and watches her draw the same symbol that was embroidered into the black velvet bag onto his chest, a pentagram surrounded by flames.
When she's done she replaces the cap and set the pen down.
"Graffiti."
"Graffiti," Sam repeats.
Darcy pulls the lapels of his shirt together and begins to work the buttons closed. "Draw all three on Dean."
"I will."
She straightens Sam's jacket collar. "Be careful."
Sam takes a deep breath and finally loosens his grip on the bench. He reaches up, putting his hands on Darcy's knees. Darcy leans forward and wraps her arms around his shoulders, pulling him close. He slides his arms around her and buries his face into her shoulder. Darcy strokes the hair on the back of his head as his sniffles catch deep in his chest and he trembles out a sob.
Darcy, she builds a bubble,
a swirling twirling white light,
it seals all else out, engulfing
and stretching a pulsing rhythm
between them as they rock and sway
Sam's tears drench Darcy's plea.
And the bubble grows.
White light turns to web entwined
as orbs appear, curious but cautious
at the tree line, pitching forward
and back and forward, surging
cadence catching love and light
engaging, drawn to the sanctuary.
And the bubble grows.
The web thins to an elliptical thread,
a gossamer shell, hardened armor
forged in faith and vow to protect.
Two orbs hold, ready to accompany
one knight on his quest to secure
the other's safe return, harming none.
And the bubble grows.
When Sam has finally cried himself out, he sits back and looks at Darcy.
"Thank you."
Darcy leans in and kisses him on the forehead. Then she tucks the velvet bag into the paper sack with the marker and hands everything to Sam.
As Sam unfolds himself from the picnic table, Darcy divides the bubble, keeping each of them enveloped but separate. Sam sniffles and walks away quickly without looking back, his half surging around him with the two orbs whisking along in his wake.
Darcy stays on the table, meditating and maintaining both bubbles for hours. Several times through the night an ambulance roars past and around the building to deliver another broken body to the emergency room.
Just before sunrise, sprinklers pop out of the ground, hissing and spitting to life. Some of them are broken, including the one closest to the table. It gurgles a small fountain of water rather than dousing the picnic table and Darcy in a fine mist.
The parking lot slowly fills with patients making their way to appointments. | 6e3427cf6eec47b28319b9092ee08cfc | ['c1ec0b72c2864760b3140cdd929258e1'] | Her thigh begins to vibrate as Robert Plant moans along with a guitar riff in her jeans pocket. Darcy fishes out her phone and flips it open.
"It's two in the morning so somebody better need bail money."
Sam chuckles.
"Hey, Darcy," Sam says, his voice breathy. He steps onto the wooden porch in front of the Roadhouse and closes the screen door Dean had left standing open.
"Sam, good to hear from you," Darcy answers. "How'er you doing?"
"Yeah, I don't really... Not so good I guess." Sam slurs his s's.
"Have you been drinking?"
"A couple of shots. With Dean and Ash. And Ellen. And Jo."
"You're at Harvelle's?"
"Yeah, Dean and I finished up a case in Guthrie, Oklahoma. Then Ellen called 'cause she found Ash's notes about me and the special children," Sam pauses. "You know Ellen?"
He plops himself down in one of the metal chairs in front of the Roadhouse window, legs splayed out in front of him, and unzips his jacket. Neon glares back at him the in the reflection from the Impala's windshield.
"Yeah, I've known Ellen for years. Jo and Ash too."
"Huh, we just met them a couple of months ago."
"Right around the time your dad died?"
"Yeah, there was this voice mail on Dad's phone. Ellen wanted to help Dad with the demon."
"So she knew," Darcy mumbles, plucking one of the moonflowers from its stem.
"What?" Sam asked.
"Tell me about special children. What are you talking about?" Darcy asks as she makes her way to the bench under the White Oak where she lays down, long legs draped over the end, and closes her eyes as Sam launches into his encounter with Max Miller and meeting Andy Gallagher with his Jedi mind tricks and evil twin, rambling on about the Yellow Eyed Demon and his plans.
"They're just like me. Or, or I'm like them. Andy wasn't a killer. But I already am. And Andy's smart and he could have anything he wants, but he's not greedy. He lives in his van. The demon's pushing us, breaking us. Turning us into killers if we aren't already. But I already am. And Dean's scared," Sam concludes. "So am I."
"Sam, you're not a killer..."
"But I already am."
"Sammy, what're you doing out here?" Dean hollers swinging the screen door wide, slamming it into the wall. "What the hell, man? Get in here."
Dean grabs Sam's jacket by the shoulder and tries drag him out of the chair. Unfortunately, Dean has had one beer too many to be able to manhandle a boneless Sam to his feet. Instead he only manages to drag the entire chair forward a few inches, lose his footing, and stumble off the porch landing on his ass in the dirt.
"Get off me!" Sam grunts.
Dean sits in front of Sam, laughing.
"Bitch."
"Jerk," Sam replies.
"What're you doing out here, Sammy?"
"Nothing."
Slowly bringing his brother into focus, Dean notices the phone in Sam's hand.
"Are you on the phone?"
"What? No?"
"Who are you drunk dialing, Sammy?"
"Nobody."
"So now I'm nobody?" Darcy chimed in.
"No, that's not what..."
"Is that a 900 number? Ooo, Sammy, what's her name?" Dean asks as he starts crawling toward the porch. Then he holds up his hand as if to keep Sam from speaking. "No, wait, wait, wait... Let me guess. Her name's Bambi. No, no, it's got to be Angel. Oh, wait, no, Ginger. It's Ginger, isn't it?"
"Dean, shut up!"
"Red heads," Dean says as he closes his eyes and sits back down, placing a hand over his heart, and sighs. "Holy crap, Tawny! Damn! Do you remember Tawny Kitaen doing the splits on the hood of that Jaguar XJS?" Dean lets out a small whimper.
Over the phone, Sam can hear Darcy laughing, calming his nerves and causing the corners of his mouth to curl up into a grin.
Then Darcy starts to sing.
"Here I go again on my own..." Her voice is tinny through the tiny phone speaker. "Goin' down the only road I've ever known!"
Darcy jumps up on the bench and starts dancing, pulling her long brown hair loose from its ponytail.
Sam brings the phone back to his face, "I'm so glad he can't hear you encouraging him."
"Like a drifter I was born to walk alone," Darcy belts out, stomping her right foot and shaking her hair into an '80s worthy head bangin' cascade.
"I want to be encouraged!" Dean says, managing to get to his feet and reach for the phone.
"We can watch her do those splits right now," Ash announces from the doorway.
Both boys turn to look at Ash, Sam's eyes wide wondering how well Ash and Darcy knew each other.
"I have Whitesnake Trilogy on VHS."
"I'm in!" Dean says veering from Sam toward the door, following Ash.
"Oh, thank god," Sam mutters.
"And I've made up my mind," Darcy continues singing.
"Seriously?"
"I ain't wasting no more time."
"You know he thinks you're a phone sex operator?"
Darcy laughs and says, "That sounds more like a you problem than a me problem. Did Ash say VHS?"
Sam smirks, "You have hearing like a bat, you know that? Yeah, VHS. For a minute I thought he meant a tape of you."
"It could happen," Darcy shrugs as she settles down on the bench and crosses her legs under her, picks up the moonflower from where it landed during her dance attack and tucks it behind her right ear, an elbow resting on each knee.
"What?"
"Nothing," she sighs, content. "Back to you. What else?"
Sam picks at the paint peeling from the chair absently then lunges to his feet only to be instantly hobbled by the rock in his shoe. Pacing half on tip-toe he remembers that his arm itches and shrugs himself out of his rumpled jacket, like that might give him some relief. |
a487e3b4818b4c46b43cf32b239e64f0 | ['c20c50f63a5b4b9fad8fbf6985fb1a5c'] | “Oh sure, no problem,” Joker replied with false cheeriness, rolling to avoid another Reaper beam. Sweat beaded on his forehead and gathered beneath the brim of his hat. “Just trying to keep all of us alive here, no big deal. I’ve got time to chat with a delusional soldier, sure –“
“Joker.” Kaidan’s voice came through abruptly, gruff and breathless and so wracked with pain it cut short the pilot’s complaints. He felt his throat tighten, rendering him speechless.
“Don’t leave her down there,” Alenko rasped. “Please. You have to… stop her. Don’t let her… sacrifice herself.”
Joker opened his mouth, but the sarcastic retort about how no one could stop Shepard, not even a full-grown krogan battlemaster, died on his tongue.
“Promise, Joker,” the man begged through the comm, his words fuzzy with interference. “Promise me you won’t leave her.”
The pilot’s throat worked, the words coming unstuck only with great difficulty. “Alenko,” he said, desperate, diving straight down to avoid an oncoming Sovereign-class Reaper, its red blast skimming his shields and making his heart leap. “Exactly what in the hell do you expect me to do?! She’s down there, we’re up here; we almost got blasted apart going down for you – Harbinger’s not going to give me another chance, I can guarantee you that!”
“She was going for the Conduit,” the major hissed. “Probably on the Citadel by now. Have to open the arms… find her transponder… give her evac! We can’t leave her… “
“No way I could get close enough to evac her from the Citadel in this bird and you know that,” Joker snarled, zigzagging between the larger ships in the hopes of losing a trio of red-lighted Reaper drones hot on his tail.
“Use a shuttle,” Alenko shot back, then gave a cry that made the pilot wince despite himself. “You can do it… best damn pilot in the Fleet… you can get her out…”
Joker snorted derisively. “And leave the _Normandy_ out here in this mess alone? That must be the morphine talking, Major. You know better than that.”
“You _have_ to,” Alenko bit through his teeth. “Goddamnit, why doesn’t anybody _listen_?!” There was a commotion on the other side of the line and a sharp squeal of static that made Joker cringe. The proximity alarms blared as he darted nimbly between two ponderous Reapers, causing one to accidentally shoot the other and the three drones to crash straight into their own masters.
His brief feeling of triumph was drowned, however, in what he heard coming from the medical bay. Chakwas shouting, Alenko swearing, equipment crashing to the floor.
Joker let loose his own stream of expletives as one of his displays lit up red, signaling a dangerous gravitational sheer inside the ship. It threatened to buckle the hull, or worse, cause interference with the Tantalus drive core, in which case the _Normandy_ had a very good chance of blowing apart without help from the hundreds of Reapers outside the windows.
“Alenko, _STOP_!” he roared, and the noise from the comm went deathly silent, the warning display disappearing from his screens.
Harsh breathing echoed through the cockpit, broken only by the faint bleating of some type of med-bay alarm in the background. “You owe her, Joker,” Alenko growled into the quiet, his voice so rough the pilot would never have recognized it. “We all do. I saw it… saw it in her eyes… she’s not coming back.” His voice broke. “I’m not going to let that happen. I’m getting… getting her out of there. Or going down with her. You choose.”
Joker felt the tight knot of dread in his gut. The hopeless idiot was right. He’d killed Shepard once, a shadow that had haunted him every night since. Had he pulled her from the jaws of death enough times to make up for the one time he’d led her _into_ them instead?
And if she would die for him, stubborn and arrogant and brittle as he was, had he ever really expected her to come out of this fight alive? The whole galaxy was at stake. Every sentient organic and the synthetics that fought alongside them. What was the life of the great Commander Shepard when compared to that?
He swore virulently, breaking off his attack on the Reapers and swerving through the ocean of ships, dodging friendly and enemy fire alike as the black of space flashed in brilliant color all around him. He made a beeline for the Citadel. “I’m going after her,” he told Alenko.
A long moment of silence followed his statement. “Thank you,” the man whispered finally.
**“** You can thank me when we’re dead,” Joker snapped, and closed his side of the comm.
**“** EDI,” he barked, sparing a glance in the direction of her holographic hub. “I need you on the _Normandy_ _right now_.”
Her once-familiar blue orb appeared immediately. “Jeff, I am perfectly capable of operating both the physical platform and –“
**“** No, I want you on the ship, _all_ of you, right now,” Joker reiterated. “I need you to take the helm and I’m not risking even one tiny fraction of you being preoccupied with something else. I’m not losing this baby again, understand?”
There was a pause. “Understood, Jeff,” her musical tones finally confirmed. “Transfer of all processes to the _Normandy_ has been completed. The physical platform has been abandoned. Should it remain unscathed by the end of the battle, I can –“
“Now, now, EDI, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” It was all he could do to survive the next minute. To imagine an end to this Reaper war, this threat that had been looming over his head for years and now bore down on his ship with hundreds of tons of genocidal menace, was beyond his comprehension.
_Just stay alive…_ | df837252517a47dda6dc0542d6b9f4ea | ['c20c50f63a5b4b9fad8fbf6985fb1a5c'] | None of them should have been there. They should have stayed aboard the _Normandy_. Was dying at the hands of a Reaper horde any worse than dying in the red blast of a Reaper itself? He wasn’t sure, but it didn’t really matter now. What mattered was that they were dead, and he wasn’t going to let them die for nothing. He wasn’t going back to the _Normandy_ empty-handed.
And so here he was, climbing the Tower steps agonizingly slowly, ever thankful that the enemy seemed to be concentrated in the levels below where he had landed, but also knowing they had watched his trajectory. They’d be coming for him soon enough. He could see them in his mind’s eye, shuffling up the stairs or crawling through the maintenance shafts, mouths lolling open hungrily, all too ready to make him one of their own.
Joker swallowed hard, glancing back down to his omni-tool and the steady blinking light that denoted Commander Shepard’s location. She appeared to be at the very, very top of the Tower - although her precise coordinates did not align with the current Citadel map.
He wasn’t even sure what he’d do once he found her. Her vitals had become elevated and erratic, but still within acceptable range. He had to hope that wherever she was and whatever she was doing, she would remain conscious and able until they got back to the shuttle. No way he could move her if she wasn’t able to walk, and he had the chances of a soup cracker in a sandstorm if he had to fight.
_Cripes, Jeff, what in the hell are you doing? Why did you even come here? You really think you’re going to be able to help Shepard? She can take care of herself! You see all these bodies you keep stepping over? Those are trained_ soldiers _! Who still_ died _. And here you are waltzing along like you have a chance in hell when a brute’s_ sneeze _could break you!_
A distant banshee scream made him duck against the stairwell, his heart suddenly racing. He clutched the assault rifle to his chest, but he’d never been the best shot. And he was completely worthless against anything with biotics.
He’d attempted to locate some of the others who had been with Shepard during the rush to the Conduit, hoping they could help, hoping maybe they were even _with_ Shepard, but he hadn’t been able to raise a single one. They couldn’t all be dead, could they? Surely not. He hadn’t been able to reach Shepard, either, but his uplink to her armor said she was still alive.
Regardless, he was all alone in this. It was all up to him.
_Alenko, I’m going to kill you…_
Did he really owe Shepard this much? To lead five people to their deaths? To climb hundreds of stairs over so many bodies in the smoke and ash, to risk being shattered by a banshee while his ship was left to the skills of another?
The banshee screamed again, closer.
_Oh shit. Shit shit shit._
This was it. This was how it ended. Not how he’d planned it, really. He’d wanted to be at the _Normandy_ ’s helm, flying down some cursed Reaper’s maw. That would have been a death worth dying. Not this. Not alone in this tower.
He looked back to his omni-tool. Still several flights to go before he got anywhere near Shepard. The banshee was too close. He didn’t think he could make it in time. Not wearing this cursed hardsuit. Not with his damned brittle bones.
The flashing light on his omni-tool vanished abruptly.
Joker blinked, his heart stumbling. The vitals readouts on the edge of the locator display flat-lined.
He stopped breathing.
The floor beneath him shuddered, a heavy whine sounding from everywhere and nowhere all at once, reverberating in his chest. Something in his gut told him to get out of there, to run back to the shuttle, but he couldn’t move. His limbs were locked in place, his eyes still riveted to his omni-tool, waiting for Shepard’s transponder signal to come back.
The emergency lighting along the stairway and walls flickered and then went dark, plunging Joker into blackness. Except for the fires, which lit everything in a hellish glow, making shadows dance and leap along the walls. The warning klaxon fell silent abruptly and the banshee filled the space with another scream, so loud now that Joker’s audio receptors screeched with interference. He tried to shrink smaller against the railing as a bluish glow approached at the far top of the stairs.
Through the Tower’s windows a blinding light flashed, making Joker’s visor automatically dim. For an instant he saw the terrifying shadow of the banshee against the far wall, looming impossibly large, all long and thin fringe and arms and claw-like fingers. Time stood still as he squinted against the light, knowing he was about to die, knowing he had come too late to save Shepard, and then…
He was weightless, flailing through the air, shouting in surprise. He lost hold of his rifle. Couldn’t find it… the light was too damn bright, so bright, making his eyes water. He heard a shriek from the banshee, but he could do nothing against it in this lack of gravity. There was a strange sensation then, almost as if he’d stuck a finger in a light socket. A tingling, prickling wave coursed through his body and he was vaguely aware of his omni-tool going dark, the HUD in his visor shutting down. The hardsuit became a stiff, hard case around him as the power-assist system also went down.
_Oh. Shit._
There was a blast, the sound of glass shattering, a rush of pressure that sent him flying through empty air, and then blackness.
* |
ced246f4b84a4451acd4350a6489a993 | ['c245cd2ae0c64faabf4b3f5c5832a449'] | She was dimly aware of cold splashes of semen erupting into her cunt and ass before the world faded to black around her…
She wasn’t sure if it was minutes or hours later, but she awoke contentedly pressed between two hard vampire bodies. Felt wet kisses all over her body. Frowned for a second when she remembered her promise, but quickly decided that this was well worth abandoning all her schemes. Revenge, power, evil – none of it ever felt this _good_.
“We want to know more about Lindsey,” Spike informed her conversationally when he noticed she was awake.
A wistful smile crossed her face as she opened her eyes to see tousled platinum curls, rakish scarred brow, and those gorgeous blue eyes. Not to mention a body that had to have been designed by Sin itself. “Mmm?” she murmured. “What was this about me getting something in exchange?”
“Girl learns fast, doesn’t she, William?” Angel’s breath tickled her ear.
“She’s got a point, though,” Spike conceded.
“Think we could pull off a double dip?” Angel inquired
“I think you’re dip enough for both of us,” Spike couldn’t resist the insult.
Angel fixed him with a dirty look.
“Now, boys,” Eve smiled contentedly. “No need to fight…well, unless I get caught in the middle.” One hand traced the lines of Spike’s chest while the other found Angel’s cock and gave it a playful squeeze. “I’ve got plenty of information to give, so…” She fluttered her eyelashes up at them hopefully.
“Seems our bad girl’s developin’ a bit of a good streak,” Spike chuckled.
“Much more pleasurable for all involved that way,” Angel added, leaving their argument behind for now.
“Rear?” Spike suggested.
“We’d better turn her around,” Angel considered. “She won’t fit around that bend of yours otherwise.” He tossed Spike the spare bottle of lube as they prepared themselves.
Eve lay back and listened as they planned on how to fuck her the hardest. She let herself be turned over again, buried her smile deep in Angel’s chest as she felt the tip of both their cocks play with her asshole. Angel so long and straight, and Spike with that wicked bend that found pleasure spots within her that no man had ever touched before. God, she wanted them both so badly…
The two vampires rubbed their erections together against her smooth ass cheeks, making sure they were as hard as possible. It had been centuries since they’d taken a woman together like this, but it was surprisingly easy to get back into the habit.
Finally, Spike held her cheeks apart as far as he could, while Angel held their cock-heads together and guided them both to her rear entrance.
She whimpered in anguish when they first both began pushing inside. God, they were too big together, and they were going to rip her apart, and…
“Just relax and give in to us,” Angel encouraged.
She tried to relax and, although she found it exceedingly difficult, it was enough for both thick heads to slip up into her body. She groaned at how impossibly widely stretched she was. The wild thought came to her that they were going to kill her by fucking her to death. She really didn’t care at that moment, though, because they were moving ever deeper and, while her hole was still painfully stretched, the feel of both of them moving in her together was extraordinary.
“Where can we find this pal of yours?” Spike asked, soft kisses on the back of her neck acting as a gentle counterpoint to the overwhelming sensations where they were both thrusting into her hard.
“Apartment,” she whispered. “53rd and King. Number nine.”
“Anything else you want to tell us?” Angel whispered, covering her with kisses.
“T-Tattoos,” she gulped. “Keep him hidden from the senior partners.”
“That’s it,” Spike purred against her. “Give it all up to us, pet.”
She gasped as the sensations finally became too much for her to bear and spiraled down into a warm sea of ecstasy.
Their captive passed out from pleasure, Spike and Angel quickly finished themselves.
“I’m calling Wes,” Angel announced curtly, getting up from the bed of shaky legs.
Spike just gave him a lopsided smile. “Afraid rememberin’ the good old days ‘ll give you your happy?” he taunted.
An evil little nostalgic smile curved Angel’s lips. “Darla and Dru really didn’t stand a chance against us, did they?”
Spike couldn’t help but chuckle at that before he turned his attention to searching under the bed, searching until he found a small chest. A gasp of satisfaction escaped his lips when he found the chains within. “Knew a kinky bastard like you couldn’t live without a set of these,” he commented to himself as he chained Eve’s wrists to the headboard.
She stirred slightly, murmuring contentedly.
“Don’t you worry, luv,” he commented lightly. “Gonna repay you in full for bringin’ me back. Just like we promised…”
Angel returned to the bedroom then, flipping his cell-phone shut as he did so. “It’s all over with,” he informed Spike.
A gruff nod.
Eve was blinking awake now, realizing that she was chained. “You’re not—?” she began, terrified.
A chuckle from Angel. “You’ll get your eight hours,” he promised. “After all, we’re not evil. Anymore.”
Spike laughed at that as well, and then they were both upon her again. And, as Eve was washed away in bliss, she began to realize that, yeah, helping the side of light wasn’t so bad after all. Oh, it was so good to be good… | d9561dbf6285456491ad840dae368f27 | ['c245cd2ae0c64faabf4b3f5c5832a449'] |
Steps Not Taken
**Author's Note:**
> Written for [](http://dreamoflove86.livejournal.com/profile)LINK in [](http://sarkastic.livejournal.com/profile)LINK's LINK.
_“Say ‘Cheese’!”_
_Veronica smiled wide, baring her teeth so far her jaw was starting to hurt. Behind her, Mac and Cassidy giggled in that adorable way that set her teeth on edge even more. She’d tried to feel happy for them. Really. After all, Cassidy was an okay enough kid – a saint compared to his parents and brother – who’d had far too many family woes of late. And Mac had always been a kindred spirit, loyal ally, and good friend. The two of them deserved a little happiness, or so Veronica told herself. Of course, give them another year, and their happiness would shatter into heartbreak and misery. And, damn, but she had just turned into a horrible, jaded cynic. And she was only eighteen…_
_“No, no!” Oblivious to her introspection, Keith waved his hands – and the camera – around theatrically. “This is your prom! I want to see passion, gusto! The tears, the heartbreak, the—”_
_“And now I officially have to wear a bag over my head for the rest of the school year,” Veronica cut him off before he could embarrass her further._
_“Two weeks?” Keith grinned, as irascible as ever. “That’s nothing. Now, come on, people! Give me something to work with!”_
_Wallace let out a whoop, caught Veronica by the hand, and spun her in a little pirouette. Veronica, immune to all else light-hearted in the world with the exception of Wallace’s charms, couldn’t help but laugh._
_“Beautiful!” Keith announced._
_Mac and Cassidy were making kissy faces into the camera now, and Veronica had given into the near-constant temptation and was patting Wallace’s head while he freaked out over his ‘do._
_Keith grinned at them and took two more pictures before glancing out the window. “Limo’s here,” he announced._
_“Thanks, Mr. Mars,” Cassidy said sheepishly, looking hopelessly bashful as he kicked absentmindedly at the corner the rug._
_Mac gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, before giving Keith the thumb’s up sign. “Even the tragically uncool can admire your coolness,” she teased._
_“Hey, I’m hip, not cool,” he shot right back._
_“Oh, god.” Veronica shook her head and grabbed the dark shawl that went with the deep crimson dress she was wearing. “Can’t we go just one night without flashbacks to the ‘70s?”_
_“Never,” Keith insisted._
_“As long as I don’t have to wear polyester,” Wallace joked._
_“You’ll call me if you’re staying out late?” Keith demanded._
_Veronica rolled her eyes. “Promise, dad.”_
_Wallace gave him a little salute in agreement._
_“Because I know the things you crazy kids can get up to,” Keith grinned at them gleefully._
_And he did. Once, long ago, at another dance, in another lifetime, she’d gotten into far too much trouble on a night like this. That night had seemed perfect at the time, the best night of her life. In retrospect, she’d trade a dozen nights like it, just for something that would last._
_Old before her years…_
_“And no all-night beach parties,” Keith warned._
_“We won’t,” Veronica agreed. That one thing was for certain. “We won’t…”_
***
The prom was, of course, the culmination of every teenager’s dream come true. Disco balls and confetti and sappy music. And punch that had miraculously remained unspiked under Principal Clemmons’ watchful eye, Veronica noticed with disappointment when she took a sip. Clemmons’ eyes narrowed at her as if he’d just located his number one suspect for all prom-related disasters. Veronica decided it would be prudent to stand elsewhere.
On the dance floor, dozens of couples danced slowly, languorously, savoring the final rush of high-school hormones before they’d all inevitably disperse at the end of the year. Veronica didn’t know how she’d become separated from her posse – well, okay, that wasn’t true; she’d intentionally separated herself – but Mac and Cassidy had worked their way to the dance floor, and all the awkwardness from earlier seemed to have faded away as their bodies pressed together tightly and they gazed into each other’s eyes…
Ah, sweet puppy love…
God, she needed to get away from it.
Veronica managed to slip through the anxious circle of bystanders that surrounded the dance floor and away from Clemmons’ silent suspicions. The gym was crowded but, in the dim light, she could easily make out the tables far at the back that shielded themselves in darkness and solitude. That seemed appealing at the moment.
She could still remember the ignorant bliss of thinking that some date at some dance was the pinnacle of her existence. There was a time when she’d wished for nothing more than to return to that innocence. Of course, the realization that during those ‘innocent’ days, Logan had been getting weekly beatings and Lilly had been fucking the abuser and Duncan was having violent epileptic fits and thinking about potential incest… Well, maybe ignorance was bliss, but it sure hadn’t gotten her anything but misery.
Ignorance was overrated, anyway.
Not that solitude was much better, she decided as she practically fell into a chair at the table furthest from the dance floor, unalcoholic drink sitting in front of her on the table and mocking her with its inability to keep the thoughts of loss from swirling endlessly about in her head.
“Shouldn’t you be off sobbing joyfully at the most perfect evening of your perfect life?” A wry voice suddenly asked.
Veronica froze for a moment, because this had been inevitable, really, but she still wasn’t sure how to deal with it. It was one of those horrible situations that you had far too long to think about, yet still couldn’t fix. A deep breath, and a slow exhalation. “Logan…” There. When in doubt, stick to the basics. She might not know anything else right now, but at least she knew who he was. |
f8fec8459aa446258dbb7aa3ba9e5c37 | ['c2544bda2eb1417f8c540c0f42767239'] | I stop and close my eyes for a moment. I don’t want to do this right now.
I open my eyes and say, “hey, Philippa.”
“Do you want to go to the game tonight?” she asks me, sounding a bit like she had been breathing helium.
I don’t have time for this.
“No. I don’t. I don’t like you. I have no interest in going out with you. Not now. Not ever. Please just leave me alone,” I say a bit exasperatedly.
She looks horrified. I immediately regret saying that. It’s worse than the look on her face when she lost her voice. She looked panicked then. She looks completely devastated now. Tears are welling in her eyes and her lip is trembling.
“Philippa,” I start.
But she runs away. I go to run after her, but Penny stops me.
This is Baz’s fault. If he didn’t wipe everyone's memories, this wouldn’t have happened. If he wasn’t constantly fucking with me like with the journal and making me believe I was late for class, I wouldn’t have been as irritable. If he didn’t have me distracted with this evil magic rock, I wouldn’t have dismissed her like that.
We go into the dining hall and I grumble to myself as I violently slam roast beef on my plate. It causes something to splat into Penny’s eye and she glares at me as she wipes it out.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
We sit down and start eating.
“I’m glad you finally told Philippa the truth, but you could have done it differently,” she says, not condescendingly, but sympathetically.
I sigh and keep shoveling hot beef in my mouth.
At least now she won’t distract Baz and I won’t get kicked in the face with the ball. Now I can actually confront him after the game.
“So, how do we figure out what the gem thing does?” I ask her when I’m done eating.
“I was thinking we could ask Baz.”
This is like what she wanted to do yesterday.
“To surprise him and see how he reacts?” I ask.
“Exactly,” she says, like she’s surprised and proud that I understood it.
“Alright. But we should go now so we have a good place to stand during the game.”
* * *
When we get there people are already gathering. We still have to push our way through the crowded a bit. But when we get to the front, we are able to secure a spot several meters from where Baz kicked the ball in my face.
When the players get on the pitch I see Baz scan the crowd. When he sees me he sneers. And it’s not a typical sneer. He’s somehow packed even more contempt and disgust into the sneer.
He glares at me until the game starts.
And he plays like shit. I didn’t think it was possible but I think he’s playing even worse than before. The other players are easily taking the ball from him.
People begin yelling because the rival team just scored a goal.
Baz looks furious. He glares at me as he runs back to his starting position as if his shitty playing was my fault.
He lifts his shirt to wipe sweat off his face while looking at me. He doesn’t scare me but that for some reason makes me nervous and I gulp. I feel too hot and it’s making my skin feel all prickly.
The game starts back up. The ball works its way towards the enemy goal, and someone passes the ball to Baz. Baz tries to score a goal but he completely misses.
People are booing at him. I don’t think anyone has booed at him before. Aside from yesterday and the day before. But that was also today so I don’t know if that counts.
When the ball keeps bouncing from one side of the pitch to the other like ping pong I notice that this time Philippa isn’t yelling for me which is a relief. I look over my shoulder a bit paranoid, but I don’t see her.
Soon everyone is yelling because the enemy team scored another goal on us.
The players go back to their positions and the game starts again. They start kicking the ball and it quickly makes its way to the side where I was standing yesterday. Baz is trying to steal the ball away from the other player again.
This time he succeeds and dribbles the ball toward me.
_Oh no._
Baz looks at me.
_But Philippa isn’t screeching my name this time._
He kicks the ball straight at my head.
_But I’m standing somewhere else._
There’s a sharp pain right before everything goes black.
4. DAY FOUR
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> The sound of Abba is filling me with rage. I feel it boiling under my skin.
**DAY FOUR**
I jerk awake to familiar music.
_If you change your mind, I'm the first in line_
_Honey I'm still free_ _
Take a chance on me_
The sound of Abba is filling me with rage. I feel it boiling under my skin.
I glare at Baz’s face reflected in the mirror as he fiddles with his hair.
That pompous git purposely kicked me in the face with a football.
Actually. That pompous git purposely kicked me in the face with a football three times.
I get out of bed and stare at him. If it wasn’t for the anathema, I would be tackling him right now.
He looks at me and says, “It’s not my job to wake you up. Get an alarm clock, you fucking numpty.”
“I know what you’re doing,” I say.
“And what are you going to do about it?” he asks sounding bored as he walks to the door.
“I’m going to stop you,” I shout.
He hums and says, “good luck with that,” and leaves, slamming the door behind him.
I growl as I stomp to his side of the room. | 7e9cf61c2f9b41ceaf7c68237eec3560 | ['c2544bda2eb1417f8c540c0f42767239'] | I walk up to them, just like the last few days, look at Penny and say, “time has been looping for over a week and Baz is helping” as I grab the plate of scones, knife and butter dish.
Again she looks shocked but gets up without hesitation.
Agatha looks more shocked. She looks like she’s trying to process it and come up with questions but can’t. I think I broke her.
I guess a time loop is run of the mill, but Baz helping is unthinkable.
I hand all the stuff in my hands to Penny and she struggles to hold on to it all.
I go up to where Dev and Neil are sitting and take the teapot and empty cup.
“The hell?” Neil says.
“Oh- Uhh- Well- Baz is sick and asked me to bring this to him,” I say.
They look at each other like they’re asking the other what they should do. Neither of them seem to know, so I just walk away.
* * *
When we get to the room, Baz nods at Penny and just says, “Bunce,” as a greeting.
Penny says, “how the hell did you rope _Baz_ into this?”
“Sunday. Please. I’ll explain Sunday. Let’s just stick the the important parts right now” I say.
They don’t say anything and I take that as agreement.
I get in bed start eating as I tell them that I must have said something with magic while helping Penny with her project but I don’t know what.
Baz looks horrified when he sees me eat the butter but says nothing. I feel a bit embarrassed and stop. I know he won’t remember but I don’t know. I still don’t want to give Baz more ammunition to mock me.
“Why haven’t you tried a memory jogging spell?” Baz asks Penny, like she missed something obvious.
“That’s actually a really good idea,” she admits.
They both look at me while my mouth is filled with sour cherry scones. I do my best to quickly chew and swallow.
They look at me expectantly so I get up.
“The spell is ‘retrace your steps,’” Baz says. “Think really hard about Friday night when you think you said whatever it is you said.”
I get out my wand and ask, “Are you sure?...”
Everything I cast goes horribly. But. Then again, the last spell Baz gave me worked.
Baz rolls his eyes and says, “It’s a basic spell. Second years can do it.”
I take a deep breath, get out my wand and put the wait of my magic into it as I say, “ **_Retrace your steps!_ **”
We all start walking backwards to wherever we were before. Baz walks backwards to his desk, I start walking back to my bed, Penny is headed out the door.
“ **_Alt-F4!_ **” Baz says, and we all stop.
“What the hell was that?” Baz asks.
“Simon’s spells tend to go a bit literal,” Penny says in my defence.
They think in silence for a few moments.
“Maybe he could sing Tomorrow from Annie,” Penny suggests.
“No. That could turn Snow into an orphan,” Baz says, like it’s a real but only vaguely important concern.
Penny glares at him and he doesn’t acknowledge it. I’m used to it so it doesn’t bother me.
“Well, if Snow’s spells go literal, there is one that should work,” Baz says.
“What is it?” I ask.
“‘Out of the loop,’” Baz says.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I say.
“Actually,” Penny says. “It’s sort of brilliant. It’s literal and a common phrase.
I sigh and get my wand ready.
I look at Baz and he just looks stoic.
I look at Penny and she gives me a reassuring nod.
“ **_Out of the loop!_ **”
Penny disappears.
_Penny fucking disappeared!
_
She’s fucking gone!
“Crowley,” Baz says.
“WHAT HAPPENED TO HER?” I shout.
“She’s out of the loop,” he states.
“WE HAVE TO GET HER BACK!” I say still shouting.
“She’ll be fine. She’s probably not dead,” he tells me.
“PROBABLY?”
Baz shrugs.
I start pacing around the room. What am I going to do? I need her.
My magic starts leaking and the room begins to smell like smoke.
“She’ll be waiting for you on Sunday most likely,” Baz says. I don’t like the “most likely” part, but I think he’s trying to comfort me.
“Why does _everything_ I do go wrong?” I say to myself.
“Sod’s law,” Baz says.
I have to see if she’s still here. I have to restart the loop. How do I knock myself out?
“Baz! I need you to punch me as hard as you can.”
“No.”
“Why?” I ask.
“The roommates anathema,” he reminds me.
Oh, right.
I open the door and take a few steps out of the room.
“Okay, Baz. Hit me!” I say.
“No.”
“Why?” I ask again.
“She won’t be there,” he tells me.
“I have to check.”
“As much as I’d love to hit you, it’s a waste of time and effort,” he says like he’s bored.
“I went through your stuff,” I tell him. “I know about the liquor. I read The Captive prince.”
He walks up to me menacingly.
I brace for impact.
He punches me in the arm!
“Oww! What the hell?” I ask.
“You told me to punch you,” he says.
“I meant in the face!”
“You didn’t specify,” he says.
“How is a punch to the arm supposed to knock me out?” I ask rubbing my arm. It hurts a lot, but I saw what he did in the forest. I know he could do worse.
“It’s not my place to question the chosen one,” he says with a hint of malice.
I glare at him and mutter “It’s not like that’s ever stopped you before.”
“Did I know about you going though my stuff when I told you the words?” Baz asks like he’s trying to hold back anger. |
e83ea7d9263e4110b9ec9afb5f0bee30 | ['c26c09b9340a4c9791ebc1c451dedaa9'] |
Shovel talk
**Author's Note:**
> I wanted a shovel talk for the team with a undertone of it being directed towards a certain Super-soldier. Here it is!
Two women in their late thirties stepped out of the elevator when it stopped on the Avengers floor. One was shorter with brunette hair, she was wearing jeans and a black-n-white checker patterned button down she was wearing dark brown flats. The other was about a foot taller with bright blond hair wearing a casual grey suit she and black high heels.
The sound of clicking heels caught the attention of the newly reformed Avengers team. “Oh may we help you ladies.” Steve offered a sincere smile.
The girl with dark brown hair took off her sun glasses showing her cool grey eyes, “Actually yes. We are friends of Tony.”
“Ah. He is in a meeting in Japan right now I think. I don't think he is going to be back until tomorrow.” Steve offered trying to be helpful, he wanted the girls to like him if they are, infact, friends of tony
“Oh we know. We aren't here to talk to Tony. We’re here to talk to you all.” The blond girl smiled all business with nothing else involved
“Oh.... please come in then.”. The girls nodded and walked briskly past Steve and straight into the living room with all the Avengers.
Natasha stood a bit more at attention at the new comers, “What's this all about?” Her voice was as serious and clear as ever.
“We have become aware of the reestablishing of the Avengers team.” The blond girl spoke coolly, “We just want to clear some things up with you all. Seeing as you've had some.... unfortunate sqwabbles.”
“I’m sorry... is this a shovel talk?” Clint joked.
“In a way yes. This isn't tony’s first team. We want to make sure you have our friend truly on it.” The brunette stated.
“Oh course why wouldn't he....” Steve sounded offended and confused now.
“Iron man yes. Tony stark No. Sound familiar at all.” The blonde raised an eyebrow. Natasha flinched briefly.
“That’s changed! Tony is as much of an Avenger as the rest of us” Bruce defended quickly
“Aye. Friend Stark is Shield Brother. A worthy warrior.”
Thors voice boomed loudly. The girls seemed a bit impressed but not convinced.
“We are fully aware of his strength. We don't need the convincing.”
“But it is us you are concerned about” Wanda concluded.
“Not your strength in battle. We are entirely aware of your ability.” The brunette leaned back on the couch.
“What about us are you worried about exactly?” Bruce commented, “We’d never purposely put Tony’s life at risk.”
“That may be. But you see, Tony is a high maintenance person” The burnett spoke arm crossed, they were now getting to the real point of this visit.
“And by that we mean he’s a bit sensitive.”
“Sensitive... are you sure we’re talking about the same Tony Stark.” Clint was taken back when the two girls glared at him.
“Completely. He has given you his space to live. Completely willingly. He takes care of every need and passes the glory of gratitude to Pepper. Then gives her a pay raise when he feels is fit. He’s been doing the same for Happy. And though he won't admit it, he’s been mother henning you all like he did for us. We are just trying to repay the kindness he covertly gave to us growing up.”
The team looked baffled by the statement. “I think you broke them Cassy.” The brunet chuckled, “Look we aren't going to give you some long list of do's and don't’s for handling Tony. It’s simple treat him like a human being, not a checkbook, and I won't look into some rural torture techniques I’ve been so looking forward to using.”
“You have to be the most tactless woman in the world blair.” The blonde, Cassy, patted her friend's hand consolingly.
“I am not one for sugar coating.” Blair muttered annoyed.
“Yes love you’ve made that clear.” Cassie giggled fondly.
“Ehm....” Sam cleared his throat, catching the girl's attention. “I promise tony has never been seen as a checkbook. He is a friend and a teammate.”
“For your sake I hope that hold true from his words too.” Blair held a hard glare.
“Relax. Just because a few rotten people slipped passed us before means they will again.” Cassie waved off Blair’s glare. Her attention fully on the Avengers, “He’s had a lot of crap in his life. Things we have failed to protect him from. Afghanistan and his father, the biggest of our failures”
“We’re aware of Afghanistan, and vaguely of his father.” Steve sounded angry and upset. This got an approving look from the girls. He was their main concern, seeing as Steve and Howard were friends back in the day. “We won't let Tony go through things alone, not anymore.”
“Good to know. Seems our job is done Blair. Don't you think?” Cassie got up from her spot.
“For now.” Blair smirked more so at Steve than the others. Steve blushed as if he caught on the the underlined message. Natasha noticed and smirked to herself with a slight nod to the girls. Blair followed her friend out of the room.
“That might have been the gentalist Shovel talk I’ve ever had.” Clint jumped up from his spot.
“Well that's cause it wasn't entirely for us.” Natasha smirked at Steve who was bright red. “AKA Captain stop light. ”
Steve, still a bright flustering red glared at Natasha, “Not. One. Word. Romanoff.” The super spy shrugged, not even bothering to cover up her amusement at the turn of events. That was enough for the rest of the Avengers to pick up on what the whole thing was about and proceeded to pick on Steve about it for the remainder of the day.
It got to be too much and Steve made a calm comment that if they refused to stop he didn't mind having a 3 am wake up call for basic training for a month. | 52de3dcc16bb49c789646b736f6e5cfd | ['c26c09b9340a4c9791ebc1c451dedaa9'] | Its Just Prom
**Author's Note:**
> This is my first piece written in a while. So I made it short and to the point. Enjoy this fluffy Promposal.
Ava sat by herself in the computer lab working on her project. She was aware that prom was coming up and honestly felt like she wouldn't go either way. She grumbled at the memory at how ridiculous her teammates were being about the whole thing, rushing around trying to figure out who they were going to ask and how. It was annoying and got in the way of studying. "They're going to waste all their time for a night they won't remember ever, dimwits."
So caught up in her own thoughts she didn't register that Peter had snuck into the lab dressed in his Spider man uniform. He was careful crawling on the ceiling, hoping that Ava would 1) say yes and 2) not splatter him on the ground. He took a deep breathe to gather some courage and lowered himself next to Ava, "Oh Ava." Peter backed away fast enough to miss being punched in the face. "Whoa. Ava it's me." He took off the mask, "It's Peter, Geez!"
"Peter? Why are you..."
Peter rubbed the back of his head nervously, "I wanted to make asking you to prom different." He ducked his head, "Maybe I should have thought it out more."
Ava felt flustered and started to try and cool her face down with her hands, "Oh..."
"Yup..." The two teens looked all over the room, feeling extremely awkward. Peter took another deep breath, "Ava...will you go to prom with me?"
Ava gave Peter a kiss on the cheek, "Yeah..." a smirk formed on her lips easily in mischief, "As long as you don't dress like a web head for it."
Peter felt a little fluster but relieved that he got a date to the prom, "Deal, it's just prom"
~~~FIN~~ |
19c918c4d1194f118402f881d97638e3 | ['c290bc1707d644edb7e0d44ec94839d9'] |
Cuniculous
**Author's Note:**
> i need to vent my leopika garbage SOMEWHERE so here i am, flops off the earth
> this is not going to be as long as i intend jackpot to be so!! we're doing this
Flexiloquent - Pertaining to someone who speaks ambiguously.
Like an animal trapped in a cage – well, that’s what he was. Kurapika lay curled in his cramped and oppressive cage, long rabbit ears drooping low. The Phantom Troupe kept him here for years – at least four, if Kurapika’s memory was good. He'd gotten used to it. Get kicked around, starved, maybe get a scratch behind the ear from one of the members, get stomped on, get his ears pulled and torn: there was something routine about the way he was mistreated that made things even harder for him.
He was so used to living in a pack – the strong helped the weak, and everyone survived and thrived together. But the human world was nothing like that; humans left the weak to struggle and die, ignoring, not caring. It shattered the young bun's view of the outside world. The metal cage he was trapped in was cold, icy, unforgiving, and just like the terrible world he’d been thrust into.
These crooks killed the rest of his clan, and kept him...for what? To have some fun with? To torture and starve until he broke?
He refused to yield, though.
He refused to submit to this.
He wasn’t going to break.
✖✖✖
Kurapika’s memory was fuzzy. He remembered being thrown in the back of a truck earlier this morning, and hearing something about 'getting bored of it' as he righted himself and the back slammed shut. His ears perked up slightly as he realized that maybe the leader was talking about him. Freedom – or the sweet release of death – might await him.
His cage hurled violently around the speeding truck as it went over bumps, but Kurapika didn’t care if it meant freedom. Revenge was something he wanted, sure, but not until he got stronger. He’d fight the Troupe on his own.
The truck skidded to a stop abruptly, plastering Kurapika’s cage, and by extension Kurapika, to the front. This sudden strike to his head dazed him; he registered the leader’s black coat as he reached for the cage, but didn’t realize he’d been thrown out of the truck until his cage shattered on the rain-slicked street. The truck quickly sped away, not waiting to see if he survived the impact.
Kurapika sat back on his haunches, his ears twitching nervously as he scanned the dark street around him. He was free, but now what? The air was icy and unforgiving; it tore at the ragged traditional clothes that he had on, making him shiver. He pressed his large ears back against his head, slinking into a nearby alleyway to catch his bearings.
He slumped against a wall, heart rattling against his ribcage as he hurriedly checked his surroundings. No one seemed to be following him, but he was still ready to bolt at any time. Looking up, he read the sign that hung above his head – "Valkyrie Medical School." They dumped him next to a medical school? How lucky. Or maybe not.
By the number of lights on in the buildings around him, Kurapika guessed it had to be late at night – if he was lucky, he could sleep in the alley and be gone before people started to wake up. His body still buzzed with fear, but he settled back against the wall, uneasy as he stretched his aching legs out in front of him.
His ears shot up as he heard a door creak open and a flood of light cross the pavement. His chest heaved and his heart blared – he couldn't hear anything but the sound of blood rushing through his body, fight-or-flight response kicking in full force. He readied himself to scurry away, but the voice he heard was so warm that he stopped himself.
"Oi, is there someone there?"
Kurapika relaxed slightly as he saw the tall man standing in the doorway, black hair almost as disheveled as the rumpled button-down and slacks he wore. He was nothing special, but something about him made Kurapika's heart become less audible. The rabbit hunched up, side-eyeing the man as he tried to make himself as small as possible.
The passing headlights of a car make Kurapika visible, and the man almost jumps, face immediately concerned. "H-hey! Are you hurt?" He worriedly rushes over, and Kurapika’s ears spring up, red eyes flashing as he bears his sharp teeth. "Whoa, what the..." The man stumbles back, taking in the boy's strange rabbit ears and red eyes. "Uh...are you alright?"
The man seemed to actually be worried about him, but how could Kurapika be sure this guy wasn't another creep like the Troupe? He made a soft snarling sound, about as much of one as he could make, and puffed himself up as much as he could.
Something warm trickled down his arm, and he looked over, still red eyed. He’d been hurt – there was a deep gash in his upper arm, and a steady stream of blood poured out. Humbled by all the blood, he made a soft, frightened noise, looking back to the man and hesitantly showing off his arm wound.
The man came closer and crouched down. "Damn, that looks pretty nasty, but it looks fresh, so..." He offered his hand to Kurapika as he laid the ragged briefcase he’d been holding on the ground. "Let me see your arm. I need to disinfect it."
Kurapika pulls back his arm dubiously. He already regretted trying to seek help – this would probably end in being sold again.
The man sighs. "Do you not trust me? Not like I can blame you. You don't even know my name yet." He clears his throat. "I'm Leorio. Nice to meet you." | 4d917da788524ab7a5ae21ff4e2812a8 | ['c290bc1707d644edb7e0d44ec94839d9'] | 7. Playing the Rush
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> YOOOO HI ITS ALMOST BEEN A MONTH BUT!! WE'RE BACK AND READY TO DO THINGS,
> once again i've been getting so. so much positive feedback im going to cry, i love u all
> things are starting to get on the decline. a little. you'll see,
What an uneventful night. At midnight, it’s almost the end of Gon's shift. Killua and Ikalgo both look disheveled as they shuffle towards the barstools, both with heavy blushes adorning their faces. Gon decides it’s best not to ask what happened.
"Gooon!" Killua singsongs almost mockingly, patting him on the back as he hops up onto a stool. "How did your date go?"
"Fine! Leorio already went back to his station."
"He can't dance at all, can he?"
"Not really. I don't mind, though. He's really cute, and pretty!"
Killua shoots him a bewildered look. "Cute? Pretty? THAT geezer?"
Gon pouts. "He's no geezer! I like him a lot! I love him!"
"Love?! Isn't that a bit of a strong word?" Killua sputters, and Gon squares his shoulders.
"No! I love lots of people!"
"Well, it's none of my business," Killua huffs, looking away. "Go steal all of their hearts for the hell of it. Or for the affection. Or admiration. You have the capacity." He turns back to Gon with half a smile.
Gon's eyes sparkle with both curiosity and confidence. He has the capacity for it? Killua and Hisoka's words bump against each other and echo in his head. Steal some hearts? Act on passion alone?
His own heart’s on fire – he’s ablaze with confidence in himself. There’s nothing wrong with making people fall, is there? Gon nods furiously and hops off the barstool, ready to dash to Leorio's office. Steal everybody’s hearts! Make everyone fall hopelessly in love!
A gunshot. Gon stops dead, wobbling in his heels. The sound alone hurts almost as much as a real bullet.
Screams, the smell of blood, the sound of broken glass: they roll across his back and assault his senses as the machine-gun pops begin. Another raid? Only a month after the first one? Gon’s halfway down the hallway before he comes back to himself, ducking behind overturned blackjack tables as panicked patrons dart across his path. Bodies fall like hail as bullets fall like snow.
Gon fumbles for his pistol, pulling it out of the holster on his hip and turning the safety off with a click. He’s ready to fight if he has to.
"Hey! Gon!" A white blur crashes down next to him, scooting against him for protection. The pistol in Killua’s hands is still smoking – Gon doesn’t want to think about it.
"Is everyone okay?" Gon cries, worried out of his mind. “Is Kite-“
"Kite’s fine, everyone’s fine. Well – I just haven't seen Ikalgo. He doesn't have a pistol yet. I hope he's okay."
Almost as if on cue, Ikalgo limps by, very obviously dragging something. Both boys whip around to look at him: he's holding a bloody body by the legs, expression uncomfortable as he lays it up against the wall.
"Ikalgo!!" Killua half-screams. Ikalgo jumps.
"K-Killua! I, uh... Just give me a second." He murmurs the last part. It’s barely audible over the gunfire. Careful, he pulls a syringe out from inside his vest and uncaps it with a flick, then sticks the needle into a vial of blue liquid. Gon and Killua look on in horror as Ikalgo jams it into the body’s neck. He's obviously not dead yet. Just knocked out – at least, until Ikalgo shot the serum into his neck.
"Living Dead Dolls." Ikalgo whispers, looking solemn as the man’s eyes glaze over. He leans in close, handing the man a tommy gun as he leans in to mutter into his ear.
The man immediately rises and shuffles towards the entrance, where Chimera Ant forces are pouring in. He readies his gun and fires wildly into the crowd of them.
Gon and Killua watch in shock. Ikalgo’d been carrying suggestability serum all along? Neither of them know what to think, but Gon pulls up his pistol anyway, firing at a few of the men along the sides – the only thing on his mind is protecting everyone. Killua comes to his senses, too, and joins in the ongoing fire fight.
It’s strange, how much Gon hates the Chimera Ants for what they’re doing – it feels like there’s an oil well in his chest, tainting his bloodstream, making his body feel heavy and dark. "Die. Die," he mumbles, voice uncharacteristically dark.
Looking to his side, Gon notices there’s a more pressing matter at hand. Kurapika’s being straddled by a man who’s trying to drive a large dagger into his neck. It seems Kurapika’d knocked the man’s gun away, but is just barely holding back the man from killing him.
Gon flies from behind the table. Killua yells something like "YOU IDIOT!" after him, but Gon has him tuned out.
Kurapika snarls, grabbing the man's wrists, trying in vain to break them. His eyes look like brimstone as he tries to wriggle free, flaring in hopeless anger while the knife edges closer and closer.
The tip of the man’s knife touches Kurapika’s skin and presses, hard enough to draw blood. It’s over-
Bang.
Before he knows what’s happening, Kurapika feels blood dripping onto his shirt. He looks up to see that the man above him is dead – his head is a ruined mess, and the assailant holding the pistol behind his head is splattered red from the impact. |
7983be206737476cb554300d4d958b4b | ['c2946f0cecf24cf5a6e8f4ec42f38895'] | So, of course, Aranel does the exact opposite of every one of those things.
Naturally.
7. First Blood (Part 1)
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> People die, a character up and leaves, and everything plays out like a D&D session gone horribly wrong. Or one gone fantastically right, depending on how much the DM hates the players.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> Still not happy with this story arc, even like 3 months later. I'll rewrite it at some point, but for now it's going to stay like it is.
Káno carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, and Faendal didn’t even realize it until recently. After all, what with all the wandering, adventuring, and flat out drinking they do, it’s no wonder that he even sees it at all. But now, little things are noticable. Most recently, Káno proposed a trip to Markarth. Faendal agreed, since he had never been to the city before, and they took a wagon. Markarth is, without a doubt, the most beautiful city that he’s ever been to, and the towering stone fortress almost made him forget that they were in the middle of a civil war. So far, Markarth is mainly untouched by war. Being on the other side of the continent from pretty much everything, and shrouded in the impenetrable mountains that surround the city has its advantages.
However, as their luck would have it, everything went horribly wrong the minute they set foot inside the city. They had both gaped once inside the walls, marveling at the architecture from up close, but as they had done so, there had been a scream. Káno had immediately drawn his sword, and Faendal himself his bow, and they had turned to find the source of the noise. Right in front of them, a woman stood, silhouetted in the early evening light. Her back was to them, face turned towards the setting sun, (night always comes early for Markarth), and she had fallen backwards, a reddish stain spreading on her torso. And almost out of nowhere, there had been a man. Faendal remembers that. He had appeared, right after the woman had fallen, and had begun to scurry away, knife in hand. As he did so, the two guards usually on post at the door had materialized as well, nobody having noticed them come closer in all the commotion. The man had been felled, the area quarantined, and all the questions that they had asked were deflected with practiced ease. However, Faendal had also noticed something that no one else had. In the moments following the murder of the woman and subsequent death of the man, Káno had stopped and searched both bodies.
That had come to a head later, when a strange man had stopped Káno just outside the tavern, asking to meet them later through a note he claimed to have dropped. Káno, the self-sacrificing idiot, had not seen pending disaster and had gone. So now they are working on finding out the conspiracy behind the Forsworn. No big deal, they get jobs like this all the time. They might not pay very well, and might get them both killed in the process, but neither Káno nor Faendal mind that. There’s something else, though. Back in Markarth, Káno went to go check something out down at the “Haunted House”, while he stayed in the bar. Káno, an overly prompt person (except for when it comes to the millions of jobs that he has piled up), didn’t come back for nearly a week.
An entire week.
And when he did, he was sweaty, covered in grime, wounded, and toting an eerily glowing mace. Faendal didn’t ask where it came from, but he regrets it now. Because Káno’s face grows pained when he looks at the axe. And shadows have lurked under his eyes for weeks now, despite the fact that they are resting. Clearing out as many Forsworn camps as possible doesn’t seem to help either, which is odd. Neither does clearing Read Eagle’s tomb, which he would’ve thought that Káno would perk up at.
Then they start moving up through the country. Clearing out Forsworn camps on the way, and killing a LOT of dragons seems to help a bit, and for a while the shadows go away.
Then they make a mistake.
Káno knows that he attracts dragons like Khajiit attract skooma dealers, and he knows that it’s not safe to go to town. But they’re running dangerously low on food, as well has space to store the accumulated treasures that they’ve picked up along the way. So they make the decision to stop by a small town in order to pick up some goods and get rid of others. And the moment they enter the town, two dragons swoop down out of the sky and begin raining hellfire on the town. Faendal isn’t too worried about their chances of survival. After all, they have all the town guards on their side, the dog, himself, and of course, Káno. However, the dragons don’t make it easy on them. One spits ice, immediately sapping one’s strength. The other, flames. | f26b97992158493689f535b11ba9e6d2 | ['c2946f0cecf24cf5a6e8f4ec42f38895'] | The combination of the two attacks is enough to almost kill him, and enough to force Káno off a steep embankment and into the river. Káno’s head disappears under the river’s current, and all Faendal has time to do is cry his name before the dragons attack again. Finally, after several minutes of hiding and shooting, he manages to get it on the ground. By now all the guards are gone. He doesn’t want to know where. Káno, too, is missing. Faendal and the dog keep attacking, the dog running straight up and biting at the dragons, and himself shooting from the shadows. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees a movement. Káno crests the hilltop and surveys the scene, taking in the state of the village, the dragons, the dog, and Faendal. The elf sighs in relief as he appears, and continues to fire arrows. Káno, he sees, has pulled out his bow and begun to attack as well, the force of his shots visibly rocking the dragon that he chooses to shoot at. Soon, the ice-breathing dragon follows to the ground, swiftly followed by the other. Faendal almost laughs in relief, then stops. Káno, rather than coming up to Faendal with a healing spell, as usual, has instead stopped on the path leading into the village and is staring at something only he can see. As Faendal gets closer and begins to turn the bend, he starts to see what Káno is looking at. First a foot, then a leg, then…
He stops in his tracks, staring. Two people are lying on the ground, in a crumpled heap. He watches in shock as Káno drops next to them, and begins to frantically check for heartbeats. After several minutes of this frantic scrambling, he stops dead. Then leans back on his heels. Faendal watches nervously as his face drains of any color, and all of a sudden, the shadows are there again.
The next few days are trying. Káno doesn’t speak unless it’s to tell Faendal something about whatever they’re fighting. They seem to be on a path up the coast, though he can only tell by the stars and other such natural signs. After all, Káno is the one with the map. Their fights seem shorter now, and more gory, fleeting almost, as if . Káno still fights like a demon, but Faendal notices something slightly different about it. He’s not sure what. There’s just some difference, other than the lack of speech. It’s as if someone moved everything in the house a couple inches to the right or left. There’s something off, but he can’t pinpoint what. Then there’s the mace, still glowing as ever, the shadows, the pallid color of his skin. None of that is what’s wrong, though. Káno seems to be getting over it, though, and a few weeks pass without any incidents. Whatever is off about him seems to be fading, and soon the feeling of “wrongness” is almost gone.
When Káno up and leaves, however, he realizes that his assumption was very wrong.
8. Mammoths
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> Obligatory drabble, with mammoths this time. I know it's ruining the flow of the story arc. I don't care.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> MAMMOTHS.
They’re passing by a large mountain range (though there are so many that she can barely keep track of them on her map, let alone in her head), when she sees wooly mammoths for the first time. Huge and towering, they pass almost directly next to her, shaking the earth as they go. Aranel can barely contain her excitement. They are like nothing she’s ever seen before! Towering over her, with long trunks like a snake, they’re almost a match for their giant companions. However, when she accidentally crashes into one a couple weeks later, she isn’t that excited anymore.
9. First Blood (Part 2)
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> A continuation of chapter 7. Self indulgent scenery descriptions, and a heaping amount of the bittersweet, because this could damn well be an analogy for just about anyone's life.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> Still hate how parts of this turned out, but I legitimately did this in game and felt it neccessary to include it in this set of stories.
Káno can’t help leaving. It’s not anything that Faendal said or did. It’s not even that blasted dog. He just can’t handle interactions at the minute, and it’s not their fault. It’s not their fault.
He keeps saying that to himself, as if he’s trying to convince somebody. The only person he can’t seem to convince, however, is himself. Seeing those people, in town… He can’t help but imagine Faendal there, or Lydia, or anybody else he loves. Or even the dog, no matter how much he professes to hate the animal. Those people who were dead, he knew them. He helped them the last time he came by their village, and instead of helping them once more, he brought ruin down upon their village. And besides them, there were others as well. People whom he had helped, once upon a time. People he had saved. And then, even before that. With the Daedra Lord in Markarth. It had started out as one of those simple quests; “Come investigate this house with me!”. But the house wasn’t haunted. It was cursed. And the Daedra inside had deemed him “worthy” of carrying out his word. So in the end, he had been forced to kill not only an innocent man, but a priest as well. And all in secrecy. |
b81ff86e31f54c3386ba50f454f7581f | ['c2c69957070d4226a9bc575d7166ec7e'] | “What if the Mountain Men don’t want to play nice?” A sob dragged at her chest, but couldn’t make it past the dread lodged in her throat. Clarke reached up to his face, to cup his jaw and tangle her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. At the contact, his eyes fluttered, gaze shifting to rest on her lips. Panic settled in her shoulders, and, rolling to her knees, she brought her forehead to rest against his, hoping the contact would ground her trembling bones. “They don’t trust me,” she breathed ragged into the space between them, her eyes falling shut, “and they’re jamming our radio signals to keep us from calling the other Ark stations. They want to keep us isolated, because we’re an unknown they can’t control. We’re a threat to them, and they’ll let you in and they’ll try to break you.” A ringing had started, low and sharp in the back of her head, and just the _thought_ of what the Mountain Men would do to him had her fingers buzzing for a gun.
She would gladly watch Dante burn if he so much as thought about hurting Bellamy. (She would set the fire herself.)
“I don’t break easy.” His hands settled on her hips as if to anchor her there. His voice was too warm, too rough, and she slid her fingers around to lock at the nape of his neck. She could feel his nose brushing against hers, and it took all she had not to climb fully into his lap, to press her face into the crook of his neck.
She knows what he is made of, knows his grit, his resolution, his guilt, how fiercely protective he is of the people he cares about. She knows the way he only allows himself to break alone in the dark, how he can be alone with her. She knows he will sacrifice his own soul for his sister.
He was the first person to challenge her on the ground, and he was the first person on the ground to get under her skin and make a home there. And somewhere between “I need you” and “it had to be done,” she’d memorized the shape and pattern of his breathing, had oriented herself to keep his profile in the edge of her vision. She’d irrevocably adjusted for his presence in his life, accounted for it as part of the natural state of things. He was with her now like the gun he keeps strapped to his back, like her father’s watch fixed permanently to her wrist.
“I’m not willing to take that risk, Bellamy.” It came out as a whisper, a confession reserved only for the safe space they’ve built together in his tent. This was some sort of misguided attempt at absolution, penance for his sins when they’d first landed, she was sure of it.
“But I am.” His arms tightened, snaking around her waist to draw her closer. The hand spanning the small of her back began to make pacifying circles over the fraying fabric of her shirt. “Clarke, this is _worth it_.”
She wrenched herself out of his grip so she could get a good look at his face when she snapped, “Not if it kills you!”
He didn’t reply, but the way his gaze fell flat and his jaw snapped closed told her all she needed to know, and the agony erupting like a supervolcano in her chest was enough to drag her over the edge she’d been straddling since this whole conversations started.
“I can’t lose you, Bellamy,” she choked out, “I can’t, _I can’t_.”
She collapsed against him, bitter sobs wracking through her chest like warheads. For the first time since she walked through the camp gates with a knife in her hands and her friend’s blood under her nails, Clarke let her defenses shatter completely. She let her walls crumble to dust, let herself sink into Bellamy’s embrace. She finally allowed herself to well and truly cry, her fingers twisting in the collar of his shirt. While his hand knotted in her hair and the other ran up and down her spine, she dragged in heaving, sputtering breaths of air. He pressed his lips to her forehead in a searing kiss, and she thought, with sudden clarity, that all the men who love her have died.
She inhaled sharply, sucking air into her lungs with such violence that she sat up. As hard a she tried, she could not exhale but for small, quick pants. She could feel her lungs filling like an air compressor, the pressure building against her ribcage with enough force to ache.
“Hey, hey,” and Bellamy was cradling her cheek with one hand, pressing his other against her sternum, catching her gaze and holding it, “breathe with me, okay?” As he pushed air out of his nose, she huffed shakily along with him. When she began to inhale, he pressed against her chest, forcing her to use her diaphragm, and beat out a count with his thumb on her collarbone. She felt the pulse, filled her lungs gradually, and when he reached seven, he murmured “hold” and she did, and after another count of seven he told her to release, and she exhaled for an eight-count.
They repeated this several times, until Clarke’s breathing slowed and her heart settled, Bellamy’s fingers sifting through her hair all the while. She didn’t want to look at him—couldn’t stand the soft tenderness in his eyes—but he caught her chin before she could duck her head down.
“You’re not going to lose me, princess.” He sounded so unbearably fond, even when he frowned in consternation and said, “But what’s this all about? You’re not usually this selfish.”
“No,” and it wasn’t the time to laugh, but she let out a watery chuckle all the same, “just self-righteous.” | 84abb33a3269459e91dd3d56cd677e56 | ['c2c69957070d4226a9bc575d7166ec7e'] | Finn’s crouched beside the other boy, his face drawn. Wells asks if the kid is breathing and he isn’t surprised when Finn shakes his head.
Neither of them notice Octavia lingering at the top of the ladder, until a booming voice calls from below, “Alright, everybody, _back the fuck up!_ ”
Octavia’s breath stutters, she chokes out a name—“ _Bellamy_ ”—and then she’s sliding down the ladder like a bat outta hell.
On the first level of the dropship, the kids are swarming for the door. Some are complaining about the guy in a guard uniform holding everyone back from the lever, but most are chattering excitedly. _The ground—holy_ shit _, we’re actually on the ground!_
Wells makes it to the bottom of the ladder in time to see Octavia run into the guy’s arms. The others aren’t quiet about pointing out Octavia Blake, making sure everybody knows she was the girl who almost broke the record for how long she was hidden under the floors, and Wells takes the liberty of elbowing the closest asshole in the ribs.
“Watch it, Jaha,” the guy growls, and Wells gives him the two-finger salute with a shit-eating grin.
At the door, the elder Blake—Bellamy, evidently—holds his sister at arm’s length. “Look at you,” he’s saying, all misty-eyed, his expression approaching disgustingly fond. His wrist is noticeably bare of the wristband that all the prisoners were given before being loaded onto the dropship.
They do look alike—sort of. His features are softer, rounder; she’s paler and green-eyed. But they both have the same thick, dark hair, and they smile the same way—helplessly, like it’s inevitable.
The Blakes continue to talk in low voices. Octavia practically radiates confusion and annoyance when she plucks at the shoulder pad of the uniform her brother is wearing, only to have her hands batted away.
A voice rises out of the crowd, “Hey, down in front! Move your asses out of the way.”
“Open the goddamn door!” cries another.
“Go float yourself,” Octavia snarls. Bellamy has his arm out in front of her before she can lunge, but that doesn’t stop her from glaring daggers at the crowd at large.
Bellamy squeezes her shoulder, and steps over to the wall to yank the lever down.
.
.
.
With a blast of steam, the door yawns open. Sunlight glows down on a hundred wondrous faces, and fresh air fills a hundred pairs of lungs. The forest is greener than they ever could have imagined, the sky bluer than blue.
This is the ground,
and _this_ ,
this is the rest of their lives.
Octavia takes one step down the ramp, then another, and another. Her fourth step lands in the dirt.
Ninety-nine people hold their breath.
Octavia throws her head back to catch the sun, and sighs. Then she’s pumping both fists into the air, and in a victory cry, she yells, “WE’RE _BACK_ , BITCHES!”
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[[ _tbc._ ]]
<< [ —— ] >>
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> I definitely didn’t start out with the intention of writing Wells/Octavia friendship, but now that it’s happened, I kind of like it.
>
> The third chapter will be up sometime during the beginning of next week, either Tuesday or Wednesday. I’ve got one more chapter already written after that, but it’s short and I want to post it with the fifth one, so we’ll see how long it takes for me to kick my ass into gear and keep moving the plot forward.
>
> _Posted 7/10/15_
4. -the monument of a memory-
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> In which the scouts reach the fallen star, and old demons do not rest so easily.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> So I accidentally ended up holding this chapter hostage, as some sort of backwards motivation to get myself to finish chapter 5 (which is sort of a monster, and kind of awesome). It wasn’t even good motivation, since chapter 5 still isn’t done, though it’s getting there. But I’ve dawdled long enough, kept you waiting long enough, and so here’s chapter three.
>
>
>
> _Warnings for panic attacks* at the end of the chapter_
<< [ —— ] >>
—> _the monument of a memory._ <—
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Anya’s orders are clear:
“You are to observe the star _only_. You are not to interact with it or interfere with it. You will stay with it until you are relieved. Is that understood?”
When she receives three curt nods in response, Anya dismisses the scouts: Ness, an experienced tracker, Elias, a skilled marksman, and Lincoln, an unshakeable warrior. It is the latter whom Anya trusts implicitly to lead this mission, not due to any deficiencies in the former two, but for the sheer fact that Lincoln is, above all else, her friend.
The scouting party has hardly taken a dozen steps into the forest when Kleia appears at her side, as stiff and silent as the mountain.
“Go,” Anya says lowly, pushing none-too-gently at Kleia’s shoulder. Once, the force behind the gesture would have been enough to bowl her over, but now she sways with it, turning to face Anya with her expression carefully schooled into indifference.
“But what about the report—”
“I don’t need you to talk to Indra.” Closing her eyes, Anya allows herself a moment to grit her teeth. “She’ll be angry at the news whether you’re there to give it or not. She might as well not despise both of us any more than she already does.” This time when she reaches out, Anya runs her hand down Kleia’s braid, tugging on the end of it until her second’s eyes soften and she smiles, grateful. “ _Go._ ”
Kleia cannot catch up to the scouts fast enough.
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ada1762fd0174a12b940632cb277bab9 | ['c2d81d9705bf4ec98930b3f6297440ec'] | Sam’s loud laugh wasn’t what Cas expected, and honestly? He was sort of offended. “Cas—that’s lust. That’s just… want, for sex. And then there’s the way… the way you look at people you care about it. When you look at ‘em with l—”
The door to the bunker crashed open, and the stomping of Dean’s boots could be heard. When he walked in looking angry and sweaty and irked, Cas felt some of that want stirring inside of his chest. “We need to talk,” he demanded, then cut a pointed look towards Sam.
"No," Cas said, moving to stand before the man… who, um, was a bit too tall to be hidden. "What you say before me, you can say in front of Sam, as well." Protecting his new ally, naturally.
It took a few seconds for that to become comfortable for Dean, but when it was, the male ran a hand through his hair and huffed. “Look, man, I don’t know what happened back there, but you and I need to have a mano-y-mano chat about it. You’re… I mean, that whole thing was just…” he turned to Sam, flinging his hand through the air. “He got mad because of the way I was looking at a bartender!” His gaze turned back towards Cas’s, but neither’s stuck for long. “You have no right to… to act like—”
Sam coughed, raised a hand. “If I may?”
“No,” Dean hissed.
"Okay, well," Sam smirked. "First of all, it’s mano-a-mano. And Cas, what he’s trying to say is that you don’t notice it, but he looks at you like that, too. Hell, he looks at you with that other thing I was talking about. Remember?”
And Cas did. But he didn’t understand.
"Sammy, go to your room," Dean barked the order out like a drill sergeant.
"I’m not twelve anymore, Dean."
“I'm begging you, man, just give us a second to talk this out.”
Finally, with a nod from Cas, Sam acquiesced. With the hunter and his once-angel finally standing mano-a-mano, there was an awkward silence. Cas filled it pathetically with, “Dean, I am sorry about what I said. I didn’t—”
"I love you."
"… you?" It knocked the breath out of him, even more than Dean’s hard, jade-green stare. The kind that cut your heart into pieces.
"It’s what I meant to tell you that time Naomi was working her… weird angel mumbo-jumbo on you. What I mean to tell you every fucking time we go to some bar. And I forget and I push it back because I-I-I’m not good with this stuff, Cas, god-damn it. And now you’re mad and I’m just—I don’t know. S’pose it was time to fucking say it.”
For a while, neither of them spoke again. Cas wanted to, but how did he top that? How did he tell Dean he felt the same without feeling like an idiot in comparison?
"That’s all I had to say," Dean grumbled, moving to push past Cas and go to his room. But the clash of their shoulders was all Cas needed to grab onto Dean’s shirt and pull him back, aiming his lips for a kiss that awakened a volcano within him despite its sweet clumsiness. Dean let himself choke out a gasp before responding, his hands shakily grabbing Cas’s face to pull him closer, closer, closer—.
"Dean, I cannot hold my breath as long as I used to," Cas murmured, turning his lips away to catch a breath of air. Dean coughed and stepped back, nodding.
"So... you've--you've had feelings for males before? Gender is not a factor for you?"
Dean struggled with his words for a bit--damned near sputtered--before finally muttering, "I, ah--no, Cas. It is a... a factor. I'm not gonna go movin' on to staring at other dudes asses or anything like that, it's just--it has nothing to do with guys, alright, let's leave it at that?"
But Cas was confused, wanting more than what was being given to him. "I simply don't understand."
Dean's fingers, rough and calloused, splayed onto his collar to pull the blue-eyed male just a bit closer. "'course not. I don't understand it myself." He chuckled, cocked his head to the side, and just stared. "It's not other guys, Cas, it's you. It's always been you. Hell, you could be in any vessel, and I'd still feel... I'd still feel like this."
Cas swallowed, slowly understanding what the other male meant. "You know, I do love you as well, Dean." He leaned forward on a whim to gently kiss him, nervousness shaking his form. They were both still so clumsy, getting used to the feel of skin on skin and their lips pressed together. But it was nice, real nice, and when they pulled apart again, Dean realized what Cas had said, and what all of this meant.
Trying to deter from the chick-flick moment, he remarked, “I sure do have a type, don’t I?”
For the longest time, that was a joke Castiel could not understand. | 1b1d7b0cb10846a9b2e07fd1b3373319 | ['c2d81d9705bf4ec98930b3f6297440ec'] |
A Different Vessel
**Author's Note:**
> The idea for this fic came to mind when I was reading all of those “If Cas had been a girl—” arguments.
>
> It got a lot sadder/longer/feelsy-er than it should have. It's a bit clumsy and it's not my best work, but I kind of like it.
They were in some seedy bar a few miles down from the bunker, where Sam was sleeping off the exhaustion from their last hunt. In better times, Dean would have done the same. But he needed a drink, and Cas had trouble sleeping with the lights off, so the two of them wound up here. Every once in a while, Dean’s thumb would brush over the bruised skin of his knuckles (when the angel got angry, he found very few good ways to let that emotion out) with a touch so feather light, the new human had to wonder if it had even happened. They weren’t talking much. This had become so routine, they found they didn’t need to.
But this was a different day, which meant a different bartender. Usually, Cas paid them no mind. They paid Dean lots of mind, but he wasn’t often in the right state to reciprocate. Tonight, however…
This one had black hair and eyes so blue, Cas actually paused in thought and wondered if they were real. She had a body on her, too, even he noticed that. He could see Dean noticed, too, when she turned around his gaze traveled from dainty shoulders to her firm, perfectly curved behind. His gaze lingered, he smirked, and just as he took a sip of his drink, turned his eyes away, towards Cas. He was still smirking, but Cas… wasn’t.
"I want to go back to the bunker and check on Sam," he said suddenly, standing up and running his hand down his—Dean’s—shirt. He’d borrowed it last week and had yet to give it back. Maybe tonight he would.
"Wha—?" Dean leaned over in his seat, his attention now entirely focused on the male he’d come here with. Cas was only slightly pleased to note that miss angel-eyes looked disgruntled. "Why right now? Look, if anyone’s protective over Sammy, it’s me. And if I say he’s fine, Cas, you know he is."
Cas nodded, feeling that heat in his stomach intensify when Dean looked at him. He hated that look sometimes. Normally Cas was all for eye-contact and lingering stares, but tonight, he couldn’t keep them up. “Stay. Have another drunk with—her,” he very nearly spat. He was appalled at his own behavior, but it was like his mouth moved with a life of its own. And he hadn’t even touched any liquor.
Before Cas could get all the way to the door, Dean was there, his fingers wrapping around the other male’s forearm. Cas was stunned into stopping and into silence, eyes widening just a fraction of a bit. He had expected Dean to let him leave so he could flirt with the girl, like Cas assumed he so wanted to
"Alright, what the hell is your problem?" Dean demanded. Chin up, arms now crossed. Such a handsome, handsome weapon. Of course, Cas had never seen him as just a weapon. Especially not now, when his eyes looked so sincere.
"… she is my problem,” Cas answered with a faint sigh of defeat.
"Who? The—" Dean glanced back to look at the she in question, and when he was looking at Cas again, the befuddlement was clear as the freckles on his skin. “What’d she ever do to you?”
Cas paused, licking his lips and looking away. “Dean…” he began, his voice slow and unsteady. “Would things be different if I were in a female vessel?”
Would you look at me like that?
For a moment or two, Dean Winchester could honestly say he was stunned into silence, and that happened very rarely.
"Would… what be different?” This sounded like a question Dean didn’t even want to ask.
"Ev—everything," Cas replied, looking up at Dean and trying to set his expression into one that was stony. "Would you… feel the way you feel for that bartender? For… me?" He felt like a little boy asking if his crush liked him, or liked liked him. But he knew if times were simpler, the answer wouldn’t be so harsh.
"... what exactly are you asking me here?" His tone, gruff as ever, was one that Cas didn't like to hear.
Oh, maybe if the forlorn creature had seen the look on his face, he wouldn’t have bolted so quickly. But he was gone in a flash, tearing from the bar like he had hellhounds on his heels. He knew that was the wrong thing to say. He’d misread the little signs he thought he'd seen, and now he had to pay the price. By the time he’d gotten back tot the bunker and barged his way in, Sam was up, lounging at the table with his laptop before him. The blue light illuminated his eyes when Cas met them, and the smile on Sam’s face was almost sad to see.
"Hey, Cas, what’s—" he’d probably meant to say up, but changed that when he saw the expression on Cas’s face, “—wrong?”
Shuffling awkwardly where he stood, Cas shrugged his shoulders. “I asked Dean if he would feel differently towards me if I had chosen a female vessel instead of Jimmy Novak’s.” A pause, as he took in Sam’s scrutinizing gaze. “It did not end pleasantly.”
Sam stood up, immediately walking over to place his hand on the shorter man’s shoulders. “Cas, buddy, I’m… look, I’m sorry. Honestly? I… I thought Dean felt… a certain way about you, but I wasn’t sure—”
"Oh, I am," Cas muttered bitterly. "He looks at… at bartenders and waitresses like he wants to swallow them whole." |
b3f784abb44043afb8a03bb3fa805214 | ['c2e67329eb87446d912040e6e466edf1'] | “Well...she knows you - she knows what you’re about, and so she simply used the vague representations of those cards to make your situation make sense. It’s like when you read your horoscope and it says you’re going to experience a win, and then you find five bucks and you consider it a win,” he says all in one breath, “It’s coincidence and a bit of manipulation on her part.”
Phil takes a breath and Dan prepares for backlash and regret for bringing him along, but Phil ends up smiling.
“What do you think tarot readings are for?” he asks simply.
Dan takes a moment to think, “People go to get their fortunes read. They want to know what their future is.”
Phil nods and he’s still thinking. It takes him a few more paces before he begins to speak, “Tarot doesn’t deal in absolutes,” he explains softly as they walk back to the train, “Tarot makes you reflect, and it helps put perspective into your experiences. If I found five bucks on the sidewalk, in general I wouldn’t call that a win. That’s luck,” he explained, “But if my horoscope said I would get a win, I’d be looking for a win. I’d appreciate this situation so much more because suddenly, it’s a win.”
Dan raised an eyebrow, clearly not understanding.
“Before she mentioned the Judgement card, I didn’t even realise I was feeling upset about our lease coming to an end. And sure, I put the words there, but it’s not like the feelings were new. It’s like… therapy, but through pictures.”
It takes him a moment to understand before Dan is nodding. It still seems strange, but he’s glad it’s not about mystical intuition anymore.
“And what’s this about the Magician?” he asked, “Someone holding you back?”
Phil smiles for a moment, pleased that Dan is taking it seriously and was paying attention, “I was thinking it might relate to our viewers, actually,” he says, “They’re manipulative in a way that makes us careful about what we want to produce. They’re greedy and… it changes the content. We edit out our controversial things because we’re scared it’ll offend, or intimidate, or go against our personas.”
It’s an interesting concept and Dan nods, relieved that Phil didn’t think that _he_ was that manipulative force. Sure, he could admit that he was abrasive sometimes when Phil suggested something, but he’d never thought it would impact him in a serious way.
They stop at Starbucks for caramel macchiatos, because that’s what they do, and conversation dies about the tarot reading. It goes back to light banter, and a little planning for future videos.
It’s not until they’re back on the train that Phil brings it up again, “So what did you actually think?”
“About the reading?” Dan asks, and Phil nods, “I think… that the theatricality behind it is stupid, but I guess I understand more now. Before it seemed like… people were trying to scam others by implying they could see the future…”
“In some cases, I think that might be true. Scammers do exist. And I know you think it’s stupid, but part of me believes that the shuffling, the knocking and everything like that does mean something,” he says, a little self-conscious as he says it, “All of the cards are pretty broad in their interpretations, but… I want to believe that Marlene has the… the ability to...I don’t know, use her energy to help the cards give the truth, or something...”
Dan’s back to one raised eyebrow and scepticism, but it’s less judging now and just general disagreement.
“I respect your views, however I’m gonna go with a hard pass on that one,” Dan laughs, and Phil nudges him, but stays pressed against him, “She said to call, if you have trouble with interpretation? Do you… use your own cards a lot?”
Phil shrugs, self-conscious again, “A bit,” he says, “Maybe once a month, sometimes more. I’m trying to learn all the card meanings. It just helps ground me, I guess. Puts life in perspective. It’s not like I use them to make any big decisions… it just helps me to work out how I really feel about some things..."
Dan nods, “I think it’s cool. Kind of.”
Phil laughs, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, “Thank you for coming out today. It was really nice, actually. I was a tiny bit worried you’d stage a full on protest.”
Dan shrugs, “It was important to you. I didn’t understand that before, but I get it now.”
Phil sighs gently, content as his eyes close, and he waits a few beats before his mouth curves into a grin.
“So next year you’ll get a reading, right?” | c373afd79c184bc490c2f4ce61cffd56 | ['c2e67329eb87446d912040e6e466edf1'] | Phil reflects for a moment, talking it through, “We finished touring last year,” he says quietly, “That’s a pretty big end, considering we’re pretty sure that’s the last tour ever. At least, internationally. And our lease is ending again - we only had a twelve month one, and we kind of have to make the decision as to whether we’re going to buy a house and move into our permanent resting place, or… if we rent again.”
Dan considers his words, and of course it’s all true but he can’t help but think he’s tailored them to fit to the card meaning of the card.
Marlene simply nods, pointing with long, manicured red nails to the second card, “The second card shows what you want most right now,” she says, before smiling, “Your card is ‘The Hanging Man’, which is a card of suspension, and waiting. It suggests that you’re literally hanging in the balance, waiting for something to happen, and perhaps that you _want_ something to happen,” she says, “And maybe, taking into consideration the other cards, that you feel like you shouldn’t have to give something up to have something else.”
Phil doesn’t say anything, but his mouth is set in a line. It’s scarily accurate, Dan realises for a moment, before his head shakes minisculely. She’s used his own words and once again, gave him an interpretation of that card that made the most sense.
“Your fears are represented in the third card, for which ‘The Star’ is shown. You’re fearful of the future, and you’re not sure what to do, however this card is a card of hope, and optimism,” she pauses, musing for a moment, “Perhaps you’re fearful that the good things will end soon, and maybe it will become harder, either in your relationships or in your career.”
Phil can’t help but glance at Dan, and neither of them are sure how to take that. They’ve always been stronger together.
“The things in your favour - your card here is ‘Strength’.”
Phil grins as he takes in the depiction of the lion on the card.
“Patience, diplomacy, and most importantly - courage - are your strongest qualities. You have inner strength, Phil, and sometimes people won’t see that, and sometimes it may be hard for even yourself to see it. But it’s there.”
Phil nods, and Dan is in wonder at the way he takes her words so seriously.
“And going against you - the Magician,” she says softly, frowning slightly, “It can often mean...greed, deceit and manipulation. It could refer to someone in your life, or perhaps a business or company. Someone who… perhaps, is holding you back from reaching your full potential.”
It’s not directed at Dan - her focus is on Phil and never switches, but Dan can’t help but feel responsible. Was he holding Phil back? It makes him frown, glaring at the card, of the old man and the eclipse behind him. They were just cards. They didn’t mean anything.
“Your final card is the likely outcome to your question, and behold the Empress,” she tilts her head, smiling a little, “The Empress can mean many things, and can often point to fertility,” she smirks a little and Phil lets out a nervous chuckle, prompting Dan to give him a questioning look. He doesn’t answer it, “But it’s also about prosperity, and growth. It’s a positive card - good things are coming, Phil. But you can see through the rest of the cards, there are always going to be trials and tribulations. Periods of waiting and having to deal with the wrong path sometimes. But be patient and kind, and you’ll get to where you want to be.”
He nods, but doesn’t get up yet, taking a moment to think about the cards. He takes a deep breath, before nodding again.
“Thank you, Madame Rosa,” he uses her stage name because it feels better in this environment, before glancing at Dan, “Do you want to-?”
“No thank you,” Dan says quickly, “That’s, um- it was very interesting, but I don’t think it’s for me.”
“Not to worry, sweetheart. It can be fairly confronting for your first time. But I appreciate you coming to support Phil. He talks about you whenever he’s here.”
It makes Phil blush again and he chuckles, finally getting to his feet and slinging his bag back over his head, “I’ll see you next year?” he asks with a grin.
“I’ll be looking forward to it,” she says, “And don’t hesitate to contact me if you have any questions during your own readings…”
Dan glances at Phil in surprise. Except for the video they’d filmed together where Phil read his tarot cards, he didn’t realise Phil used the cards any other time. He doesn’t answer the look though, not yet.
“I will. Thank you so much.”
They cross the room and head back into the street, blinking as the light is way too bright. Dan feels like he’s just stepped out of Narnia, the room where Madame Rosa sits seems like a different world compared to Manchester. Phil is still quiet and reflective, and Dan doesn’t really want to disturb him, but he’s bursting with questions.
“So…” he says, and Phil glances over at him with a smile, but he looks nervous, “Was that...a good reading?”
Phil nods slowly, trying to gather his thoughts, “It certainly makes sense.”
“Well, I mean, of course it does,” Dan says it before he means to, wincing.
“What do you mean?” Phil’s on the defensive, but he’s also curious. They don’t often have this conversation, but when they do, Dan usually shuts him down before he can get a word in. |
a48f563e481f42cbadb4a2da0fadc506 | ['c2f08c8e327847a6ba9183067e4fc1ea'] |
1. Thiccc with 3 c’s
**Author's Note:**
> Prompts:
> “Skin flute”
> “hippity hoppity i’m Done with this fuckery”
> “I’m gonna shove this salad up your ass if you don’t fuck off”
> “Thick with three c’s”
The Trickster had found the Winchesters at the restaurant Zoup! in Idaho. Gabriel had appeared with a flourish and received a knife plunged into his chest as a greeting. He looked down at the holes in his chest and gave them a pouty look.
“I would hate to cut and run, it’s so knife to be around you guys. All I want is a slice of life drama.” He snickered before taking the knife out of his chest, not caring for the people milling around. The Trickster already concealed the booth from the public eye.
“What are you doing here you son of a bitch?” Dean growled while eyeing the knife now in the Trickster’s hand. Gabriel rolled his eyes and snapped the knife back into the man’s inner jacket pocket.
“I’m here for the tall water’s goods, doing the do, the horizontal tango, the deflower power.” The Trickster wiggled his eyebrows while Dean made a disgusted look. Sam huffed while stabbing the lettuce in his salad with the fork.
“You are not fucking me because I’m gonna shove this salad up your ass if you don’t fuck off.” Gabriel chuckled while snapping a raspberry pie into his hand with a fork appearing in his other hand.
“Kinky! Do tell me more, I’ll save it for my spank bank.” The blonde winked and the older Winchester gagged before reaching to pull the knife back out. Sam had stopped him with a look towards the people around them while Gabriel lounged in his booth.
“What, Deano? You don’t want some skin flute, a little Deanie time to blow some steam, some lovely time on your knees?” Dean slammed his hands on the table as he glared at the Trickster.
“We are leaving, come on Sam.” The older Winchester slide out of the booth, but the moment Sam tried to, he found he couldn’t move. Looking back at the Trickster, he scowled while crossing his arms.
“Hippity hoppity I’m done with this fuckery, enough with the innuendos, Gabriel.”
“Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry, stray lower…” Gabriel winked before disappearing with a snap, taking Sam with him. Much to Dean’s dismay.
The two appeared in one of the Trickster’s many hideaways and the hunter was perplexed by how nice the place actually looked. He didn’t have time to admire everything because he was being dragged into the bedroom. He looked at Gabriel with an unamused look only to receive a faux-innocent smile before being tossed gently onto the bed.
“Come on Sammy, I want that D. I bet you’re thiccc, you know, like thick with three c’s.”
“You talk like that again, I will leave you with blue balls right here.”
“Aw come on, wouldn’t you like some sexy fun with me tonight?“ Gabriel whispered in the hunter’s ear while crawling up his body on the bed. Sam tilted his head while lifting his arms to wrap around the Trickster’s neck. He pulled Gabriel in close till their lips almost touched, and looked into his golden eyes.
“Not at all.” With that, Sam bit Gabriel’s lips before pulling him into a heated kiss. The hunter then shoved the archangel off the bed in a messy disarray of blankets and clothes. Laughing at Gabriel’s agape face, Sam took off running throughout Gabriel’s hideout.
The Trickster scrambled to his feet and found the Winchester in his living room. Sam had prayed to Castiel and stood in the colorful room with a wide grin. He winked at Gabriel before bowing, when he stood up he finger gunned the angel.
“Adios, till we meet again tee-rickster!” Sam called before disappearing with a laugh.
2. sTReEt SmARtS
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> Prompts:
> Candy cane shoved up Gabriel ass
> “Street Smart”
> “Yeet”
> “Lengthy length”
> “No Nutvember”
> “Cum coo coo”
> “It’S FUCKIN RAW”
It has been two weeks since Sam Winchester bopped out of his place and Gabriel was getting frustrated. The younger hunter looked interested, maybe he was being a cock tease or maybe Gabriel was just being extremely horny, probably all three if the archangel thought about it.
The archangel spent his days not following the Winchesters if you ask him, but that was his opinion. Castiel may be on the highway to falling, but he knew a bullshitter when he saw one. The angel was in the back of the impala, giving an unimpressed look at his invisible brother sitting next to him.
“Castiel, what the fuck are you staring at?” Dean frowned in the rear view mirror when he caught the angel’s glower. The angel didn’t respond, choosing to kick Gabriel hard in the shin. The archangel let out a pained yelp as he grabbed his leg, turning visible to the Winchesters.
“IT’S FUCKIN RAW! OW CASSIE!” Sam watched Gabriel screech at his brother while Dean rolled his eyes from the driver’s seat. “Saaaammy! Kiss it better.” Gabriel stuck his leg forward, ignoring Dean’s sputtering sounds.
“Dude! Get your leg outta here, I’m driving you crazy bastard!” Dean smacked the archangel’s leg as he tried to keep his eyes on the road.
“Gabriel, if you don’t stop fucking around. I will shove a candy cane up your ass.” Sam gave the archangel a bitchface at the sudden commotion the archangel made.
“Do you promise?” The archangel gave a lewd wink before snapping himself out of the car.
The Winchesters and Castiel weren’t _graced by Gabriel’s magnificent presence_ until they retired to their recent hotel that night. The moment Sam opened the hotel door, he quickly duck at the flying projectile.
“THIS BITCH EMPTY, YEET!” | ba4b6e7ac1ab41179dd9d18d64ab64a6 | ['c2f08c8e327847a6ba9183067e4fc1ea'] | Gabriel finally got off the bed and pulled the covers over Sam’s sleeping form. Castiel’s bright eyes followed Gabriel’s movement as he tilted his head like a confused bird. “I don’t have to immediately return to Dean’s side, if that’s what you are asking, the hunt was small.”
Gabriel smiled and beckoned Castiel to follow him out of Sam’s room. “I would love to catch up with you little brother, come along.” The two left the room playfully bickering about childhood memories along the lines of “You changed my robes to a dress Gabriel.” as the blonde closed the door to Sam’s room.
The trickster was unaware of Sam’s soundless dream of golden eyes that sparkled green and a mischievous laugh sweet like candy. Castiel knew it was only a matter of time, the truth will always come out eventually, even with a trickster.
2. Smut Zone
The first thing Sam Winchester did when he woke up was groan at the massive headache pounding away in his head. The hunter tried to settle under the blankets and get some more well deserved sleep. Unfortunately for him, Gabriel chose that moment to saunter in with a steamy bowl of soul.
“Hows my favorite patient doing today?” The archangel cooed before snickering at the hunter’s bitchface. “No need to be that way Honeybuns, now come eat your soup.” Gabriel coaxed Sam into a sitting position with pillows to help keep Sam up right.
Sam tried to pick up the spoon only to have his hand smacked away, a smirking angel tsking at him. “You’re too weak still and my powers won’t work with mistletoe. So let nurse Gabriel here get you back up to full plaid moose glory.”
The man gave his best bitchface when he realized the angel’s intentions. “You are not spoonfeeding me.”
Sam crossed his arms in defiance and Gabriel raised his eyebrow, feigning shock at the rebellious action. “Oh really?” The hunter watched the angel take a spoonful of the soup in confusion.
Gabriel smiled innocently before lunging forward, catching Sam’s mouth with his. The hunter felt warm soup flooding into his mouth and quickly swallowed before it dripped down his chest. Sam watched the archangel pull away with a satisfied smile while licking away any soup lingering on his lips.
“Are you going to let me spoonfeed you now Moose?” Sam blushed but grudgingly opened his mouth, looking anywhere but at Gabriel. He refused to give the trickster satisfaction. “Still not fucking you, I’m sick.” The archangel bursted out laughing and the hunter couldn’t help but smile.
It soon became a routine for the two, Gabriel always came in at certain times in the day to feed Sam, the hunter would then go back to sleep until Gabriel came again. Sometimes Sam was strong enough that they would play card games or talk on the Winchester’s bed.
It was a week since the mistletoe accident and Sam was getting better to the point where he wouldn’t need to be in bed any longer. The hunter was peacefully reading a book when a archangel swung the door open with determination.
“I think I waited long enough!”
Gabriel made his way over to Sam and swung his leg over the Winchester to straddle him. The angel was pushing Sam on his back when the hunter realized what was happening on his bed. “Wait Gabriel! I’m still sick, mistletoe is harmful to your pagan side.”
The archangel only snorted as he began to pop buttons off to slip Sam’s shirt off. “Please Sammy, my angel senses are perfect. I won’t be getting sick anytime soon.” Gabriel began to leave kisses down Sam’s throat as the hunter let his hands rest on the angel’s hips. “Wait, your powers are back?”
“I love you but this is not the kind of noisy partner I thought I was getting in bed.” When Sam tried to report, Gabriel shut him up with a kiss. Sam started melting into it as the two pressed closer to each other. The angel broke away and nipped at the hunter’s lips before moving downwards, leaving a trail of kisses that made Sam shiver.
“Soooo, do you love me too? I mean I’m charming and all, but I haven’t heard a yes yet..” Gabriel slipped a hand in Sam’s pants and started to strike up a casual conversation as he stroked the hunter’s cock.
“Gabriel- seriously?! You are asking this right now-” The hunter’s words slurred into a moan as the archangel started licking Sam’s hickies while his hand continued to pump at a teasing pace. Almost enough but not fast enough for the hunter to get off.
“I guess that’s a no.” Gabriel shrugged and began to slip his hand out of Sam’s pants only for the hunter’s hands to yank the angel closer. “Yes, it’s a yes. Now finish what you started before I pound your ass into this bed.” Sam growled as Gabriel began to smile.
“Yesssss sir!”
Gabriel snapped their clothes away and leaned forward to wrap his mouth around Sam’s cock. The hunter melted into putty, reduced to moans and Gabriel’s name as the angel began to suck and lick anywhere he could reach with his mouth. Sam buried his hands in the archangel’s hair as his release drew near. Right when the hunter was on the edge, ready to blow in Gabriel’s mouth, the door to the bunker slammed open.
“Sammy! How are you?” Dean voice echoed and Sam let out a string of curses. The hunter expected Gabriel to disappear but Dean’s appearance only encouraged the archangel. Gabriel began to move faster as Dean’s footsteps echoed down the hall. Sam quickly bit his fist to stop a moan as he came in the archangel’s mouth.
The hunter slumped against his pillows as Gabriel smirked and licked away any leftover cum. “Delicious, just like you Sweetheart.” With that, the angel disappeared with a snap just in time, Dean had appeared in the doorway with a smile.
“Hey Sammy! Glad to see you’re okay.” Sam could only give a polite smile as he covered himself up with his covers, the last thing he needed was Dean going after Gabriel for trying to take Sam. Castiel appeared behind Dean and soon the older Winchester was running off to the kitchen for some apple pie.
Castiel lingered behind and placed a key in Sam’s hand. “For you, it leads to Gabriel’s place. I suggest you use it after you’re well.” The angel gave a smile and wished him good luck before walking out to stop Dean from going into a pie coma.
Sam couldn’t help but smile as he put the key safely in his pocket, right over his heart. The hunter packed a bag and left a note on his bed before heading for the door. He could already imagine Gabriel waiting for him, sprawling on his bed with a flirtatious look in his eyes. With a deep breath, he put the key in the lock and turned it till there was a click.
“Hellloooooooo honey!”
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!
**Author's Note:**
> I hope you enjoyed the fic! Part 2 will be in beginning of September! |
345b7fd758984aa2ab15950c9c85e423 | ['c2f38f22986c4624a6feb45de37016f1'] | Drown
**Author's Note:**
> Hello... I know I haven't updated in the past two weeks, but I hope this helps. I couldn't think of anything to write for OWASLB the first week and I had a lock-in for school last Friday. I'll try to update soon. Prepare for feels...
>
> TRIGGER WARNING: THIS IS BASED UPON SUICIDE SO IF YOU DON'T LIKE TO READ THAT STUFF OR ARE EASILY TRIGGERED DO NOT READ!
>
> -LK
I sink deeper and deeper into the dark abyss that I have created for myself. Who will fix me now? What doesn't destroy you leaves you broken instead. The weight of the world is getting harder to hold up. As I stand on the edge I can't help but think about all those I have wronged and all those I have loved. Bianca. Percy. Will. They all cared for me and ended up getting hurt. I am dangerous. I bring death with even the lightest touch. I can't help it and that is why I need to leave for good. It is simply pest control. Who would dive in when I'm down?
I've got a hole in my soul growing deeper, and deeper. I cried out and listened as the sound echoed over the lake. I can't take one more moment of this silence. I am so alone. I close my eyes and hold my breath. I feel tears spill from under my closed eyelids. Why can't Bianca be here? She knows that I can't do this on my own. Someone, please save me from myself.
What doesn't kill you makes you wish you were dead. Dead. Maybe that would be better for everyone. I'm not okay and it's not alright. I can't take anymore of the lies and empty promises. Enough is enough. I open my eyes and look out upon the shimmering green jewel in front of me. I marvel at how beautiful the water can be, even when it holds dark secrets. I smile for the first time in years. Maybe I will finally find peace.
The immense cold surges through my body like a bolt of lightning. I feel the water seeping into my bones. I choke on water as it replaces the oxygen. I never knew dying would feel so freeing. I don't bother praying for Asylum. I'm no hero. I'm just a coward. I watch my life flash before my eyes. I see my mother being struck down, Bianca and I leaving for the Lotus Casino. I catch a glimpse of bright vibrant green. At first the green is in the shape of a little girl's hat and then it morphs, twisting and turning into a pair of the most stunning eyes the world has ever known. They are the eyes I have grown to love and hate all at the same time.
The love and hate make my dying heart burn even more. All the emotions I have ever felt towards anyone and everyone fill my heart to the breaking point. I whisper "I'm sorry"s to the ones who I have shown anger towards. That was my cover up for the weakness I can no longer deny. Be angry at everyone until they leave you alone so they don't see how much of a coward I am and have to watch them laugh at my pathetic attempts at heroism. Face it I was never wanted there anyway.
I remember the snide looks, the fear and hate that filled the eyes that pierced their way through my skin. The eyes that were trying to find out all of my secrets hated me the more they uncovered. I don't blame them. I deserved their hatred. No one should be able to control who lives or dies the way my father can. No one should be able to bring back who they wanted to, even if it was only for a few moments. I was dangerous and should be locked away. I could do terrible things to the living and the dead with just a flick of my wrist. I'm too powerful. I'm a sick animal that needs to be put out of its misery. That is what I am doing, putting myself and everyone around me out of their misery. The will forget me easily. The unbalance between life and death will right itself and everything will be better. I'm a parasite that needs to be removed before I cause any more damage.
Part of me wishes there was someone out there to help me, someone, to come and make me fight. All I ever wanted was to be normal and to be loved. I never asked to be the freak that I am. I'm sorry. I just want someone to help me, to love me, to care enough to not let me drown. Don't let me drown. | d9d4eec9d19842ce9e970d33d1dee5f2 | ['c2f38f22986c4624a6feb45de37016f1'] |
1. Chapter 1
**Author's Note:**
> This work will go back and forth between Victor and Yuuri's POVs. I honestly have no idea when I'll update, but eventually I will... Hopefully.
>
> -lk
Victor's POV
Victor sat on the edge of his bed gazing down at his phone. He was trying to make sense of the texts he had been received by from friends and family.
"This skater did your routine perfectly"
"Some fatty from Japan made a fool of himself trying to copy you. That little piggy"
"Watch this!!!!!"
“VICTOR IT'S YUURI!!!!!!”
He a smiled played at his lips while he read the second text. Leave it to Yura to cheer him up in the most unconventional ways.
Of course he followed their instructions and watched but he still couldn't understand. Did they not know who this was? This was the man Victor had looked up to his entire life. This was the five time Champion Yuuri Katsuki. The man was younger than Victor and had still managed to surpass him.
In a state of shock he lay back. How did he know who he was? It was a miracle he even took a second glance at Victor. He was a nobody. He was a 27 year old failure. Even when he was simply starting, he never performed as well as the other skaters his age. He flubbed his jumps, his step sequences were off time. All around he was a failure. And on top of all of that he came in dead last at the last Grand Prix final. Even little Yurio thinks it's time for him to retire.
As he watched the man on his screen he couldn’t ignore the throbbing in his chest. He missed skating more than anything. It had been his escape throughout the years. It was the one thing he could do to clear his mind. It was the one thing he truly did for himself. Sadly even skating couldn’t help him now.
Sighing deeply, the silvered haired man turned off his light, phone, and mind. He just needed to be alone to process what had happened and what this meant. What was he going to do?
2. Chapter 2
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> I have a second chapter, that's new.
>
> -lk
Yuuri's POV
Across the world sat Yuuri Katsuki,waiting and hoping for a reaction of some sort. He had uploaded the video weeks ago and yet, no one had heard from a certain Russian skater at all. It seemed the man Yuuri had based so many programs on didn’t even bother to responds to this blatantly obvious cry for attention. At this point, Yuuri could only hope his message was understood.
For the umpteenth time that day Yuuri picked up his skates and then set them back down in frustration. He was so worried about this stupid video that he couldn't even do the one thing he was good for: skate. In the end he knew he was being silly, but he just couldn’t help it. This was Victor Nikiforov. The man he had admired since day one. The man who he had dreamed of meeting since he was a child. His inspiration.
When he was younger, Yuuri had very little faith in himself. He never believed he could accomplish what he had laid out in front of him and that every success was never good enough. That was until he spotted Victor a junior competition in Moscow. He had been so enraptured by Victor’s performance that he hadn’t even noticed the judge’s disapproving commentary. Victor had taken the bad score incredibly well, he never let his perfect smile leave his face. He was simply having fun and skating for himself alone. It was then when Yuuri began to do the same. It was the when Yuuri fell in love with Victor Nikiforov.
3. Chapter 3
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> What will Victor's response be? How will he react to Yuuri's skating, but more importantly, what will he do about it?
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> Helloooooooo
>
> Sorry for the bit of a wait for this chapter!! it was the holidays and I had so much family over, and etc. Now school has started back up (along with winter guard practice) so I may not be able to upload very often until April-ish. Don't get me wrong I'll probably upload a few chapters here and there as I can, but (if I even make it that long on this fic I'm bipolar as hell). Also feedback is greatly appreciated!! Anyway.... ENJOY! <3
>
> -lk
Rubbing his sleep filled eyes, Victor returned to the land of the living from his journey into the void. Confusion had been the lullaby that brought him sleep. Thoughts that ranged from hopeful to hopeless had raced around his head. In the end, he never did figure out how he was going to approach Yuuri, but one thing was for certain, Victor Nikiforov, though filled with self-doubt and anxiety, was not ignoring this chance to gain attention from his idol.
Pulling himself up and making himself decent enough, he headed down to the rink with Makkachin. At this time of day, mid-afternoon, the only person who would be there would be Mila, and she was sure to leave Victor alone. Picking his pace up from his brisk walk to a full-on jog, he dragged ] Makka just a little as he attempted to appear as if he wasn’t incredibly eager to get to work. |
e65153fdd74c4fd5b63749b8e6ed42c2 | ['c2f81bbf7b784e4894e982e8d0f95bc0'] |
Power
“Is this some kind of joke?”
Ana slammed her fist onto the table, teacups rattling as she threw herself forward. Fareeha stayed where she was, leaning carefully back on the lacy café chair – shoulders wide, legs spread, back straight, eyes forward. Perfect posture an attempt to get her mother to see reason, but certainly not one that was working.
“Strike Commander? STRIKE COMMANDER?! I spend all these years working to protect you, and the instant you’re offered power you take it without a thought?!” Ana leaned back, arms crossed, teeth gritted. “And don’t you dare say I abandoned you. I kept an eye on Helix Security for all those years.”
“And you never bothered to let me know you were alive.” Fareeha wasn’t a young woman anymore, but her voice still shook as she delivered the line, cold and cutting as it was meant to be.
Goddamnit. Ana would see weakness, and it’d cement her idea that she wasn’t suitable for command. It was always too easy – automatic, even – to see her mother as Captain Amari more than, well, her mother. But she seemed to find it impossible to return the favor – seeing her own daughter as Strike Commander Amari more than little Fareeha, sparring with Gabriel in front of Blackwatch recruits in her favorite blue dress.
Captain (and she’d earned that rank back, the UN security council determining her skills far more useful in the reformed Overwatch than bounty hunting in Cairo) Ana Amari was many things. Headstrong, responsible, infuriating, and once upon a time even beautiful. But being a good mother was rarely one of those things, cycling between overwhelmingly smothering and unfathomably distant – a soldier protecting her own the best she could.
With long tours of duty and a faked death, leaving a 15-year-old daughter alone to witness the collapse of whatever family she had left. Fareeha joined the Egyptian military immediately after the fall – her combat testing scores and name enough to allow her in despite her age, and completely devoted herself to her work.
But the pain and grief remained. She’d been all but raised by the members of Overwatch – Jack and Gabriel, her two fathers without the Amari name. McCree and Lena, the affectionate older siblings. Reinhardt, the booming grandfather who’d first taught her to use and maintain power armor. And, first, last, and most of all, beautiful Dr. Zeigler, the beating heart of many of her teenage crushes.
Ana picked up her teacup, taking a neat sip with her steady sniper’s hands, and nursed the cup to her chest. “I did what I must.”
“And so you did.” Fareeha reached for her cup before thinking again, dropping her hands in her lap. “But now you have to accept this. I’m younger than Jack was when he took command. People are uncertain – afraid – about the new Overwatch. But you were beloved. People still ask for your autograph, after all these years, and – “ She paused, glancing aside, some small muscle in her jaw twitching as she swallowed her pride. “I need your support. Overwatch – needs your support.” _And I need my mother too._ But she was too old to beg for approval from her, knowing none would come.
“So you’re asking me to publicly endorse you.” Ana was all business now, leaning forward intently, caught in the mix of violence and publicity that defined Overwatch. “And what’s wrong with Jack, assuming this was his idea?”
“Too much controversy with Soldier: 76. And it’s well known that Gabriel was a double agent for Talon, and that he’s continuing Blackwatch operations. Reinhardt has endorsed me already. Torbjorn isn’t exactly a public face. Which leaves only you.”
“And it won’t be suspicious that the Strike Commander’s own mother is endorsing her?”
Improvement. She was getting used to the idea – at least Captain Amari was. But she wasn’t so sure about the part that was her mother.
***
Pharah glanced at herself in the dressing room mirror, adjusting the neat blue structure of her dress uniform. The past two weeks had been a blur of paperwork and cleanup ops, somehow combining the thrill of command in combat with the bone-deep chill of responsibility, each new signature throwing someone else’s life on the line to save hundreds more.
Fareeha was certain it’d get old soon.
This would be the first public appearance of the new Strike Commander, and very likely the most important day for the new Overwatch so far that didn’t involve a fake funeral being reversed. She’d have to convince them it meant a return to peace and prosperity, not another ticking time bomb. It’d also finalize the new Blackwatch commander – Gabriel swore that he’d appoint whoever it was during the Overwatch afterparty, a tradition after the press conferences everyone hated so much.
She felt rather than heard someone come in behind her, glancing in the mirror to see blonde hair peeking from behind her broad shoulders, small hands resting on her stomach before a warm body pressed gently behind. Fareeha smiled, tipping her head back to peck Angela on the cheek.
“Nervous? I could get you some medication, if you need it.” Always pragmatic and professional, her Dr. Zeigler. Fareeha briefly considered asking her to help with her nerves, with her mouth and skilled fingers instead of drugs, but decided that that’d be a little too obvious. She settled for turning to tip Angela’s delicate chin up to kiss her properly, a chaste little thing that meant the world. | 437c62aec60a4bfbb59cc6d29f0bc758 | ['c2f81bbf7b784e4894e982e8d0f95bc0'] | It was the kiss they’d first shared after flying desperately out of a Talon cell with the intelligence they’d come for, landing outside the compound covered in dried gore and the powdery, ashy residue of spent biotics. A revolting taste most of the time, but on the good doctor’s lips it’d tasted like water in the desert. And it was the same kiss Mercy had hauled her into, when they came back to their cheap motel room, before impatiently kissing elsewhere – neck, collar, a pause at her breasts before going all the way down.
Fareeha hauled her mind from that memory with some effort, noting Angela’s knowing expression, a small smile and pink rising high into those perfect cheekbones. Of course she’d know instantly – she was a doctor, she didn’t need anything else to see arousal.
“Your lipstick is smeared.” It wasn’t at all what Fareeha had been expecting from that look, and it took her a second to process Angela’s words.
“Oh! Oh, yes, of course.” Flustered, she whipped back towards the mirror, rubbing insistently at the corners of her mouth before giving up and snatching the concealer. She could see Angela’s grin in the mirror – no coy smile here, just a wide, genuine beam as she watched her boss and girlfriend inexpertly fix her makeup.
“What’s so funny?” Fareeha snipped back at that perfect grin, blinking slowly enough to make Angela’s breath catch. Target acquired.
After a pause, the grin came back. “Nothing. Just wondering how you aim so perfectly with a rocket-propelled grenade launcher, but can’t put some cream _around_ your lips instead of on them.”
She was about to retort when a sharp rap rang through the room.
“Two minutes, Amari!” Gabriel roared through the closed door.
“Since when have I been ‘Amari,’ _Gabi_?”
“Since you became my boss, _Fari_. Now get a move on.”
“That’s _‘Get a move on, commander ma’am’_ to you!”
“Over my dead body, _chica_.”
Angela piped up, “Already done.”
A beat.
“Fuck both of you.”
They heard him stomp away, managing to make it all the way to the end of the hallway before he cracked up. Pharah had been unlucky enough to be on the other end of the Reaper’s laughter – melodramatic and cruel, meant to unsettle and strike fear into lesser soldiers. But Gabriel’s real laugh was loud and ugly, a snorting mess that could only be genuine.
Angela caught Fareeha’s eye, trying to keep a straight face, before they both dissolved into giggles.
No, Overwatch wasn’t the same, Fareeha pondered as she pinned the microphone to her chest, making one last pass at her uniform (and getting another peck from Angela, avoiding her newly fixed cosmetics) before whisking purposefully outside and to the tiny area behind the stage. In the old Overwatch, making the surly Blackwatch commander so much as smile was a privilege reserved for Jack – and rarely, Fareeha, after she’d mastered a particularly demanding move. But he’d seemed to have much more to smile about these days – the guilt he carried transferred to a responsibility to rebuild what he’d destroyed, the kind of immediate purpose soldiers thrived on.
The small room was a roaring sea of blue and black and gold, press and brass from all the world’s armies, offset by Jesse’s ridiculous hat and Winston’s massive bulk, excitedly discussing something with a group of Japanese scientists. She paused, bemused, as Hana and Lena did something on their holophones that involved flicking little balls at cartoon animals on the official’s heads, before leaping out of the way to catch a bemused Lucio, barely on time and – miraculously – in a decent uniform instead of street clothes.
She watched Gabriel, finally composed, offer an arm to Jack, sitting wide and weary. He glanced up, then took it, taking the opportunity to swat Gabe’s ass on the way up. He didn’t react, but his eyes gleamed as he suppressed a smile. Angela was dressing down McCree – she could only assume the hat and the belt buckle were to blame, never mind the cowboy boots. Genji watched, cackling, clapping his bemused brother on the back after some choice phrase from Angela.
Fareeha guessed some things never changed.
One last microphone check, a glance at her notes, a deep breath, and the fanfare blared as spotlights slammed into her face. |
4dc4d7340d7c4f9b94a1a31da6004854 | ['c30d39a9152b46c2a0bfb4414e13ba38'] | You only nodded in response, knowing he’d feel it. Evidently satisfied, Matt trapped your hand again and rolled his hips against you, pressing your chest to his through a hand on your back. “Good girl.” He nipped at your ear with uncharacteristic aggression, quickly moving down to your neck. The bites were small and quick, but there was enough force behind them you knew at least a few would leave a mark.
As if he knew what you were thinking, Matt spoke between ministrations. “He’s going to see these marks on you.” A particularly hard bite beneath your collarbone had you involuntarily arching into him. “And he’s going to know, if he didn’t already, that you are off limits.” You let your eyes fall shut as he released your wrists in order to pull your tank top off over your head. “He’s going to know that you’re mine,” Matt whispered harshly.
As he continued to work on your neck, you reached down between the two of you and began working on the buttons of his shirt, thankful he’d left that morning without a tie. You were almost convinced he hadn’t noticed what you were doing until you ground against him, desperate to feel his skin on yours, and it was like a switch flipped. Matt instantly had you pinned against the wall again and was thoroughly out of reach. You absently noted that he looked like you felt—thoroughly ravished and just a bit desperate—with his lips bitten red because he was holding himself back so much, chest rising and falling quickly because he was just as breathless as you were.
A moment later, he seemed to remember himself.
“Don’t.”
Just as he began to move back to you, you spoke up. “What, you’re just going to let that go?”
As soon as the tease left your mouth you knew you shouldn’t have said it. At least, not if you wanted to leave the room anytime soon. Despite your nervousness (or perhaps because of it), you pulled one of your hands free to softly drag a finger down his chest, letting it hook onto his belt. If you’d been watching his face, you would have seen Matt bite his lip and gasp just quietly enough that you missed it.
“Come on, lawyer-man, there’s no sort of punishment for my offense?”
Matt smirked. “Of course there is.”
You couldn’t help giggling when he scooped you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, and carried you to the edge of his desk. When you put a hand down for balance, you knocked something to the floor and heard it crack. Wincing, you tried to look down to see what it was, but Matt forced you to face front with a hand on your chin. “Don’t worry about it,” was all you heard before he kissed you harshly, pulling you as close as he could with one hand in your hair and the other on your back. You could feel his restraint as he slipped his hands into your sweatpants, which were still mostly damp, and worked them and your underwear off your hips and onto the floor. A quick kick to the side left them in a heap by the door and then he was on you again, fingers digging into your side like he was forcing himself to wait to go further down.
Too soon for your liking, his hands fell away from you. When you realized he was undoing his pants, you were tempted to assist, but instead tangled your fingers in his hair and pulled his head back so you could give him a mark or two to rival the myriad of bite-sized bruises you were going to have in a few hours. As you worked at a sensitive spot beneath his jaw, you recognized the familiar feeling of his erection rubbing between your legs, as if he were teasing you by not just grabbing you and fucking you into the desk like you both wanted him to.
“I hope you don’t punish all the criminals you know like this.”
Matt growled into your ear. “That’s not funny.”
_Right._
You hid a yelp in his shoulder when, without warning, he pushed into you, only slightly. Even when he was “punishing” you he was careful not to hurt you, you thought, amused. As soon as he felt you adjust, he buried himself in you, slowly leaning you back on his desk. You let yourself be put back until you were leaning on your elbows—just far enough for a better angle but not so far you felt like you were going to fall off the front of the desk—before lacing your fingers in his hair and pulling him down with you so you could kiss him forcefully. Apparently he took that as some sort of hint, and began thrusting into you, slowly, but somehow still aggressively. You all but whimpered into his mouth through the kiss and dragged your nails down his side, relishing the deep, rumbling growl it elicited.
Matt began working his lips down your body, kissing various spots in time with his thrusts. He pulled one of the cups of your bra out of the way and took your breast in his hand, gently teasing your nipple with his teeth and tongue. You let your head fall back and a loud moan escape your lips, clutching at his arm desperately.
“Shit, Matt, I’m—ah!” Before you even finished the thought, he clutched at your hips and started driving you into the desk harder and faster, grazing his teeth over your ear. | 419e3f6044d2426abc1de6d78d3aa13a | ['c30d39a9152b46c2a0bfb4414e13ba38'] | “No, um, a bear got to him. We were hunting and accidentally shot at a, um, a bear cub. The mother wasn’t too happy and grabbed him by the foot. She tried to drag him away, but I, uh, I took care of it and she let him go.”
Castiel tilted his head, not quite convinced Sam was telling him the whole truth, but he couldn’t deny that Dean’s foot looked like it had been mangled by a large animal. Sam leaned back apprehensively, as if he were anticipating Castiel’s apprehension.
“Was the animal venomous?”
“No, it wasn’t.” Sam breathed a sigh of relief at Castiel’s simple question.
“Good. We will do everything in our power to restore your brother’s foot. I will be able to provide you with more information as to his prognosis once surgery is over. Please do remain calm and in the waiting area; this is not a life-threatening injury, but it is severe.” With a practiced, comforting smile, Castiel left to check on his patient, as well as Dr. Talbot’s progress.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A few days later, Castiel was still thinking about the mysterious foot injury he’d reconstructed with Dr. Talbot. She had performed admirably, asked insightful and appropriate questions, and, when given the opportunity, stitched tissue together very skillfully for an intern with her field experience. Even though it seemed clear to Castiel that a bear grabbing Dean’s foot would not have caused the amount of damage that was present, Dr. Talbot didn’t comment, and Castiel didn’t push Sam for more information, as it wasn’t relevant to the treatment of his patient.
The surgery had gone about as well as Castiel could have expected. With exposed, broken bone and cartilage, it was tricky to tell how much reconstruction could be done effectively. When they had closed and bandaged the foot, Castiel guessed that Dean would have roughly 80% range of motion once healed, but in his post-operative checks, it seemed that he would regain up to 95% of his original range of motion. As he explained to Dean, as long as excess weight and stress was kept off the joint, and it wasn’t bent in any unnatural fashion (or stretched unduly), there shouldn’t be any major trouble once it had healed properly.
However, as Castiel was quickly becoming aware, keeping Dean Winchester in bed to heal for the requisite ten weeks was not going to be easy.
One week after surgery, still in a plaster cast, Dean was trying to get up and walk around the room unassisted. Castiel had overheard more than one nurse complaining about how Dean seemed determined to tear his stitches and reopen the wound. Ellen had paged him to her station once just to ask if he would go in and, as she put it, “put the fear of God into that fool” to dissuade him from behaving against medical advice. Castiel had refused, insisting that once Dean felt the pain from walking on a broken and torn ankle, he would learn.
Two weeks after surgery, Dean still hadn’t learned, and was healing more slowly than expected as a result. Regardless of his progress, Castiel was insisting that the other Dr. Novak, Castiel’s brother Balthazar, do an initial physical therapy assessment as if Dean was healing on schedule.
“No, Cassie, I don’t think it’s a good idea. Starting physical therapy on an insufficiently healed bone can have detrimental effects in the long run, and I know you know that’s true. So why do you really want me going in there as if this idiot had stayed in bed like you suggested?” Balthazar crossed his arms, sitting back against the conference table in the room they’d stepped into for privacy.
“I don’t want you to actually start therapy on him. The reason he’s not healing on schedule is because he’s refusing to remain in bed. I want you to do an initial assessment based on where he is now, and inform him of the risks of continuing on as he has been. Hearing these things from the doctor who fixed him is different than the doctor that he’d be working with for an extended period of time to be able to walk again. I want you to help me, as Ellen put it, ‘put the fear of God’ into him so he will heal correctly an on schedule.”
Balthazar chuckled. “Gotcha, so you want me to go in there with you and play bad cop. Works for me.” He slapped his clipboard with Dean’s chart on it against Castiel’s arm. “Let’s go see your foot patient.”
~*~*~*~*~
With a cursory knock on the door, Balthazar walked into Dean’s room with a flourish, shaking his hand before coming to stand at the end of the bed next to Castiel.
“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Winchester. I’m Dr. Novak, this is also Dr. Novak, my brother. I am going to be your physical therapist, and he’s the one that put your foot back together after that nasty bear tore it to bits.” Balthazar gestured to either himself or Castiel when appropriate. Castiel simply stood quietly, hands at his sides, and watched Dean’s reactions to Balthazar.
Dean looked confused. “Physical therapist? I thought the nurses that were in here said I wasn’t even supposed to be out of bed yet.”
The irony of his objection wasn’t lost on either of them. “I’m surprised you heard that. From what I understand, you haven’t listened to anything else they’ve been telling you.” Balthazar raised an eyebrow at him.
Dean grinned, waving a hand dismissively. “Yeah, well, you know nurses, man, all the ones I’ve met worry too much.”
Both Dr. Novaks simply stared at him.
“Okay, fine,” he conceded. “I know I’ve been taking some liberties with my post-op instructions, or whatever you call it, but it’s because I’m feeling up to it. Just ask them, I’ve been making it to and from the bathroom all on my own, just like a big boy.” |
9678464ccf79478b9d7a2042713ff2fd | ['c32553c22d2945f3a7a919aef5a3477c'] | That was enough for Hyunjin to hear. He had held himself back for so long now. Hyunjin changed from crying into Jeongin's shoulder, to kissing the younger's neck. Jeongin let out a soft moan, as he suddenly felt Hyunjin's warm and soft lips onto his neck. Hyunjin cupped Jeongin's face as they stared into each others eyes deeply. Jeongin blushed deeply. Hyunjin suddenly leaned in, nipping onto Jeongin's bottom lip, slowly placing their lips together and moving them in sync. Jeongin had never done such a thing before, and he felt so nervous. His heart almost beating out of his chest as Hyunjin slowly kissed him. The kiss deepening and becoming more passionate. Hyunjin asked the younger for entrance, as he licked his bottom lip. Jeongin opened his lips slightly so Hyunjin could slip his tongue in. Exploring Jeongin's wet cavern. He received another slightly more seductive moan from the younger, as Hyunjin moved his hands down to Jeongin's hips. Jeongin bucked his hips forward as Hyunjin moved down to his ass, squeezing it and receiving another lewd moan from the younger. Jeongin grabbed Hyunjin's shoulder's as he pulled the older closer to him. Hyunjin chocked out a deep voiced chuckle. He moved his hands from Jeongin's ass to his upper thighs, slipping his hands underneath them and lifting the younger up, pushing him against the wall as he smashed their lips together again. Much wilder this time, as both Hyunjin and Jeongin becan to lose their patience. Jeongin swirled his legs around Hyunjin's waist, hugging the older as he buried his face into his broad chest. ''Hyunjin-hyung...I want you...'' Jeongin whispered, his face still buried in Hyunjin's chest. Hyunjin smirked as he still hold the younger. ''Be clearer baby. What do you exactly want?'' Hyunjin asked. The poor innocent younger became flushed red as he tried to cover his face of embarrassment even more into the older's shoulder. ''I-I want you to...to take me. Fuck me, Hyunjin.'' Jeongin finally managed to say, with a shaky embarrassed voice. Hyunjin's grin became even wider at the maknae's words. Knowing how innocent the boy was, and how he was the only one who made him say such a lewd thing. Hyunjin grabbed Jeongin tighter and lifted him to the middle of the studio, laying the boy onto his back as he hovered over him. ''You sure you want this baby boy?'' Hyunjin asked as he smirked widely. Spreading Jeongin's legs and getting in between them. ''Y-yes. I want you. Now. God, I want to feel you inside me.'' Jeongin answered, finishing his words with a whine. ''So impatient for me, baby.'' Hyunjin said as he shook his head. Grabbing Jeongin's waist and flipping him on all fours. Jeongin now facing the mirror as Hyunjin sat behind him. ''Let's prepare this beautiful ass of yours first then, shall we baby boy?'' Hyunjin smirked, as he yanked the younger's pants and boxer's down, not giving him the time to answer. Jeongin shrieked as the cold air suddenly hit his bare skin. Hyunjin licked his lips at the sight, grabbing his ass cheeks and spreading them while squeezing them a bit. Jeongin was waiting impatiently for Hyunjin to take action. He was nervous and really needed Hyunjin now. He couldn't stop the urge to get fucked. Hyunjin meanwhile, leaned in as he spread Jeongin's legs a bit more apart. Jeongin suddenly moaned a high pitched moan, as he felt something wet against his sensitive hole. He arched his back, leaning onto his elbows instead of his hands and pushing his ass into the air. Giving Hyunjin more entrance to touch him. Jeongin kept moaning as Hyunjin started to eagerly eat out the younger's ass. Enjoying his sweet moans as music to his ears. Hyunjin backed away a bit, throwing his shirt of, the clothing landing in front of Jeongin. Jeongin whined at the loss of touch. He started to grind himself against Hyunjin's already hard crotch, who was still sitting behind him. Trusting his hips backwards, up in the air, still arching is back. Hyunjin smirked as he grabbed Jeongin's hips. Jeongin almost seemed in his own little world. And Hyunjin chuckled at how cute he kept pushing his ass back, so desperate for touch. A touch he had never felt before. And Hyunjin was the first to give him this touch. He dug his nails softly into Jeongin's waist flesh, but the younger kept pushing his ass back. Hyunjin hovered over Jeongin's back as he kept holding his waist. Jeongin felt Hyunjin's warm body hovering over his back, his warm breath nearing his ear. Hyunjin almost felt Jeongin's heat hitting his chest as he hovered over the whining younger. ''You want to be a bad boy? Do I need to punish you for being so shameless and impatient baby boy? I didn't expect that from our 'cute' maknae. What will the other members think?'' Hyunjin whispered into Jeongin's ear. Softly nibbling onto his earlobe, and receiving another lewd moan from the younger, as he pushed his ass up against Hyunjin's crotch, who was now pushed against Jeongin's ass as he hovered over the younger. Hyunjin groaned deeply as Jeongin made the move. He was slowly getting impatient as well. ''I know the perfect punishment for you, baby boy. Something that'll fit for you and your impatient ass.'' Hyunjin continued. Leaning back and letting go of Jeongin's waist with one hand. He used the other hand for something else. | 83afd044b2b14d7f8e743358c73550d7 | ['c32553c22d2945f3a7a919aef5a3477c'] | ''A-are you really okay with t-this? H-hyung?'' Seungmin asked. Hyunjin smiled and nodded. ''Of course. If I wasn't okay with it, I would've said that already. But now it's time for your victory prize.'' Hyunjin smirked as he leaned down. Placing his lips against Seungmin's crotch. He started to give the slowly growing bulge small kitten licks, through the fabric of his pants. The licks turned into sucking, as Hyunjin placed open mouthed kisses against the bulge. Seungmin groaned, as he wanted to feel more. Hyunjin was teasingly slow, every now and then looking up at him with big innocent eyes. Hyunjin opened Seungmin's pants, sliding the zipper down. He started to stroke Seungmin's member through his boxers, a tent already forming at the tip. Seungmin let out a soft moan as Hyunjin's hand went faster. The older boy slid Seungmin's pants and boxers down fully, and Seungmin gasped as his member slapped against his stomach. Hyunjin was surprised to see that Seungmin was pretty big. He licked his lips, leaning in again to grab his throbbing length. He licked long stripes against the shaft, lapping against the length, while his thumb pressed against his slit. Spreading pre cum all over the sensitive head. Seungmin continued to moan, and he couldn't help it when his hips bucked up slightly. Hyunjin didn't really care, though this was going to be a problem if he was going to take Seungmin into his mouth. Hyunjin went up, his tongue sliding circles around the head. He slowly took the tip inside. Suckling on it and sliding his tongue around it. As if it was a candy. Hyunjin loved to have things in his mouth. He always did, it was kind of a habit of him. And Seungmin could tell that. A tent started to form in Hyunjin's pants, but the boy continued to obligingly suck Seungmin's cock. Seungmin's hands went to Hyunjin's hair, he pushed his dick deeper inside. Making Hyunjin slightly gag at the movement as Seungmin started to move his hips again. Hyunjin grabbed Seungmin's thighs, and tried to keep the boy down. He clenched his eyes close, as tears started to form in them. Seungmin's moans became louder as he tightened his grip on Hyunjin's hair. Hyunjin looked beautiful, teary eyes, flushed cheeks and his swollen plush lips wrapped around his lenght, while drool started to drip down his chin. Seungmin felt that he was close. His hips moved a bit deeper, going down Hyunjin's throat. And Hyunjin took it all in. He moaned around his lenght, sending shivers through Seungmin's body. He hollowed out his cheeks as he sucked harder. ''Fuck, so good Jinnie.'' Seungmin moaned. His tip hitting the back of Hyunjin's throat, and Hyunjin almost gagged. His whole body shook at the movement. Seungmin closed his eyes and his mouth fell slightly open as he moaned. His hips shaking as he came deep inside Hyunjin's throat. Hyunjin swallowed it all, licking his lips to clean all of it. Seungmin was a mess. His head leaned against the edge of the couch, and his breath was heavy as his orgasm was so intense. This was honestly the best blowjob he ever got.
Hyunjin yelped as he felt two arms sneak around his waist, going down to his crotch area. A small hand grabbed his bulge making him moan. ''Seems like our hyung enjoyed it too.'' Hyunjin felt how Felix's warm breath brushed against the nape of his neck, and his deep voice made a shiver run down his spine. Of course he hadn't forgotten about Felix. The idea of Felix watching him while he gave Seungmin a blowjob turned him on so much. And maybe he did wriggle his ass once or twice while sucking Seungmin off. And maybe he did arch his back and moaned around Seungmin's cock. Knowing that Felix was watching the whole scene.
''Our hyung is such a slut. Did you like sucking your dongsaeng's cock so much? Or did it turn you on, knowing I was watching you?'' Felix whispered. His hands roamed all over Hyunjin's body. His right hand was kneading his bulge, while his left hand caressed his chest. ''Seungmin, you should reward our little slut as well.'' Felix said. Seungmin, who was already back to senses, got off the couch and sat in front of Hyunjin. Normally, Seungmin would be nervous. Or he wouldn't really know what to do in such a situation. But as he stared at Hyunjin's teary chocolate orbs, he just let his instincts flow. Seungmin grabbed the back of Hyunjin's neck with two hands and pulled the boy in for a kiss. At first, the kiss was gently. Seungmin slid his tongue over Hyunjin's plump bottom lip. He could still taste himself, but he didn't really care at the moment. Hyunjin's lips were just too addicting. The kiss became more passionate and sloppier. As Seungmin slid his tongue inside, exploring Hyunjin's wet cavern, making the older boy moan slightly as he bit on his bottom lip every now an then. Meanwhile, Felix grabbed Hyunjin's hips and pushed the boy up, making him stand on all fours. The kiss became really messy because of that action, as Hyunjin was pushed forward. Seungmin groaned as Hyunjin started to suck onto his tongue aggressively.
Felix smirked as he squeezed Hyunjin's ass, making the boy moan through the kiss. ''Hyung is so pretty.'' Felix whispered. Making Hyunjin's dick twitch in his pants. Seungmin broke the kiss, both boys breathing heavily. Felix's hands started to go down Hyunjin's curvy thighs, squeezing the soft flesh through the fabric of his pants. Making Hyunjin moan desperately. He wanted more. And Felix could tell that. He leaned in next to Hyunjin's ear, smirking as Hyunjin shivered underneath his touch. ''Tell us what you want baby boy.'' Hyunjin's dick twitched at the pet name. He wanted both of them so bad. ''I-I want you to fuck me. Use me. Do whatever you want with me. I'll be your slutty toy.'' Hyunjin groaned. Felix smirked and chuckled. ''Our hyung is so good for us.'' Hyunjin blushed heavily as his head was pushed up by his chin. Seungmin's brown eyes stared at his own, and the younger boy leaned in to place a soft and gentle kiss onto his lips. Waking butterflies up in his stomach he never knew he had. He was kind of embarrassed as he let his younger members just use him like this. Getting submissive, while he was their hyung. But he wanted them so bad. And he couldn't do anything about it.
Felix's hand slipped underneath his shirt, while Seungmin leaned in to kiss his neck, going down to his collarbones. Hyunjin moaned, his hands moved up to Seungmin's shoulders. As the younger boy sucked onto a sensitive spot, creating hickey's. Felix circled his fingers around his nipples. He started to slowly knead the hard bud, making Hyunjin's whole body shiver in pleasure as he choked out a moan. Felix smirked as he pressed his thumb against the nipple, while he twirled the other one between his fingers. Making Hyunjin go crazy, another moan leaving his mouth. ''N-not there.'' Hyunjin mumbled. Felix chuckled again. ''So sensitive hm?'' Felix unbuttoned Hyunjin's shirt and threw it to the side. He slipped his fingers underneath the waistband of Hyunjin's pants, and yanked them down together with his boxers, making him gasp. With a bit of a struggle, they managed to get them off fully. Hyunjin felt so exposed and so bare like this. He looked at Felix, and Seungmin. ''N-not fair. Why am I the only one naked?'' Hyunjin pouted. Felix chuckled. He grabbed his shirt and yanked it off too. His abs on full display, making Hyunjin lick his lips. Felix pulled his pants off too, and his boxers. Seungmin did the same. Shyly taking off his shirt. He felt kinda embarrassed, as Felix has toned abs and he has them too, but he was still kind of shy about it. But Hyunjin encouraged him. He pulled his pants off as well. ''So, who do you want to fuck you?'' Felix asked, caressing Hyunjin's cheek.
Hyunjin actually wanted both of them to do it, but he knew that wasn't a good idea. ''I want Felix to fuck me from behind, and Seungmin to use my mouth.'' Hyunjin mumbled. His cheeks heating up. Felix smirked. ''Good boy. Then Seungmin get's the honor to prepare you first.'' Felix smiled at Seungmin and Seungmin couldn't help but smirk a bit. Felix went to sit in front of Hyunjin, while Seungmin went to his back.
Seungmin smirked as he saw Hyunjin's bare ass. His back was arched. It was so curvy and perfect. Seungmin smacked it slightly, making Hyunjin whine. He leaned in, spreading Hyunjin's ass cheeks. Hyunjin's hole was pink and twitching already, looking delicious. Seungmin closed his eyes as he licked the rim. Making Hyunjin moan loudly. Felix was a bit surprised at the sound, and he looked up to see that Seungmin was eating Hyunjin out. Felix smirked, as he didn't expect Seungmin to do something like that. But oh boy, he was so wrong. And Seungmin was so good with his tongue, Hyunjin's eyes rolled to the back of his head and his thighs trembled as Seungmin sucked and licked against the clenching ring. Pushing his tongue inside, making Hyunjin shiver and cry out his name in pleasure. He arched his back and pushed his ass back, wanting more. His hands were gripping onto Felix's thighs, who sat in front of him. Enjoying the show. Seungmin squeezed Hyunjin's ass as he let go with a 'pop' sound. Making Hyunjin whine at the empty feeling and the loss of warmth. ''Lube, baby boy?'' Seungmin asked. Though, it sounded more like a demand. And Felix could tell Seungmin was becoming dominant. He actually would love to see Seungmin fucking Hyunjin, but Hyunjin asked him to fuck him. Hyunjin didn't know how to form a proper sentence, as he was still breathing heavily. So he just pointed at his pants, that were laying onto the floor. Seungmin grabbed the pants and looked around his pockets. It only took a second before he found a small bottle. He smirked and caressed Hyunjin's back. ''Our slut is always prepared hm?'' Hyunjin whined, wriggling his ass. Wanting Seungmin to hurry up. Seungmin smacked his ass again, as a sign for him to be more patient.
Seungmin opened the cap and squirted a big load onto his fingers. He pressed his finger against Hyunjin's twitching entrance, and slowly pushed it inside. Admiring the sight how the ring engulfed the digit hungrily. He started to move his finger around, bending it against his walls, and soon hitting his prostate. Hyunjin moaned and tightened his grip on Felix's thighs, making the younger groan. Seungmin pushed in a second, and third finger. Scissoring Hyunjin open. Hyunjin started to roll his hips back, fucking himself onto Seungmin's fingers as he moaned eagerly. His head falling onto the crook of Felix's neck, as Seungmin continued to finger him roughly. His dick was twitching and pre cum dripped onto the floor (they had to clean up thoroughly before them members would come back.) ''Look at you. You're already wrecked, only because of your dongsaeng's finger, such a slut.'' Felix whispered. Hyunjin moaned, and bit his bottom lip. Feeling embarrassed. ''Are you sure you don't want to get fucked by Seungmin? He is so good for you.'' Felix continued. Hyunjin shivered and moaned loudly, as his prostate was brutally hit. ''I-I don't care! I just want to get used! W-want to get filled-nghh!'' Hyunjin cried out. Felix caressed his cheeks, swiping a frustrate tear away. ''Shh. You'll get it soon.''
Felix steadied himself onto his knees. And Seungmin pulled his fingers out, making Hyunjin whine. Seungmin grabbed the lube and poured a big load onto his dick. Stroking it a couple times, and smearing a bit onto Hyunjin's entrance as well. Even though it was already wet from the fingering, he wanted to make sure he wasn't going to hurt the older. Seungmin positioned himself against Hyunjin's entrance, while Felix took his own dick in his hand. ''Ready to get filled, baby boy?'' Felix asked. Hyunjin nodded and choked out a soft yes. Felix pressed the tip of his cock against Hyunjin's plush lips, and Hyunjin opened his mouth happily. Taking in Felix's cock, sucking onto it. Felix tilted his head back, letting out low growls and moans.
Seungmin bit his lip as he grabbed Hyunjin's waist, slowly sliding inside. Hyunjin moaned around Felix's lenght as he was being filled. Seungmin stopped moving as he was fully inside. Letting Hyunjin adjust. But Hyunjin was impatient and started to roll his hips back. A sign for Seungmin to move, as he couldn't talk. His mouth filled with Felix's cock. Seungmin started to move his hips, rolling forward. He pulled out and slammed back inside roughly. Hyunjin's body was jerked forward brutally. Felix's dick hitting the back of his throat, making him gag as he was pushed forward. Felix moaned and grabbed Hyunjin's hair, feeling how Hyunjin moaned around him, sending shivers through his whole body. Seungmin picked up his pace, groaning and digging his nails deeper into Hyunjin's waist flesh as the older boy clenched around his lenght. It felt so warm and good inside, Seungmin was going crazy. His trusting becoming uncontrollably rough. ''S-so tight.'' Seungmin groaned, as he slammed back inside. Making Hyunjin moan loudly around Felix's lenght as his prostate was hit over and over again. His eyes rolling to the back of his head as he drooled around Felix. His cheeks hollowing as Felix bucked his hips forward. Trusting into him. Fucking his mouth. Just like he wanted. He wanted his mouth and his hole to get abused. And it felt so good. To be completely filled up. His thighs trembled as he felt that he was getting close. And he could tell Felix was too, his eyes clenched close and his trust became more irregular. Hyunjin's body started to twitch and tremble as Seungmin continued to fuck him roughly, not slowing down at all. And he could tell he was getting over stimulated. Felix tightened his grip on his hair and moaned loudly as his hips stuttered. His cum shooting deep inside his throat. Hyunjin did his best not to gag, as it was so much. He still swallowed all of it, as Felix pulled his softened cock out. The rest of his come landing onto Hyunjin's face. Hyunjin struggled a bit to bring his trembling hands up to Felix's neck, as his whole body was forced forward because of Seungmin's rough trusts, but he managed to do it. He pulled Felix in for a kiss, sliding his tongue inside. Making Felix taste himself. Felix kissed Hyunjin back, their tongues colliding. But the kiss was really messy as Hyunjin's body was jerked forward every time Seungmin slammed in to hit his prostate. Hyunjin moaned loudly into the kiss, and he was about to come now. Seungmin was too, his trusts still powerful, but irregular and more sloppy. The younger boy groaned loudly as his cum shot deep inside Hyunjin. Hyunjin came as well, the feeling of getting filled up driving him crazy. He came onto the floor and his own stomach. Breathing heavily and still moaning as Seungmin pulled out of him, but reached forward to milk him dry. Stroking his cock. Hyunjin collapsed into Felix's arms and Seungmin fell onto the couch.
All of them were silent for a couple second, catching back their breathes. ''I'm going to play more games from now on.'' Seungmin said, breaking the silence. Felix and Hyunjin chuckled. ''Enough games for now. The members are coming back soon, let's clean up.'' Felix said. Seungmin sighed deeply before he got up from the couch. Felix got up as well. ''Are you able to walk?'' Felix asked. Hyunjin nodded. But as he stood up, his legs became wobbly, and he almost fell back on the ground. But Felix quickly grabbed him. Placing his arm around his neck. Seungmin took his other arm, and the three of them walked into the bath room. Cleaning themselves and the living room.
They collapsed onto the couch,once they were done. Felix's arm was wrapped around Seungmin's neck, and Seungmin's head laid on Felix's shoulder. Hyunjin was laying on their laps, cuddled up. The members came back, and were surprised to see the three sleeping onto the couch. ''I wonder what they did that made them so exhausted?'' Jisung chuckled. ''They were gaming right?'' Jeongin said, raising his eyebrow. ''Anyway, let's leave them alone for now. They look really tired.'' Bang Chan said. And they got into their dorm rooms, letting the three boys sleep... |
1cdea8b6054e4c7488e693f2fe34b49c | ['c34538a43c0242a897df50bd3d54a75b'] | “She was in with Jo for a while. I don’t know why. But she stopped to see me on her way out. We… talked. About-” she glanced over at him before looking back to the fire quickly, “Beth.” He felt his chest tighten as she spoke, and she didn’t look up as she dragged her fork through the green beans on her plate. Carol hated green beans with a passion, but she ate what was given to her – just like any of them did.
“Here,” he sat forward, taking her plate and exchanging her beans for his potatoes. “There. Fucking eat,” he grumbled and she looked up at him as he handed her plate back. “What’d you talk about?”
“We don’t have to – I just-” She started and stopped, taking a bite of her now acceptable veggies.
“Carol.” He sighed and looked at her steadily. “You wanna talk about it. So talk.”
“It’s just Maggie hasn’t talked to me much, since it all happened, you know?” Carol finally spoke, and he nodded, listening. “I mean she’s not talked much to anyone really. I always thought maybe… she felt like I shouldn’t have walked out of there instead of Beth, you know?”
He didn’t speak, not sure what to say. He’d felt much the same – like Maggie would blame him for it all – losing Beth in the first place. But he’d never talked about it, he’d simply kept going. Pushing on. Left it behind – just like Beth’d said.
“Which was stupid of me, really. Maggie wouldn’t – she just doesn’t have that in her you know? To be cruel like that. Like me,” Carol blew out a breath and he made a noise of disagreement, a growl deep in his throat that had her looking up in surprise.
“You ain’t like that, either, Carol.”
“I was – I did – I blamed Rick when Sophia first… I blamed him for coming out of those woods when she didn’t. It’s not important. We talked – she wanted to know – what happened in the hospital. What Beth said when I woke up.” Daryl shifted uncomfortably, finishing what was on his plate and putting it aside as he leaned forward, his elbows digging in to his knees sharply.
“What’d you tell her?”
“You never asked about that,” she offered instead of an answer. “Didn’t you wonder?”
“I wonder a shit ton things about you lady, but I figure you’ll talk when you’re ready to talk.” He startled when her hand gripped his suddenly, her fingers biting in to his skin as he looked up. Her gaze was fastened on his face, her plate cast aside as she leaned forward.
“I told her about how happy Beth was when I told her everyone had made it. That Maggie had found Glenn, that we’d all found each other. I told her she’d been happy to see me, that she saved my life. She did you know. She snuck drugs to me – and she shouldn’t have. She was so happy that you made it. Found Rick and the others.” She exhaled suddenly and her whole face seemed to collapse as she continued. “I didn’t tell her a lot though. The way the guards treated the patients and wards – they were like chattel to them. Beaten when they didn’t obey. Or worse.” She went quiet then, and he watched her face intently, saw the shadows there and he wanted to chase them away.
“That’s on me,” he finally spoke, his hand gripping hers as she shook her head emphatically. “It is. Got complacent. Got sloppy. Shoulda been watching – we knew there ain’t no safe place left.”
“Daryl, it wasn’t on you. She could have been taken anytime. You did the best you could. Got her out when you thought you might not get out yourself – you did the best you could,” she repeated, shifting closer as she lifted a hand to stroke at his hair, smoothing it back from his face. “I didn’t mean to make you feel badly. Just Maggie seemed happy to talk about her, she smiled and laughed and invited us to dinner this week. I think she’s moving past it, finally. I’m proud of her.”
“Always taking care of everyone else,” Daryl finally sat back, muttering to himself more than her, and her hand held his fast, refusing to let him pull back all the way.
“Well I got you taking care of me, so I don’t need to worry about myself,” she teased him gently, before she sighed and looked at the fire.
“I worry about you,” he finally offered and she nodded with a soft smile.
“You don’t have to,” she pointed out, “I’m okay. Still here.”
“Don’t know how to stop,” he shrugged and she laughed gently. “What?”
“I don’t know how to stop worrying about you either. Guess we’re a matched set,” she smiled again, a little brighter as she pulled her chair closer to his, until they were side by side and she settled in to his side with a sigh. “Tell me about your day, it’ll distract me from my headache.”
“You need your meds? I can get ‘em,” he offered, shifting to get up but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“No, it’s not that bad. Just – tell me about your deer.”
He frowned, eying her before he sat back, letting her put her head on his shoulder. He felt like his heart was beating harder the moment the weight of her sank in to him. Louder – how could she not hear that? “Buck. Ten point – Terry was with me. Guess what he told me today?” She hummed in inquiry and he chuckled. “He got the hots for Jo, you believe that? We oughta have ‘em both over some night.”
“Regular cupid, you are,” Carol laughed softly and he shook his head sharply. | de1a503ff5eb4945bf9fad170b8b52e0 | ['c34538a43c0242a897df50bd3d54a75b'] | When he got back, she was using a large hunting knife to peel bark from a willow tree, a walker crumpled on the ground at her feet. “Jesus, why didn’t you call for me?” He moved faster, trying to calm the racing of his heart as she smiled over her shoulder and stripped a particularly long piece off of the tree.
“It was fine, Daryl. Just one. I have my knife _and_ my gun. What is wrong with you?” She frowned over at him and he found himself asking the same question. What the fuck was wrong with him? He knew she could take care of herself – hell, she’d saved his ass more times than he could count. But being in this place, with its walls and gates and guards and guns – something about it drew him in. Lured him. Not for him – but the concept of her behind those walls. _Safe_. Somehow that had become the single most important idea – Carol’s safety. Even on the road before they got here. Especially then. If he could pinpoint it, he thought as he shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck, it was after Terminus. After he _had_ lost her – but never in the way he’d thought he would. She’d been taken away from him by someone he’d trusted – and those days between the fall of the prison and Terminus – those had been some of the darkest days he could ever remember. Even in the face of Beth’s relentless hope and cheer – she’d kept him barely hanging on and then look what’d happened after he’d lost her too. He’d had nothing to keep him going. No Beth to protect. No Carol to – no _Carol_. “Are you okay?” Her voice interrupted his thoughts and he grunted in response.
“M’fine. I just…” he wanted to say worry but she grinned before he could.
“Hover?” She offered, stepping over the body of the walker in order to move closer to him. Her hand reached for his arm, her fingers curling around his bicep as she squeezed gently. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed,” she offered quietly and he stared back at her, a million words on the tip of his tongue, all of them refusing to make the leap past his lips.
“I know you can handle yourself,” he offered instead, pushing all other thoughts aside as she tilted her head, her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Just – you’d do it all if you could and I know that. Just want you to... let me shoulder some things, you know?” Her eyes widened and she shook her head faintly – she really didn’t know. Didn’t know why he wanted to that or why he would even offer. But then she’d never really had someone try before – and that was partly his own fault. He should have stepped up so long before this.
She was silent for a moment and he shifted closer, inch by inch, until his toes nudged her boots and she startled, pulled out of her own thoughts and stepping back so quickly, she almost tripped on the body that she’d forgotten was behind her. He reached for her, his hands grasping her elbows as he held her – too tight really, his fingers would probably leave bruises, but he didn’t relax his grip until she’d gained her footing again. “Uh, shit – sorry. I forgot – there’s a mint patch up ahead. And the elderberry bush – berries are probably the last ones we’ll be able to pick this year.” She babbled nervously in a voice entirely unlike her and he frowned.
An awkward, strange tension hung in the air for a moment, but finally he nodded and released her. Sometimes he wondered – if all of her teasing, all of her jibes were really just a defense mechanism. He’d always thought it was on him to get there – be ready for this. For _them_. But when he stepped too close and she flirted outrageously to hide the look that flitted across her face he wondered if they hadn’t been waiting on her all along.
He watched her walk ahead, trying not to pay too much attention to the way the new pants she’d acquired clung to her ass. Hell, he wasn’t _dead._ He found the idea a surprisingly okay one. If it scared her – this intimacy that seemed to grow at an exponential rate between them – he could wait. He could wait until she was ready. “I saw some basil the other day,” he finally jogged a bit to catch up with her – better if she couldn’t feel him staring at her ass so blatantly. “Just over by the second trap line. We could maybe go there too?” He was finding excuses, really. As much as he loved that she had to stay so close to him for show back at camp – he thrilled more when she did the same things when they were alone. It meant more then, because it was just for them. |
608fc80fa3134657832f38a286c1427d | ['c36abf38719f44bd83ac08d7a12549d7'] | Hours later, Bree rested, dozing in a comfortable seat on the Night Cloud while Kyp and Kirana lounged in the co-pilot and pilot’s seats. Suddenly, Kirana looked up. “They’re here,” she announced. She pressed the button to open the doors and lower the steps to the ship.
Han roused from his half-sleep in the navigator’s seat while Bree slid her legs out from underneath her and stood up. A moment later, Luke entered the ship with Blue directly behind him. Bree was suddenly wide awake, and she drew a sharp breath. She rushed past her uncle and threw her arms around Blue, who closed his eyes and clung to her as if he were drowning. For that moment, it was as if the rest of the galaxy slid away and it was only the two of them.
After a few moments, Han, who had gotten up to stand behind her, cleared his throat. Bree turned to Han, one arm still wrapped around Blue’s waist. “Blue, this is my dad. Dad, this is Blue. He’s the ship’s medic from the Alisander.”
Han held out his hand and Blue shook it. Bree continued, “That’s Kirana Ti. She’s another Jedi.” Kirana waved from the pilot’s seat, where she was beginning a pre-flight check. “That’s Jedi Kyp Durron beside her. And you met my uncle already.”
She looked at Luke in gratitude, then broke away from Blue to embrace her uncle. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you, Uncle Luke.”
Luke nodded, returning the hug, then smiled good-naturedly at Bree. “I’m just glad to see you safe,” he said, before stepping away from Bree. He clasped Blue’s shoulder. Then, with a wave, he turned and left to return to his own ship.
The ship’s doors closed and sealed behind Luke. Blue acknowledged everyone, then sat down on the cushioned bench in the passenger section, next to Bree. Once he was sitting beside her, the pent-up stress and tension seemed to visibly begin to dissipate from him. She pulled him closer and lay her head on his shoulder, putting her hand on his chest. “It’s okay now,” she whispered. “You’re home.”
***
Within the hour, they had made the ascent to space and had begun pursuing the slower Alisander. No longer needed in the communicator’s position, Han rose from his seat to sit at the dejarik table with Bree and Blue, who had been conversing quietly. He folded his hands on the table while Blue sat up respectfully. Bree waited for her father to speak.
“We need to get some things straightened out here,” Han said quietly. He turned to Blue. “The parole board sent over your case and I’ve read it. But I need to ask you: are you getting any counseling for your drug addiction as part of your parole?”
“I’m supposed to be. I was assigned a public assistance counselor. But there’s a backlog of cases, and I haven’t seen him in about four months.”
“So how do you handle the cravings?” Han asked.
“I have a prescription for a suppressor. And if that isn’t enough to handle it, I usually lock myself in my quarters until I can get it back under control. I’m clean, if that’s what you’re worried about. I haven’t touched spice or alcohol or anything since I did substances rehab in prison five years ago.”
Han shook his head. “Not good enough.” Blue closed his eyes as if in pain and bowed his head.
Han thought for a moment before speaking. “Seeing a counselor three times a year is not good enough. I’m going to set you up with a private counselor. You need to get more help than that if you’re going to get this under control once and for all.”
Blue raised his eyes to meet Han’s. “Really?” Han nodded. “Thank you,” Blue said. “You don’t know what this means to me.”
“I do know.” Han absently tapped the table with his fingers. “A few years ago, I lost a close friend – my partner. And I didn’t handle it well. I let whiskey get the better of me for a while. It was only through the help of my wife and my brother-in-law that I didn’t fall into that pit myself. I think it’s only right that you shouldn’t have to try to do this on your own either.”
Han turned to Bree. “And as for you, Breha, I’m concerned that you were so far out of touch with everyone that you thought you could leave school and run off and nobody would bother to come find you. This isn’t like you at all. I’m also concerned that you’re still hurting so badly from what happened to Anakin. That’s why, when we get back to Ossus, I want you to see Cighal. I think you should have someone to talk with about how you’re feeling.”
Bree reached under the table to touch Blue’s hand. “Dad, I love you and mom very much, but I don’t think I’m coming back to Ossus. At least not right now.” She took a breath and continued. “I really feel that this is the right path for me. I’m happier than I’ve been in months. I feel alive again. I don’t want to lose that.”
Han was silent for a few moments. Finally he folded his hands and leaned in closer. “Sweetheart, you’ve proven you can take care of yourself. You aren’t a little girl anymore, and you have the right to decide your own life. If this is the path you want to follow, then I can’t deny you that. Just consider what I said. I still want you to talk to a counselor about dealing with your grief.”
“I will, Dad,” she promised. | bbef681190f848a2996f24a04317b131 | ['c36abf38719f44bd83ac08d7a12549d7'] | The girl sighed, nodded slowly, then turned to leave, heading in the direction the man had indicated. Her wrist was swelling worse and the pain began radiating up her arm. All right, maybe it was time for a third plan. She glanced through the gray murk of the rain and spotted a group of people, mostly human, beginning to assemble near the passenger entrance of the docking bay. The girl moved toward the back of the crowd, in the relative dryness of an overhang. She pulled off the damp hood of her jacket with her good hand and sat and waited. Eventually the group grew to about sixty people, of all ages and species. They were clearly exhausted and hungry; tired refugees from all over the galaxy, thrown together by chance at this bay on their next step to a settlement.
A bell chimed and the sodden group picked up what few belongings they still had and began to shuffle toward the entrance. The girl pulled her hood back on and quietly slipped in among them. She slowly moved along with the crowd, glancing to either side of her to see any reactions of those around her, but they were preoccupied with their own affairs. With growing despair she realized that each person was holding a passcard -- their boarding ticket. Just a small green pass that she didn’t have. The girl began to formulate some way she could talk her way past the ticket taker. As long as there was an actual person and not some stuffy protocol droid, she might be able to charm him or her into letting her on board.
Her hopes dimmed when she saw the droid at the entrance. One after another, the passengers presented their green passcards for the droid’s approval. She was actually considering hiding behind one of the larger beings when she felt a hand at her elbow. Turning sharply toward her right at the intrusion, she saw a young human glance conspiratorially at her from under his rain-soaked hood. “Hang on,” he said quietly.
They reached the front of the line. The droid turned to the man, who raised his passcard for scanning. His was similar to the others’ except for a black stripe on the bottom. “Welcome aboard, Doc,” the droid said. “Your quarters are ready for you.”
“Thanks, Entoo-ell,” he said. Gesturing to the girl, he continued. “This is my patient. She’s with me.”
The droid turned to her. “Welcome aboard, Patient of Doc.” The droid inserted the man’s passcard into a reader and returned it.
The man pocketed the passcard, then smiled at her reassuringly and escorted her into the narrow corridor. She leaned back against the wall, relief rippling off of her, grateful to be out of the rain and on the move again. Her wrist throbbed with pain.
He cautiously steered her toward the rear of the ship, navigating through numbed refugees and their wailing children. “The way I figure, there’s never an accurate count on these refugee transfer ships. What’s one more person aboard?” He raised an eyebrow and gestured toward her arm. “You really should get that taken care of.”
The girl smiled weakly. “Know any good healers?” A steady line of passengers shuffled past them, pushing their way down the hallway. Each passenger who bumped into her shot a spark of pain ripping up her arm, and she cringed despite her best effort to maintain a stoic appearance.
He grew serious. “I’ll be by to check in on the passengers in about half an hour. I can take care of it then. Can you hang on that long?” He reached up and pulled the hood off his head, revealing a delicate set of tattoos on his forehead and long, straight blue hair that fell in damp rivulets down his back.
The girl nodded. “Yes, that would be great. Thank you, Doc,” she said.
He laughed quietly and shook his head. “Not doc yet. Just a medical student. But I’m hoping to finish my training when everything gets stabilized and I can go back home to Baroli. Everyone here just calls me Blue.”
“Well then, thank you, Blue,” she said, a small smile tracing her lips. She could not help but notice how his dark indigo eyes shone when he smiled. Hastily, as if to change the subject, he pointed down the corridor. “So, um, you can find a place to sleep down there if you don’t mind sharing with someone. There are some basic supplies; blankets, cleaning cloths, that sort of thing.”
She had turned to go when she heard him calling behind her. “You got a name, Patient of Doc?”
She turned around again to see him standing in the corridor, watching her, his arms folded across his black jacket and head tilted inquisitively to one side. “Bree,” she called back. Then she quickly turned around to continue her search for an open area to settle in.
She realized with a start that she hadn’t told him the name printed on her false identicard – and although Bree wasn’t her actual name it was close enough. Close enough to the name she sought to escape, the name that chained her to a world of responsibilities and expectations that she had never had a choice about accepting. She was determined that for once in her life she was going to stand on her own two feet and do things her way. She had made it this far, and once she got this medical help, she would be on her way again. She would succeed or fail based on her skills and merits alone. She was not going to shoulder the burden of being Breha Amidala Solo, missing daughter of Rebel hero Han Solo and the former Princess Leia of Alderaan, anymore.
2. Chapter 2 |
72ef4e587bdb4d4db70da8d0b0b81c68 | ['c3851a27cf4f47788ef0514555b7305f'] | The flute had given him trouble. He could memorize where to put his fingers, the movements he needed to make. But he couldn't quite get his breathing right. His teacher would tell him to breather harder or softer, but without being able to hear what the notes sounded like, it was difficult to know if he was doing it correctly. It caused him to doubt himself. To mess up more than he had with any of the other instruments.
The flute was the instrument that had finally convinced his parents that there was something wrong with Hartley's hearing.
The instrument that had prompted them to determine that it was an easy enough problem to remedy. A simple enough thing to fix.
They spent large sums of money on a dozen surgeries to fix his hearing. Sparing no expense of course. Hartley was certain they played up the sympathy factor to all of their friends. What good parents they were, fighting so hard to give their son a "normal" life.
Hartley could remember the pain of those surgeries, of waking up alone and scared in a hospital bed. But telling himself that it would all be ok, his parents would fix him and then…then they might love him. It was his own fault for being broken.
The first thing his parents did after he had healed was to hire a new music teacher. The woman had asked him which instrument he wanted to play first. He had chosen the flute without a second of hesitation.
He had listened to a professional musician play the flute a week prior to his lesson. Had heard how beautifully the instrument could be played. He could only imagine how much he had been butchering the poor thing. How screeching and raw his own playing must have sounded. He would have to work twice as hard to make his playing at least passable to his teacher.
He remembered so clearly, raising the flute to his lips and playing a few notes. The sound of it in his own ears.
His teacher had praised him. Had said that while Hartley's playing wasn't perfect, it was technically sound. The rest of it would come in time.
Hartley had lowered the flute. He remembered feeling sick to his stomach. He had made an excuse, said he was still feeling ill from his surgeries. His teacher ended the lesson there. He remembered fleeing to his room as quickly as he could. The flute still clutched in his hand.
He hadn't been failing at the flute. He hadn't been destroying the works of the Masters. Vivaldi wasn't rolling over in his grave every time Hartley had tried to play.
He just hadn't been perfect.
And that was unacceptable to his parents.
That was failure.
To this day, Hartley could still play the violin and the piano. But it was the flute that he excelled at. It was the only one he still practiced. At first, it had been a childish need to prove to his parents that he could be good enough. He could still be their perfect son.
But as he grew older he realized there was no achievement, no act, that could convince his parents he was good enough.
The flute was a reminder. It stood as a beacon from his childhood. It was the first time in his young life that he had realized that his parents' views on the world didn't line up with everyone else's.
Especially not his own.
Hartley found an odd comfort in playing the instrument that had opened his parents' eyes to his defects. And had opened his eyes to theirs. The flute had shown them what they hadn't been able to admit to, what his parents still couldn't admit to.
There was no doctor, no amount of money, that could fix what was broken between them.
Hartley gazed towards Roy's door. Roy was going to need his paints.
Lisa and Cold were in the kitchen, talking on their phones. Trying to figure out who was responsible. Why someone had ordered such a slaughter.
Shawna was with Roy. Mardon was pacing outside of the bathroom. The man would be too distracted to help them. Mardon reacted badly to fear, he might just kill anyone they came across who looked at them wrong. That would only make matters worse. Mick…Hartley didn't know where Mick had wandered off to. Hartley doubted that Mick would want to risk his freedom or his life to steal art supplies.
Hartley eyed Digger. The absolute last person he would choose was his only option at the moment. Hartley pulled out his phone and quickly looked a map of the surrounding areas.
"There's an art store that sells paints about six miles from here. Far enough away that if we get caught they won't know where the safe house is. Close enough that we could be back within 45 minutes if everything goes smoothly."
Hartley looked towards where he knew Cold was. Their leader would want to know. He wouldn't want them to go actually. Technically they were supposed to limit the number of times they left the safe house.
Cold was being extra cautious. And after today, after what could have happened to Roy…
Digger grabbed Hartley's arm and pulled him out of the chair.
"Easier to ask forgiveness than permission right?"
Hartley pulled his arm out of Digger's grasp but continued to follow the mercenary towards the garage. It was unlikely that Cold would kick them out of the group for this. And Hartley would just blame everything on Digger. Claim he only went along to keep Harkness from doing anything stupid. | e0e76324eb8245bcba4dcc0a4bb0ce40 | ['c3851a27cf4f47788ef0514555b7305f'] | The easiest way to trick someone, is to make them think they're smarter than you. Digger knows how he comes off, like he never finished grade school. Used that to his advantage every chance he got. Make people think that ARGUS was run by a bunch of idiots that didn't know how to do their jobs.
"Look mate, I'm just trying to have a little chat. You ain't exactly got a lot of people to talk to around here."
"Snart put you up to this."
Digger takes another swig of moonshine.
It's funny how people think they know all the rules. Watch enough cop shows and everyone thinks they're an expert. If that were the case, nobody would ever get arrested.
"Course he put me up to it. You really think he would let you just wander around, especially around his sister, and not try to find out everything he could? Come on mate. He sends me out here to see what I can get you to reveal. It's a classic tactic. I know you've been doing the same thing. The way you've got Dillon cozying up to Shawna. The way she's hanging off of Mick all the time now."
Something flashes in Scudder's eyes. Interesting. Seems he's not the one giving that order.
"Rosa is none of your concern."
"Of course not mate. I'm just saying, we're both playing the same game here. So why don't we just lay all the cards out on the table. Yea?"
Scudder finally sits down.
"What are you suggesting?"
"Just a civil conversation is all. We've been working together a couple weeks now and I don't think any of us have sat down with you. Felt like it was getting a bit unfriendly is all. Although, it is a bit weird to not be the least liked person in the room. Makes me uncomfortable really."
Scudder don't smile or nothing, but there's some amusement in his eyes. He finally sits down. Digger's been doing this too long to smile. He's got the bastard now.
"They do undervalue you don't they?"
Scudder's not as good at this as he thinks he is. Which is throwing up some red flags in Digger's mind. Though he don't know what they mean yet.
"Hardly the worst job I've had. Hell, none of these bastards have tried to kill me in well over a year. That's a new record for me and work associates."
Scudder takes the offered moonshine. He sniffs it, but doesn't drink.
"You can't actually like this."
Digger doesn't think Sammy's talking about the drink.
"Gets the job done. Don't need much else."
"I can think of literally hundreds of other options."
"Oh yea?"
The man actually takes a drink. Digger's surprised for the first time. Didn't think someone as posh as Scudder would actually give it a try.
"Hm. That's not bad."
"Told you so mate."
Scudder stares at it for a moment. He's just holding the glass in his hands, real close like.
"After we broke out of prison, Rosa and I went to a diner in Metropolis. They had apple pie that tasted just like this…"
He takes another swig.
Huh.
Scudder really was just talking about the liquor. He wasn't trying to imply anything, wasn't trying his hand at double speak to get Digger to confess something. Which means he don't have the wherewithal to be setting up big plans or be on the same kind of level with Luthor.
Then why the hell are they still here? Why hasn't he and Dillon made a break for it? Should have done it the first night. After their attempt at grabbing Snart went sideways. Should have just turned and run for it. They don't gain nothing by sticking around here. Now that the cops know they're with the Rogues, it's only going to be harder for them.
"It was our anniversary."
"Mazel Tov."
Scudder looks up. Seemingly remembering what he's supposed to be doing. Supposed to be figuring out Digger's game, supposed to keep his guard up.
Keeping the mask up, all the time, is a hard thing. Not everyone can do it. Most can't do it for more than a couple weeks. Sometimes…you just want to let it slip for a minute.
Just to see if there's still anything underneath.
"She tried to bake me an apple pie on our first anniversary and she set the safe house on fire. So we went out for apple pie every year afterwards."
Digger's trying to pretend like he's interested in this. Keeps nodding his head. Trying to keep the number of inappropriate comments to a minimum. He didn't even make a joke about his girlie's pie.
Scudder's heading towards something. Don't know what it is, but there's something gnawing at his mind. Something he ain't going to be able to keep to himself if Digger just keeps stringing him along.
Everybody wants to tell their story. Was something an old CO told him. People got things in their heads, gotta get out one way or another.
"Should have headed for somewhere sunny."
"We did. We made it to Panama, figured we could blend in with all the other ex-pats. No one was looking for us. At least, not as much as they were all of you."
Digger knows that feeling. When you've made it away clean. When there's nothing stopping you from just disappearing into the night. Was some twisted sense of loyalty that kept him tethered to ARGUS for as long as he was. Something else that keeps him with the Rogues. Don't quite know the word for what that is though.
Maybe he does.
But this is about Sammy. About why the man looks like he ain't got a friend in the world.
Like he's regretting ever even thinking about coming back.
Digger knows that look too. |
874c52b7755b4413b2765ce10ebff99a | ['c39a47fa22f7420b98feedc5385aaa44'] | “She might.” She pulled her braid over her shoulder and met Petyr’s eyes long enough to catch his subtle nod into his drink. “It’s a risk I’ll have to take.”
Arya’s frown deepened. “There is nothing I can say that will convince you, is there?”
“I’m afraid not.” Sansa smiled. “We will be fine, dear Arya.”
There was a bit of silence that settled over the table after that.
“If you will excuse me,” said Petyr as he stood. “There is business I need to finish before tomorrow.”
“Of course,” said Arya. “I will see you off tomorrow then.”
Sansa met Petyr’s eyes, and they begged her to come with him. “I’ll see you later, Petyr.”
The disappointment flickered for half a second. “There are papers I need you to sign,” he said. “If you could stop by before you retire, that would be most helpful.”
Sansa nodded. “Of course.” She watched his lithe form retreat and turned her attention back to her siblings.
“There is something odd about him, isn’t there?” asked Jon.
Sansa laughed. “What do you mean?”
“His eyes. I don’t trust them.”
_You’re a wise man, Jon._ “I don’t understand.”
“They don’t change. With anything,” said Arya. “Surely you’ve noticed.”
Sansa remained silent.
“Be careful with him, Sansa,” said Jon. “He may have been by you so far, but that could change. I’ve seen it happen.” His hand went to his chest before it went back down to the table.
Arya seemed to notice it too. “What happened?”
“It’s a long story,” he said, taking a drink. “One for a different day.”
“I’ll keep my wits about me,” said Sansa. _I always do._
“I’m glad you’re taking him with you. I’d send him home,” said Arya.
Jon laughed. “Like a boy without supper?”
Sansa laughed, and it felt really good to just laugh. She’ll miss it when she leaves.
“I wish you would stay, just a little longer,” said Arya, eyes sad.
“I wish I could too.” Sansa studied the grain of the table, rubbing it with her fingertips. “Harry needs me down South.”
“Have you got anything for me? To help me run the hold?” asked Arya.
“If you’re talking politics now,” said Jon, standing, “I’ll take my leave.”
Sansa caught his arm. “Please, sit. I don’t know the next time we’ll be together.”
“I don’t mind,” said Arya. “It would be smart,” she said, slowly, still thinking as she said it. “It would be smart if we were aware of each other’s movements and things, being neighbours. The Wall would have a powerful ally in the North. It would change the tides a bit.”
Jon sat back down and looked at Arya, surprise in his face. “I thought you’d said you’ve been East for the last several years.”
Sansa stayed quiet, knowing Jon would ask her questions.
“I have. Once I hit the port, I searched the town for news and gossip. It didn’t take long to find someone who would spill everything in the last twenty years.” Arya shrugged. “Anyone will talk if given the right motivation.”
“Aye.” Jon looked thoughtful. “What does the south say of the war in the north?”
“Not much. Horror stories from childhood. Others and Wildlings south of the wall. They aren’t happy about it.” Arya laughed. “They wouldn’t be happy about the rumours in the east. Tales of dragons.”
Jon seemed to shiver at the thought. “The Walkers are frightening. But dragons?” Jon shook his head. “I could live a good life without seeing one of those.”
Sansa nodded. “I’ve seen enough horrors to not see one.”
Arya’s grin was feral. “They are a beauty to behold.”
“You’ve seen one?”
“From a distance. I was just north of Braavos. There he was, high in the sky, just on the horizon. He was huge. Straight out of Old Nan’s tales, I swear. Except he was there. I swore I was seeing things until the guy in my party said the same thing. It was just one, but the damage one dragon could cause? Westeros isn’t ready for that.”
Sansa sat a bit straighter in her chair. “Are they coming across?”
“The dragons? I don’t know. The rumors go a woman keeps them. I haven’t heard much beyond that. Keen to stay in Slaver’s Bay, though.”
“Why did you see this dragon there then?” asked Jon.
Arya shrugged. “It was so big, it might not have been much of a distance for him to fly. I don’t know.”
Sansa sat back in her chair again. This was new news to her. She wondered if Petyr knew of the dragon in the East. If it was piece in his game. Surely it was big enough to constitute a player? Sansa would think it would be. Unless it was a pawn to the woman who owned them. She might be considered the player. That sounded better.
“What are you plans when you reach the capital?” asked Arya.
“Hmmm?” Sansa was brought out of her mind by the question. “I’m going to see that Harry is all right.” _Please, gods, let him be. The Vale is not ready for their new leader yet._ “And from there we will see. On the top of that list, is giving the North men.”
Arya looked confused. “The North?”
“I will have to keep some for myself. But I will send some back to their homes. And those that wish to join the Wall. I will assure they have safe travels north.”
“Thank you.” Jon flexed his hand and then asked, “Will they be your prisoners or men who volunteered?”
“Both. If that works for you.”
“Aye.”
“I will try to get more volunteers. The Wall needs good men on it.”
“It does. We have fixed up a third hold, so we are going to need the men to hold it.”
Sansa nodded. “If it’s all the same to you, I think I will head to bed.” | 6c0f539b6af04864896b0e60d8f0e14b | ['c39a47fa22f7420b98feedc5385aaa44'] | “Thank you.” Sansa turned to leave.
“And Lady Stark?”
“Yes?” She turned and looked at him.
“I’m glad to hear your sister is returning.”
“Thank you.” She smiled and walked back to her rooms.
A letter waited for her on her desk, seal broken. _Of course he would read it first._ The seal was that of the Vale.
_Lady Stark, congratulations on your lord husband’s victory at King’s Landing. Know that the Vale suffered few losses, and you will continue to have the Vale’s support. Myranda Royce_
Words from the Vale that didn’t come from Petyr were odd. He spent so much time there, it’s only been since Harry left for the Capital that he had been in Winterfell. The spring was still too cold for him. Southern boy that he was. Sansa almost laughed at the thought; it made her feel like a Stark again.
She changed into her night clothes and crawled into bed. She blew out the candle on her nightstand and closed her eyes, willing Arya to come soon.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> Sorry this one is so short. I think the next chapter will be longer. :) Criticism is always wanted. :)
3. A Welcome Visitor
Four days later, Anne knocked on the door to Sansa’s study.
“Enter,” she said, sounding like Petyr. She grimaced, knowing she needs to find her own voice again.
“Lady Stark,” said Anne. “A horse approaches with a single rider.”
Sansa’s face lit up despite her instincts telling her to school her face. “Welcome them, please. I will meet them in the Great Hall.”
Anne smiled and nodded. “I’ll make sure they get the appropriate greeting.”
“Thank you.”
Sansa dressed into one of the first gowns she had made when she got married to Harrold. It had the greys and blues of house Stark. She didn’t wear it often; it was heavy, made in the dark of winter. These days it was too warm. However, today it seemed cold enough to wear.
She rushed down the hallways, eager to see her sister for the first time in near 20 years. She could hear Petyr’s steady steps echo behind her, but she couldn’t be bothered to slow. She wouldn’t be his Mockingbird right now. She was Sansa Stark, and Arya was coming home to her.
She turned the final corner and saw a figure standing in the centre of the Hall dressed in fine travelling clothes.
“Arya?” she asked, recognizing the shade of hair, but that was it.
She turned, showing the braid over her shoulder. “Sansa. Hardyng is it now?” Arya’s grey eyes sparkled with recognition.
Sansa shook her head, smile large on her face. “I’m a Stark.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No need. Harrold is still alive.” _He’d better be. I hired the best Maester to care for him._ Sansa embraced her sister. “It’s been too long.”
Arya hugged her back fiercely. “I’ve missed you.”
“You’re home now.”
Arya pulled away and studied Sansa’s face. “Have you heard from Bran or Rickon?”
“I fear not. Theon Greyjoy took care of them in his siege of Winterfell.” The cold words surprised Sansa, but she refused to let her shock and sorrow show. Petyr taught her too well for that.
Tears welled in Arya’s eyes.
“It is nice to see two Starks in this hall.”
Arya’s eyes cleared and she looked over Sansa’s shoulder. “Lord Baelish.”
He inclined his head. “Lady Arya.”
She took a small step back. “The warm welcome is surprising.” Arya met Littlefinger’s eyes. “I wasn’t expecting one. I was not aware my family held the North again.”
“I have many birds in many places.” Littlefinger smiled.
Sansa shot a glare at him over her shoulder. “Please, let us talk more at dinner.” She grasped Arya’s arm and smiled. “I bet you’re exhausted. I’ve had your rooms prepared. I’ll have Anne draw you a bath if you’d like?”
“That would be nice.” Arya picked up and slung a knapsack at her feet over her shoulder.
“I’ll take you up then.” Sansa turned and looked at Littlefinger, a smile on her lips. “I’ll see you later, Lord Baelish.”
Petyr nodded and walked away.
Sansa led the way down the corridor, and up the stairs to Arya’s old room. “I’ve had your old room prepared, if that’s okay. If you wish to stay elsewhere, I’d be glad to prepare a different room for you.”
“My room is fine.”
“The good news is that it was one of the few rooms untouched from the Bolton’s time in the castle.”
“Good.”
Sansa nodded. “If you’d like, we might go for a walk later?” Sansa fought the urge to wring her dress or hair through her fingers. “Perhaps with Nymeria?”
Arya’s head snapped to Sansa’s face. “You found her?”
“On our way up from the Vale, we saw her. At least, I can only assume it’s her. She likes the name, but she snapped at me. Just like you.” Sansa’s smile was sad. “You’ll have to come confirm it, of course. The handlers have been cross with me about her.”
“Of course. I can’t believe you found her.” Arya’s grey eyes lit up, and she looked like the Arya she remembered. However, it didn’t last long; her face sobered quickly. “The Vale?”
“I’ve spent many years at the Eyrie. It’s my second home of late.”
“You resided with Lady Arryn then?”
“For a short time.”
“Who has the Vale currently then?”
“At the moment? Harrold.”
Arya nodded. “Your Lord husband?”
“Aye.” Sansa wondered when Arya began to care about proper titles. She wondered, not for the first time, where Arya had spent the last twenty years. “Not for much longer though.”
“Is he in ill health?”
_Yes._ “No. He’s just taken King’s Landing.”
“Making you the queen.” |
9ee0b51deb824d819cc79408ef10d243 | ['c3a44b6f262e4a06b06b92d644ad73fd'] | The tightness in his pants was almost painful at this point. If Nishitani was going to fuck him he just wanted him to get to it at this point. Nishitani straddled him once more and this time he let his hands wander over Majima’s chest, smearing the blood that had dropped there all over him. Majima shuddered at both the feeling of lukewarm blood being worked into his skin and of Nishitani’s warm, calloused hands tracing every line on his abdomen. Majima moved his hips against Nishitani, desperate for any sort of friction. Nishitani laughed loudly before he leaned over and crushed their mouths together. Majima tasted the blood on his lips and moaned into the messy kiss, licking at Nishitani’s swollen lips. He felt Nishitani bring his knee to rest between his leg, grinding it against his painfully hard cock. Nishitani bit into his lip and Majima let out a growl that trailed off into a low moan. Nishitani pulled away, licking his lips again. Majima could feel the blood on his own lips and he tried to wipe it on the sleeve of his jacket without success.
“Come on already,” Majima said impatiently. “Enough of this foreplay bullshit. Fuck me already.”
“There are the magic words,” Nishitani purred and his hands were already working on unbuckling his belt. He pulled his cock out and Majima was honestly impressed by the size. Then again, perhaps he was just used to Sagawa’s average sized cock by now and anything looked better in comparison. The way Majima must have been eyeing him apparently sent a clear message as Nishitani smirked down at him.
“Say ‘ah’,” Nishitani purred.
“Wh-” Majima opened his mouth to say rather than ‘ah’ but before he could finish Nishitani had forced his thumb into his mouth and yanked his jaw open. Majima squirmed with delight as he realized what was coming next. It shouldn’t be so exciting to be able to suck a cock on his own terms but he was dying to replace the taste of Sagawa’s that felt like it was perpetually lingering in his mouth.
Nishitani unceremoniously shoved his cock into his mouth, filling him up instantly. Majima stifled an embarrassingly enjoyable moan as he lapped at the underside of his cock, allowing his teeth to drag across. Nishitani made quiet, low groans as he tangled his hands in Majima’s hair, moving his hips with no particular rhythm. Despite his hands being bound together he brought them to Nishitani’s chest, feeling at him through his shirt however he could. He wished his hands were free so he could get more.
“Fuck, Majima-kun,” Nishitani panted. “Do ya want me to cum in your mouth, or on your face, eh?”
Majima just moaned, making unintelligible noises of encouragement. He pulled at Nishitani’s shirt, urging him all the way into the back of his throat. Majima could feel himself try to gag but he suppressed it with practiced ease, instead swallowing around the head of Nishitani’s cock. That was all it took before Nishitani gripped his head harder and came in the back of his throat. Majima lulled his head back and shoved Nishitani back, letting his cock fall from his mouth. He gasped and panted, catching his breath. Nishitani ran his thumb over his lips and then shoved his fingers into his mouth. Majima ran his tongue across his fingers until they were too far in his mouth, practically scraping the back of his throat. Nishitani swirled his fingers around the remnants of his own cum, dragging it across Majima’s tongue as he removed his fingers. Majima gladly sucked and licked at his fingers until they left his mouth. Nishitani leaned down and kissed him again, even more aggressively than he had before. He bit at Majima’s tongue and Majima whimpered, pulling away.
Nishitani cupped his face with his hands. “Hope ya didn’t think I was done with ya yet.”
“I woulda kicked your ass if ya were,” Majima replied and his lips curled into a smirk.
Nishitani laughed stood up, shoving Majima onto his stomach with his foot. Majima obliged and pulled his knees up into a familiar position. He felt Nishitani yank at his slacks, pulling them down far enough that he could force his hips apart. Majima felt his slacks resist against how far he was trying to spread his legs but he didn’t care at the moment. All he could think about was Nishitani’s cock in his ass. Nishitani grabbed his ass and squeezed tight enough that Majima wondered if he’d drawn blood as he whimpered in delight. Nishitani reached around and forced his fingers into his mouth, gathering up as much of his saliva as he could. He yanked his fingers out and ran them over Majima’s entrance, up his thighs and to his cock where he stroked him a few times before he pulled away and forced two fingers into him. Majima moaned, pushing against his hand. Nishitani found his sweet spot immediately and applied pressure, thrusting his fingers in and out of him roughly.
“F...fuck, _ fuck _ ,” Majima whimpered. “Nishitani, come _ on _ , I need ya inside of me, f- _ fuck _ .”
“Majima-kun, you’re too much,” Nishitani said and he pulled his fingers out.
Majima waited impatiently, digging his fingers into the palms of his hands before he felt Nishitani push inside of him. He groaned at the sudden fullness; it had been some time since he’d had a decent sized cock in him and it hurt a sweet kind of pain as he was stretched open to accommodate him.
“You’re so tight, Majima-kun,” Nishitani rasped, “ya don’t get near enough of this, do ya?”
Majima shook his head rapidly, “n...no. Not enough, not nearly enough.”
Nishitani chuckled quietly and grabbed Majima’s hips and forced himself the rest of the way in. Majima whined at the feeling, savoring every little bit of tingly pain pricking at his spine. | e2eac21e24e94a96844479cdee57fedc | ['c3a44b6f262e4a06b06b92d644ad73fd'] | Majima inhaled sharply and grabbed at Saejima's arm to get him to let go but instead Saejima grabbed his hands and pinned them above his head. Majima felt himself grow harder by the second.
“It...it's not what ya think,” he protested weakly, trying to save face somehow. It was stupid, so stupid, because he wanted it _so badly_ but he couldn't bring himself to admit it, couldn't get over the shame.
Saejima clicked his tongue. “Ya really gonna stick to your guns, huh? Fine. We'll see how long it lasts.”
Majima opened his mouth to ask what he meant but before he could Saejima reached above his head to grab something. Before Majima managed to crane his head to see what it was, Saejima had already wrapped it around his wrists.
“Wha-" Majima tried to pull his arms away but Saejima had secured them to something. He couldn't pull his hands forward at all. He craned his neck and realized Saejima had tied his hands to the radiator with his favorite snakeskin patterned tie.
Saejima straddled Majima as he looked over him, practically eye fucking him. Majima suppressed a shudder.
“Saejima, please, I swear, ya got it wrong,” he protested again, straining against the tie even though he had no idea what he would do even if he managed to get free.
“Do I?” Saejima asked, looking down at him. “Then why are ya so damn hard?”
Majima gritted his teeth, face burning red. “I…”
Saejima ignored his weak protests and ran his hands over his chest, tracing his muscled abdomen. Majima squirmed beneath his hands futilely, feeling hot beneath his every touch. Saejima experimentally ran his fingers over his nipples and Majima was too late to stifle his gasp.
“Ya like that?” Saejima's voice was low, hushed as if they were in danger of getting caught. Majima felt his cock twitch at the tone of his voice even more than how he was pinching his nipples.
“N-no…” Majima protested still, still unable to admit how much it was getting him going.
Saejima clicked his tongue again and leaned down, running his tongue across his nipple now. Majima strained against the tie around his wrist, the fabric digging into his wrists in a way he was quickly realizing excited him as well. Majima swore he could cum just from the way Saejima was sucking and biting at his nipples, the way the restraint was biting into his skin, the weight of Saejima on his legs.
Majima whimpered disappointedly when Saejima pulled away. He let his head lull to the side as he panted softly, catching his breath. His hair was falling his face but he didn't care.
Saejima ran his hands down his chest again, but this time he didn't stop at his abdomen. He traced over his hip bones and then along the line of his underwear. Majima inhaled sharply, willing himself to stop his hips from moving on their own and pressing against Saejima's hands. It was a losing battle.
Saejima softly ran his fingers across the thin fabric keeping Majima's cock contained. Majima arched his back, unable to take it any longer. He needed more contact, it was killing him.
Saejima looked down at him and caught his eyes. Majima couldn't bring himself to look away. He needed more but Saejima seemed intent on teasing him forever. As Majima looked into his eyes he realized that he was meant to beg.
Majima gritted his teeth and looked away. He couldn't, he couldn't admit how much he needed Saejima to just fuck him already. Shame mixed with the excitement in his stomach and he pulled at his restraints once more.
“Do ya want more?” Saejima asked suddenly, still keeping his voice low.
Majima shook his head rapidly. “N...no! I…I hate this,” he hissed, avoiding eye contact.
Saejima clicked his tongue again. “Ya really don't know when to give up, do ya?”
Majima briefly thought that Saejima should know better than anyone how stubborn he was, but the thought was forgotten about immediately when he felt Saejima's fingers beneath the band of his underwear.
“Nn-" Majima bit his tongue to stop himself from making any embarrassing noises.
Majima could do nothing but watch as Saejima pulled his underwear down and off, tossing it into the dirty laundry pile in the corner.
Majima felt more exposed than he had ever felt in his life. Saejima hovered over him, eyes taking him in for the first time. Majima felt his face burn red hot at the thought of Saejima examining him so closely, of Saejima looking at him like he was going to eat him. He shuddered involuntarily.
“You're pretty big,” Saejima said and he looked somewhat impressed. Majima felt a slight swell of pride both in his chest and his cock. Saejima hooked his fingers under the band of his own underwear and pulled them off. Majima watched, completely entranced. When he got a good look at Saejima's cock he couldn't tear his eyes away. He was beyond massive. It was easily the biggest dick he had ever seen. Majima licked his lips, afraid he had begun to drool at the sight.
“But I'm bigger,” Saejima said, his lips upturned into that cocky sort of smirk that always made Majima’s face feel impossibly hot.
Saejima straddled him once more but this time he grabbed Majima’s hip with one hand and pressed their cocks together.
“Sae-" Majima cried but he couldn't even finish his protest. He ground his hips against Saejima, desperate for more friction.
“What do ya want?” Saejima asked, but his own voice was no longer as steady as it had been before. “Tell me.”
“You!” Majima exclaimed, his need for Saejima's cock greater than his shame. “Please, _please_ fuck me already, I can't take it anymore.” |
e384c07a18304296b55745da3cbf1f4c | ['c3aa6bdaca884dedb913d4ece6cb6681'] | Both adults were startled when Camille kicked the door in. Scanning the room, she hustled over to the children, speaking softly.
“Winifred,” Camille addressed the other woman, “Let me take the babies away from here.”
“No one takes my children!” Xavier informed Camille in a low voice.
“You going to shoot them - and me - too?” Camille barked at Xavier.
Richard flew through the door in time to see a surreally frightening scene. Handing the baby to Winifred, Camille walked, smiling fearlessly, directly into the path any bullet fired would take.
“Camille, don’t do this...” Richard warned, “Follow procedure...”
“Inspector, please take Winifred and the babies outside. Xavier and I have things to discuss.”
Xavier de Mourney had no intentions of letting anyone out the door.
“Camille, I got no issue with you. Your mother’s been good to my family but I will **shoot** you. My family **stays** **here**.”
The fearless officer stepped towards Xavier until his gun’s barrel rested against her midsection.
“Camille, please step away...” Richard rolled out to her as a warning.
“Take Winifred and the babies, Inspector. Xavier and I are just going to talk.”
Conflicted, adrenaline controlled Richard’s feet and body past his terror at Camille’s brazen ploy. Grabbing two of the children, Richard shielded them and their mother with his body and led them out of the classroom. The rain came down steadily now, not a downpour but a continuous shower that made the normal humidity on the island more oppressive.
“ **Stop there, Inspector! She’ll not leave with another man!** ” Xavier shouted.
Camille anticipated Xavier, sliding sideways with the pistol to block clear access to his family.
“It’s just you and me Xavier.”
The despair in Xavier de Mourney’s next statement ran down his face in a steady stream.
“There’s no _jobs_ on this island, Camille. I got three kids. They get hungry, they need their daddy to feed them!”
“I know, Xavier. You’re a good father. My father didn't step up to that responsibility. But I can’t let you hurt Winifred. I won’t let another good woman be hurt. You don’t want her or your babies to see either of you hurt or killed. Don’t leave them, Xavier...,” Camille told him, making sure to keep eye contact.
Eyes misting then tearing, Xavier ignored the wetness flowing down his cheeks and onto the floor at his feet.
“That **MAN**! Him come to my house when I’m away workin’. Him give her money. Give candy to my kids. I’m their daddy. Him have no right... No right to give them candy! I’m their daddy... I give them candy!”
“Storm’s coming, Xavier. We need to get your family safely -” Camille reminded him.
The distraught husband and father cut her off.
“I’ll not give her up! _He can’t have her_!”
* * *
The inability of the wipers to clear the front glass of rain created anxiety Fidel hadn’t experienced since he got the call that Juliet was in labor with Rosie. The stars aligned for him that day - the murderer Aidan Miles was in hand, they were in La Kaz near the station, Camille handled the Chief so Dwayne got to use the Rover and the weather had cooperated.
None of the above could be said of his present effort except there wasn’t a murderer awaiting arrest. Driving like Dwayne, Fidel shot through Honorè - without stopping at the station - as fast as he’d ever driven.
Since returning from France, Camille’s shapely bottom stayed anchored to her seat in front of those displays. Any investigation involving the Chief got passed to Fidel. Fidel didn’t mind; he’d learned more working directly with the Chief than he would in a decade of performing forensics from his desk in the station.
Fidel noticed the Rover’s absence from its customary parking spot and relaxed; there was no way Camille and the Chief would work a case together; they hadn’t even decided if they were still a couple again.
________________________________
The first indicator that local conditions had deteriorated was the radio. Dwayne tried for over an hour to reach Camille at the station, then the Chief and finally Fidel; the radio silence was deafening. Not one to brood over other peoples decisions or actions, Dwayne took the radio silence as tacit permission to help his family on this side of the hills then return to the station in his own good time.
Climbing the hill roads and transferring relatives and their belongings to more secure locations with the motorcycle, Dwayne considered removing the sidecar to improve the handling of the bike. The sidecar floor panel had more holes than their last murder victim’s head but still took on water, making Dwayne’s ability to control the bike increasingly dicey. He’d have to wait, though, until he got back to Honorè as the sidecar provided his only method for passenger and cargo delivery.
After he spun the bike unexpectedly for the third time, Dwayne modified his usual driving style. Slowing his normal speeds he finished his errands for family with the transportation of his grand-nephews to Father Dean’s shelter at the Noter Dame’s gymnasium; he would leave the sidecar there and return to the station with just the bike - lighter and more agile.
* * *
Richard reentered the room, overhearing Xavier’s words to Camille.
“It’s good the Chief’s back, Camille. You know what’s it’s like to lose somethin’ you love so much. You know what that hurt is like - I saw you...
“I can’t do this... They’re my life, Camille! And Winifred goin’ to divorce me!? I can’t lose her... I can’t live without them...”
“XAVIER, **NO**!” Camille shouted and launched herself at the distressed husband and father as he turned the gun on himself. | 6ec66c8b82b540f49edf4c4a27720050 | ['c3aa6bdaca884dedb913d4ece6cb6681'] | Once clear of imminent annihilation, gravity returned with a finger swipe on the control display and the two officers dropped awkwardly into the pilot chairs. McCoy landed back on Scotty, the snoring Scot returning the favor from their ceiling trip.
Uhura finally nerve pinched Trumpe as his not-quite weightless body passed her on its way to the floor. Donal - with the luck of the Irish (and the Talosians) - avoided any further damage to his anatomy, sinking delicately backwards onto a mattress made up of Scotty and McCoy.
That's when the "Collision Imminent" klaxon startled her and...
26. --1
She woke up in their bed on the Enterprise to the nerve-jarring sounds of the chrono alarm...
...and ** _not_** in the shuttle.
27. The Truth
"OH!"
Uhura shot straight up in their bed, visions of the court hearing and the shuttle trip swimming in her eyes as nausea swam around her insides. Rolling and sliding to a standing position, she sprinted to the facilities and left whatever she'd tried to eat before her nap in the commode.
When she exited the bathroom after cleaning up, Spock met her with a tall glass of cool ginger ale - the real stuff - and concern.
"Why didn't you wake me? What a dream!"
Spock's reticence to answer narrowed her dark, soulful eyes into slits.
"You're shielding," she accused.
While the casual observer might consider Spock's present expression placid, anyone familiar with Vulcans understood his dilemma. Calculating the answer with the highest probability of keeping them in the same bed required time, even for a genius.
"K'diwa, I underestimated the vivid nature or telepathic power of your dreams. My commitment to your welfare -"
Not a single lie emerged in all those technicalities.
"Spohkh, it's fine. Sometimes my dreams confuse me too, ashayam."
Approaching his outstretched hand, she took the offered drink in one of her own and sipped cautiously before stroking his cheek lightly with the back of her other hand.
Their bond told him her disobedient stomach enjoyed the ginger ale.
"Do you wish to share your dream with me, k'diwa?"
"Just read it through our bond, silly." she playfully chided, walking slowly into their living area.
"Ashayam?" she nudged him to get more information.
Spock joined her on the couch, settling her across his lap where he could massage her recently taxed stomach muscles.
"If it would not tire you, I would ask that you share this with me."
The tears in her eyes unnerved Spock. He was still collecting and processing data on her recent moods.
Spock might be the only Vulcan alive capable of hope - and right now he hoped desperately that her feelings were touched by his request and not that his wife's evil twin was about to rain misery down on him. Again.
"As you wish, beloved.
"It started when Jim got a call from Komack about posing for a swimsuit calendar with you, Jim, McCoy, Scotty and Sulu..."
28. Chapter 28
Spock anxiously shielded, until Uhura fell deeply asleep, before joining Kirk and McCoy in Kirk's quarters.
The First Officer noted with satisfaction the quality installation of Kirk's display screen; in all the commotion he'd forgotten to commend his science and Scotty's engineering team for their work. To assuage Kirk's display envy, the captain's screen measured slightly larger than Uhura's.
"She asleep?" Jim asked as he entered the living area from his bedroom wearing only jeans while towel-drying his hair.
"Yes. Her tonsure hematoma has diminished considerably as well."
"How's the concussion?" McCoy inquired while opening Uhura's med file on his PADD for additional entries.
"Nyota awoke and immediately experienced emesis -"
"You mean she threw up, right? Kirk asked.
A sigh escaped the exhausted Vulcan. Right now, too many personalities required management for his tastes.
"Yes. I provided the effervescent restorative and the emesis did not return. Thank you, Dr. McCoy, for that information."
"Ginger has been used as a folk remedy for a long time on Earth, Spock. I'd keep some of that soda around in your quarters; she's got a history of bad stomachs."
The sounds of Kirk's door hissing softly were followed by sounds of Sulu and Scotty taking seats.
"So what does she remember?" Kirk asked.
"Everything."
Scotty's mouth formed a thin line.
"Well, lads? It was worth a try. Carol's not spoken with her since -"
"What are you worried about, Commander? Uhura didn't threaten to castrate you or McCoy." Sulu whimpered while crossing his legs protectively.
"Aye, 'tis an interesting method of increasing female bridge officers. I'll give'er that."
"I did not finish -" Spock interrupted, "- she remembers everything but believes it to be a dream."
The hooting and yelling and celebrating around him reminded Spock again that he was proud to be only _half_ human.
"As long as she is not exposed to the offending products, the mind meld and this plan may yet succeed as hoped for."
"Dr. Uhura came up with a winner." Kirk agreed heartily, "Man, I'd love to know what Uhura's mother told him about our situation. I'm just glad her father agreed that Nyota needed to 'forget' some of this."
Kirk grinned at the success of their disaster recovery plan.
Spock, with blessings and encouragement from his psychiatrist father-in-law, muted (but did not remove) Nyota's memories of the Calendar Crew© activities through a mind meld. Once Donal disposed of the offending goods and Sulu fixed their finances, Nyota would be none the wiser and, therefore, less dangerous to be around on the Enterprise.
"I remain ethically troubled at my role in this memory modification and deception." Spock confessed to the room.
"Do you want to be divorced?" Kirk shot at him.
"No. Neither do I wish to sleep on your couch for the remaining 3.7481536 years of our five-year mission. Nyota has always expressed a preference for company in bed."
"If that's all you need, I can help you out anytime." Kirk offered solicitously. |
a4006b79610941d6a32f46768c6f4b93 | ['c3adeed972c7461c92b0b30cdd609a91'] | Really, the camera would be to document Natasha, record the smirking curve of her lips, pin down the warmth that bursts in his chest when he makes her laugh. She’s eerily good at navigating and an incredible haggler, but Clint is most taken by how much joy she seems to be getting from the whole experience. He’s never travelled with someone so happy to be somewhere new, so enthusiastic to discover new street foods or lose track of time in a maze of market stalls. They’re never lost, exactly, but sometimes Natasha meets his eyes over the rims of her sunglasses and he thinks he might be getting there.
By the time they make it to Juliet’s balcony, their original destination, the sun is setting and most of the crowds have died off. Cast in bronze and hidden in a quiet courtyard, Juliet holds one hand over her heart, pining eternally for Romeo. Her arms and torso are conspicuously rubbed down, a bright golden sheen that comes, the docent says, from the tradition of placing one hand on Juliet’s heart. “See?” he says, gesturing to a mustached tourist who drapes one arm over the statue’s shoulders before plonking his other hand straight onto her breast. “It’s good luck.”
Natasha rolls her eyes at Clint. “This is dumb,” she leans close to whisper, and he agrees. After the whirlwind day they’ve had--climbing castles, strolling through neighborhoods, learning more about both her and the city they combed through together--it feels anticlimactic to cap it all off with a corny photo for cheap laughs.
Clint waves off the docent beckoning them for a closer look at the gate covered in locks, the wall stuck up with gum, the crumbling balcony that hangs off the wall. Instead, he turns to Natasha and offers her his hand. “Let’s go home.”
She takes his offered hand and together they turn out of the courtyard. The growing dark obscures half her smile as she teases,“You’re not going to admit that fate has finally led you astray?”
“Never,” Clint laughs, thinking of how the hands of The Lovers join together under a brightly shining sun. The streetlights flicker on, illuminating them in the darkness, and he’s pretty sure he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.
\-----
When he asks if she wants to come in for coffee, that’s really all he means. They’ve spent a long day exploring Verona’s numerous nooks and crannies, and normally he’d be tired of socializing with the same person all day long; but he looks at Natasha in the warm hallway lights and doesn’t want to say goodnight just yet. He won’t make a move, won’t curl his arm over her shoulder or her hair around his hands or _anything;_ it would just be nice, he thinks, if tonight she’d tuck her feet under her on his sofa like she belonged there and wrap her smoky voice around the notes of his guitar.
So: “Coffee?” he asks in the hall, and he means it. “No funny business, promise.”
Natasha’s eyes twinkle. “None whatsoever.”
He sees his apartment through her eyes as they enter: long-empty coffee cups by the sink, a rumple of unmade sheets through his open bedroom door. “Sorry about the mess,” he cringes, full of immediate regret. This is probably the worst idea he’s ever had. Probably.
“Mine looks the same,” she laughs, but Clint rather doubts that. From what little he knows of her, he assumes that she washes her dishes as soon as she uses them, no red-tinged wine glasses waiting to be scrubbed the next morning. Natasha doesn’t seem like someone who tolerates mess, which is what makes her continued interest in spending time with him confusing; she must have noticed by now that he’s a _complete_ mess about ninety percent of the time.
“I’m so sure,” Clint prepares to say, but she slips out onto the balcony while he digs in the pantry for the good coffee he only uses for the French press. Even as the warm aroma of coffee drifts through the air, she leans on the balcony railing, tracking the boats coming home in the dark. He can’t bring himself to break the silence when he finally joins her, so he passes over the coffee and their elbows rest alongside each other while the stars become a scintillating ceiling across the blue-black sky.
He’s setting down the dregs of his coffee when she looks over, the green of her eyes covered over by the reflection of the sky. “Tell me about the stars,” she says, and the wistful note that threads through her voice snags on something inside Clint’s chest. The stars have always been Clint’s kites, their strings the longing that shines from his heart when he stands under the night sky and contemplates ever other life he could’ve had. He doesn’t want to ask Natasha what she wishes for, if she has the same yearning for some multitude of unlived lives; instead, Clint resolves to take that wistful thread of her voice and tie it between the stars until she can make out the constellations.
“There’s Cassiopeia, she’s the easiest,” he points out, but she squints against the light pollution of Venice and shakes her head. Clint studies the sky for a minute, then moves, leveling his chin on her shoulder and using his arm to lift hers as if they were one. “See it now?” he asks, placing the tip of her index finger right center of the formation. | 40b5ea9278d5432781ef7c79be70ebe6 | ['c3adeed972c7461c92b0b30cdd609a91'] | Clint could be a real klutz sometimes, but he picked up physical movements the way Natasha picked up languages; he was the best dancer she had ever met. She wasn’t one to let men lead her onto dance floors without so much as a “may I have this dance,” but she also never turned down an opportunity to dance with him, and he knew it. The band was playing something jazzy and Clint spun her into a foxtrot, hand carefully resting on the low back of her dress.
“We don’t actually have to dance for that long,” Clint said, almost apologetically, as he stepped back to spin her. Natasha looked up, puzzled, and he hastily continued, “Not that I don’t like dancing with you; it’s just, um--” He darted his eyes towards the stage that Tony and Pepper had recently vacated. Natasha followed his gaze to Steve and Maria, who stood together, heads tilted towards one another. “I thought Steve might be less embarrassed to ask her to dance if we weren’t there. Just trying to give him a little push, you know.”
Natasha grinned. “I guess it makes sense for an archer to play Cupid,” she teased. “Though I never really pegged you as a romantic, Barton.”
Clint shrugged. “I can be romantic,” he insisted. The music changed and he seamlessly transitioned to a rumba, pulling Natasha closer to him as the dance floor crowded. “I’m romantic as hell.”
“Oh, yeah?” she challenged with a laugh. This was, after all, Clint Barton. Clint “when is Valentine’s Day,” “I accidentally dyed all my shirts purple,” “I forgot what you wanted so I ordered two of mine” Barton. She could believe that Clint took women on fun dates, or that he was courteous and considerate, or that he was good in bed-- _don’t go there._
“Yeah,” he retorted, mildly insulted. Before Natasha could begin to outline her skepticism he was dropping her into a deep, slow dip that drew a few whistles and cheers from the crowd. Upside down, Natasha could see Pepper watching them with a knowing smile. _Not again._ She didn’t have time to dwell on that, though, because Clint was pulling her back up with a hot long drag of a look that made her feel like she’d been out under the sun and was just about to burn.
“See? Romantic.” Clint sounded triumphant and just a little out of breath. Natasha was a bit breathless herself, not from the exertion, but from the way his hand on her back was _just_ not touching her skin and how much she wanted it to, or maybe from the darkening of his blue grey eyes as his gaze raked over her face. She felt the muscles of his upper arm move under her hand as he guided her through complicated step patterns. _This is not good,_ because since that fucking yoga class from hell she’d been avoiding any opportunity to witness him moving outside the field. On a mission, she could focus on her job and keep her head on straight; but lately, when she watched him spar with Sam or Steve, her objective observation of muscle mechanics had been replaced by rushes of emotions, by _want_ and _touch_ and _mine,_ and that just wouldn’t do. So she’d stayed away, kept herself busy; but now she could feel those muscles moving under her hand and all she could think about was closing the gap between them, was _want_ and _touch_ and--
“Uh oh.”
Clint’s grip on Natasha slackened and she blinked. “What?” Clint tipped his head towards the area where they’d left Steve and Maria. “Oh no,” Natasha sighed.
Steve was standing alone, arm reaching into the crowd and an utterly bereft look on his face. Natasha’s eyes swept in the direction of his outstretched hand and saw Maria hurrying out of the room, red dress swirling around her like a fall wind.
“I thought you said they liked each other?” Clint asked.
_Idiots._ “They _do,_ ” Natasha groaned. She pulled Clint off the dance floor with a huff and a silent lament for all the dancing she was about to miss. Shoving her mask into his hand, she instructed, “Go talk to Steve, see if you can find out what happened; and _no,_ don’t give me that face, I know you love to gossip.” Clint turned with a grumble and set off through the crowd.
Natasha went in the opposite direction, moving quickly through the mass of people between her and the ballroom entrance. She stopped at the coat check for the flimsy shawl she’d brought before catching, out of the corner of her eye, a flash of red on the small balcony that was tucked into a corner. It had been a relatively warm fall so far, but the nights had been getting chillier and Natasha braced herself for the breeze that hit her when she pushed the door out into the night.
It wasn’t much more than a landing, warmly lit but still cold in the evening wind. Maria stood at the glass and steel railing, eyes trained on the crisp crescent of the moon in the inky sky. She didn’t move as Natasha approached, even when Natasha let her heels click on the slate flooring. _Not good._ Maria was always alert, and she never left her back exposed.
As she paused to reassess the situation, Natasha allowed herself to smile at how terrific Maria looked against the black sky and the city. She’d been reluctant to wear the deep red dress Natasha had selected for her off the rack of gowns Pepper had ordered. “I’m not wearing _that,_ ” she’d said, scandalized, as if Natasha had just suggested she wear a lobster costume. She’d tried to shove it back at Natasha, and when that failed, had tried to talk Pepper out of making her try it on. “I look ridiculous,” she’d growled as she stomped out of the dressing room. |
650b710314d84426ae10c15800feff3d | ['c3ca4ab7a52e46898feab444fae298be'] | > Thank you like always for reading! Comments are keeping me alive and kudos are making me happy <3 Thank you <3
20. Are you my enemy?
Jihoon sat slightly nervously in the warehouse reading through the contract in front of him. The whole day had been a mess until then. His friends had made it their special mission to keep him safe, so they went all out on it.
First thing in the morning Cheol gave him a shoulder message, which was quite frankly ridiculous. What was even the use of that? Mingyu explained him one more time, where snipers could be stationed. But he was most of the time in a car, so he didn’t even feel that threatened on the way to the warehouse.
Jisoo instructed him on what could go wrong while doing the deal. The client he met up with was someone the Lee clan did business with for many years already. He shouldn’t be involved with the Park clan, but you never can be too sure.
When Jihoon felt a headache slowly forming from everyone busily nagging him, his phone started to ring. Of course it was Soonyoung. They had talked over the phone two times since they saw each other three days ago. Jihoon had held the talks both really short, because he didn’t like talking with people over the phone to begin with and because he didn’t want their talks to go too deep. Jihoon quite frankly didn’t know what to say to the other after they had sex. He didn’t know what this thing between them was, so ignoring it for the time being seemed like the simplest option to him.
Today he was even more stressed out then normal, so he really wasn’t in the mood talking to Soonyoung, so he mentioned for Seungcheol to pick up the phone. He watched Seungcheol talk over the phone for not even one minute before the other cut the line again.
“Soonyoung says that he’ll be around, but you won’t even see him. So you don’t have to worry about it.” Jihoon sighted at Seungcheols words. “I’m not worried. Why does everyone think I’m worried?”
“Ji, this is the 6th day since you heard the talk of the Park brothers and nothing happened yet. Even if you are not worried, all of us are worried. You’re not only our boss, but also our friend.”
Jihoon messaged his temples lightly to will away the headache. “Yes, yes, I know. It will be alright. I trust you all and you also must trust me.” He got up to get ready to leave for the deal. He planned to take Seungcheol with him and even some bodyguards. Everything would be alright.
On the way to the warehouse, he went through the contract again, trying to keep his calm. Nothing out of the ordinary happened on the way, everything just went too smooth. Now even Jihoon was getting a bit anxious. _When will they attack?_
Jihoon signed the contract and shook hands with the client, who bowed deeply and excused himself. Just when Jihoon wanted to tell Seungcheol that they should head back now, his phone vibrated in his pocked.
He took it out and stared at the message on the lockscreen. “I’m waiting in the hall to your right side.”
That was odd. It was an unknown number. No one should have his private number, besides his clan and some members of the Kwon clan. Was it the killer?
Jihoon considered what to do with this message. He maybe should go there and check out who is waiting for him. “Ji, who is it?” He could take Seungcheol with him, but he was afraid to mess it up like on the last mission with Soonyoung. He also could…
“It’s Soonyoung. He wants to meet me for a moment. He’s just in the hall next to this one” He lied smoothly. “Should I come with you?” Jihoon shook his head. “No need, I’ll be back shortly.”
While walking to the door on the right side, Jihoon was quite sure that Seungcheol would murder him later for lying. If he even made it out of there alive. But in the end, he didn’t want to drag anyone else into his business. He couldn’t help it. He was stubborn like this.
Jihoon walked into the completely empty hall and looked around. No one was there. He was considering going back again, but heard some sort of movement from the side. He pulled out his gun and pointed it in the direction.
“Jihoon, I have to tell you something.”
Jihoon took in a sharp breath. He knew that voice. He even heard this fucking sentence before. This had to be a joke.
A figure came out of the shadows, pointing a gun at Jihoon the same way the other did.
“You must be kidding me. I can’t believe this bullshit.” The other guy was slowly walking closer to Jihoon, a smile on his face.
“You’re a fucking traitor Daniel!” Jihoon released the safety of his gun.
“Wait, Hoonie. Wait, let me explain.” Jihoon stepped even closer to Daniel, a furious glint in his eyes.
“You don’t have to explain anything! You fucking lied to me for 10 fucking years! You’re part of the Park clan and want to kill me. Your name probably even isn’t Kang, you fucker!” Daniel waved around with his free hand after hearing Jihoons words.
“I said wait! First of all you also lied to me, second I don’t want to kill you and third my name really is Kang! Now take the gun down and let’s talk about it.” Woozi didn’t make any attempt to take the gun down but just stayed rooted in his spot.
“I would be crazy to take the gun down. Alright, explain yourself. I might not shoot you then immediately.” Daniel let out an airy laugh. | e32eed91667b4b618b9953228ac596b5 | ['c3ca4ab7a52e46898feab444fae298be'] | Jihoons mind went crazy. How could his best friend have never told him about this? It was insanity to him. “I really wanted to tell you Ji. I wanted to tell you that Kwon Soonyoung loved his family too much to kill them and that…” Jihoon banged his fist on the table, so the other immediately stopped talking.
“This is so much bullshit Seungcheol! Why couldn’t you tell me this before? You let me break into Kwon Soonyoungs mansion even though you knew he didn’t kill his family?” Jihoon threw some papers of his table in his anger.
“I tried to tell you. But you believed what Shua said, so what could I have done?” Seungcheol said guiltily in a small voice. He knew Jihoon wouldn’t calm down soon. He fucked up too much.
“Maybe tell me the fucking truth? Bloody hell! You don’t even know what I had to do to get a deal today! This is all your fault. I’ll blame you forever for this. You have my fucking pride on your conscience!” Jihoon looked around. He wanted to destroy something or kick something or shoot someone. Shooting someone seemed like the best option, so the got his gun out of the holster and pointed it at Seungcheol. “I’ll kill you.”
“Wait, wait, wait. Jihoonie calm down. Cheol only did it because he promised your father. It wasn’t his choice, ok? He’s one of your best friends. Calm down.” Jisoo grabbed Jihoons arm and tried to pull it down so the gun wouldn’t be pointed at S.Coups anymore.
“What kind of friend lies to you for so many years? Also I’m the boss now. You should have told me. How can I trust you like this? How can I trust anyone?” Jihoon let the gun fall to the floor and sat back down on the chair. He felt empty and tired.
“I’m sorry, Ji. I know I should have told you, but I missed the chance. I’m really sorry. I’ll never lie to you again. If I can do anything to regain your trust, I’ll do it. Everything, just ask me.” Seungcheols head hang low. His bad conscience was slowly eating away at him.
Jihoon was angry but he also knew he couldn’t stay angry at S.Coups for a long time. He was together with Jisoo his best friend and he needed him. He hated that Cheol lied to him, but somehow he could also understand that he didn’t want to break the promise he made with his father. Jihoon would have probably done the same.
Under normal circumstances he would have at least given Seungcheol the cold shoulder for a couple of days, but he couldn’t do that now because of a certain meeting tomorrow. So he decided to be a nice and forgiving guy for once in his life.
“You better never lie to me again. Also you have to go with me tomorrow to the Kwon mansion. Jisoo you too. Maybe I even should take Mingyu along. The more people who can hold me back from murder, the better.” Seungcheol looked up again, glad that his friend forgave him this fast.
“What happened today, Ji? You still haven’t said one word about that. Who was the guy you met?” Seungcheol tried to figure it out in his head, but so many people in the Kwon clan knew about him being part of the gang when he was younger that it was impossible to guess.
“He made a total clown out of me. You know, he laughed at me for not knowing it would be him waiting. How should I have known such a cunning asshole even existed??” Seungcheol and Jisoo looked at each other, clearly not understanding what their boss was trying to say.
“You don’t know? Not even you Cheol? I mean, you lived for such a long time together with him. You should know what an asshole he is!” S.Coups stared confused at his boss. “I don’t know, Ji. I don’t know of any big assholes with a big ego in the Kwon clan.”
Jihoon just narrowed his eyes at that. “How can a clan even function when the leader is a dickhead?”
“Wait, what? Are you talking about Soonyoung? Soonyoung is a great guy.” Jihoon started laughing like a maniac. Great guy and Kwon Soonyoung in the same sentence seemed ridiculous to him. “Ji, he was my best friend.”
Jihoon immediately stopped laughing and looked at Seungcheol as if he had grown a second head. “What happened between you and Soonyoung today, Ji?”
Woozi got up again from his chair and started pacing through the room. How could Seungcheol have been best friends with such an arrogant guy? That didn’t make any sense. Maybe his family’s death changed him a lot? Yes, that would be an explanation.
“You haven’t seen him since 10 years Cheol. He’s a bastard. A calculating, arrogant bastard. All the fucking theater he played in his mansion, meeting up with me today to just rub it into my face how stupid I am and how he doesn’t trust me.” Jihoon started shaking slightly out of sheer anger and frustration.
“Jihoonie what kind of deal did you make with him and what did you have to do for it?” Joshua asked worriedly, not having forgotten what Jihoon said earlier while screaming at Seungcheol.
Woozi just shook his head at the question. “We’ll work together from now on. We both want to find out who killed our families and Kwon is sure it must have been the same person. Seems like he’s highly suspicious of someone. He told me to go to his mansion tomorrow so we can exchange our information.” Just thinking about seeing Kwon again tomorrow made Jihoon tired. It wouldn’t be all too bad if he would shut up for once, but that seemed highly unlikely. |
fcde710222e9405db3261babb61ffbae | ['c3d0495a31d4446097af1ed516b6c706'] | Weiss gave a simple thank you as she took the coin and examined it, ignoring her sisters gaze. It was a small gold coin with a triangle that had twenty-four hours written in the middle. It had one day at a time written above it in a circle. She flipped it over and saw the serenity prayer on the other side.
“What do you need it for Weiss, this isn’t the same friend as last time is it?” Winter asked.
“It is, I am going to show it to her and see if I can get her to go to your meetings.” Weiss frowned, she wasn’t sure she could get Ruby to give up two things at the same time.
“I need more information on her Weiss, this person has fallen pretty fast. What could be going on in her life that she needs to harm herself and drink to escape. Normally I wouldn’t care to pry; however, I can see how this is affecting you.” Winter said, Weiss knew she was behaving differently but hadn’t thought it was that bad.
“She was dealing with abuse at home, she has since been placed in a foster home. Her sister committed suicide, it’ll be two years on Monday. She has so many nightmares Win. She relives the abuse in her sleep, and thinks herself lucky when the nightmare is remembering finding her sisters body. On top of it she also has flashbacks.” Weiss hurried out. If anyone could help her to help Ruby, it was Winter. Who was scowling, and looked very worried.
“Has this person ever attempted suicide before?” How did Winter know that?
“Yes, I had to stop her.” Weiss looked at her sister with a questioning expression.
“Bring her to my office tomorrow after school. You have done an excellent job Weiss, keep working with her, but it seems like she needs professional help.” Winter said firmly, leaving no room for discussion.
“Alright, I’ll be back later. I need to talk to her.”
3. Chapter 3
Ruby was laying on a rug at the foot of her bed, thinking about how great it was to be there. She enjoyed the safety that her new home held, even if she worried about her father being on the loose. She loved living with Sam. Nothing was permanent though, she was still a ward of the state. After Sam saw how bad things were in Ruby’s head, she would just send her back, so she thought.
Sam didn’t know the truth about the abuse. Ruby had told her that she was placed into foster care because of neglect, just what she told her friends. Weiss was the only one who knew the truth.
“I need a drink” she thought to herself. She couldn’t handle the stress. On top of everything Yang’s anniversary was Monday. Ruby made a point to visit at least once a month, and on holidays. This was different though. She wasn’t going to complain about their father this time.
Ruby really wanted to ride Bumblebee to the visit. Sam had bought her the gear she needed as a gift for her birthday, Ruby used some of the money Yang left her to get some for Weiss. Although she didn’t seem thrilled about the bike. How was she meant to ask Weiss to get on the “deathtrap” and ride it into a cemetery?
Ruby was pulled from her thoughts by a soft knock at her door. Sam poked her head in and said “Weiss is here. I need to go into the hospital, there was a major accident on the freeway.I’ll be home soon as I can, Weiss can stay the night. Sleep well.” Weiss replaced her at the doorway as she rushed off.
“Hey Ruby, we need to talk.” Weiss said taking a seat in front of her.
“I need you to do something for me, even if it sounds crazy.” She paused and Ruby nodded wanting to know what was so important. “I want you to go to A.A.” Weiss said, pulling something from her pocket, but Ruby couldn’t see what it was.
“Why? I don’t drink that much do I?” Ruby asked. No, she wasn’t an alcoholic, that was crazy.
“People don’t bring hidden booze to school unless they think they need it.” Weiss took Ruby’s hand. Weiss had a good point. “Maybe I’m just in denial.” She thought. She trusted Weiss to know what was going on.
“Please Ruby? Take this. My brother used to turn one around in his hand when he wanted to drink. He says it helps.” Weiss had that goddamn worried frown again.
“Ok, I’ll go if it will get rid of that frown.” Ruby took the coin and looked at it, she recognized it. Uncle Qrow had a couple too.
“One more thing. Winter wants to see you after school tomorrow.” Weiss smiled like there was something deeper going on. Great Winter was going to give her the big sister talk and threaten to break her arm or something. That must be it.
“Sure, no problem! But in return I need something from you.” Ruby said getting up and jogging towards the closet. She pulled out the gear she bought for Weiss. The jacket was white with a swirling waterfall of ice blue snowflakes running down the arms and around the hem. The helmet matched the theme, that same blue that matched Weiss’s eyes, covered in a million white snowflakes.
“These are for you. I want to ride Bumblebee to my visit with Yang. Would you come with me Weiss?”
“Of course I will.” Weiss said she gave Ruby a kiss then got up and climbed into the bed, waving for Ruby to join her. | 6050b3e5d5044783b05f97411dc51407 | ['c3d0495a31d4446097af1ed516b6c706'] | Lunch ended with the decision to get the whole group together to go see that movie, Ruby couldn’t remember the name but knew it was a horror. She headed to her afternoon classes, getting more questions from her teachers. Despite the normal stress of a school day, it was her favorite day of the week. Wednesday. Her father would stumble in much later than normal, giving Ruby some time alone. Ruby’s father, Taiyang, would have to stay in the little convenience store he owned until his employees finished up.
It was the day of the week that the workers in the shop had to check inventory and make sure all the paperwork was done. Making him late for his meeting with the barstool. It also meant that he would be tired and would most likely pass out on the couch. Ruby smiled at the thought.
She was so lost in thought about how she would spend the time she didn’t notice Weiss walking next to her until she spoke.
“Do you have anything planned for today?” Weiss asked. “You want to come over? We could work on the rest of the homework we have this week. You can also spend the night. My parents are going to be working.”
A night away from home? That sounded perfect, but Weiss would never do that on a school night. Was Weiss really that worried? Ruby hated that she was the cause of it. Weiss needed a friend that she didn’t have to spend so much time and energy for. It would be better if she died, she should just end it now and save Weiss the trouble.
“I need to grab a set of clothes from my house but sure, that sounds great.” Ruby replied
Ruby noticed Weiss smile, as they headed out to the student parking lot. It made Ruby oddly happy, banishing the dark thoughts and any plans that had been forming in the back of her mind.
They climbed into the white BMW convertible Weiss drove and headed towards Ruby’s house. Weiss was talking about some project she had to do for student government, but Ruby wasn’t listening. She was thinking about what Weiss’s reaction would be if Ruby told her about the cutting.
Not a single positive reaction came to Ruby’s mind by the time they pulled into her driveway.
Ruby opened the front door and walked through, Weiss trailing behind her. Ruby ran up the stairs, leaving Weiss in the foyer, and threw a pair of jeans, a black t-shirt, underwear and socks into a spare backpack. Grabbing what she needed from the bathroom on her way, Ruby headed back down the stairs.
Remembering that there were alcohol bottles everywhere, Ruby hoped Weiss hadn’t noticed. They got back into the car and started towards Weiss’s house. Ruby was glad to have dodged the bullet.
“Did your dad and uncle have a party?”
Shit. Why did Weiss always notice everything? It was so annoying. At least Weiss came up with the lie for her this time.
“Ya, one of their friends turned 43. I just stayed in my room.”
Why was it so easy to lie? Weiss didn’t deserve it. She didn’t need a friend that didn’t tell her the truth. Ruby remained quiet the rest of the drive, lost in her thoughts.
4. Chapter 4
Something was wrong and Weiss knew it. She had just got a startling clue as to what it may be. Ruby’s house was littered with bottles and stank of alcohol. Was Ruby’s dad an alcoholic? Weiss had only met the man once, and he hadn’t set off any red flags. Weiss wondered if Tai had taken to abusing Ruby verbally or worse, physically. She made a mental note to watch for any bruises with odd explanations.
If that were true why would Ruby lie? Wouldn’t she do something to make it stop? Weiss didn’t know much about Ruby’s family. She knew that Ruby’s mother had died in a car accident a couple years before Weiss moved into town. Blake had told her that Ruby had a sister, but Weiss had never heard anyone talk about her. Weiss wondered what happened to her.
Weiss pulled into the driveway and realized just how quiet she and Ruby had been. The reason Weiss had asked Ruby over was so she could be sure that Ruby did her work. She wondered if it was really just Ruby procrastinating. Maybe something was stopping her from working on it. Weiss knew it was getting bad, Dr. Oobleck had let it slip that Ruby wasn’t doing as well on her assignments are usual. Why wouldn’t Ruby just tell her what was wrong and let her help?
They had finished all their assignments and were studying for any quizzes they might have that week when Weiss decided that was enough. She pulled Ruby onto the bed and told her to choose a movie.
“Whatever is in there already.” She answered.
Weiss smiled, one of both of their favorite movies was in. She climbed onto the bed and hit play. Hearing the beginning of The Phantom of The Opera. She noticed Ruby was still wearing her jacket, that’s odd isn’t it? Weiss had her attention pulled back to the movie by Ruby laughing. She was glad that Ruby seemed a little back to her normal self.
They had fallen asleep before Masquerade. Weiss woke to Ruby holding onto her like her life depended on it. She grabbed Ruby’s arm, it seemed they started spooning at some point and Ruby was hugging her from behind. It felt nice. Before Weiss could think about that in detail, Ruby squeezed her _hard._ |
739c49a0182641ec9cd9e5d2a9f9ccdd | ['c3ed82e4acd643ff9f78c2ee88133287'] | Yuu has not even finished speaking before the girl looks up, and her expression of disdain quickly changes into something else. Her face becomes comically red, the grimace on her lips falling slack. With wide eyes, she stares at Yuu, shoulders locked with tension. Yuu shuts his mouth and cocks his head.
“Are you ok?”
She doesn’t respond, instead flinching when Yuu speaks. Yuu is about to ask again, but the girl casts her eyes to the ground, clenches her fists, and stomps her way past Yuu and down the hall. Yuu stares after her retreating figure, trying to parse together what has just happened. He shakes his head and keeps walking. Whatever that was all about, he doesn’t have time to worry about it now.
The Kingdom will need a new Chosen One if Sir Ichinose kills him for being late for training.
* * *
It isn’t even an hour later before Yuu has the chance to confront the girl again.
After being lectured for his tardiness, which Yuu would contest was mainly due to the fact that he was given less than fifteen minute’s warning, Sir Ichinose sentences him to twenty laps around the training grounds. Yuu grits his teeth, swallows his arguments, and does as he is told. He really does not feel like invoking Sir Ichinose’s wrath any more than he has to.
When he is finished, Yuu returns to the center of the field, breath labored and sweat clinging uncomfortably to his back. He almost turns around and leaves when he sees Kimizuki standing next to Sir Ichinose with arms crossed. That pink-haired bastard even has the gall to smile, smugly. Yuu would let him have it if he had any breath to spare.
“Oh good,” Sir Ichinose says with a smirk. He runs a hand through his hair. “I am glad to see that your punishment has not sapped your strength entirely. Perhaps there is hope for you yet.”
Yuu, instead of spitting words of defiance like he wants to, coughs violently. He straightens up, leveling Sir Ichinose with a spiteful gaze. His eyes slide warily to Kimizuki. The ache in his muscles is nearly Pavlovian.
Sir Ichinose crosses his arms over his chest. “Kimizuki tells me you have potential. Still, you have so much to learn. That is why I will be enlisting another one of my best knights to help guide you.”
Yuu’s mouth gapes open indignantly. He gestures wildly to Kimizuki. “As if saddling me with this asshole isn’t enough?”
Kimizuki glowers at Yuu, hands clenched into fists. “What did you just call me?”
Yuu opens his mouth to retort, but Sir Ichinose cuts him off. He looks to the side of the training field and shouts. “Mitsuba! Come quickly before these two idiots cut each other to ribbons!”
Yuu is too caught up in a staring match with Kimizuki, trying to beat his standoffish expression with an even more vicious snarl of his own, that he does not notice the girl walking to join them in the center of the field. It is only when he hears a gasp that Yuu turns to look. His brutish expression is overshadowed by recognition.
“Oh,” he says. “It’s you!”
The girl from the corridor stands next to Sir Ichinose, face just as red as when Yuu saw her earlier. Her face is frozen into a mask of shock as she stares at Yuu, and Yuu is about to speak again before she suddenly turns on her heels to face Sir Ichinose.
“_This _ is what you wanted me to help you with?” she asks. It sounds more like an accusation.
Sir Ichinose’s face remains blank. “Of course. Is there any ‘special assignment’ these days that does not have to do with our beloved Chosen One?”
The girl thrusts her hand out toward Yuu, still locking eyes with Sir Ichinose. “But why would you want _ me _ to train _ him_?”
“_He _ is the last hope for our Kingdom, regardless of how frightening of a thought that may be.”
Yuu very much wants to remind the two of them that he is, in fact, standing right next to them, but Sir Ichinose brings his hand down onto the girl’s head before he has the chance to speak. The knight spins the girl around, and when she is face to face with Yuu again she averts her eyes, arms crossed over her chest. Sir Ichinose looks at Yuu, blank-faced.
“This is Mitsuba Sanguu.” He pats her head, and if Yuu didn’t know better he would describe it as affectionate. “She is one of the best knights in my battalion. She will be in charge of training you along with Kimizuki.”
Yuu scoffs. “Are you serious? You’re just dumping me off onto the rejects even though the Queen told _ you _ to train me?”
Kimizuki cocks his head in challenge. “What did you just call me?”
Yuu turns back to face him. “You heard me, you overgrown—”
“You cannot leave me with the two of them,” Mitsuba whines to Sir Ichinose.
The knight simply smirks. “Have fun,” he says with a wave. He turns to leave, and Mitsuba frowns at his back before turning back to the boys.
Yuu is nearly chest to chest with Kimizuki when he feels a tug on the back of his shirt. He stumbles, and when he has found his footing he is eye level with Mitsuba. Her face is still red, but the bashfulness has been replaced by something much more hostile. | b373e29b5b1540d891dba8d60866bc73 | ['c3ed82e4acd643ff9f78c2ee88133287'] | The sword pierces through Horn effortlessly and continues down into the Horseman’s core. Both Horn and the Horseman cry out in unison. Just like Chess, Horn begins to turn to ash around Mika’s blade. The Horseman buckles, and before it falls entirely, Mika retracts his blade and jumps from its back. He lands squarely on his feet, sword held out to his side, just as the Horseman crashes to the ground behind him. Astria’s wall of light dissipates, and when Mika looks up he locks eyes with one of the students.
_Yuu-chan._
Mika almost says it out loud, but he stops himself just in time. Yuu stands in front of him, protectively sheltering a group of cowering girls. His eyes are wide, and he stares at Mika with a dumbstruck expression, cheeks flushed with color. He takes a step forward, and Mika is frozen in place as he approaches.
“Who are you?” Yuu asks quietly. The group of students behind him looks on with the same curiosity.
Mika isn’t sure what to say. Yuu doesn’t seem to recognize him, but Mika fears the longer he stands in front of him, the longer he gives Yuu a chance to figure it out. He looks behind him, and Astria and Selene stand silently, waiting for his lead. Mika looks back to Yuu. After a moment of quiet contemplation, he draws in a deep breath. Mika stands tall and takes one step forward. The blush on Yuu’s face flares.
“I am Helia,” Mika says. He internally cringes at the way he has pitched his voice higher.
Students begin creeping forward to join Yuu, and a crowd slowly forms. Astria grabs Mika by the elbow, pulling him down to his level.
“I believe this is our cue to leave,” she says. Mika couldn’t agree more.
Mika, Astria, and Selene leave hastily after that, and Mika tries to ignore the excited murmurs and cheers of the students in the distance as they go. Yuu’s wide-eyed expression is burned into the back of his eyelids.
The three of them find refuge on the rooftop of a nearby building, and Mika finally manages to breathe properly. Like before, Mika wills the energy of the Sun Stone to retreat, and soon enough he is dressed back in his school uniform. He reaches for the amulet on his chest and finds it gone. Instead, a golden ring with a pearlescent stone resides on the middle finger of his right hand. Mika’s stares at it, curiously.
“The Stone has taken on a personalized form,” Astria says with a smile. “It means you truly have accepted it!” Her eyes sparkle with hope. “You have, haven’t you?”
Mika looks from her to Selene, and although the other girl seems more reluctant to express her eagerness, Mika can see it hiding just under the surface. He looks down at the ring again. He can feel the energy hidden inside if he concentrates, and it warms something in his chest. He thinks of Yuu’s awestruck face. Mika sighs.
“Clearly, you need me to help you,” Mika says. “If it hadn’t been for me today, who knows if you could have saved all those students.”
“Hey!” Selene exclaims. She points a finger into Mika’s face. “You have some nerve implying that we’re not capable—!”
Astria slaps her hand over her mouth. “Don’t mind Selene! She’s emotionally constipated and has trouble showing gratitude.”
Selene makes a muffled, outraged noise.
“Of course we need you,” Astria says. “We can’t be Heaven’s Light without Helia, after all. So, are you with us?”
“I guess I’ll be able to find the time to help you out,” Mika mutters. He holds up a finger. “But only if this ‘fighting evil’ nonsense doesn’t interfere with my schoolwork or extracurriculars.”
“Deal!” Astria takes her hand away from Selene’s mouth and holds it in front of her. Mika shakes her hand cautiously. Selene crosses her arms over her chest.
“Stopping evil is way more important than getting accepted into a good university, you know,” she says with a pout.
“Agree to disagree, my dear Selene,” Astria says with a wink. She turns back to Mika. “We will call you when you need you. Thanks again for your help today!” She salutes. “We’ll see you around, Helia.”
Astria and Selene back up to the edge of the roof, flipping off the ledge gracefully. When Mika goes to look over the edge, the two are nowhere in sight. He clenches his hands into fists, and he can feel the ring dig into his skin.
Mika watches as the sun sets over the city and wonders what he has just gotten himself into. And, more importantly...
_How the hell am I supposed to get off of this building?!?_
★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★
The next morning at school is even more chaotic than the last. The soccer field has been quarantined and all future practices postponed until further notice. Students, both present and absent from the attack, gather in clusters in the hallway to discuss the attack.
“Dude, it was crazy! I thought I was gonna die for sure!”
“The monster had to at least be 10 meters tall. No, 20 meters!”
“Check out this video that Hiyashi took!”
“Those girls were crazy...”
“Yeah! I can’t believe that blonde chick killed two of those things, no sweat!”
“I wonder where they are now?”
Any hope of the attack just blowing over has vanished entirely. Mika dreads the next few weeks of school with each rumor he hears. He keeps his head down, walking as fast as possible to his homeroom. He fiddles with the ring on his finger nervously.
Narumi steps in front of him in the hallway, eyes practically glowing. “Mr. President!” he says. “In light of the recent attack, I think it’s important that we—”
“Not now, Narumi-senpai,” Mika mutters without stopping. He doesn’t look back to see Narumi’s reaction. |
33fc4744f04848c39503f314d3fc1900 | ['c425230bc72c40ef99ea0f46da061788'] |
Say His Name
Elizabeth sat in bed, knees propped up, her back against the two large, fluffy navy pillows positioned vertically against her headboard. She was at home, in the bedroom she shared with Armie. Finally they were sharing a bedroom again, even if they weren’t technically in the same room at that exact moment. Armie was off in the adjoining bathroom brushing his teeth, the large door frame hiding any sign of movement. Not that Elizabeth would’ve noticed his moving body, she was too absorbed in André Aciman’s novel Call Me By Your Name.
\---
Armie signed onto the film adaptation and had been in Crema, Italy the last two months, filming with Timothée and Luca. Being the wife of a movie star, Elizabeth knew the demands actors faced when filming on location and though being alone for months at a time while her husband was away was nothing new, this time was decidedly different. In the small town of Crema, Armie had long days and limited access to wifi, never mind that cell service was virtually nonexistent. Usually she and Armie talked every day after his work was over, but with this shoot, Elizabeth was lucky to hear from Armie once or twice a week. Feeling the strain this separation was having on their marriage, Armie surprised Elizabeth with tickets for a flight home for a short weekend.
“48 hours all to ourselves” he said, “just you and me. We’ll spend the whole weekend secluded in our bedroom, you’ll get so much of me that you’ll be pushing me onto the flight Sunday, begging for space” Armie joked.
Elizabeth didn’t think that’d be the case seeing as the first few hours had already been a blur of sheets. Armie’s smile everywhere on her body, her hands running through his silky hair, lightened from the Crema sun, his lips on her stomach, her nails curled into his back.
After picking Armie up from the airport, they grabbed dinner from a café two blocks away from their apartment, planning to stroll around the park afterwards, but when Armie grabbed Elizabeth’s ass on the street, signaling this is mine, finally mine again, their plans were quickly curbed as they rushed back to the apartment like two newlyweds finally free from the wedding festivities and alone at last. They barely made it in the door before their lips connected harshly, having to regain their comfortability after months apart, not quite sure how their bodies initially fit. Soon they found the rhythm and reverted into their old routines, like a blind man mapping his way confidently around his home after a day out in unfamiliar territory.
Armie pulled Elizabeth’s ponytail back, exposing her neck. After kissing Timothée exclusively for the last month, Armie missed having her ponytail to grab and Elizabeth loved his obsession with her neck, the soft, wet kisses he trailed down to her collarbone. The hickies he still insisted upon leaving, like a high school kid eager to show his classmates he had a girlfriend. Armie and Elizabeth tumbled into bed, finding each other under the sheets and coming together like waves to the shore: home at last.
When they finished, Armie hopped in the shower before brushing his teeth, not wanting the stench from the 10 hour flight from Crema to seep too deep into his skin. Coming up for air, Elizabeth grabbed Andre’s novel, picking up where she left off.
\---
Elizabeth started reading Call Me By Your Name about a month into Armie’s shoot. Feeling restless one night, she decided to walk the humid New York streets to clear her mind of missing Armie and get fresh air, even if the air was more sticky than it was crisp. It stuck to her like dried peach juice, the way it does after you eat it on the beach, not entirely unpleasant but letting itself be known alongside the sand. She stumbled upon a bookstore and on a whim purchased Call Me By Your Name. She’d never read the book and thought it’d make her feel closer to Armie, give them something to talk about on the rare day he did skype since he was usually too tired to talk about the shoot and she’d feel him pull away as she stumbled through menial topics, acting more like acquaintances than seasoned lovers.
Now Elizabeth sat in bed, reading the novel, unabashedly engrossed. She had Armie right here in front of her, all she’d wanted for the past two months, all she’d had for the past two hours, but in their break, she couldn’t put the book down. She was surprised at how much she liked the story, especially surprised at how much she liked the explicitness of it. Elizabeth was no prude, she'd just never gone out of her way to read erotic fiction but now she began to feel herself grow softer, wetter upon reaching the moment when Elio and Oliver finally consummate their love. It wasn’t until she released, that she realized how tight she was holding herself.
Armie emerged from the bathroom, saying “all fresh again.” But Elizabeth didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge Armie, didn’t hear anything but André’s words in her ears, all while picturing Timothée and Armie mouthing them to each other:
“I came up to his ear as he was just about to enter the post office and whispered, “Fuck me Elio.”
“He remembered and instantly moaned his own name three times, as we’d done during that night. I could feel myself already getting hard. Then, to tease him with the very same words he’d uttered earlier that morning, I said, “We’ll save it for later.” | cc0d77eaf9a1408e8e2963eea6c01eff | ['c425230bc72c40ef99ea0f46da061788'] | After the screening there was going to be a large party in the piazza, an open invitation to anyone who cared to show up, but there was only one person Timothée wanted to see, and he was just as happy to see him slumped in the cold, metal airport chair as he would’ve been to see him in the middle of Crema, a beloved statue surrounded by historians who wanted to admire but only from afar for fear of disturbing the preservation. Only Timothée could rewrite the rules, don’t ever just look, always, always touch, and he did when he slapped Armie’s back as a greeting, jarring him from his sleep. “Just resting my eyes” he claimed but Timothée knew better, seeing the film collected in the inner corners of his eyes, his beard shaggy, breath smelling of stale cigarettes from the night before.
He usually made him wait until after they kissed to smoke but the nomination had left him feeling grateful, the way big moments can make everything and nothing seem important. And so he’d joined him on the balcony last night, allowed his hands to cup around his lips as Timothée sparked the tobacco, before passing it back and forth lazily between their fingers despite Armie having a full pack in his breast pocket. As Timothée blew out the smoke, watching his breath become air, Armie leaned over and kissed him. Their smoke-tinged breath mixed together and they kissed longingly, as if to separate was to die. Their kiss deepened as they pulled and tugged towards each other as if say no, it’s yours. My breath is your breath, I will give you my life in exchange for yours and in that way we’ll both survive, walking around in each other’s shoes.
When Armie pulled down on his collar, murmuring into his neck apologetically for leaving last night, Timothée let out a barely perceptible whine. Thank god the airport speakers rang loudly overhead, announcing their flight was boarding or he’d half a mind to jump him right then and there.
“It’s ok,” he assured him, “I knew you couldn’t leave without packing your 50 tracksuits first.”
“49,” Armie answered.
First class began boarding and Timothée grabbed his arm, dragging his large frame out of the chair until he meandered past the stewardesses, flashing a grin, and settled into the oversized recliner. Feet propped up, Armie ordered a whiskey, ready to settle into the long flight. He hadn’t wanted to leave Timothée’s last night. Removing him from his arms felt like dropping an anchor into the water, heavy and too far down to see clearly. But he knew if he didn’t go home to pack he might never leave, though at this moment that didn’t seem like such a bad idea. Instead he was on his way to Italy, Timothée settled next to him comfortably, headphones already over his ears to drown out the loud roars of the airplane taking off. Armied smiled at him serenly.
Timothée looked back skeptically, “What?”
“Nothing,” he said as he laced his fingers through his, nothing was wrong at all.
**Author's Note:**
> Chapter 2 coming soon, wherein Timmy gets drunk and saccharine :P |
eb43b87f800c46febe7f77a8e7b6f300 | ['c42eaa1698ee4746be3b167d5f1d9bf3'] |
That's Just How Hanbin Rolls
"Happy anniversary, babe." Jiwon says groggily before he even opens his eyes.
Hanbin snorts beneath the blanket pulled over his head, as he plants both hands on Jiwon's stunning pectorals and snuggles closer to the older boy.
"Thanks for dating me." Jiwon follows up, allowing the younger boy to curl into him.
It's 2 am.
They do this every year, on their anniversary; whoever wakes up first plants a quick kiss on the other boy, thanks him for sticking together through the past year, and then they usually fall back asleep.
This year is different.
The only reason they're awake at 2 am is because Junhoe and Donghyuk have been in a screaming match since 1:30 in the living room, and their walls are paper thin, so it's already not the ideal situation to be in when they begin their anniversary celebrations, but then Hanbin decides to take advantage of Jiwon's short attention span and pop the big news.
"We're going to have a baby." Hanbin says bluntly, retracting his hands when Jiwon's eyes shoot open faster than Hanbin's ever witnessed.
"What?" Jiwon hisses, quickly rearranging himself so he can see the younger boy.
Hanbin isn't afraid of many things; spiders, heights, unruly teenagers, car crashes, hungry bears and salmonella poisoning are all very reasonable things to have a healthy fear of- Jiwon, however, is not something Hanbin has ever feared.
So it's definitely not out of fear when he, too, rearranges himself, rolling over and away from Jiwon, so much so that he rolls right off the bed.
"Oh my god, Hanbin." Jiwon says, his voice raising steadily.
And it's definitely not out of fear when he keeps rolling, and barrel rolls a good 5 feet away from the bed.
"You can't roll away from me!" Jiwon yells, from somewhere behind Hanbin.
Hanbin has every intention to roll right out of sight, out of town even, when Jiwon is throwing back the covers of their bed and is stumbling after him, still dazed by exhaustion and Hanbin's initial announcement.
"Come back here and explain this!" Jiwon growls as he gracefully trips over Hanbin's pile of laundry.
"No." Hanbin says firmly, as he rolls around Jiwon's dresser.
The yelling from outside grows louder with every inch closer to the door that Hanbin rolls- he can almost make out their words when Jiwon catches him.
"Stop it." Jiwon hisses, his hands grabbing at any piece of Hanbin he can find in the dark of the room, desperately trying to catch the younger boy before he rolls into Donghyuk and Junhoe's fighting.
After a struggle, he finds purchase on Hanbin's waist and begins to drag the boy upwards, which is even greater struggle than finding him in the dark, because he writhes and yells the entire time.
"Let me go, you asshole!" Hanbin shrieks, his hands slapping at anything and all of Jiwon.
Jiwon nearly loses his footing, with Hanbin playing octopus in his arms, and they both yell, almost louder than the couple in the living room, and manage to make it back to the bed in one piece.
"You know," Jiwon begins as he throws Hanbin down on the bed, crawling up over him.
"You were a lot more cooperative the last time I carried you to my bed." he huffs, pinning the younger boy's arms above his head.
Hanbin makes a face at him, his feet dangling off the edge like a child, but he lays still.
"That's because last time I was bribed with snacks." Hanbin says flatly.
"You were trying to undress me while in my arms." Jiwon says, quirking an eyebrow.
"Snacks." Hanbin nods.
In the end, they kiss on the bed while the fight outside their door rages on, only coming to an end when Donghyuk walks away, throwing their bedroom door open, looking for refuge with the most stable couple in the dorm, only to find said stability making out in fuzzy pajamas.
"I hate Junhoe." he yells at them, before slamming the door closed again, though it does little to distract the couple.
Hanbin laughs gently into Jiwon's lips, before kissing him harder, letting the older boy lose himself in the moment.
Yunhyeong's contact lights up Jiwon's phone screen from where it fell when Hanbin dared his great escape, buzzing with unread texts from Jinhwan.
It's 3 am now, and the whole dorm is awake.
When they do break apart, after god knows how long, Jiwon leaves a trail of gentle kisses across Hanbin's chin, before reaching down for his phone.
"We're still going to talk about that." Jiwon says, pointing at Hanbin's abdomin as he puts his phone up to his ear, accepting Yunhyeong's call.
Hanbin bites his bottom lip, watching as Jiwon talks to Yunhyeong, his voice low and rasped, before he gets up and slowly makes his way to his closet.
"Donghyuk popped in to say hello," Jiwon tells Yunhyeong, snorting unattractively.
From what he can overhear as he pulls back his jackets, Hanbin guesses Donghyuk has left the apartment, which isn't nearly as shocking as it sounds, considering this is the third time it's happened in the last year, and he'll be back in an hour. Probably.
"Yeah, okay." Jiwon says, hanging up as Hanbin turns around from the closet, a small potted cactus in his hands.
Jiwon's eyes narrow on the plant, and Hanbin blushes.
"Meet our son, Bob jr." Hanbin says proudly.
Jiwon's mouth falls open for a second, before he squints, shutting it, inhaling heavily and let's out a tired, "Was the labor difficult?"
Hanbin nods. "Excruciating." he says, sliding the pot onto the bedside table, sliding back under the cover next to Jiwon, who sighs.
"I hate you so much." Jiwon says, as Hanbin cuddles up to him happily.
"I know." the latter mumbles, leaving a kiss at the base of his neck.
They settle into the darkness once again, both exhausted from the yelling and the kissing and the sheer terror (Jiwon) at the notion of having a child.
"Hey, Jiwon?" Hanbin says sleepily, when he's almost sure Jiwon's asleep.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for dating me."
"Go to sleep, bin."
"Ok."
"-and you're welcome." | cee94840d8e5444387001727b81aad1d | ['c42eaa1698ee4746be3b167d5f1d9bf3'] | Junhoe steps away from the counter, the strawberry rolling right off his palm, hitting the cold linoleum floor with a splat.
"Oh." he breathes.
Donghyuk looks like he's about to leave, but they don't have anywhere they're supposed to be today, and that's why getting drunk last night seemed alright.
They were supposed to have a full day to sleep away hangovers, not fumble around each other like this.
"Where are you going?" he asks, gently, like how Yunhyeong taught him to.
Donghyuk's eyes narrow at this, mouth gaping slightly in utter astonishment.
"Why do you care?" he huffs at the younger boy.
He's right.
Junhoe shouldn't care, because Junhoe essentially broke up with him last night during a buzzed rage where he openly admitted to being ashamed of dating him.
The pan slips from Yunhyeong's palms somewhere behind Junhoe, it clatters back into the sink with a bang, followed by a quiet, "shit." from Yunhyeong.
"I-I-" Junhoe stutters, his hands gripping at the counter.
Donghyuk scoffs. "I'm going out of town. With Jinhwan. Not that it's any of your business, I'm only telling you because I feel bad for you." he says.
Junhoe nods.
Then Jinhwan emerges from his room, a stuffed bag slung over his shoulder and he's looking at his phone until he runs right into Donghyuk's back.
"Oh." he mumbles in surprise.
It takes Jinhwan a beat to find Donghyuk's hand, but he does, and he tangles their fingers loosely, before dragging the latter's hand up to his lips, where he presses a kiss into Donghyuk's palm.
"Let's go." Donghyuk says, pulling Jinhwan's keys out of his pocket.
Jinhwan agrees and Chanwoo tells them goodbye, Yunhyeong calling out for them to drive safely and text him when they get there, and Junhoe only watches.
"We will, bye!" Donghyuk calls over his shoulder, smiling widely as he lets Jinhwan whisk him away from Junhoe.
The door shuts behind them with a bang.
And that's that. |
83e6d1ffd5d64b59b99b885dd9b12e2f | ['c43cc23972514c6aa7a095ebd40be323'] |
1. Prologue
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> First Choices
The pictures on the walls seemed to be melting, it was almost surreal. Stefan started to guide the colors with his hands while Colin went on about government conspiracies.
Stefan sat on the couch while Colin explained the true meaning of P.A.C. (('When did I sit down?'))
Stefan decides to listen.
"There's messages in every game.
Like Pac-Man,
do you know what PAC stands for?" Colin asked.
Or did he ask? It seemed to be a rhetorical question. You could never know with Colin. Stefan furrowed his brows,'What if its an actual question he expects me to answer? If I dont answer things might get awkward-'
"P-A-C. Program and Control.
He's Program and Control Man."Colin answered for him.Stefan was confused. He hadnt heard this definition about Pac.
Colin explained further
"The whole thing's a metaphor.
He thinks he's got free will
but really, he's trapped in a maze,
in a system, all he can do is consume,
he's pursued by demons
that are probably just in his own head-"
Stefan had stopped listening. The magic at his fingertips had been far more interesting then the one-sided conversation at hand.
He was pulled back into reality when he noticed that he in fact had not been sitting during the duration of the conversation, but standing? The electric feeling of hands on his cheeks caught him off guard, he couldnt stand on his own at this point.
"If you listen closely,
you can hear the numbers.
There's a cosmic flowchart
that dictates where you can
and where you can't go.
I've given you the knowledge.
I've set you free.
Do you understand?"
Stefan blinked. Colins eyes were melting out of its sockets. Had he not been in a acid trip this wouldve scared him. Not that he wasnt scared now, he was terrified. Terrified yet calm knowing it was just Colin.
'Right the question at hand'
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> (A) Attempt To Answer (B) Close your eyes
2. Choice (A)
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> Choice (A)
Colins eyes seemed to tear through you soul, observing you while awaiting an answer. His fingers started to massage your cheeks, trying to get a reaction. Stefan could feel his fingers attempting to leave after his lack of a answer.
"M-maybe!yes?" Stefan spat out. Colins eyebrow raised a bit at the uncertainty in his answer."Sort of" Stefan said calmly this time.
"I'll show you what I mean. Come with me."
Stefan followed Colin as he led them to a balcony.
"We're on one path.
Right now, me and you.
And how one path ends is immaterial.
It's how our decisions along that path
affect the whole that matters." He explained. Stefan was confused as to why he took them to the balcony to explain this."Do you believe me?"Colin asked.
"I don't know?"Stefan answered.
"I'll prove it
One of us is going over."He started before pointing to the ground. "Over there."
This worried Stefan greatly,
"You'd die. You'd die"he said, suddenly his heart pounding and reason seeping through the drugs.
"It wouldn't matter
because there are other timelines, Stefan.
How many times
have you watched Pac-Man die?
Doesn't bother him.
He just tries again." He reasoned
"One of us is jumping,
so who's it going to be?"
Stefans brain was running haywire as adrenalin pumped through his veins. He didnt want to die but he didnt want his idol now friend to die. Not after he'd seen him put down that protective barrier.
"It's a nice breeze up here.
So, come on, which one of us is jumping?"
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> (C)Stefan (D)Colin
3. Choice (C)
No, you couldn't risk Colin dying. He was a well-known developer that was big in the industries who would be missed by his girlfriend and daughter. Meanwhile, who would miss you if you were to go? Your dad? He caused your mother to die, indirectly, but that doesn't matter its still his fault. You couldnt care less about how he feels.
"Ill do it" Stefan said, a twinge of anxiety in his tone.
"I like your style." Colin responded, smirking slightly.
So with wobbly knees, Stefan leaned against the railing. Lifting one leg over it seemed to be harder then it looked. Sitting on top of the railing now, when Stefan looked down and almost vomitted. How many stories high were they?
Stefan glanced back at Colin and noted that his hands were twitching. Stefan let out a nervous giggle. He turned to face the other apartments but stepped wrong,falling off the balcony. Only being held by the railing now, your hands started to sweat. The realization of what jumping off would mean set in and panic insured. Stefan started to kick his legs and scamper, trying to pull himself up before sighing. Tear brimmed his eyes and a layer of sweat covered his forehead. Looking down he bit his lip, 'I wont survive the fall..' He thought.
His fingers were getting weaker by the second, hand clenching to the bar for dear life.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> (E) Let go
> (F) I'm scared
4. (E) Let Go
With one deep inhale you decided that there was no going back. Locking eyes with Colin, you gave him a small smile to which he waved back in response.
Looking down, black fuzz started to cover your vision
Then you let go. The world was moving to fast for your liking and a white surface came into view. All your blood had rushed to your head and the G- force alone was enough to knock you out
Then everything went black
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> Dead End (See Prologue)
5. Choice (F) | 3d63eb4ab99c48209b5b4c922af200c9 | ['c43cc23972514c6aa7a095ebd40be323'] |
1. The First Encounter
**Author's Note:**
> ×I'm new to this scene of writing, and I'm positive this work had many errors as I am not knowledgeable in writing and to be completely honest I can't be considered an adult(because of the age I'm not inclined to post). The only other experince ive had was writing lame short stories and posting on wattpad//tbh its less stressful to post there since its less "professional"? I dont know.
>
>
>
> Thank you for reading
The streets were crowded and bustling with life as people seemed to walk in tandem, noone tripping. They seemed to be in a bit of a rush, the shoppers clutching to their bags like the world was ending.
Amist the scampering was a young boy- very young, around the ripe age of 5. His basket was filled to the brim with goods, which surprisingly didnt spill out. His hair seemed to flow everywhere and his clothes were one too many sizes bigger then him. His skin was a rich olive color and held few blemishes except a few spots of freckles.
His small heart pumped with adrenalin,
The markets never been this busy before, he thought of himself.He stopped by a fruit stand and overheard the elderly couple gossiping. Naturally he leaned in, as any unoccupied youngster would do.
'Did you hear about the ships docking'She questions, a voice that dripped venom and envy
'They've come to land here? But why, they've only cause a ruckus among the towns people'
A ship? The young boy thought to himself as he absent mindedly plucked a tomato off the rack and took a bite, too focused on his thoughts to bother checking what he grabbed. 'I might aswell pay the docks a visit while I'm out here' he decided, smiling at what awaited.
As he neared the dock, there was less and less space to roam and soon he found himself planted against a womens uncomfortable dress. No,he thought, this wont do. He couldnt even peek over the crowd due to his lack of height.
He quickly pulled up her dress and rushed through, bumping into anyone that was in his peripheral vision. He heard a few screams from the maidens and yells followed after him from the men.
He giggled to himself thinking, why didn't I come up with this earlier, distracting him so much that he didnt even notice when he bumped into another person. His basket flew into the air on impact and the tomato fell onto the strangers shoe.A few gasps were heard from the crowd
The basket fell a few feet away and he rubbed his nose, as it too got hit in the collision. He frowned to himself, realizing that he'd have to recollect his goods.
Once he heard a groan from the person he colldied with, he decides he should check up on them.
Laying flat on their back was a raven haired boy, whose hair carried a lot of volume. His hair was flowing everywhere and deeply contrasted against his pale skin. His skin was milky and held little color except the slight purple of a bruise forming on there forehead and a darker tone under their eyes. They appear to be 6, evident by their lack of height. Unless they are just a really short teen, cause that would just be a disappointment. The clumsy boy felt his face heat up from embarrassment as he held out a hand for the fallen stranger.
The stranger heaved their tiny body up, giving such a hard scowl towards the kid that a few passersbys sensed the tension and left.
"I dont need your help, you vile mutt!" He spat out with malice, the only hint of embarrassment being the fiery hot blush that ran down his cheeks and neck, prominant in his ears. He quickly sat up and brushed off the dirt on his uniform.
His attitude changed drastically as a older man stepped out from the ship, onto the docking platform. His body tensed and his bottom lip faintly shook. Disappointment was etched into the mans face, and he tugged onto the belt buckles of his pants, glaring deeply into his soul. The boy held a painful expression as if knowing what was to come later. He quickly stood and held his hand out for the smaller man to shake. The smaller make took note of the odd display of aggression between the father(he concludes) and the son.
"Reynold Adams" he called himself, gesturing to his hand.
Although at first he hesitated to shake the other boys hand, he proudly smiled and took the boys hands in his,giving it a firm shake.
"Leo Vindelle" he proclaimed.
2. Fuzzy feelings
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> After a few weeks of Leo following Rey around like a helpless pup, they seem to start getting along.
The sound of the rain against the roof soothed the boys as they sit lazily against the couch comfortably. The swishing of the rain tapped against the window was almost therapeutic. The only other sound was the smaller males snoring- no, not snoring more like little breaths. His chest rose and fell, the hairs on his head tickeling his arm.
Rey was being careful to not disturb the sleeping male, wanting it cherish this moment as long as he could. Its not like he wanted this to happen, but he definitely wasn't going to end it just because if he was being completely honest with himself-
And ignored the fact that he found the sleeping male quite cute-
He actually was enjoying himself
A loud clap of thunder rumbled through house, shaking the windows till they vibrated from the pure energy. The sleeping male stirred, making a noise of protest as his face changed into one of fear. Rey noticed this and began to rub circles into his back and Leo visibly relaxed.
..... |
8918e5487b5643cf8595ac4079ebd579 | ['c43ea81e8bf4414aba82f6e6b731bb0a'] | I can take you hunting, if you like. On the new moon.” Richard suggests, pulling himself up from the ground. Dean follows him up from the concrete floor and nods. “Oh, good. I’ll tell Aidan, then. Do you want to come?”
With a shake of his head, Dean steps in the opposite direction. Richard gives him this look and it almost seems disappointed in him. One more thing that he tries to shake off physically. He succeeds only minimally when he looks away from Richard’s crisp blue eyes.
All it takes is a few long steps and Richard disappears into the belly of the parking complex, gone to find Aidan. Dean wonders about them. He wonders how they met, what they talk about together. He wonders how they touch, if its just those light, familiar gestures he’s seen or if they’re more intimate. Dean wonders and wonders until he doesn’t want to anymore, and even then, he does.
He presses his hands to his eyes and sees colours bloom and wilt behind his eyelids.
For the next few days, Dean sees Richard only in passing. A look here, a nod there. Every time Dean wants to ask him something, he’s gone before he gets his mouth open at all. Aidan, on the other hand, has become incredibly skilled at persistently finding and invading upon Dean’s personal space.
Aidan has, in recent days, picked up the habit of touching Dean when he speaks to him. He’ll rest his hand on Dean’s elbow, or sling an arm over his shoulder as they talk. There’s a hundred and one little excuses Aidan has come up with to touch him, and strangely, Dean sort of likes it - he takes a slow and persisting warmth from it, a certain cautious happiness. A thing he wants, but doesn’t want to want.
There’s a home in Aidan’s arms, and it’s not only his. The wolves seek it, Richard seeks it, and Aidan, gives, gives, gives.
Dean keeps looking for the caveat, the rot hidden in the fresh meat.
A little before sundown Aidan comes to him, sword strapped to his back; he finds Dean in front of the tree on one of the lower levels. “It looks sort of blue today, yeah?” Aidan asks, shoehorning his way into a conversation.
“Mhmm,” Dean mumbles, “Yeah. Kind of.”
“You still have the marks from it?” Aidan asks, trying to coax more than monosyllabic answers. Instead, Dean hides his hands and says nothing. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.” Aidan supplies after a few moments of awkward silence. “Do you remember putting on your other skin? Rich says he does. Y’know, the first time.”
Dean just shakes his head, no.
“Probably not gonna like it.” Aidan warns before changing subjects as easily as he changes expressions, “I heard you’re gonna go hunting with Rich, that’s good. M’thinking of takin’ the pack hunting elsewhere. Just so, you can get used to being back in that skin and all.” Aidan trails off, watching the bark swirl and animate its own silent stories.
Aidan keeps chattering and Dean’s lost track of what he’s saying mostly, watching the tree and thinking of the way Aidan dragged the hot blade down his chest the first time they met. His chest echoes with a phantom ache.
“Is skinning always that bad?” Dean asks, cutting Aidan off. He’s only given a little shrug which does little in the way of answering.
“Rich tells me it gets better, but, I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” Dean snorts, “How do you not know?”
Aidan shrugs like the question’s of no consequence. Sometimes, Dean thinks there’s very little Aidan considers to be of consequence. “I don’t change. It’s different for me. I stay human, then when Rich’s done hunting, I bring him back.” Aidan looks at Dean and they both seem a little uncomfortable from the unspoken question in the air. “I...” Aidan starts and lets the suggestion die in his throat.
Dean steps up instead, “Do you want to bring me back too?” This time, it’s he’s with the heavy gaze and Aidan’s eyes don’t quite reach his.
“Yeah,” He admits quietly, “I do.”
They both share a quick look between them before letting the shifting bark entertain their attention instead. The ball’s in Dean’s court and he knows it. It’s his call. Dean has a power in this decision that’s unlike anything he’s known. It’s subtle and quiet. But power all the same.
“Then do it. Bring me back too.” Dean doesn’t look away from the tree and he doesn’t think Aidan does either. But, at his side, Aidan sneaks his fingers through his pinky and holds gently. They stand like that for what could be minutes or hours, Dean doesn’t know. Time seems to lose traction in the wake of the tree with Aidan and him linked so thinly together.
Aidan reacts to Richard coming before he’s even visible, but he doesn’t drop Dean’s hand. His face lights up contagiously; even the tree flashes pink at Aidan’s smile.
“We should head out, Aid. All the others are already out there waiting.” Richard motions towards the stairs and doesn’t seem to bat an eye at the way Aidan tugs Dean forward and gives his hand a generous squeeze before dropping it.
Dean dogs behind Richard and Aidan, the stairs wide enough for only two bodies. Somehow, they still manage to spill out of the doors at the same time, regardless.
The rest of the wolves pad restlessly in a crescent before Aidan and Richard. The electricity of hunger is thick in the air and even Dean - who has been sated for weeks - can feel it.
Darkness descends in slow waves over the city, one by one the eyes of the wolves become reflective, flashes of light flickering in a slowly growing darkness. Aidan’s eyes flash like amber in the coming night. | 0351a5ea36114e50b0a3ca06c744af20 | ['c43ea81e8bf4414aba82f6e6b731bb0a'] | Thorin thanked the dwarf for the information and Fili is amazed at the restraint that keep his taut muscles from snapping. Thorin looks wound and ready to spring, his teeth almost feral flashing under his lips, his fingers tightening into thick bunches. Fili starts moving before Thorin’s resolve can snap, putting paces between them and the messenger.
“Ready us some ponies, Fili.” Thorin’s voice was a mire of anger, edged with an infectious concern that seeped through Fili in his bones. Nodding his head, watching his uncle, waiting for the next instructions. “When you have them prepared, meet me by the front gate.”
Faltering, the look on his face must have spoke volumes, Thorin answered him without a question between them. “I’m going to speak with my sister.”
Left watching the snapping of Thorin’s cloak at his heels, the younger did as he was told, heading to the stable and paying for the handsomest of mounts he could for his uncle and himself. The saddles and provisions provided with a drop of Thorin’s name.
In its entirety, it took him but a half hour to ready everything they would need. And so he waited in the shadow of the gate of Ered Luin, the tall stern statues making his skin feel uncomfortably tight with unknown tension.
Fili was left waiting at the gates for over an hour, tending to the ponies and keeping them still as he looked for Thorin in the direction of home -- or rather, the house they lived. It would never be home again. Home was a place of love, and the fight had mined any of all that warmth from the foundations and plastered walls.
Through the crowd, Thorin stalked to the front gate, moving silent and threatening as a storm cloud ready to thrash at the poor villages below, Fili found his gaze weighted towards the fur of his uncle’s cloak rather than face the misdirected wrath that burned in his eyes.
“I’ve spoken with _your_ mother.” Thorin spat; Fili felt a cold drop in his heart, the association of Dis as _his_ rather than Thorin’s own relation was a clear indicator of how that had gone. “When we find Kili, if we cannot find you your own accommodations, you will be staying with me. The both of you.”
Fili snapped his eyes up to Thorin’s face, awe slicing in his eyes. Fili could only imagine how the conversation with Dis had gone if this bit of news was shared with bitter tonality than one of praise. “If she no longer lays her claim as Kili’s mother, that is her prerogative. You are both still my heirs and I will not have one of you roaming Durin knows where. It is far past the time I should have been raising you to know the ways of court and throne. It is one thing to be a warrior, Fili, another thing entirely to rule and I expect that from both you and your brother.”
The young prince was well aware of the half truth swimming through his uncle’s words; but in the public with ears and eyes all around, he accepted it with a slight bump of his arm against Thorin’s. It was the smallest of gesture of thanks, and Fili warred with himself trying to figure out how he could ever repay his uncle’s hospitality and care.
At the back of his mind, Fili knew that Thorin would never accept anything, because if Thorin saw himself benefiting in anyway from his actions, he would accept no gratitude or paid due.
Hoisting himself onto the saddle, Fili pressed the heel of his boots into the side until the pony started off at a trot. He fell in step behind the larger of the two steeds and together they rode wordlessly through the winding mountain path.
By the time they reach the inn, the sun had dipped in the sky considerably. Thorin checked the inns while Fili searched through the stables. There were only tall, proud stallions that look at him with wide, warm eyes; the one mare of the stable seems to wicker her condolences as he turned to leave.
Fruitlessly, Thorin and Fili searched inn after inn, town after town, venturing far enough east that dwarves became a commodity among the sights of men. Their search narrowed considerably, people far more likely to tell a dwarf from their regular patron and with a flash of coin, much more loose lipped about which way he went.
Even with the ocean of places they could hunt narrowing into a stream, Fili felt his feet drag and his heart slow at the end of every day. His shoulders grew heavy and he slumped into bed, eyes open on the window, waiting for Kili to appear before him -- a dark wraith against the lit window.
Every night he watched, every night Kili never came to him. Morning would rise and Fili would grow more ashen each day. “I’m looking,” He’d catch himself muttering, “Aulë, Kili, I’m looking.” There was a cold pulse that ran through him when Fili could no longer say with conviction he would find his brother, a terror that ate him hollow from the inside out.
One particularly bad night, Fili fell to bed as dead men fell to battle, shaking with the desperation that he would not show in daylight and the sobs he would never allow himself to hear. A horrible, bitter seed planted itself, woven deep to the root of him that in the dark whispered over and over: _You let him go. You let this happen._ The fatigue was drawing on him, making him susceptible, low-spirited, _weak_.
Fili all but jumped when the cot sunk with the added weight of his uncle. Fili craned his head, looking over into the pale eyes, shadowed and remorseful that flickered with fires of another time. “Thorin,” He managed, his eyes shuttered and lips cracked and dry. |
5bc40525cda1435c81605f1a6abb680d | ['c441b365ed724aaf908955a91ef6746c'] | “I know you said you don’t want to fight, but I need you to know this, Rey. You don’t owe the Resistance anything. You aren’t their pawn. You are so much more than anything they can give you. We don’t need to be on opposite sides of the war,” he said, turning his whole body to face hers. “I’m not saying I will give you the galaxy, or make you into anything you don’t want to be. But just say the word and you can be free of any obligation you owe the Resistance. You can be free to make your own choices.”
She should be angry, she really should. How could she abandon her newfound friends? Her newfound friends that had never even bothered to send a quick comm asking how she was doing, or if she was okay, or if she needed anything? Her new friends that had brushed her off the first chance they got and replaced her with something or someone else.
“What about you?” she asked, not really denying his offer. “You’re just as trapped as I am.”
“It’s too late for me. I have other obligations. To the First Order, to the Galaxy,” he replied.
She sighed, truly upset with him for the first time tonight. “Then you’re no better than the Resistance. You’ll free me to just be on my own again. I don’t want to be free if I don’t have anyone to share that freedom with, Ben. I’d rather be a slave to the Resistance,” she snapped, the contempt dripping from her voice.
“I thought you said you didn’t want to fight?”
“I don’t want to fight, Ben. I just want you! Or…or someone! Anyone!” she snapped, raising her voice and punctuating her thoughts by downing the rest of her drink. It had slipped out, but she it was the truth.
“Oh, good to know I’m so easily replaceable,” he replied, attempting to cover the hurt in his voice with anger. Ben had allowed himself to hope that perhaps Rey _had_ wanted him in her life, but the way she was talking at the moment gave him the feeling that maybe she was desperate for _anyone_ to call her companion. He was fooling himself into thinking that she could possibly want _only_ him. Ben had sensed her loneliness on Starkiller and he had a feeling she would stop at nothing to fill the void. Maybe he was no different to her than the Resistance seemed to be; merely a distraction from her despair.
“Kriffing hell, Ben. You aren’t. You’re not replaceable,” she assured him, her own patience wearing thin.
“That’s not what you just said!” Ben snapped back at her. He wasn’t sure if she meant it, but he hoped she did. He realized he _wanted_ to be something important to her, and was desperate to know that she was speaking the truth. He was tired of being replaceable, and for once in his life he wanted to know that someone actually chose him.
Ben had spent his entire life feeling as if his only purpose was to fulfil the goals other people had set for him. If Rey had wanted him for what he was and nothing else…he brushed the thought aside, not wanting to be disappointed if this wasn’t the case. He had spent his entire life certain that no one had wanted _him_. They wanted his powers, his status, his Force sensitivities, but never the man he actually was. Ben had accepted this as fact long ago and to think anything otherwise was simply incomprehensible for him.
However, he could hope. It was possible that Rey truly did want his true self, and that she was able to see past what others perceived him to be. Their relationship was something he couldn’t comprehend; the Force had obviously connected them for a reason. Could it be that reason was to ensure the two most powerful force users in the Galaxy knew they weren’t alone?
Rey paused, taking a breath before continuing. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I want you. You’re the first person I’ve met that can actually understand what I’m saying,” the woman said softly. It was a big step to admit this, and Rey was absolutely aware of what it meant for them. The chemistry between them could no longer be ignored. Even if they just stayed friends, she wanted him in her life. The more they talked the more she realized how important he was to her.
Rey’s apology caught him off guard. He had been so ready to argue and fight, but now he had nowhere to direct that anger and it was too much for him. The hurt, confusion, anger, and emptiness swirled around him, seeming to cloud his perception of the world around him. The glass he was holding shattered in his hands and he looked away from her truly sympathetic face. Rey’s apology was genuine. He knew it, deep in his soul he knew she meant those words. He just didn’t deserve it.
_Damn it. Damn this all,_ Ben thought to himself. The bond dissipated, and he was left now with a pit in his stomach, completely alone.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> Thanks for reading! Chapter 5 should be up sometime next week!
5. Chapter 5
The next time the Force connected them, Rey wasted no time. It had been weeks (two weeks and five days to be exact) and she missed him, and she was comfortable enough now to admit it. Something had shifted the last time they spoke, and she had hoped it hadn’t scared him off. She felt the connection before she actually saw him, but she couldn’t stop the words from pouring out of her mouth.
“Why do you want to be Supreme Leader?” She asked, turning to face him. The question had plagued her since their last conversation and she needed to know. | 0c3535c4954646aba99a87f60632ff27 | ['c441b365ed724aaf908955a91ef6746c'] | “Maybe. I don’t have all the answers, Rey,” Ben replied, dropping his hand from her chin. “Snoke exploited my own softness for my family. Whether that makes me weak or not, I can’t say. I just know it wasn’t worth the pain he put me through,” he admitted. It was the truth, and he was starting to realize that if he was going to truly let the past die then he would need to first confront this truth.
“So is that what your plan is for me? Make me feel welcomed and cared for only to play me like a pawn?” She asked, feeling the need to defend herself. Rey wasn’t going to end up like him, though she knew they shared more similarities than differences. Both were lonely creatures, the product of familial neglect and abandonment.
“No. Rey, I wouldn’t do that to you,” he told her very seriously.
She believed him. She had no idea why and absolutely no reason to trust his words, but she did.
Instinctively she moved closer to him, resting her arms against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close as the tears fell silently from her eyes. If he noticed she was crying, he didn’t say anything.
They stayed like that until the bond dissipated and left Rey truly alone again. Numb to her emotions, she gathered her things and moved to the ‘fresher, feeling even more confused about what exactly they were to each other.
4. Chapter 4
There was something comforting about sitting next to a fire on a chilly night. Rey had never dared to light one on Jakku, for fear that unwelcome visitors might find where she was camped. But it was slowly starting to become one of her favorite things. She reclined on the large stone she sat on, reflecting on the previous days’ events. It had been less than 24 hours since Ben had last appeared to her, but she was starting to realize she preferred his presence to no one’s at all.
Tonight she found herself on a temperate moon of a larger, more civilized planet. The planet was friendly enough towards the Resistance, but Rey felt like it would be a terrible idea to construct a base here for that very reason. If it was public knowledge about the system’s political affiliations, it could be an easy target for the First Order. She had landed on the moon as night was beginning to fall, and made the executive decision that her scans and such could wait until morning.
The planet was very green, and according to her scans it was approaching it's cooler season. Large trees filled the forests and the landscape was relatively flat. The wooded areas made the night seem even darker, blocking out the starlight and light of the other moon in the system. She was camped near a small stream, and the novelty of the murmuring water made her lightheaded. She had never seen water in this form before and it was such a wonderful new experience. The quite splashing of the water lulled her into a relaxed state, and she relished the feeling of peace.
Rey had promptly lit a fire and began warming some of the food that she had purchased on the main planet before landing on the uninhabited moon. Her supplies had been running low, and she was still pretty far ahead of her schedule. Besides, Leia had given her credits to spend and she wasn’t a wasteful person. Rey had purchased a feast, or at least a feast in her book. She had picked up some dried food, including meat and fruit. Rey only ever had those types of foods once before, and she was excited to try them again. She was eager to be able to sample something other than instant rations, and couldn't help but wonder what Ben was doing. Was he sitting down to eat dinner as well?
As if summoned, he appeared before her.
“What are our plans for tonight, Scavenger?” Ben asked, taking a seat next to her on the stone. He sat closer than he normally would, but he realized he wanted to be close to this woman, both physically and in other ways. He noticed the freckles that speckled her skin; accenting her face and shoulders. Ben decided he liked how _human_ she was. Rey was far from the shining example of what a Jedi should be. He admired her, but she was far from perfect. She definitely felt attachment ( _to him?)_ , lacked confidence, and had a temper that left unchecked could very well rival his own.
Rey shrugged her shoulders at his question, honestly not having an answer. If she was being truthful with herself, she was glad he was here. “Can we just..sit here? I can grab the whisky. I don’t want to fight tonight.” There was no point in denying it, she enjoyed his company-at least when they weren't fightin g.
He nodded and Rey stood to make the short journey to her ship and back, having picked up two glasses, her bottle of whisky, and some more food for them to share. She poured two cups and handed him one, sitting back down next to him.
Ben moved to pick up a piece of the food she had brought before replacing it back into its container, not passing his inspection. “Traditionally Jedi were vegetarian,” he informed her, genuinely not knowing if she knew or not. He had no idea how much Luke had taught her, but surly respect for life was had been one of the first lessons.
Rey rolled her eyes. “Beggars can’t be choosers. And besides, you and I both know I’m not a Jedi.” She hasn't admitted that to anyone, not even herself. But it was starting to dawn on her just how impossible it was for her to rekindle the Jedi Order and bring balance to the Force. |
edb675a7cbe64bbc9595344263b59cd1 | ['c44461d3d8114efb93ca9acba75aa3ae'] |
Snow Angels
**Author's Note:**
> I wrote this a long time ago and adapted it as a fallout fic. Surprisingly easy adaptation to make. And for the record, I'm nearly certain I saw it snow in the Commonwealth once, while crossing up near Walden Pond late one December evening. So it could happen.
Snow fell quietly.
It’s a rarity in the Commonwealth, but it does happen. And when it does, everything stops. The wind falls to nothing, the incessant throb of radstorms over the Glowing Sea drops away and even the sound of gunfire – the heartbeat of life in what was once the city of Boston -- fades to nothing. As the snow drifts down, all the dirt and pain is covered over by a pure, soft blanket; unstained and unsullied. For a brief while the world is sweet and new again. Almost - almost! - you could imagine a fat man in a red coat riding in a sled pulled by reindeer. Or that on a night long ago the promise of peace arrived in the body of a child, born in a stable beneath a sudden star. Almost.
The raider peered cautiously around the edge of the window, scanning the buildings opposite and the street below for movement before finally leaning out. He took a deep breath, his tattered leather coat open to the cold night air. A cigarette burned unnoticed on the ledge beside him, its heavy grey smoke coiling upwards to mingle with the darkness. A bottle of cheap whiskey salvaged from some forgotten liquor cabinet stood half empty next to it. Christmas – still marked even now, two centuries after the Great War that ended human civilization – had come early this year.
"Merry fucking Christmas," the raider muttered. He spat at the night. The blob of spittle turned and twisted as it fell. Six stories straight down to where the broken pavement of the parking lot gleamed slick in a shaft of pale moonlight next to a wrecked motorcycle leaning drunkenly against a streetlamp. The new snow was only just starting to cover it, but by morning the city would be a crystal wonderland. The snow would lie thick and heavy on the tree branches and across the broken buildings and ruined vehicles that still, all these years later, littered the streets. The ice crystals would shimmer in the winter sunshine until it hurt the eyes just to look. For a while, people would stay inside for fear of leaving tracks that could reveal their hiding places. But eventually the temperature would rise and the wind with it, and soon the brilliant blanket of white would be reduced to the usual black slush of winter in the Commonwealth.
The raider noticed his cigarette and the bottle beside it. They seemed lonely there on the ledge so he climbed out to join them. Foolish, he admitted, for it made him an easy target silhouetted there in the window. But between the whiskey and the jet he didn’t care. Carefully he rested his back up against the window frame, testing his weight on it before relaxing. This building was in no better shape than any other structure in Boston and owed the fact that it was still standing upright to the existence of other buildings on either to rest against.
He let one leg hang out over the darkness. It was cold out there. But a clean, sharp cold; full of strange yearnings and a promise of magic. Picking up the bottle, he took a long, long, drink. The strong liquor burned his lips and his throat. The warm glow in his stomach got even warmer. He looked down at the pavement below. It looked cold so he poured it a drink.
"You're welcome," he added. Now all he needed was another cigarette. Unfortunately he was reasonably sure that the burned-out butt on the window ledge was the last one. Luckily he had papers, and the big ashtray on the old bookcase was full and in arm's reach. He stripped a few butts and rolled himself a poor man's smoke. It was thin and harsh, but it did its thing. He drew the smoke into the very bottom of his lungs and held it there for a long, beautiful moment. Heaven.
He put the bottle down inside on the bookcase. No sense kicking it over by accident. There had been something he'd been thinking of just before. What was it? Something about Christmas, maybe? No - that was after. Before that. Marcy? Had he been thinking about Marcy? Maybe. Why not? So he thought about Marcy. About her hair, her thick, black hair hanging down in long waves to the middle of her back. And her eyes - huge dark pits for a man to wander in and lose himself forever. He thought about the way her body felt under his hands; her smooth, soft skin - how it used to feel. What hands held her now? he wondered. What fingers teased the snarls from her hair, or held cupped the pale oval of her face?
He could make the trip out and find her. He was almost drunk enough to do it. "Hey baby," he'd say in that old, easy way. "You wanna come walk with me?" What would she say? Where was she now? Still in Quincy? No. It had been years since those days, sitting legs a-dangle over the edge of the old elevated highway, holding each other close and whispering their dreams into the sky. They were just kids, then. And Quincy was gone now, too. Gunners, he’d heard. Probably Marcy was dead, anyway. And even if she wasn’t, what would she think of who he’d become? | 6d6e8e9b4ca44efd8ae61c13f3ad3a27 | ['c44461d3d8114efb93ca9acba75aa3ae'] | “Kill you. I think lots of them just have electric shock wands, to stun people.“
“That’s not reassuring.”
“Still safer than getting shot by a laser.”
“This is crazy dangerous, you know.”
“Well, what did you expect it? Let’s just explore a bit farther,” she said, urgently. “Please? And if we see those things start to move, we’ll turn around and get out of here, fast as we can. Okay?”
He nodded. “Okay.”
Slowly, without making any sudden motions, they edged away from the railing and into the shadows by the wall. The Protectrons remained steadfastly unmoving. Reaching the first door on this side, they slipped into the room beyond. It was a lunch room or recreation centre, with two long tables down the middle and benches on each side, and a counter along one wall with what looked like a kitchen in behind, not much different from the cafeterias at the Institute. A pair of pool tables, the balls racked as if waiting for the next game, took up one end, and there were dart boards on one wall and a television in the corner with some couches grouped around it.
The room next to that was a standard hydroponics set-up, with rows and rows of tables and the faint smell of earth and growing things. But the plant trays were all empty and the shelves were bare. Nothing had grown there in a very long time. On the other side of the atrium was another hydroponics lab and a maintenance room with workbenches and supplies, and tools hung neatly on the wall. Here, as everywhere, the only signs of life were their own footprints in the thick dust on the floor.
Jeremy picked out a heavy, long-handled hammer. He swung it a couple of times, getting a feel for the weight.
“I don’t think that will help us against those robots,” Eva whispered.
“Yeah, but it makes me feel better,” he whispered back.
“Good thinking.” She picked out a short length of steel bar for herself, and a small, thin-bladed knife in a sheathe that clipped nicely onto her belt. Their courage bolstered, they carried on.
A stairway led down. The door at the bottom was heavy and barred on this side, but the bar slid back easily and Jeremy eased the door open a crack, peering out into the darkened atrium.
Eva pushed at him from behind. “What are we waiting for?”
“What if this sets the Protectrons off?” Jeremy whispered over his shoulder. There was nothing moving out there and the robots in their pods loomed large and shapeless in the darkness.
“Same as before,” she answered. “ We just poke our noses out and wait, and if they move, we can still run away. I promise, Jeremy. If they so much as twitch, we’ll run for home and not stop until we get there.”
He drew a deep breath. “I’ll go first and see what happens, ” he said. “You stay here.”
Holding his breath, he took a careful step out of the doorway, then stopped and waited. Nothing happened, so he took another. Then another. He didn’t know whether he was relieved or annoyed to realize Eva had come out with him, but he took a better grip on his hammer with one hand and reached back with the other. She took it in hers, and together they edged along the wall toward the closest Protectron.
The robots in the atrium neither twitched nor moved. Jeremy could feel his heart pounding, and the sound of his own breathing was deafening. The open door behind them was just a darker shadow in the gloom, impossibly far away. But nothing happened. No lights flashed into brightness, no sirens howled, no robots woke to life. And then they were there.
“Maybe they’re shut down,” he whispered. There was a status panel in the base which he bent down to examine, but the lights were all dark. Greatly daring, he rapped on the clear plastic face of the pod. There was no reaction.
He sighed with relief, wiping his sweat-soaked hands on his jumpsuit. Eva punched him lightly.
“See,” she said. “I told you we were safe.”
There was a row of small doors running down each side of the atrium and they tried the first one. It was thick and solid, made of metal and securely locked, with a small, barred opening near the top. He poked his light through the bars and swept it around the room. There were two narrow beds, one at each end, with a low metal toilet between them and a washbasin built into the wall next to it. The floor sloped slightly to a drain in the centre, while a set of darkened strip lights ran the length of the ceiling on either side of the grille. Otherwise, it was completely bare, and except for the ubiquitous layer of dust, clean.
“This must be some kind of detention level,” Jeremy said.
“What’s that there?” Eva said, suddenly.
“Where?”
“There.” She pointed at the nearest bed and he moved his light over to it. The frame was sturdily made of metal, the mattress merely a thin pad, and welded to each end, head and foot, were padded shackles on the ends of short, heavy chains.
“What did they do here?” Eva said in a hollow voice. “What kind of prison is it where you have to not only lock people up, but tie them down, too? Was it for punishment? Or was this how they lived, tied down in here every night?” |
118f395d2c7e493a9d895fcb55c66731 | ['c44eb98a745e4535b7dd714c1e6749fe'] | Kakashi had already noticed Deidara's (very obvious) inferiority complex and his intense shame of showing weakness during their initial capture of him in the forest. It had been ridiculous, almost sad to watch. He had actually expected a much more dignified response from a member of the Akatsuki, mostly based off his previous interactions with Itachi and Kisame; though it seemed Akatsuki recruited all sorts of personalities. In what he supposed was Deidara's normal state, he had reminded Kakashi somewhat of Naruto - with a firey attitude, he was quick to lose composure and strongly over-react to everything, and _loudly,_ \- but of course, he had a completely different set of morals to Naruto.
As a long range fighter, Deidara had been completely at a loss for what to do when faced with close physical encounters, fast but otherwise helpless without his techniques and flying creations. Initially Deidara had tried to appear uncaring, but his behaviour had quickly become hysterical as he was tied up and gagged.
Kakashi remembered how constrained Deidara had been when they saw him in the interrogation room...and now Deidara seemed completely detached and unlike himself; Kakashi had a good idea what those two guards had been doing to him to rattle him so deeply.
It was shocking that it had been allowed to happen, especially after so much reassurance. But placed in a position of complete dominance over an elite - it seemed the guards had become carried away - unable to resist taking advantage of someone powerful, who, under ordinary circumstances, would have been considered deadly and off-limits.
His more naive students still seemed unsure of what had transpired.
Naruto, Lee and Tenten had not been present when they went to the interrogation room, instead spending more time in the upper world of the Sand village. They were rejoined with them to exit together through the hidden tunnel. They had all noticed Deidara's stark change in demeanour. "Is he drugged?" Tenten had whispered to Neji and Sakura, confused.
"I don't know..." Sakura had whispered back. Kakashi couldn't tell if Deidara might have been drugged, either, to be honest. He looked so out of it. Kakashi had had a look at his pupils, they appeared to focus correctly but seemed completely vacant...
Even Naruto had shown concern. He was happy and easygoing once more, with Gaara restored. He asked Kakashi as they walked, "Sensei, so what's wrong with him? Did they torture him or something?"
"Yes." Kakashi had replied, giving the short answer. Despite Naruto's earlier vehemence and threats toward Deidara, he had not been pleased to hear it. Of course he wouldn't be; Naruto was not that kind of person. Kakashi thought that Lee might have guessed as he did not ask any questions; he seemed thoughtful, sad. Lee didn't like to think badly of their allies.
It was sunset when they left the desert, and dark when they reached the woods. They should not have stopped to make camp - it was both unnecessary, and risky for such an important mission - but Deidara's condition was causing upset, and he looked exhausted. For the sake of Deidara (and for group morale) Kakashi and Gai informed their students that they'd be stopping to allow the prisoner a rest.
Gai set Deidara down, and he had slowly lowered his head to the blanket, lying on his side despite his injured arm - staring ahead.
He had been easy to read before, but now he was like a closed book.
They would give him a little distance; but first Kakashi knew that he would have to speak to him. Let him know that it was acknowledged - but at the same time, reassure him that it would not be acknowledged.
He approached Deidara and knelt down. The others were gathering wood to make a small fire, as although the night was warm it was moonless and dark. They liked to have some light.
"Listen, I will only ask about this once. I don't expect you to talk about it, if you don't want to," said Kakashi, voice soft. He'd been told on several occasions that his voice had a calming effect. "But, do you want me to look at anything?... I won't tell the others - or would you prefer if Sakura...?" _Deidara was completely unable to check or tend to himself._
Kakashi looked down at him. Deidara was still gazing ahead of him, face blank. He gave no indication that he had even heard Kakashi speak. _He was still too shaken and exhausted_ ; Kakashi would let him sleep.
"Hm," Deidara uttered quietly, not moving, he didn't look at Kakashi. Kakashi listened carefully. "Don't pretend to be kind to me un, any of you...I don't like it. I don't need it," his voice lacked emotion, it was as empty as his face. "I would still kill you, first chance I get."
When they had released him from the interrogation chair, he'd sensed immense relief in Deidara - although to be fair, _anyone_ would be grateful for even their enemies save them from such a situation. But in his shock, Deidara had shown a sort of dazed dependence on them that made Kakashi feel strangely parental; right after being pulled from the interrogation chair, Deidara had actually buried his face into Kakashi's chest. Perhaps Deidara had forgotten that, simply blocked it out; something too embarrassing for him to remember. It had gone unnoticed by the others - it would have looked to them as if Deidara just could not stand straight. But Kakashi knew.
He seated himself nearby, sharpening his kunai's and reading his book, but keeping a watch on him all the while. Eventually Deidara closed his eyes, and Kakashi thought that he was falling asleep, until he heard him speak again.
"Sa-...Kakashi."
"Yes?"
"...gonna throw up, un."
Kakashi held back Deidara's hair as he went onto his knees and vomited.
* * * | 16380fe539f649b7b9ec9376d85cdec8 | ['c44eb98a745e4535b7dd714c1e6749fe'] | > HOW THE REVISION WILL LOOK:
>
> Ch1, main plot is same but edited (extras and removals)
>
> Ch 2, main plot is same but edited (extras and removals)
>
> Ch 3 plot is same but edited. My favourite chapter. i cant believe i even wrote it. Wow, I must have been so sad. mostly added some stuff, nothing removed I dont think.
>
> Ch 4 is now 4-5-6 combined together. cut a lot. Added stuff. A lot rewritten.
>
> Then its different, the chapters 7,8,9,10 ARE RETCONNED. A new chap 7-10 will happen
>
> So from ch 5 onward = it's all different
2. Guess I'll just sit here
* * *
Thankfully, his head had cleared.
Deidara was strange. He could handle having his arms ripped off, and he stared death in the face on a daily basis without a flinch - but being tied and gagged had caused him a to have his very first _full-on panic attack_! Crazy. He decided to put his loss of composure mostly down to losing huge amounts of blood.
_But certainly every one of these guys would have to die, for seeing him that way_. It was the only answer. If no one saw it, then it didn't happen, _yeah_...it made perfect sense to him.
"Ten minutes."
Gai set Deidara down against a tree. The leaf guys wanted to stop running and eat. Deidara's hair fell to it's usual place in front of his eyes, obscuring his face. He watched them through it, how long since he had eaten now? Not since before the extraction of Shukaku began, three? No - it was now four days ago. The longest he'd previously gone without food had been about five days; he could probably push it beyond that but it was already gnawing at him and further depleting his chakra. Deidara usually had excellent chakra control, and ordinarily he'd expect it to be increasing as he was rested - but for some reason it was at it's lowest ebb. A bad day, indeed.
If he'd still had his hands, they would've been hungry too right now for some clay. The feeling was even more satisfying than eating food. As soon as he had his hands back, he'd overload them with clay until the sky was filled with deadly white creations, proving his power... he smiled.
He was lost in thought when Neji stepped over to him. He was holding something small in his hands; Deidara regarded him warily. "What is it, hm?" His gag had loosened, falling down to rest around his neck a while ago. They hadn't bothered to refasten it as he'd quietened down, and he preferred it that way.
"Food." said Neiji.
_Hm. Were they playing with him, torturing him with the idea of food? They'd love it if he admitted that he was hungry, wouldn't they?_
"Do you want to eat this?" Neji reworded, seeing his animosity. He unwrapped the thing he had.
Interesting, it seemed they were going to feed him after all - not smart of them as it would help him regain strength. He wouldn't have done it.
"Can't you get one those girls to feed me?" Deidara sneered. "Or maybe both of them?" While still annoying, it would feel somehow less embarrassing to be hand-fed by a girl; that sort of thing was a woman's work anyway. His masculinity was kind of taking a hit, with being tied up like this...
"No." Neji was not a big conversationist.
No sense of humour at all, not even a reaction. (So boring. Neji was clearly one of those cold Itachi types.) Deidara was actually starving, but he lower himself to ask his enemies for anything.
Neji sighed and just held low it in reach of Deidaras face. It was some rice thing.
Deidara knew that it wasn't poisoned. They could have killed him at any time while they had him captive like this. He looked over at the others, they weren't looking...in fact they were all busy watching Gai have some sort of frantic eating-race - with himself. Every now and then Gai would look glance at Kakashi ; who was eating slowly, and then he would elevate his speed - a mad glint in his eye. Eyebrows screamed "TRAIIIIIINING!" and followed his lead.
Leaf-nin were _nuts_. ( _Itachi was from the leaf village, this must be why he was like that._ ) Though, admittedly the irony of Gai's one man race was quite funny. It would be annoying to be in a team with a guy so wacky and lacking composure, though. It would ruin the image. He imagined having a crazy partner... he'd probably strangle him - with his legs, if necessary.
Turning his attention back to the food...Fine. Why not. Deidara began eating. He ate slowly, like he didn't care, although he was so ravenous he could have downed the thing quicker than Gai.
He wondered for the hundredth time if he try should try and trick these guys into feeding him some clay... _yeah, like they'd let him touch clay_ , they'd seen his jutsu and they knew that he'd used clay to do it. Who had his ammo now? Looking over, he saw that Sakura was now wearing it, strapped alongside her medical-bag, there was a tiny amount... _hmm._
It was infuriating, being so dependant. But by comparison, nothing - NOTHING - could be more humiliating than earlier when Kakashi had had to pull down his pants so that he could take a discrete pee in the bushes. At least he hadn't been forced to ask for them for that favour, either. Kakashi and Gai just assumed that it was about time he needed to, took him away from the rest the group and the whole thing had transpired without a single word uttered from any of them, thank FUCK. They probably just had years of experience escorting captives. |
93960d18efd44fa89c4c81453817d43f | ['c45bf5b2bcc744269063a7ef88addfd9'] | He was about to head over to the windows to get a better look at the planet they were approaching when he was stopped by a firm hand. The Doctor looked up to see a large man in black suit staring down at him in obvious distaste.
"I'm sorry sir," the man began, "but while Max Capricorn Cruiseliners respects varying cultural expressions of attire, we do ask that our guests dress appropriately for dining in a multispecies environment."
The Doctor blinked and then looked down at himself. He was in just his regular striped trousers and rolled shirtsleeves, which ordinarily would not seem indecent enough to create a fuss about, but he was also covered in grease and white dust from the TARDIS, which he conceded might make him a bit of a sight for polite company.
"Ah. I see your point," the Doctor murmured, "I'd forgotten I was in such a state. Let me just fetch my coat and I'll get myself cleaned up before I return, shall I?" Without waiting for an answer, he pivoted and ducked back inside the closet to change.
When the Doctor emerged several minutes later, it was in a smart black tuxedo and bow tie with a cream coloured waistcoat worn beneath it. With a cheerful nod to the confused look on the large man's face who'd insisted he change, he adjusted the piece of celery fixed to his lapel and sauntered unopposed into the room.
As he approached the large porthole, an official sounding voice announced that the ship was entering orbit around Sol 3, also known as Earth, and welcomed them all to Christmas, of all things. What caught the Doctor's attention though was the name of the ship. The Titanic, really? Whose idea had that been?
He spied a computer interface on the wall nearby and wandered over to it to see if he could find any more information. When he touched the panel, he was treated to an obnoxious advertisement for the cruise line featuring its illustrious founder but devoid of any actual information regarding their voyage. He frowned and once again lamented the loss of his screwdriver, which might've come in handy here. An alternative approach occurred to him as he spotted another guest speaking with the golden robots he'd initially assumed were merely decorative, given their white robes, golden wings and haloes. He walked up to the nearest one and greeted it warmly.
"Hello, could I trouble you to answer a few questions for me please?" he asked.
"Guest information services available. Please state your query," it replied.
"Could you tell me what the local date is on the planet below us?" While he was asking questions, he might as well see if he'd landed anywhere near in time to his programmed destination.
"Information: the date is 24 December, 2008 under the most commonly accepted planetary calendar system for Sol 3. This date coincides with an important cultural festival celebrated by a large number of the planet's dominant species known as Christmas."
"2008, ah." Close enough, the Doctor thought, at least he hadn't completely broken the navigation circuits this time. "Why was this ship named the Titanic?" he asked with an amused twinkle in his eye that was entirely lost on the robot.
"Information: the name was selected in honour of the most famous vessel of the destination planet Sol 3, the HMS Titanic."
The Doctor chuckled and muttered, "I don't suppose anyone bothered to find out just why it was so famous." He glanced at the robot's impassive metal face. "Where is the Max Capricorn Cruiseliners organization based?"
"Information: Max Capricorn Cruiseliners is incorporated out of the planet Sto, in the Casivanian Belt."
"How long until we return to port on Sto?" the Doctor inquired.
"Information: the Titanic will not be returning to Sto," it answered him.
"What? Where is our destination then?"
"Information: Information: Information," the robot began jerking its head unsteadily and repeating itself. Before he could do anything, two of the ship stewards approached swiftly, apologizing for the inconvenience and one of them pressed a button at the back of the robot's neck, deactivating it.
"So sorry, sir, just a software malfunction, please feel free to use another of our Heavenly Hosts while we see that this one is repaired immediately. Merry Christmas!" the steward told him and the two hurried off straining under the weight of their metal burden.
The Doctor frowned. That had been suspiciously abrupt. But he didn't get a chance to ask anyone about it before he was distracted by the sound of breaking glass and raised voices behind him. He turned to find a man in a slightly damp tuxedo berating a waitress as she scrambled to retrieve her tray and broken glassware from the floor at the man's feet. The man dismissed her rudely and returned to his attention to the conversation he'd obviously been having through his earpiece, muttering disparagements about the staff and how it was obvious why the company was doing so poorly.
The Doctor stooped to help the waitress clear the glass. She looked as though she'd had a hard day but had admirably maintained her cool despite behaviour the Doctor felt would have challenged his own generally pacifist tendencies.
"Oh no, thank you, but I can get it myself sir," she protested.
"Of course you can, but it's Christmas, isn't it? Some of us do still remember our manners." He gave her a friendly smile. "I'm the Doctor, by the way."
She smiled back at him, tucking a stray blonde curl behind her ear. "Astrid, sir, Astrid Peth."
"Lovely to meet to you Astrid." He deposited another shard on her tray carefully.
"Are you enjoying the cruise sir?" she asked him conversationally.
"I suppose I am, yes. Though, I must confess, I am finding that a cruise by one's self is... somewhat lacking," he answered her, perhaps more honestly than he'd intended.
"Oh, you're not with anyone?" | 0aaceadb36e641359160fdb74d2e68dd | ['c45bf5b2bcc744269063a7ef88addfd9'] | “By Jove, that's uncanny,” the policeman remarked.
“If you'll excuse us for a moment, I think it might be less confusing for everyone if the Doctor and I return to our own clothing,” Campion said, placing a friendly hand on the Doctor's shoulder.
The detective led the Doctor back to his ship and unlocked it with a key that he produced from a striped pocket. He smiled apologetically and shrugged as he stepped inside.
“I hope you don't mind,” he confessed. “I took the liberty of peeking inside already. I had to prove to myself that you were on the level. Lugg is normally a credit to his species as a witness, but he can be prone to bouts of excitability on occasion, you see.” He removed the Doctor's hat and coat and deposited them on the hatstand in the corner.
“An understandable precaution,” the Time Lord allowed, shrugging out of the wool overcoat he wore.
“I'll admit that it came as something of a shock to behold. I'm afraid after this, I'll never be permitted to doubt Lugg again,” Campion said with a wry smile.
The Doctor chuckled and regarded Mr. Campion with something like respect. The man had acquitted himself rather resourcefully under pressure and been willing to stay behind to try to trick Turlough's location out of the Master until the Doctor had insisted they swap places. Even Mr. Lugg had been strangely enjoyable company once he'd recovered from his shock. He was almost tempted to offer the pair a trip in the TARDIS, as compensation for the inconvenience of having been mistaken for himself and subjected to the Master's attentions. Only the thought that if he did, there'd be no end to the confusion such as they'd had today stopped him.
–
Twenty minutes later, the Doctor collected his slightly intoxicated companion from the care of the police surgeon and generous fellow who'd lent the lad his flask and the two men said their goodbyes in a hurry, not wishing to get drawn into giving formal statements.
The Doctor shook Lugg's hand first, thanking him again for his assistance, and wished him the best in his efforts to look after his adventurous employer. Lugg glowed appreciatively.
Turning to Campion, the Doctor clasped his hand warmly. “It's been a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Campion, though the circumstances might've been better. You have my number. Should the Master return, or if anyone else gives you trouble while invoking my name, please don't hesitate to use it.”
“And you, Doctor, if ever you're in London again, do look me up. This has been a most enlightening experience for me.” Campion's normally affable expression betrayed genuine sparks of humility with his parting words.
The Doctor retreated into his ship, preceded by Turlough, who'd been much briefer with his farewells, owing to his understandably foul mood, and the door shut quietly. Campion and Lugg stood watching as the the blue box flickered and faded away before their very eyes with a great grinding and scraping sound that echoed off the buildings around them.
“Reckon that's a story fer the grandchildren, eh?” Lugg broke the silence first.
“Undoubtedly,” was Mr. Campion's understated reply. |
79b685d33ad74a0cb2bc0c280c21c567 | ['c466053a447341af863975d9f753f4c4'] | Sal didn’t say anything after what Larry said, he held Larry’s hand and cried and he have a sad expression.
“I love you Sally face, not as your best friend but as something more”
Sal couldn’t believe what he just heard, Larry had confessed to him.
“I love you too Larry face,” he said still in tears and he leaned forward towards Larry and kissed him on the lips.
Larry was expected for Sal to reject him because of him liking Ash but that wasn’t the case for Sal liked Larry back and he was happy about it.
* * *
Few weeks later
They were in the treehouse and Larry was already discharged from the hospital a week later after the incident, Sal was sitting between Larry’s legs with his knees bend while playing his gear boy and Larry wrapped his arms around his waist from behind and watched him play his video game.
“Hey Sally Face”
He pause the game and turn to him “yes Larry Face”
“Do you remember the first time I saw you without your mask”
“How could I forget”
“You were head banging so hard that it flew off and whacked me in the face heh, then once I told you I was fine, why did you cry?”
“...because you didn’t look away”
Sal then put his gear boy down and turn back and hugged Larry, he backed away and removed his prosthetic and kissed him on the lips then was smiling and Larry was smiling back.
They would be together forever until death do them part.
**Author's Note:**
> They definitely deserve better. | ce2b75d5fed2476f83ae76b555bf2b54 | ['c466053a447341af863975d9f753f4c4'] | Both of them didn't say a word for a few minutes, Choromatsu lean up to his face and kissed him.
Osomatsu's eyes widen and kisses Choromatsu back.
The kiss became more passionate, they were loving it every second.
Choromatsu had his arms around Osomatsu's neck and Oso's arms around his waist.
They broke the kiss for air and went back to it.
Osomatsu pushed Choromatsu gently on the bed and he was on top of Choromatsu while they kept kissing.
They broke the kiss again and look into each other's eyes, Choro hand reaches up to his cheek and Osomatsu kisses his hand.
Osomatsu began to lifted his dress and his hands went to his hips and pulled his underwear down and tossed it somewhere on the floor. Choromatsu blush madly.
He kissed his thighs, leaving hickeys in between, Choromatsu shutters at the sensation Osomatsu was giving. He face went closer into his Choro's enterence, and licked his hole.
He moaned as he sucked his hole, and Choromatsu loved every second of it. Oso sucked harder and Choro ached backwards.
"ahh....hah...ah...Osomatsu I...hah...love..uh...you" ooohh it turn Osomatsu on and he stop sucking his ass unbutton his pants, Choromatsu winced at the lost of pleasure, he lean down to kiss Choro again.
"Choromatsu, are you sure you want this, because once we start, I'm unable to stop." He said in a husky tone and looking at him with his lustful eyes, Choromatsu is looking at him the same way, Osomatsu's eyes weren't scary to him he thought they were beautiful, unique.
"yes I want this, I love you Osomatsu, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, nobody loves me like this before." He said in tears and Osomatsu kissed him and entered him.
Choromatsu's eyes widen, it hurts a lot, Osomatsu noticed his face was pained and kept kissing him and put his hand on his hair, pampering him.
"I'll go slow until you feel good okay" he said in a still husky tone, and Choro nodded his head.
Osomatsu began thrusting slowly, Choromatsu still felt like it still hurt but pleasure started to build and he felt good.
He thrusted to a medium speed and it felt so good, Choro wanted this to last a bit longer and he starts to moan a bit and Oso groaned as he thrusted into him.
Choromatsu had his hands around his neck and Oso's hands on each side above his head.
The thrusting became faster now and Choromatsu cried out of pleasure, Oso groaned louder.
"ah Osomatsu I'm gonna..."
"I-it's okay, cum for me baby"
Choromatsu came first and Osomatsu gave a few thrust and came as well and collapsed on top of him, both of them were now panting.
"I love you, my precious Flappymatsu" damn Choro wish he'd would stop calling him that but he'll let it go just for the night.
"I love you too" Osomatsu pulled out and laid to the side of Choromatsu, hugged close to him and kissed his forehead, both of them was smiling and soon they both fell into a deep sleep.
* * *
It was the day of their wedding and Choromatsu was getting dress, not the dress he was wear the first time he came into the mansion, the dress was black and it was a strapless to show his bare shoulders and his back.
Choromatsu was looking himself at the mirror, he was smiling and almost cried tears of joy, he couldn't believe he was getting married, he never thought he would, he always thought he'd be alone for the rest of his life and he was getting married to someone who loves him back, he couldn't be any happier.
someone open the door.
"pardon my intrusion Choromatsu, the wedding is about to start, are you ready yet?" The maid said, peeking though the open door.
"ah yes I am" he said trying not to shed tears.
He walked though the isle, seeing Osomatsu wearing the same outfit, and had his skull mask on.
The two exchange vows, Choromatsu was given a an gold apple, he bit the apple and felt like he was going to be sick but was fine.
"What kind of apple was that" Choro said still feeling the gross taste in his mouth.
"heh heh that was a special kind of apple, picked out just for you"
"okay Osomatsu you know something that I don't, now would you tell me now, please" Choro said in a frustrated tone.
"okay since you asked nicely, it's a apple that makes you immortal"
Choromatsu couldn't say anything, he always knew something like that was just a myth, but it was real?
"but why?" he asked curiously.
"because you human die at such a old age and since I love you so much, I couldn't bare for you to leave me like that" Oso said as he held him close to side, sitting on top of the roof, watching the full moon as it brightens upon them.
Choromatsu blushed hard and he was happy, he can live for the rest of his life with him, with his new husband.
They look into each other's eyes and Osomatsu removed his mask and lean down to kiss him passionately.
Things couldn't be any happier for Choromatsu, this was his marriage even though it came so fast and he knew somewhat things will work out.
Choromatsu with Osomatsu, now and forever.
**Author's Note:**
> I make more of the chapters that has yet to come hopefully I can be lazy. |
fba978de122944569699c041a36ebad5 | ['c4a776d455fb48c0b3626cd4fdeafcc7'] |
Of Cold Winds and Short Shorts
Jane Shepard tugged her jacket a little tighter around herself and huddled against the wall of the shelter. It was only November, but that breeze was positively Arctic. Gritting her teeth to stop them from chattering, she flicked back to the home screen of her tablet - still another half hour until the Thresher Maws had finished practice, so accounting for warm down periods and showers, another hour until John, James and Garry would be ready to go get dinner. Flicking back to the textbook she had been trying to read, she was sorely tempted to head to the restaurant early - a sentiment her stomach agreed with. Shutting the cover quickly, she glanced up at the field as she stood - and immediately sat back down as she caught sight of the physio jogging off the field. Her stomach did a funny flip as Kaidan turned around mid stride in response to a shout from Wrex, yelling something back. That was the reason she was lurking on the benches. As Kaidan turned back around, her brother caught her eye - well, caught her staring at Kaidan’s ass. With a cheery grin he pulled a vulgar gesture, and turned straight into James’ tackle. Kaidan waved at her as he approached, vaulting over the perimeter boards and into the shelter.
“Hey, thought you’d be parked up in the library, it’s freezing out here,” Kaidan commented, flopping down onto the seat next to her and stretching out his legs.
Jane tried to keep looking at his face, and not at the point where his leg disappeared into his shorts.
“Yeah well we’re heading out for dinner after practice, so I figured I’d come lurk down here, it’s closer to the restaurant than the library or my place.”
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.
“We’re going out for dinner?”
She shrugged.
“Yeah, me, John, James, Garry. We’re meeting Joker, Ash and Tali at Zakera Cafe in about an hour.” She paused biting her lip.
Go for it Jane.
“Did you want to come?”
He held her gaze for a moment, an unreadable expression in his whiskey coloured eyes.
“Yeah, I’d like that.”
She let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding and grinned at him, receiving a grin in return.
“I’d like that too.” Smooth Shepard, real smooth. Change the subject. “So, uh, aren’t you cold in those shorts?”
Kaidan laughed and twisted to reach behind the bench.
“Freezing actually, but all my tracksuit pants are in the dirty laundry pile and Joker was hogging the machine yesterday.”
“They are very flatter… short.” Jane bit her lip. “Sorry.”
“Took it as it was originally meant Shepard.” He flashed her a shit eating grin. “They are flattering, but yes, very short.” Pulling his gym bag out from behind the bench, he twisted back, dropping it into the space between them. As he rummaged through it, he continued. “My cousin in Melbourne sent them to me for Christmas one year. Apparently they’re part of her local football teams’ playing uniform.”
“They play in those? How do they not get hurt?”
He shrugged.
“Dunno, but they do. Aussie Rules is a strange sport anyway, but then I overheard Miranda telling John that by and large Australians consider our version of football to be completely and utter bizarre.” He cut off as Jane shivered. “You ok?”
“I’m fucking cold.” she replied, clenching her teeth to stop from chattering.
Kaidan studied her briefly.
“Ok, give me a sec.” Finding what he’d been looking for in his gym bag, he pushed it onto the ground and stood. Jane openly stared as he rapidly stripped his shorts off and pulled on the jeans he’d removed from the bag. Those shorts really had left virtually nothing to the imagination - his briefs were barely shorter than the hem had been. Once he had his jeans on, he pulled a jacket from his bag and sat back down on the bench - this time a lot closer to her.
“Here.” The jacket was draped around her shoulders, followed by Kaidan’s arm. She shivered again. He jerked his arm back.
“Sorry, was that too soon?”
In response she pressed herself into his side.
“No, it was nice. I told you I was cold - you’re really warm.”
He chuckled and slipped his arm back around her shoulders, this time under the jacket. Pulling her close, he smiled as she got comfortable, her arm sneaking around his back.
“Is that all I am to you, a convenient source of warmth?” He asked, tracing a light circle on the tip of her shoulder with his thumb.
Jane grinned, twisting her head to peer up at him.
“Nah. I’m also using you for your body. And possibly for help with this assignment Adams has set us - I don’t get the principles of electrical engineering at all!” She trailed off, he was watching her intently, one corner of his mouth slightly turned up in a smirk. “What?”
His eyes travelled over her face, down to her mouth, before slowly returning to her eyes.
“Just thinking that I’d really like to kiss you right no…” he trailed off, looking briefly panicked. “I said that out loud didn’t I?”
“You did.” She reached up with her free hand and gently traced the scar that cut through his lip. “Is now a bad time to admit that I’ve had a crush on you for months?”
He reached up and caught her hand, moving it to his cheek.
“Never. There is never a bad time to tell me that. But hearing that? That makes me so happy.” Bringing her hand down, he pressed a kiss to the palm of her hand, then grinned at her. “Of all the things I could have said, I had to opt for the cheesiest option.” He moved his hand to cup the back of her head, and lowered his lips to hover just above her own. “But there are benefits to that happiness.”
She wasn’t sure who moved first, whether it was him or her, but his lips were on hers and his hand tangled in her hair. She slid her free hand around to the back of his neck, whilst the hand she had wrapped around his back slid lower. Without breaking the kiss Kaidan managed to pull her onto his lap, and his warm hands were creeping under the hem of her top when the moment was shattered by a loud voice.
“For fucks sake Alenko! If you’re going to fuck my sister, can you at least do it in private!”
“Love you too John!” he yelled back, before claiming Janes lips in another kiss. | 981207b2ebcc4f7a9a65614eaa8eeb64 | ['c4a776d455fb48c0b3626cd4fdeafcc7'] | "I thought I'd lost you," he whispered. "I came to Ithilien as soon as word arrived, only to find the corpses of Orcs and our people. There was no sign of you, or the elflings. We followed the tracks as far as the borders with Haradwaith, before Aragorn called us back. I didn't want to go, Gimli and Faramir were forced to knock me out and keep me unconscious until we returned to Minas Tirith. I awoke to see Aragorn asleep in a chair on one side of my bed, and Arwen standing on the other. I didn't need to say anything, she just held me while I sobbed. I never got to look for you as far south as I wanted to, when you never returned to Gondor, I gave up waiting and assumed you had been killed..." He cut off with a choked sob.
She slipped off his lap and cupped his face with both hands, brushing away the tears that were rolling down his cheeks.
"The choice not to return wasn't made by me, that choice was the will of the Valar. I had just barely managed to rescue three abducted elflings, only two of whom were old enough to talk, from the band of Orcs that had attacked Ithilien. It took two generations of men for them to feel safe enough to leave our refuge on the coast of Haradwaith; I assumed you would have sailed by then, so I chose not to look for you. I knew that elves would have faded to a mere legend by that point, so we assimilated into mortal society," she told him gently. "If I had known you were still in Middle Earth, nothing would have stopped me from finding you."
He smiled as she gently pulled him down for a lingering kiss. Pulling away he wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on the top of her head, grinning as he felt her snuggle into his chest. Dropping a kiss into her hair, he continued where he left off.
"I still don't know why I didn't sail. Something told me that I would get no rest, just regret in Valinor if I did. Now, I'm glad I didn't. I travelled with Arwen to Lothlorien when she faded; and I found myself promising her that I would never give up hope, never fade. I stayed with Gimli until he died, then I travelled the wild for several hundred years. By the time I returned to civilisation, elves had become a myth, and the world was changing. Before I knew it, I was entangled in the Trojan War."
He stopped as he felt her stiffen. "You remember it?" he asked.
"I will never forget it," she replied. "I lost my first elfling then, to the cruelty of men. Oenone, the first wife of Paris, was Baneth, the daughter of Celondir. I warned her not to fall in love with him, but she did, and it destroyed her. You were involved in the war?"
He grimaced. "More than I care to remember. I was one of Achilles' Myrmidons. Probably the one who liked killing the least." He gently pushed her off his chest and peered at her face. "What about you, were you involved?"
The sheepish look in her eyes said it all. "Somewhat. I was disguised as a man on the walls of Troy, shooting anyone who came near. I was actually the one who shot Achilles; Paris couldn't draw his bow because he was shaking so much. I let him take the credit, for it, Troy needed a hero. Later I regretted showing him so much charity when he died, and Baneth threw herself onto his pyre," she told him, with an involuntary shudder.
He grinned, and bit back a groan as she nuzzled his neck. "I don't think this is the place for that love."
He brushed a tendril of hair off her face, rubbing it between his fingers. "What did you do to your hair?" He noticed her ears for the first time. "And what in Eru's name did you do to your ears?!"
"With a thousand lies and a good disguise..." she began, only for him to cut her off.
"Don't quote The Offspring at me, I know why you did it, but damn that must have hurt!" He looked down at her bewildered as she started giggling. "What?"
"You've become so humanized," she told him, still laughing. "Compared to four thousand years ago, your language has become so much more colloquial it's almost vulgar. But, you're still the elf I fell in love with all those millennia ago.'' That was said with a shy smile as she reached up and gently brushed his hair back off his ear. He closed his eyes to relish the feeling of her fingers in his hair, and gasped when she gently pinched the tip of his ear.
"Two can play at that game," he told her, pulling her to her feet and kissing her roughly. She responded eagerly, wrapping her arms around his neck as he lifted her off the ground. Placing her back on the ground, he broke the kiss, breathless he rested his forehead on hers, while running his thumb over the unfamiliar curve of her ear. He was rewarded when she tensed, and dropped her head to nuzzle into his shoulder.
"Where are you staying?" she asked him, aware of the presence of other people moving along the waterfront.
"I'm staying at the Intercontinental, good room service, comfortable bed..." he trailed off as she gently hit him. "What about you?"
"Strangely enough, the Intercontinental as well. Eru obviously decided that it was time for our paths to cross again," she laughed, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.
They turned and began walking arm in arm back in the direction they had come, enjoying the other's presence. Although, there were still some questions Legolas wanted to ask. |
86b72761ea1b48ec8ba9a536d1243a14 | ['c4cde34a843846a8ac84bbe4a2bf2bbe'] | When he pulls into the driveway, he gets an idea. He pulls up his camera, switches to video, and hits record as he opens the door. "Dude," he calls out. "Did you watch the game?"
Josty's head pops up from the sofa like a curly whack-a-mole. "Dude," he greets. "That three -pointer from so deep in the corner that he was basically on the team bench?? Sick!"
"Yeah," Alexander agrees. "Who was that? Jokic?"
"Uh, Compher," Josty says, rolling his eyes. "Dude. Come on. His hair's like fire and he's super hot. Be better."
Alexander turns the camera to face him. "He thinks you're hot," he singsongs, and then he stops recording.
Josty raises an eyebrow. "I think who's hot? Compher? Why are you talking into a phone, Kerf? You suddenly decide to do a YouTube channel like Fabbs talked about?"
"I made a friend," Alexander says, quickly texting the video to Compher. "Apparently you think he's hot."
"Uh, I said _super_ hot, get it right," Josty says, because he wouldn't know shame if he tripped into a vat of it. "Seriously? I didn't know you knew how to make friends! Good job!"
Alexander rolls his eyes and flips him off.
**From Jay:** glad to know im well liked in the kerfoot household.
**To Jay:** that's kerfoot-jost to you
also sometimes fabbro, but only when his partner’s in town
so like 2 or 3 times a year there's an extra name, but mostly just the 2 of us here, haha
Alexander winces at how awkward he is over text, but honestly, he was this awkward in person, too. It's not like Compher isn't aware of it by now.
**From Jay:** is there ever a fourth name in the household?
And, uh?
"What? What is it?" Josty asks, hooking his chin over Alexander's shoulder to try and read his texts. Alexander starts and locks his phone. Josty snorts. "Bitch, I know your passcode."
"Go away," Alexander tries. "Let me talk in peace."
Josty shakes his head, digging his chin into Alexander's shoulder. "That has never once worked. Why would you try it now?"
“A guy can hope," Alexander says, sighing and opening it back up. It's not like he won't eventually tell Josty anyway.
**To Jay:** nah biggy got traded :( just me and josty, and he's either talking to his partner or reading over my shoulder. nobody else around though
"You idiot, he's _flirting with you_. Get it! Go get your dick wet, Kerf!" Josty says, shaking Alexander gently. Alexander feels his face heat up to about a million degrees.
"Fuck off, that's not what he meant," he says, though like—what if Compher did?
"I'm sorry, which one of us know what flirting is, and which one of us had to have Colesy tell him when the waitress was interested?" Josty demands. " _Colesy_ , Kerfy. That's just embarrassing shit right there."
"He's friendly," Alexander protests. "It doesn't mean he's flirting."
**From Jay:** haha cool
maybe I could come over some time? even up the odds in your favor
Josty makes a high pitched noise. "My dude. Bro. Alexander middle name Kerfoot. _Get it_."
"If you don't stop screaming I'm locking you in the bathroom," Alexander says. Josty groans, reaching for Alexander's phone. "No—no. _Tyson don't—_ "
"Just hold on, let me—" he says, running to the other side of the room with Alexander's phone in his hands.
"I will tell Dante about the thing with the fish," Alexander yells, desperate.
"You absolutely will not, that's against bro code," Josty says, typing something on Alexander's phone. "I'm doing you a favor!"
" _And stealing my phone isn't?_ " Alexander tackles Josty to the couch. Josty curls up, holding the phone to his chest.
**To Jay:** yeah that sudfsoaijisao;
"I'm trying to get you _laid_!" Josty says, his face smooshed into a cushion.
"I will roommate divorce you and force you to live on your own if you do that," Alexander says. "Give it back."
"I'll get the house, don't lie," Josty says, though he hands back the phone. Alexander yelps.
**From Jay:** you'll what? Haha
"You won't because you're going to be dead, Jost," Alexander says.
"I can help you recover from this," Josty says sweetly. "C'mon, man. You haven't gotten laid in forever. Let me help you hook up with the hot basketball player."
"I don't trust you," Alexander says.
Josty puts a hand over his heart. "That hurts."
"You've been with Dante for literally your whole-ass life, Josty, you have no idea how to really flirt,” Alexander says, crossing his arms.
It makes Josty laugh. "That's just a lie, man."
Alexander sighs, looks down at the terrible reality of his phone conversation with Compher, and then back up at Josty. "Fix it. Now. Please."
Josty grins, clearly delighted, and grabs the phone back. He taps at the screen, waits for a moment, then starts tapping again. Alexander desperately wants to know what he's saying, but he actually does trust Josty on this. He's just kind of nervous, which is absolutely stupid, but oh well.
"You have a date," Josty announces a few minutes later. "Like, a low key, chill date, but it's for sure a date."
Alexander swallows. "You're sure it's a date?"
Josty rolls his eyes and tosses his phone back, and Alexander reads through the conversation. it's Josty joking around, then offering to take Compher out for steak to apologize for the typo text, and then—
**To Jay:** just to clarify, I totally mean this as a date. not a bros thing.
**From Jay:** wow.
i mean, that's awesome. thanks for being clear and not making me guess, haha.
it's a date. :)
Alexander's face is bright red. "You've got no idea how to fucking flirt, dude," he says, a little breathless, but mostly in shock because—date. Him. Date. With Compher.
"I got you a date! You can say thank you now," Josty says cheerily. | f300e509326b4336811d46896fc79911 | ['c4cde34a843846a8ac84bbe4a2bf2bbe'] | Alexander follows him into the apartment, down the hallway and into the bedroom. JT rummages around in a drawer for a moment, then comes out with a soft-looking Nuggets tee and a pair of sweats. "This good?" he asks.
Alexander nods and takes it from him. "That looks great. I'll be right back."
He hurries into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. "Get a grip," he mutters to himself, and then he sighs and opens the door back up. "Uh, can I borrow a hanger? For the suit?"
"Yeah," JT calls, and then comes back out, in sweats and no shirt. "Uh, here," he says, handing Alexander a hanger.
"Thanks," Alexander says, voice a little stangled as he grabs it and retreats to the relative safety of the bathroom. He takes a couple of deep breaths and moves to put up the suit.
JT knocks on the door. "I'm gonna queue up the movie okay? Do you want some popcorn?"
"Nah," Alexander says, staring at his reflection in the mirror. "Maybe some water? I'm full from dinner still."
"Got it," JT says.
Alexander nods at his reflection and starts changing. JT isn't in the bedroom when he walks out, so Alexander makes his way to the living room. There are two glasses of water on the table, and JT's snuggled in a blanket pile, scrolling through his phone. When he sees Alexander, his smile grows wider and Alexander's heart flutters.
"You weren't kidding about being a blanket hog," Alexander says, sitting next to him on the couch. JT nods, lifting the side of the bunch of blankets for Alexander to snuggle against.
"I take movie night cuddle sessions very seriously," JT says.
"That's good to know," Alexander says, sliding in next to him. "They're serious business."
"Glad we're on the same page," JT says, leaning into him, his smile going soft when Alexander wraps an arm around JT's waist.
"Show me your monster movie," Alexander says, leaning his head against JT's shoulder.
"Get ready to have a new favorite movie, A," JT says, hitting play on the movie.
"A?" Alexander asks.
JT flushes. "Like, short for Alexander? And then we both have letter names."
Alexander smiles, kissing behind JT's ear. "I like it."
JT lets out a breath. "Oh, good. I wasn't sure you would, since you were kind of adamant that your name was just Alexander."
Alexander makes a face. "I just don't like being called Alex."
"Yeah, you're not an Alex," JT agrees. "Do you like it, though? Because I don't have to use it."
"No, it's sweet," Alexander says, holding JT a little tighter. "Jay and A. Kind of sounds like a sitcom."
JT snorts. "As long as neither of us has to be Ross."
"Ross died of influenza." Alexander deadpans.
"I can't believe Rachel got off the plane for him," JT mutters. "She deserved better."
" _She_ should have married the British girl, _god_ ," Alexander says.
"Uh, excuse you, she should have married Monica," JT says.
"You know what? Valid point," Alexander says, nodding. "She should have married Joey. She should have married Joey's Rangers jersey. She should have done anything other than ending up with Ross."
JT snorts. "You're so right. Ross was a complete douche."
"He sure was," Alexander agrees. "Crisis averted. If you liked Ross, that might be a dealbreaker."
"The unsung adorable hero on that show was Joey, and I take no criticism," JT says.
"Why would I criticize such an obviously right take?" Alexander asks.
"Marry me," JT replies, laughing.
Alexander grins. "We need to see if I like your movie first. Ask me later."
-0-
Alexander loves the movie, but more than that, he loves watching JT watch the movie. He mumbles along with parts of it, and he tears up at Idris Elba's big "cancelling the apocalypse" speech. For someone who is known media-wide as a person who doesn't show any emotions, JT sure has a lot of them.
"I just," JT says, waving at the screen. "They cleared a path for the lady, y'know? It's a lot."
"I know," Alexander says, patting JT's leg. It was honestly better than he'd been expecting, and he definitely gets how emotional JT is now. "It really is a great movie."
"I'm so glad you like it," JT says, resting his head on Alexander's.
"I'm pretty sure I can use it at team movie night to make everyone cry," Alexander says thoughtfully. "If nothing else, it'll beat watching _Seabiscuit_ for the fiftieth time."
"What's _Seabiscuit_?" JT asks, raising an eyebrow. "Do I want to know?
"It's a horse movie," Alexander says. He doesn't mean for it to sound so grim, but that's just his reaction to it at this point. "EJ has a whole horse… thing."
JT chuckles, but it trails off when Alexander doesn't join in. "Oh, wait, you're serious. What's a 'horse thing?'"
"He's in my phone as Horsegirl," Alexander says flatly. "His entire personality is horses. God only knows why Sammy loves him. Like, he's a great person, but his whole brain is hockey and horses."
"Interesting. Like Horsegirl as in..." JT puts his hands up like hooves and does a sort of pathetic neighing sound.
"I don't think he's a furry, if that's what you're asking," Alexander says as blandly as he can manage.
JT chokes. "I _wasn't_ , oh my _god_."
"Well, now you know anyway," Alexander says, patting his arm. "Hashtag hockey?"
"I guess," JT says, laughing. "I'm quickly learning that basketball is _nothing_ like hockey."
"We can compare notes," Alexander says. "but not tonight. I think there are too many notes for tonight."
"Then let's get to bed. This couch may be comfy, but my bed is even comfier. Unless you want to sleep in the guest room," JT says. "That's totally fine—"
"I don't want to sleep in the guest room," Alexander cuts in. "Unless you don't want to share." |
c4fefcbcf3fa4452a1223ac065bb4ed2 | ['c4da7edc18fc4dccbc02f4ede347226d'] | “You look so pretty all tied up like that, Maria.” Natasha said from behind her. Her voice was taunting, “So pretty.” She repeated, moving around the front of the chair. Maria had to twist her neck into a comfortable position to look up at Natasha, a blush running over her body as she imagined what she looked like.
Natasha’s perfectly manicured nails, painted black tonight to match her dress, scratched gently down the side of Maria jaw. “Open wide.” Maria barely had time to register the command before her mouth was forced opened and a ring gag put in place. The strap was expertly fastened and her hair fixed back into its initial style.
Natasha dragged her fingers across Maria's jaw once more before she stuck a finger into the open space, tickling the roof of her mouth, clearly enjoying watching Maria fight against her instinct to bite down against the intrusion. Removing her hand she wiped it across Maria's face. Her response was to scrunch up her face the best she could and attempt to poke her tongue out through the small space. “How rude.” Natasha dead-panned, walking around the chair and giving Maria’s ass a hard slap. The sting momentarily distracted her, but she was quickly brought back to the present when she felt something small being slipped inside her with ease – she should be embarrassed at how wet she was so quickly, a voice in her head said – and then she felt Natasha adjusting the straps ever so slightly so that she now felt something pressed flat against her clit.
Natasha, happy with her work stood up and moved around to look at Maria again. In her hand was a small remote and she pressed it a few times, on and off, on and off, on and off. Each time, despite her best efforts she jolted slightly against the chair, the sudden vibrations shocking her each time. Natasha pressed it once more, leaving it on his time. After the initial shock it settled, the vibrations were steady, soft. A stable pulse that only got her worked up more but wouldn’t lead to anything quickly, not with the lack of friction she was currently experiencing. Natasha placed the remote on the chair. If Maria looked directly down she could see it. Taunting her. Maria shook her head, and glared up a Natasha through her eyelashes. Ignoring her, Natasha slipped the handle of a bell between her fingers.
“If you need me, ring it or drop it, nod if you understand.” Maria nodded quickly, already having understood this was her safe word at the moment. Natasha leaned forward, kissing her on the forehead once she was sure Maria was okay for the time being. “Don’t move, I’ll be back in a minute.” Natasha laughed at her own joke, while Maria tried not to roll her eyes too hard. She tried to respond with ‘You’re such a dork.’ But it sounded more like a garbled mess. That only sent Natasha off in another fit of giggles before walking away.
Maria desperately tried to distract herself from the sensation between her legs, not letting herself focus on the buzz that’s was urging her to start rolling her hips. She listened as Natasha’s shoes stopped snapping against the floor and heard the wardrobe door slide open. The bedroom was too far down the hall to hear much else so she tried to distract herself in other ways.
In her head she started to analyse the most recent mission, reviewing each team member, as well as her own performance. She’d botched the mission the week before, she was sure of it. The team hadn’t been much better, in her mind she broke down how each member of the team could have improved. Sure there hadn’t been any casualties, but the cost of each mission was tallying up fast, and people she worked with had a tendency not to consider the cost of a 24 foot high window when they were launching terrorists out of it. There were a few new training systems she was considering implementing, and she tossed over in her mind the pros and cons of each.
“Where did you go Maria?” The voice startled her, the question whispered in her ear as Natasha’s hair fell into the corner of her vision as she leaned over, careful not to come into contact with Maria’s body yet. “Thinking about work?”
Maria was brought back from the financial woes of saving the world to the familiar apartment she shared with Natasha. She started to answer, having ignored the ache of the gag enough that the dull pain was almost background noise. When the slurred answer reminded her of her situation she nodded instead. “Don’t. Stay here with me.” Natasha spoke it like an order, lifting the remote and pressing it again, increasing the intensity some more. She had changed from her outfit into what she normally wore to bed. The black slip dress was tight in all the right places, and the slits up the sides told Maria that the usual shorts she wore with it weren’t on tonight. Her hair was pulled from the bun it had been in that night and now it hung loose around her face.
Sliding onto the seat, Natasha adjusted herself until she was nestled against Maria arm, legs hanging over the other side of the chair. Once she was comfortable she reached out, teasing Maria’s nipple between her fingers, pinching and leaving it red before sliding over and doing the same thing to the other one, pinching harder this time. The sound Maria let out was what Natasha was assuming was her attempt at the word ‘Fuck.’. | 1b035040e69a453e95c613c0a30e8a30 | ['c4da7edc18fc4dccbc02f4ede347226d'] | The box was thrust into his hands and he stared from the box, to Sam, then to Steve, and back to the box again. When his eyes looked back at Sam and Steve a second time he saw they looked nervous too and it clicked.
This wasn’t a joke.
It was _real_.
“I’m-” He felt his face flush but Sam and Steve just looked happy, and he felt stupid for thinking this would be anything less than a genuine gift from them.
“Thanks.”
He took the box and walked to the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Pulling at the black bow, he smiled at the feel of it beneath his fingertips. He opened the box and couldn’t help but grin at the black paper inside, dragging it back with shaky hands he revealed the contents within.
The first thing he pulled out was a pair of ouvert pants. The sides were black silk and the gold lace front could be left peeking open or tied closed in the center around shining Swarovski crystal buttons. He flipped them around and realised the buttons ran right along the center to the very back. He felt hard already just thinking about wearing them. He had to put them down when the thought of Sam and Steve undoing the buttons with their teeth and meeting in the middle had him audibly whimpering.
The next layer of the crisp black tissue paper was pulled back and he saw the most luxurious suspender set, the delicate gold lace matching that of the pants. The suspender belt was attached to black thigh high stockings with clips on either side. He wanted to strip off and wear nothing but that around the house. Instead he folded the material back in the tissue paper, with gentle hands as though even touching them would cause them to fall apart. Bucky even took the time to wrap the bow back around the box and gently place it on the shelf in the wardrobe. A smile that he couldn’t fight stretched across his face and he went off to find his boyfriends, feeling giddy with excitement.
“I thought we’d get a show.” Steve said, laughing when a fully clothed Bucky returned to the living room.
“I’m not that easy. Buy me dinner first.” Bucky said, staring at them both with a new-found confidence.
“Where do you want to go?” Sam asked, already taking out his phone, eager to book the table.
Clearly Bucky wasn’t the only one excited by the thought of him dressed to the nines.
* * *
Half way through the second course at the small restaurant, Bucky stretched across the table for more salt, his shirt riding up and exposing his stomach. Gold lace sparkled in the soft lights and Steve choked on his drink and smacked Sam on the arms.
“What the hell, Steve- shit, Bucky.”
Bucky smirked, and pulled his shirt down, salting his plate and stabbing into his dinner, taking far too large a bite.
“Wha-?” he asked, mouth full and on the verge of a laughing fit. "I'm only wearing the belt part."
“We aren’t getting dessert” Steve said, Sam nodded in agreement, eating faster, as though that would speed the night up. Bucky ignored them, waving over the waiter.
“Can I order some ice cream? Please?”
The waiter turned to the other two who were now shooting daggers at a very smug looking Bucky.
“I guess we’ll take three portions of that then.” Sam said, waiting for the server to walk away before leaning over and whispering to Bucky, “I’m gonna wreck you for that.”
“Can’t wait.”
* * *
They arrived home shortly after. Even Bucky found he had no appetite for his dessert, and they left the restaurant in a flurry. He unlocked the door and slipped away into the bedroom, leaving Sam and Steve waiting in the living room. He didn’t know how long he took - stockings, suspenders, the complicated buttons of the lacy pants; getting dressed in over a thousand dollars’ worth of lingerie was trickier than it looked.
Once Bucky was dressed he looked in the mirror. He had the hint of a tan from spending the New York summer lying on the roof. The tan against the gold, with the shimmering crystal beading looked beautiful. _He looked beautiful._
He had worn his hair back in a bun that day and when he pulled it loose he was happy to find his hair looked a little wavy. Brushing his fingers from the roots down, he shook any knots loose. Bucky brought his fingers up to his lips, wishing he had a bit of rouge to colour them but when he caught sight of himself once again in the mirror he couldn’t stay disappointed for long.
The excitement was overwhelming, so much so that the nerves he had back at the restaurant had completely disappeared, eagerness taking its place tenfold.
He walked to the living room, slowly, the hardwood floors under the smooth material making him slide if he moved faster than a snail's pace. He worked with that, adding a wiggle to his hips as he sauntered towards a visibly shocked Sam. |
166dc640b9e042ea8f961cc64876aea8 | ['c4df2a08bfd84c3c9b5a88344bbd0d81'] | One Headlight
Dirk stood with his back turned to the cemetery trees behind him. He bit his lip, tears blurring his view on the book he was 'reading'. A flurry of brief flashes of that ridiculous black lipstick surrounding a smile that lit up an entire room, her bobbing blonde hair nodding to sleep in the pick up's passenger seat, pink heels higher then she was in her curled up arms-
His flashback was interrupted by the steady lull of the Eulogist's voice
"Roxy Lalonde, was an always smiling friend to-"
Dirk cringed and snapped the book shut. He pushed his glasses up briefly to wipe his now puffy eyes.
_"What the fuck are you doing you damned idiot,"_
he muttered to himself turning to go, He managed to catch a snippet of the low chatter from the procession
"I heard she died 'easy' of a broken heart disease,"
"I feel bad for that Dirk boy, she seemed to be his only friend,"
Dirk slammed his eyelids shut, fighting out the rays of the dying sun, and stalked away to his beat up pickup. Roxy insisted on getting it, saying it reminded her of independence day. Dirk didn't understand what she meant, but got it anyway. He roughly opened the truck door, pulled himself in and slammed it shut. His arms were on the wheel now, now his head. Dirk stayed there a while, he wasn't exactly sure how long, but by the time his hand was going to turn the key the sun was long gone.
Dirk turned the already-inserted key. The engine turned over twice, then sputtered to a stop. He sighed and tried again, to no avail.
_This damned truck_
Why did this have to happen today, of all days?! He tried once more, and the hunk of metal Dirk was growing to hate finally (finally!) shuddered to life. He pulled out of the lot and turned his headlights on. One was out from when he and Rox- No. Not right now. Now is not the time. He clenched his hands on the wheel and hit the gas, driving anywhere away from here. He couldnt go home, not with the broken bottles and slammed open door to the roof..
"NO!"
This time he yelled the refusal aloud. His foot pressed harder on the gas pedal, the yellowish light casting an uneven spotlight on the dusty secluded road. A sign with a town name on it whipped past, but Dirk didn't need to see it to know where he was going. It seemed in his hastiness not to go home and leave the cemetery, he managed to get himself on a road to home. He groaned and slowed down to a more legal pace.
Roxy wouldn't have approved, but Roxy wasn't here right now.
Dirk pushed up his shades which had fallen slightly in his outburst and pulled into an old bar. Before he got out of the car he took a moment. Is this really what he had been brought down too? Outbursts and crying? Was he a fucking 2 year old?! He took a breath in hopes of calming his uncharacteristic outburst and got out of the car, slamming the door again. He stepped into the ancient pub, which smelled of cheap wine and cigarettes.
"This place is a _mess_ ,"
He complained under his breath, walking to the bar area. It took Dirk a minute to asses where _exactly_ he was before the tidal wave hit him.
The pretty face that stood out among drunken 40 year old men, the longing in her slurred voice for something new, something different. The ride home, the two years spent together, the independence day parade,
Dirk collapsed on a bar stool, the bartender looking dismally at him. The sadness infuriated Dirk for some reason. What right did he have to feel sad for him?! Dirk had lost his bestfriend/whatever the fuck was going on between them, and this guy just-
"What'll it be my friend?"
Dirk's inner monologue was interrupted by the melancholy voice. He closed his eyes behind the darkened lenses and leaned onto the counter.
"As much vodka $10 can buy,"
Dirk said bitterly, remembering Roxy say those exact damn words. How ironic. The bartender gave him a look, but set down about 5 rounds of shots.
"Look, buddy, you cant be driving after this alright?"
Dirk scoffed and took the first glass, downing it without a word. Damn did it burn. But it was a good pain, at least to him.
Is this what Roxy felt every Saturday night? After every failed flirting attempt? Every denied confession?
Dirk imagined Roxy sitting in his exact seat. Imagined how she felt after each blunt turn down.
Suddenly there were only two shots left.
Dirk looked bitterly at his reflection in one of the empty glasses, his face distorted and upside down.
He was responsible for her death.
One shot left.
She jumped off the _fuckin' roof_ because of him.
A glass shattered in slow motion. Blood smeared on the table top.
Shouting, pushing, a slamming door. Another.
Dirk is now sitting at the wheel.
Dirk is now at his front door.
Dirk is now on the roof.
Dirk is now..
Dirk felt the hot tears run down his face, the wind slightly ruffle his already matted hair.
Is this how Roxy felt? Standing here, knowing there was no chance for her? More vodka in her veins then blood?
Now the glasses were off and in pieces.
Did she know the tracks the tears left on dust-stained cheeks?
Was she familiar with the feeling of taking a step, but nothing there?
Is there a Heaven?
Dirk probably wouldnt get in.
Is there any chance to turn back?
Is-
**Author's Note:**
> i am so so sorry
> (originally posted on my instagram @arachnids.grip.182, some edits were made for quality) | 5152f312439c4e90992c4c7a7fa50e2b | ['c4df2a08bfd84c3c9b5a88344bbd0d81'] | 1. order of chapters
(ROXY)
(done) Crybaby
(done) Alphabet Boy
Carousel
Training Wheels
Pacify Her
Soap
(ROSE)
Dollhouse
Teddy Bear
Tag, You're It
Pity Party
(ROXY)
Mrs. Potato Head
Milk and Cookies
Mad Hatter
Sippy Cup
(ROSE)
Cake
2. Cry Baby (Roxy's Perspective)
Roxy Lalonde was always known as the crybaby throughout middle and high school. Whether it was a sad world news story or a particularly terrible grade, it was common to see tears at the corners of her eyes at least once a week.
Today it was her mother, she had been particularly hard on her for having a B plus in her mathematics class reportedly, and when Roxy attempted to explain why, her mother would not have it and drove away. Currently, she is missing her first period P.E. class to cry out back of the school.
Tears blurred your vision in anger and sorrow. The rough bricks pulled against your cheap cotton shirt as you slid down the wall with your trembling hands now over your face.
"I can't fucking believe,"
You took a shaky breath interrupting your negative thoughts
"Can't fucking believe I'm doing this again. It would be-"
You hiccuped pathetically. You didn't even want to continue as your salty tears hit the uneven concrete. This can't be healthy, constantly crying. Its like your fucking eyes are faucets or something. Whatever, at this point you would rather let them drown you.
Your thoughts were interrupted yet again by some giggling on the left of you.
The fucking stoner girls and the cocky bastard that always hang around the back entrance to the school are staring at you now. Wonderful.
Once upon a time, those girls weren't stoners, they were your friends. But now,
You sniveled feebly again.
Now they changed.
"It wasn't my fault,"
you tell yourself
"It's theirs,"
Suddenly a shadow casts over you. A semi-familiar voice titters down to your ears as if it were mocking you in its existence.
"Hey crybaby,"
Fucking shit.
"You don't look so good there,"
cue stoner giggling in the background.
The figure who you now recognized bent down and took off his ridiculous anime glasses to look you in your watery eyes.
"You know, You kind of remind me of myself sometimes,"
You didn't even bother answering him.
3. Alphabet Boy (Roxy's Perspective)
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> Blah Blah shitty children
>
> skip forward to about sophomore year of college
"DAMMIT DIRK,"
You shouted at the grinning piece of shit.
The egotistical alphabet boy. Just waving around his terrible poetry in attempt to woo the girls around campus and now here he is, reciting terribly rhymed poems that have probably been used on numerous candidates before you.
It makes you sick.
And just when you thought it couldn't get any worse, he pulls out a fucking apple.
"You teacher's pet piece of shit,"
You hissed angrily.
He only replied with a sickly sweet smile.
"Sorry it couldn't be butterscotch love, I had calculus homework so I didn't have time to pick any up,"
You could feel the heat rising in my cheeks and bile rising in my stomach.
"Fuck your degree, spelling bee champ,"
You snarled, poison dripping from your voice.
"You're not my fucking daddy, nor am I your dolly, so stop acting like it"
As you turned and stormed away, he smiled and laughed again. Your face grew hotter as he shouted back, a slight texan accent shoving his way through his words
"Whatever you say doll! You don't matter to anyone else regardless!"
You slammed the door into the commons and took the elevator to your dorm. Upon opening the door, you faced a room strewn with gumdrops and crushed candy canes.
"What the fuck is this shit,"
You swung the door behind you and assessed the situation, attempting to find the culprit. The door crashed shut when your eyes fell upon the fridge. At that point the heat of your anger could have powered a small nation for a week.
"Got you some sweets ;)
-Prince of the Playground" |
ea8d04cd1e6644a0987c127854f6475a | ['c4ee734e162a4998b4efd2417ffdfce5'] | It's all normal, everyday talk but Akaashi knows he will never remember it.
All he can think of for the rest of the night is that everything suddenly makes sense. Why Bokuto is always craving praise, craving acknowledgement. Why he unknowingly feels he like has to be loud to get anyone's attention. Why he gets so happy when someone shows just the slightest bit of genuine interest in him or his likes. But most of all, Akaashi now understands why Bokuto was able to see the thestrals on the first day.
_I will never allow my best friend to make that lonely face ever again._
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> I am so, so, so sorry. This chapter took way too long and I'm still unhappy with the ending. This was something I'd planned ever since bringing in the threstrels and I'm not sure I'm pleased with my execution. Ah.
>
> Yes, Bokuto named his barn owl McDonald. Like "Old McDonald Had a Farm." Cause he's a nerd and I love him. Also, little reminder that his mom is from Hawaii and as she primarily raised him, his accent is more American than British. In case anyone had noticed or wondered.
>
> You will never tell me that Teddy and the new batch of Weasley/Potter clan didn't turn the whole story of the Marauders into a piece of Hogwarts history. Cause they did.
>
> I have now made up more about Quidditch than I ever had any desire to know in the first place.
>
> Just because someone struggles with school does not in any way make them unintelligent. Just a little PSA. Thank you and goodnight.
**Author's Note:**
> Yes, yes I know. It somehow always ends up at Hogwarts.
>
> But I recently saw a piece of fanart of a Slytherin Akaashi and a Hufflepuff Bokuto and I absolutely fell in love with the idea. In going back to the original descriptions of the 4 Houses I realized that the HC of this particular sorting made such perfect sense that I can no longer see my owl children in any other house.
>
> And because my attention span seems to run on the short side, I decided to do a highlight version of the 7 years instead of the full thing.
>
> I initially wanted to keep as many of the original HP characters out of the story as possible, so I wouldn't have to go back and check any facts, but Hagrid just wasn't having that so here he is.
>
> Please come with me on this story! | 6cf2c2d0b4b148f1a0346db996f9e631 | ['c4ee734e162a4998b4efd2417ffdfce5'] | Really, Akaashi can't be blamed for his gaping mouth. This is the first time in eleven years this has ever happened. After ten seconds of work to get his jaw moving again, he manages to get out, “...‘Akaashi’ is fine, yeah.”
“Oh, good.” The grin is suddenly back on Bokuto's face. “Nice to meet you, Akaashi!”
“How do you know all that?” Akaashi asks instead.
“Well, Gram and Gramps were both born in Japan so when they fly from Maui to visit me and moms, they teach me all about it. My reading still sucks but I can talk to them in Japanese all day long! It's awesome! We keep talking about going over to visit but moms never has the money.” Bokuto answers with no hint of embarrassment. “Hey, have you ever been? Is it awesome?”
“I've been a couple of times, yeah.” Akaashi admits.
“What was your favorite--”
“Bokuto-san.” Akaashi interrupts. “We're still in the library. Why did you need me?”
“Right, sorry. Um...well...Ineedyourhelpwithpotions.” He says in a rush.
“What?”
“I need your help with potions. I asked Kuroo but all he did was make fun of me when I didn't understand a single thing on our homework. I tried Oikawa next. He didn't make fun of me but he's a horrible teacher. Asahi is even worse, he got so nervous when I couldn't understand it that he couldn't finish his own homework. I was this close to crying when Kuroo suggested you.” Bokuto explains like it makes perfect sense.
“And why did Kuroo-san suggest me? I'm a year younger than you. We wouldn't have the same problems.” It doesn't make sense and Akaashi is starting to wonder if this is somehow a big prank.
“He said you got a perfect score on your first test and that I'm so hopeless that anything would improve my score.” There's a little bit of hurt at the end there but he plows on regardless. “So, would you look at my homework and see if you can help me? Kudasai?”
While Akaashi appreciates the bowed head and hands in prayer position, the answer is clear. “I'm sorry, Bokuto-san but I can't help you. I'm still learning all of my first year material. I'd probably just confuse both of us.”
“But I'm desperate! Potions is my worst class and if I keep messing up they'll kick me off the Quidditch team! Have a heart, ‘Kaashi!” Those golden eyes look close to tears, which do nothing in the way of persuasion. But. Fortunately for Bokuto (unfortunately for Akaashi), he has unknowingly said the magic word.
Akaashi has a huge soft spot for Quidditch.
“Fine, I'll look at it. But no promises, Bokuto-san. If I can't figure it out, you'll have to ask someone else. Deal?” Akaashi sighs, wondering if he is going to regret this.
“You're the best, Akaash!” The tears are instantly gone, as if they had never been there in the first place. “Hey, can we do it now? I brought it with me! See? Can we start?”
He's already regretting this.
~ * ~
It takes Akaashi two weeks to come to a realization. Well, three realizations technically. The first is that his agreement to look at advanced school work had been a good decision, academically speaking. It’s like being given advanced notice of assignments in a completely innocent way. It helps him plan for the coming year as well as providing additional information to allow him to look at his current course work in new ways. Add in that it is a known fact that teaching another is the surest way to ensure information comprehension and suddenly all the extra time spent seems worthy of the effort.
The second realization is that Akaashi has somehow catalogued a whole list of things about Bokuto Koutarou. He is a muggle born. He and his mother were both born in Hawaii but they moved to London eleven years ago when his mother got a job as a muggle nurse. He has been accepted onto the Quidditch team as a chaser but as the team already consists of three fifth year chasers, he has only covered one official match so far, when one of the regulars was sick. He is also...a true Hufflepuff. He welcomes everyone with a smile, is always willing to help, works hard, and has no second thoughts about taking a Slytherin into the Hufflepuff common room to study.
The third realization is the most surprising. He actually enjoys Bokuto's company. Sure, he's loud and he runs from hot to cold in .06 seconds flat but there's just something about him. Akaashi will never admit it aloud, but Bokuto has become his closest friend.
That doesn't mean the other boy doesn't grate on get on his nerves sometimes.
Like now for instance.
“Bokuto-san, I know you are excited about the match tomorrow but you need to focus.” Akaashi grumbles when Bokuto's incessant foot taping has gone too far. He knows it's not intentional but that doesn't make it any less distracting.
“But ‘Kaashi!” Bokuto whines. “I've already finished my thirteen inches of parchment on the Medieval Assembly. Isn't that enough for today?”
“I read the first ten inches, Bokuto-san. If the last three are like that and if you intend to get a decent grade, you will need to do some serious revisions.” Akaashi replies without looking up from his own work.
Out of the corner of his eye he catches Kuroo smirk a little. It's not about the fact that the two are currently working in the Slytherin dungeon; Kuroo and Oikawa had been sneaking Bokuto and some second year Gryffindor down there way before Akaashi got there. It's not even about Bokuto’s childish pout. Kuroo is smirking at the way Akaashi talks to Bokuto.
“Wow, Kei-chan. I'd watch my words with little Owl if I were you. He can be sensitive sometimes and well, no one enjoys his depressed face, you know?” |
e14f6817a1344fca8d6730297ee7963b | ['c5045bfae8d64176bb76190892ebec53'] | Niall looked to Harry, but then remembered what he had said before. It feels so much better if you relax. So Niall obeyed, flipping himself around and burying his face into the pillow.
Behind him, he felt the bed shift Harry spread his legs either side of Niall. He shoved three of his fingers in his mouth, licking them all around until they were wet enough. He took his fingers out of his mouth, and placed his index at Niall’s muscle. He heard Niall whimper and groan, put still didn’t comply.
He traced his fingers around Niall’s ring of muscle. Without any warning, he shoved his long finger into Niall. He waited one second for Niall to get adjusted, before slowly pushing in and out. As hid thrust got faster, he placed a second finger at his entrance. He slowly pushed in, hearing Niall gasp in surprise and pant loudly.
Harry started to scissor his fingers open and close, slightly stretching Niall. He went faster and faster, before Niall was gasping loudly and letting out a string of swears.
“Fuck Harry, faster!”
Harry complied, and started scissoring quicker. Not long after, he added a third finger making Niall gasp. He was now thrusting in and out as quick as he can, stretching Niall as wide as possible. As soon as Niall looked as if he were about to orgasm, Harry pulled out, earning a small yell of disagreement from Niall.
“Harry… please…” he panted.
“One second baby,” he said, grabbing a un-opened bottle of lube from his night stand. Spurting a bit onto the palm of his hand, he rubbed it all around his member. As quickly as he could, he spread Niall’s cheeks apart and lined himself up with Niall. “Are you ready?”
Niall mumbled a quick yes, and nodded. Harry lined the head of his dick with Niall, and thrust in with all of his might. He grabbed onto Niall’s hips and pulled him closer. Harry didn’t bother moving slowly, he needed this. He thrust in deep and quickly, Niall biting back screams and sobs.
He finally received a loud scream of “Oh shit, Harry, yes!” as he found Niall’s prostate. Hiting that spot, hard, only six or seven more times, Niall was spilling his load over the bed and sheets. Harry’s thrust became sloppier as he neared his high. With one last moan from Niall, Harry came inside Niall, shaking and panting. | dc630124237749e788f020beb428b482 | ['c5045bfae8d64176bb76190892ebec53'] |
so afraid i couldnt let myself see
**Author's Note:**
> This is the first smut I have ever written, but for some reason it was the most successful on my tumblr lol. It's not that good, but still feedback would be lovely.
>
> As far as I know, this never happened and I do not own One Direction. Title taken from the song Lost in the Echo by Linkin Park.
>
> ps This was taken from my main account [punkstagram] and originally from my tumblr [tomlinomg]
Harry didn’t really mean it, it had just happened. One second he and Niall were just talking, and the next he had pinned Niall to the wall roughly kissing him.
He knew he was being rough; but to be honest he didn’t care. He could feel Niall squirming beneath him, trying to get comfortable under Harry’s chest. Harry brought his hands from Niall’s shoulders to his hair, tangling it in Niall’s golden locks which deepened the kiss. Niall, still squirming underneath him, trailed his long fingers along Harry’s hip.
Harry moaned at the touch, and Niall pushed their foreheads together, unlocking their lips and panting.
“Harry…” Niall breathed out.
“Lets take this to my room,” Harry growled, grabbing Niall’s wrist roughly and pulling his behind him. He heard Niall whimper.
“Harry, I’ve never done this before…” he said, still panting slightly.
Harry grumbled. To him, it didn’t really matter. He would show Niall what to do. “I’ll show you what to do, Niall. Don’t worry.”
When the two boys reached Harry’s room, Harry pushed Niall onto the bed, making sure he didn’t hurt himself. His eyes darted over Niall’s body. The bulge in his pants was obvious, and Harry couldn’t wait to get his hot mouth on him.
He shuddered at the thought.
He pictured kissing Niall’s chest up and down, running his tongue over his nipples. He imagined peppering kisses over his hips, and almost heard the throaty moan come from Niall’s mouth.
“Harry?” Niall’s voice was almost panicked. He saw the darkness in Harry’s eyes, he had never seen the boy so lustful. He didn’t want to imagine how rough Harry was going to be with him. “D-did… are you okay?”
Harry groaned in response. His erection was pressed up to the zipper on his jeans, and it was almost painful.
Looking over Niall’s scared face, he took a deep breath. This was Niall’s first time, so he needed to be gentle.
“Take your jeans off,” he said. Niall whimpered in response, and shimmied out of his tight jeans revealing his tighter-than-usual boxers. Harry could see his member pressed to the thin fabric, straining it. Harry leaned over Niall, his lips hovering over Niall’s. “I’ll try and be gentle, baby, but I can’t promise anything.”
Niall’s blue eyes widened. Harry chuckled, and pressed his already swollen lips to Niall’s. He trailed his hands over Niall’s sides, hooking his fingers over the waistband of Niall’s boxers.
“W-wait,” Niall suddenly stopped. Harry unwillingly pulled his face away, as Niall slowly brushed his hands on Harry’s chest. He grabbed the sides of Harry’s shirt, earning a small moan from Harry. He pulled the shirt gingerly over Harry’s head, getting the full view of Harry’s chest.
He bit back a moan, but he didn’t need to. Harry had already crashed his lips onto Niall’s, his half naked body straddling the poor Irish singer beneath him. Harry once again hooked his fingers around Niall’s boxers, but wasted no time at all. In seconds the thin fabric was strewn to the floor and forgotten.
Niall gasped as his the cold air hit his hard erection. Harry grinned, and started to kiss along Niall’s neck and shoulders. “Relax, baby. It makes it feel so much better,” he whispered into Niall’s shoulder. Harry felt Niall go a little limp, and he smirked against Niall’s clammy skin.
He slowly pressed kisses down Niall’s chest. His kisses got softer as he moved farther down, earning groans from Niall. When Harry finally reached Niall’s hard member, he took his large hand and wrapped it around the base of him. Harry heard Niall whimper and felt him squirm.
“Hurry up Harry,” he moaned.
Harry slowly took Niall in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the slit. He licked up every last drop of pre-come off him, before taking all of Niall in his mouth. Niall closed his eyes in pleasure, and started breathing heavily. He wrapped his hands in Harry’s hair, trying to get him to take even more in his mouth.
But then Harry frowned. He quickly pulled his mouth off Niall, looking as the blonde boy looked down in his pleadingly.
“I’m in control here, Niall,” he said harshly.
“Okay,” he whimpered. “Please keep going…” Niall thrusted his hips towards Harry, groaning when Harry took him in again. This time Harry was much quicker, his hand were still wrapped around the base off Niall’s dick, so he started to move it up and down.
Niall felt heat pool in the bottom of his stomach, and his body clenched. He shot his load into Harry’s mouth making him gag slightly. Harry swallowed it all, while Niall rode out his high, eye shut tight and swearing loudly.
“Shit, fuck, oh God Harry!”
Harry released from Niall with a quiet ‘pop’ and sat up. He noticed he was still wearing his jeans, and his erection was rubbing into the rough fabric. He quickly pulled them off, while Niall held the bed sheets for dear life. Harry tore his boxers off, letting his dick slap up against his abdomen.
He moved to Niall, hovering next to him. By now, Niall had come down from his high and was panting loudly. His sweat slicked body barely moved, but his blue eyes traced over Harry.
“Turn around Niall,” Harry said harshly.
“W-what?”
“You heard me. Get on your stomach.” |
f7c164de889a4a64bffaf65a93778285 | ['c517b914f2fe488aa9390bcf6a9d7fed'] | ‘Yes, but that’s mainly because you’re never on time for anything’, Janine says, ‘and if you don’t have to check bags in it gives you an extra few minutes to get to the airport.’
‘Maybe’, Stephen says sheepishly, and I laugh, liking him, and wondering how he ever found his way into our family.
I feign tiredness when we arrive back at Mom and Dad’s.
‘You’re up in your old room, if you want to get some sleep?’ Mom offers. ‘Oh, and Mary-Anne Bruno dropped off a letter for you, it’s on the bedside table.’
‘Mary-Anne did?’
Mom nods.
That’s odd. I haven’t kept in touch with anybody from Stoneybrook, and I don’t have Facebook. I used to see some of my friends who stayed in town after high school, but I’d cut all contact when I’d moved to London.
I close the bedroom door behind me, toss my bags on the bed and pick up the envelope. It’s light pink and has my name written on it with a flourish, all very dainty. I tear it open and pull a flowery piece of paper from inside, and begin to read.
Dear Claudia,
Welcome home! I was so excited when your Mom said you were coming home for Christmas, because for the first time in ten years everybody from the Baby-Sitters Club is going to be in Stoneybrook. Can you believe it’s been this long?
Logan and I would love to see everybody, so we’re holding a pot luck dinner on Saturday the 21st. Come over any time from 5pm. Partners and children are welcome!
Looking forward to seeing you.
Mary-Anne.
I groan, and then feel guilty about thinking of my then friends in that way. Partners and children welcome, of course they are. And we had been the _Baby-Sitters Club,_ and had grown up in a small town - of course everyone would have wed and bred by now. I felt the way I had when I was held back in Seventh Grade - the rest of my friends had gone on without me. I can just imagine them now, as I lie back on my bed. Looking at me with pitying eyes, whispering to themselves, wondering what is wrong with me that I can’t have a partner, can’t have kids, can’t be like them …
I considered not going to dinner, I really did, but - Stoneybrook’s a small place. If I hadn’t gone, I would have bumped into one of the girls sooner or later, and it would have been awkward. So here I am, outside the Brunos’ place at 5.30pm, hoping everyone’s arrived already and I can make a quick exit afterwards.
I ring the bell.
Footsteps sound from within the house, growing louder until the door handle turns, and the door swings open.
‘Claudia!’
‘Mary-Anne!’ She’s allowed her hair to grow long again, but she still looks the same, only older. And she’s pregnant. Of course she is. ‘Wow, you - you look like you’re about to pop.’
She laughs, placing a hand on top of her swollen belly. ‘Oh no, I’ve still got two months to go. But you know what they say about second babies being bigger, and this is number four.’
‘You have three children?’ I ask incredulously. ‘When on earth did you find time to have three - nearly four - children? We’re only 28.’
‘Here, let me take that’, she says, taking the pasta dish I’d brought from my hands. ‘The food’s all through in the living room, come and help yourself. Well, Logan and I wanted to start a family as soon as we got married, though we were admittedly quite young. Twenty-one. We were blessed with being able to have children fairly quickly. Nicola’s six now, and Felicity is four, nearly five. Aaron’s two. They’re all running around with the other kids somewhere. And then this one is due in February.’ She rubs her belly again, in that oh so smug pregnant woman way.
‘Is four your limit, or are you looking to challenge the Pikes for most kids?’ I ask. ‘And the other kids? Does everyone have children now?’
‘Not everyone’, Mary-Anne says. ‘And we’d like to have at least one more child after this one.’
‘Fuck sake’, I breathe quietly, but I think she hears me, as she directs me into the living room with a ‘go and say hello to people!’
I bump into Kristy first, or rather, she bumps into me. Still as take charge and bossy as ever, but I’m glad she approaches me as it gives me somebody to talk to.
‘Claudia. It’s been a while.’
‘I’ve been busy’, I say, ‘the UK is a long way away.’
She shrugs. ‘Fair enough. I only live as far away as Stamford, and I don’t come home that often.’
‘Oh, Stamford? What are you doing there?’
‘I work at the council’, she says vaguely, ‘trying to work my way up, but it’s not happening as quickly as I’d like’.
‘No’, I say, because it’s apparent she wants me to say something. ‘It never does.’
‘So what are you doing with yourself?’ she asks, and I tell her about London, and my store, and Jason, before I remember that we’re not together anymore.
‘My partner’s over there’, Kristy says, pointing towards a tall woman across the other side of the room who is talking to Dawn.
‘Oh’, I say, and I’m not surprised. ‘What’s her name, how did you meet?’
‘That’s Lydia,’ Kristy says. ‘We met on the internet, would you believe. I always thought that it was only old people who were into internet dating, but it’s actually really great!’
‘Any kids?’ I ask, thinking I might as well get that question out of the way.
‘Lydia has three from a previous relationship’, Kristy says. ‘And for now, being a stepmom is enough for me.’ | 6902461130c44637a29c2cab07db9c04 | ['c517b914f2fe488aa9390bcf6a9d7fed'] |
Coming Home for Christmas
**Author's Note:**
* For LINK.
I fidget in my seat, mentally kicking myself for not going to the bathroom back at JFK Airport. I r _eally_ need to pee, but I picked a window seat upon check-in. Rookie mistake. Now the two guys next to me are fast asleep. One is snoring, and the other is drooling - charming.
I sigh, and check my watch. Thirty minutes before landing in Stoneybrook, Connecticut. I can hold on. I’m on the last leg of my journey now, having flown in from London earlier today. I’ve been living in London since I was 23 - so five years now - and every year I’ve managed to avoid coming home, claiming that I can’t afford it. And then adding ‘no, Mom, Dad, I couldn’t possibly let you pay for my ticket, I need to learn to be responsible for myself.’ This year, though, that excuse wouldn’t fly. My shop had had an extremely successful year. And my sister Janine and her husband Stephen recently had a baby boy, Liam, so Mom had put her foot down.
‘You’re coming home for Christmas, Claudia. The family should be together. Three generations, can you believe it? Christmas is always extra special with a new baby.’
I sigh again, gazing out the window. We’re passing over a town, and I wonder what the people down there are doing as they run around getting ready for Christmas, whether they too are racing home to see families that they aren’t particularly excited to see. I know you’re supposed to love your family, but mine are a whole lot easier to love from a distance, and I really don’t feel like having my life choices questioned for the whole two weeks, just like they were for the first 23 years of my life, until I found myself leaving on a jet plane.
‘But I guess now I’m coming back again’, I sing softly. Mom and Dad had been less than impressed when I’d left, off to study at art school. I’d lasted two whole months before deciding it wasn’t for me, and taken up jewellery making again, selling it at the local market while working at the supermarket to pay the rent. I’d taught myself to sew and began selling my dresses as well, and after a few years I’d opened up a real, physical, shop where I sold my creations and other nick nacks. I felt successful in London, but coming home - I was sure that once again I would be nothing compared to Janine, who worked in IT, had married an equally intelligent and financially successful man, and had now produced a grandchild for our parents.
It really didn’t help that I’d recently ended a three year relationship with Jason, dashing my mother’s hopes that I, too, would settle down soon.
Good thing I hadn’t told her we had been engaged.
‘Claudia!’
My Dad’s voice. I look around me, blinking, as I walk through the airport gate and out into the waiting area. Some of my fellow passengers are embracing those waiting for them, while others are heading directly for the baggage claim. For the briefest of moments I wish I was among them, and then I see it. It’s a big white piece of paper with multi-coloured letters painted on, ‘Welcome Home Claudia!’ I squint, noting that there are also pictures around the writing. I think they’re flowers. The sign is being held by my father at one end and an unfamiliar man at the other - Stephen, Janine’s husband, I realise. I have met him a few times before, but he’s never really stuck in my head. My sister stands beside him, baby Liam in her arms. It’s Mom who comes forward and gives me a hug.
‘Claudia. Welcome home, it’s so good to see you.’
‘It’s good to see you too’, I reply automatically, returning the embrace. ‘All of you. And I love the sign.’
‘It was Stephen’s idea’, Janine says proudly, and he blushes.
‘Well, I figured you don’t return from five years away in the UK every day. The least we could do was to make you feel welcomed right away.’
‘It’s great’, I tell him. ‘And this must be Liam. Oh no, it’s okay’, I add hastily when Janine makes to hand him to me, ‘I mean, he’s sleeping. I don’t want to disturb him yet.’
For somebody who was a founding member of the Baby-Sitters Club I wasn’t so great with babies now that I was in my (late) twenties. I’d suddenly panicked, in the ‘what do I do and how do I hold a baby again?’ way. None of my friends in London had children, or maybe it was more that I didn’t make friends with people who had children. Either way, that seemed like something you did when you were in your thirties.
‘Let’s get out of here’, Dad says, never one to show too much emotion. ‘How many bags did you bring with you this time?’
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Yes, I used to be known for my hideous over-packing but that was years ago, and I felt like a different person. Was it too much for my parents to realise that? Do they even care about who I am now, or are they still mourning the fact that I was never going to be a studious teenager, an academic overachiever like Janine? Probably. ‘Just the one, and it’s pretty light. I’d normally fit two weeks of clothes into a backpack, but it’s winter so I needed to pack bulkier things. Normally when I’m travelling it’s for work and I need my bigger suitcase for my jewellery and garments.’
‘I like to travel light too’, Stephen agrees with me. ‘Fit it all in carry on if I can.’ |
206dffc058c348ecad2a22c7d8b40c78 | ['c525a3f791cb42739a2348b0fac7f62b'] | The inside of the factory is slightly less creepy, but only slightly.
Dozens of boxes are stacked up upon each other with creepy smiley faces on the side. If that was the company's logo, then no wonder the factory went out of business because Oikawa thought those smiling faces were disturbing as fuck. The floors were like the walls—completely cement—and there was a shit ton of papers fluttering around inside. There was the occasional pile of loose wooden boards as well.
Yeah, Oikawa couldn't lose his cool here, this place would be lit up like a furnace in seconds if he did. This whole place was like the world's most creepy tinderbox, just waiting for him to have a meltdown and burn everything inside.
Oikawa maneuvers himself inside the factory through the window, gingerly avoiding bird droppings and the shards of glass scattered along the cement around the window and on the floor directly beneath it. He brushes off his pants after he's made it safely inside the building out of habit. Maybe he shouldn't have worn such a nice pair of pants?
The building isn't so creepy now that he's inside, the only highly disturbing part is those damn smiley faces and the way the boards across shattered windows cast eery shadows over almost everything. Well, good thing Oikawa was prepared and brought his flashli—
"Fuck," Oikawa whispers passionately to himself, patting his pockets in disbelief.
He doesn't even have his phone to use as a light either.
"I guess this is going to be done the old fashioned way then," Oikawa murmurs to himself as he begins investigating the inside of the factory.
He begins his investigation with looking at the walls, since his father said most inscriptions tended to be above the ground like on trees or walls and the like. Oikawa makes it halfway through his search of the building before his metaphorical sixth sense starts tingling, as if he's being watched.
His hands shake as he pulls out his knives, but he keeps his head held high and confident, even though his whole body is starting to sweat and he's practically vibrating in place. He really, really needs to calm down even if someone is there. He's been hiding his carefully guarded secret since he was ten—fifteen, almost sixteen, years. If someone _is_ here, he can't let his magic escape his control.
There's a crash of boxes falling behind him, and his body reacts before his mind can even begin to process what's happening. He spins around, his hands out in front of him defensively as something in his chest twists painfully before a burst of fire stretches outward. Flames lick at the newcomer, who barely manages to halt the fire in its tracks with a powerful gust of wind that ruffles both Oikawa and his own blonde with black tipped hair. Oikawa stares at the man before recognizing him almost immediately; Semi Eita, Non-Typical, and control over weather his brain mechanically supplies.
A rumble of thunder is all Oikawa hears before he's diving into piles upon piles of cardboard boxes as the spot he was previously standing in is struck by a bolt of lightning. Every box Oikawa's hands touch are set ablaze, burning around him like a funeral pyre.
_They can't find out. They can't find out_ , he chants as he scrambles forward over boxes.
Rain pours down upon him, but it's not enough to stop the fire that's been set upon them. The bitter smell of smoke fills Oikawa's nose, burning the inside of his lungs unpleasantly. He manages to crawl out of the mess of boxes without his cover being blown, which is good. What's bad though is that Semi is waiting for him as he crawls out the other side, which startles him enough for a ball of fire to come hurtling at Semi from the pile of burning boxes.
Semi deflects the inferno with another gust of wind that quickly morphs into a spinning whirlwind of embers and boxes; he's created himself a tornado. Oikawa instinctively reaches into the depths of the heat flickering in his chest, drawing more magic from inside himself. Fiery hands descend upon Semi and his shield of wind with a vengeance, tearing apart anything solid that stands between the flames and the other man.
The flaming hands morph into birds that swoop down of wings of orange and red, diving down to meet Semi head-on, their purpose to drive forward like a lance to penetrate Semi's defenses. He barely manages to catch the fiery birds as they dive with the wind once more, but this time he's pushed back against the wall with a loud _thud_ that rattles the foundations of the factory.
Fire assaults Semi from all sides and the man barely manages to hold off the blaze with his own magic.
"Oikawa," he calls out through gritted teeth, "stop this!"
Oikawa wishes he could, but he's scared, he's sweating uncontrollably and he knows at any moment he's going to lose full control (as if he hasn't already, he thinks bitterly), but he doesn't want to hurt Semi and it scares him even more that he might hurt another person more than being torn apart by lightning and wind does.
He stumbles back, the flames flickering from an orange color to a light blue, like it's feasting on his fear of himself. Oikawa watches helplessly as Semi forces the wind to direct his fire back at him, and all he can do is curl in on himself as he's forced back into the pile of burning cardboard and tinder by gale force winds. What remains of the cardboard and wood digs into his skin, leaving fresh cuts to drip blood onto the inferno that hisses like angry felines when the red, sticky liquid drops down from Oikawa's fair skin. | 762cff9c8aa94f5d850b0b3833b807cd | ['c525a3f791cb42739a2348b0fac7f62b'] | "Yachi," Iwaizumi calls out.
She quickly appears, blonde head peeking out from underneath her desk. She blushes and quickly rights herself, and honestly Iwaizumi doesn't want to ask why she crawled under there.
"Send someone immediately to the corner of 850 North and Main," Iwaizumi commands.
Yachi doesn't move, only blinks at him with panic.
"Uh, s-sir, there isn't anyone else? Here? Just you and I? So— I mean, do I have to? You know—"
Iwaizumi slams his head down onto his desk, making Yachi squeak in alarm.
"It's fine Yachi, I'll go," Iwaizumi mutters.
He really, really wishes he had a different job as of right now.
*****
A half hour and a quarter gallon of gas later, Iwaizumi is pulling up to some fancy house along some fancy street in some fancy suburb. It's the kind of neighborhood one would see in advertisements for perfect houses and great areas to live while putting your snotty nosed little brat with daddy issues through private school. Iwaizumi was convinced that this was the least sketchy neighborhood in the world. Honestly the only thing sketchy about this place was Iwaizumi and his old, beat up car.
Iwaizumi leisurely strolls up the cement stairs, eyes flicking over the patio chair rocking back and forth when the light wind brushed through. Iwaizumi knocks on the door with three curt knocks, then steps back to watch the door.
No one answers.
He frowns slightly but knocks again, repeating his previous actions. Yet no one answers this time either. His hand immediately finds the pistol at his side, but he doesn't pull it out just yet. This area isn't sketchy, but it send weird chills up his spine. He's probably being paranoid, but his hands itch to have his gun out as a safety precaution, but he knows if he so much as draws his gun the neighbors would see his sketchy clothes and his sketchy car and then call the police on _him_. That'd be fun explaining to Irihata-san.
Iwaizumi wanders up to the nearest window and peers inside, but sadly the curtains are drawn closed, and either way he's not sure what he would see if the curtains weren't in the way anyway, it's not like anyone's home.
Iwaizumi is about to turn around and head back to the station—because this was obviously some prank call, there is no sign of any breaking and entering—when he sees a flicker of motion in the reflection in the window.
Iwaizumi only sees it for a second, but it's enough to make him spin around, gun drawn and the safety off. He scans the area before lowering his gun, but not putting it away just yet. Maybe he's just sleep deprived? That's highly likely, he's been really pushing himself these past few days. Yeah, he totally didn't see anything, just his eyes playing tricks.
And... if he did see anything it probably could have been a bat. Yeah, that seems about right. It _was_ kind of leathery and black like a bat, and it was flying, but in the window it seemed almost... human? It had possess two legs and two arms and a face, half covered in scales, but it did _have_ a face nonetheless.
Or maybe it was just a weird sleep deprivation hallucination. Or maybe he was going crazy. Or maybe he just hit his head too hard on his desk and gave himself a concussion. All options are more believable than him seeing a bat/human/thing.
Iwaizumi attempts to steady his heartbeat by taking a few calming breaths, but that itchy feeling in his hands and that weird chill running up and down his spine hadn't left yet, but it would, because nothing was there.
Iwaizumi lets out a shaky sigh and shakes his head to himself, mentally reminding himself to get more than two hours of sleep next time he returns to his dingy apartment. He slips his pistol back into its holster; he's being ridiculous.
The cop walks back to his car (a little less leisurely this time) and slides into the front seat, starting up his car mechanically. The blue vehicle starts up with a hum and a cough, like it's protesting his use of this thing.
_I know_ , he sighs, _but my paycheck is shit and I can't afford to fix you up like you deserve._
He's about to put the car in drive when he hears something that sounds like a cough, a human cough. Iwaizumi turns around in his seat, gun already unholstered, to face the man in the back of his car. It's dark, so he can't get a good look at the guy's face before he latches on to Iwaizumi's arm and twists, causing a sharp pain to spike up into his elbow and shoulder (an old sports injury, but there is no possible way this guy could know that). Iwaizumi scrambles to grab his gun with his left hand as the weapon falls from his right hand, but the other man grabs the gun first.
"Hello there, Mr. Iwaizumi," the man purrs venomously, "it's nice to finally meet you."
With a unnaturally quick motion, the man slams the grip of Iwaizumi's gun into the other's head. Iwaizumi's head falls against the steering wheel with a thud, and all Iwaizumi sees before he falls unconscious is the blurry tattoo winding up the man's forearm. He's pretty sure the tattoo is of a snake, and he's also pretty sure that tattoo moved.
*****
Iwaizumi wakes up with a splitting headache that pierces through his skull like a lightning strike. He moves to rub at his forehead to ease the pain, but when he attempts to tug his arm up to his face he quickly finds that he _can't_. His eyes flicker open and he has to squint at the blinding light of day streaming in through the window, but as his eyes adjust he realizes he's in _deep shit_. |
7f6a0ee8483c4ee9ba48549d8a6084ba | ['c529a2cba44344d49c4ec830e3e47d1d'] | Ethan sent him a warning glance, daring the tech to continue. Instead of wasting more time, he grabbed his gun and walked cautiously towards the door. The others safe for Brandt picked up their firearm and positioned into a backup stance. He glanced through the peephole but could only see a black cap covering brown hair. An uneasy feeling nagged him as he lowered his weapon and asked loudly:
“кто это?” _(who is this?)_
The answer was pure American.
_“It’s your niece, you goddamn fucking idiot!”_
He opened the door immediately, gun still at hand but hidden behind his back. A brunette wearing a dark brown coat was standing there, arms crossed, eyes flashing and looking thoroughly pissed. Ethan forgot everything about the mission, the papers, his teammates and the rest of the world. His full attentions were focused on the woman glowering at him.
“You and I” slow speech, clear articulation. A warning bell rang in Ethan’s mind. Maria might be eighteen years younger but she could scare the shit out of him. “Need to talk.”
* * *
**Benji POV:**
The tech watched with wide eyes Ethan staring warily, really _warily_ , at the newcomer. She was a woman in her early thirties, brown hair and blue eyes. In good shape he’d say, although it was hard to tell with the big coat. Most importantly, she had Ethan Hunt pinned against a wall (in a metaphorical sense) with one stare. Without receiving an invitation, she stepped in, shut the door behind and returned to her intense staring.
Benji opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t gather the courage to utter a word. If the newcomer had stared at him _that_ way, Benji would have totally squirmed. Next to him, Jane and Brandt were oddly quiet. After what seemed to be a lifetime, Ethan finally spoke:
“Maria? Why are you here?”
The woman gave him what Benji assumed to be her ‘ _don’t you dare bullshit with me_ ’ look.
“You were kind enough to let me know you were alive. I came to check that with my own eyes.” She pulled out a large envelope from her jacket. “Your passports and plane tickets. Our flight is leaving in five hours.”
“ _Our_?” Ethan repeated in a sudden high-pitched tone. Benji couldn’t tell if he was angry, flabbergasted or horrified. Maybe all at once.
“You’re on the run, uncle dearest, about to step out of Russia with other disavowed agents.” Maria replied deadpan. Ethan narrowed his eyes.
“How would you know?”
The woman huffed indignantly.
“There was a bombing at the Kremlin and you call me the following day, asking for four passports which mean you can’t contact your own people. Ergo, you are in deep shit, given your history likely disavowed and obviously not alone. And you think I’d let your jolly troop go without a blink?”
“You’ll just be a liability, this isn’t a game!” Ethan retorted.
“I know it’s not a fucking game, why do you think I showed up?” Her eyes flashed in anger but her whole body was perfectly composed. “I got friends in the airport in case things get sour. Don’t worry, I’ll jump on a plane to New York once in Dubai if that makes you happy.” She ended with a glare.
Her stare never left Ethan’s face, eying him with a somewhat calculating look Benji had only seen on Ethan so far. His curiosity won over and he asked bluntly:
“Pardon ma’am but who are you?”
Both Ethan and the woman turned towards him and Benji stiffened. Maria raised one eyebrow.
“Who are _you_?” she asked instead.
The tech truly tried to reply. Words were on the tip of his tongue, ready to be delivered, but his jaw and throat didn’t seem to cooperate. Those steel blue eyes that had unease his team leader were now dead set on him and he found himself incapable of uttering a word. That woman’s stare was more intimidating than a knife.
“These are agent Benji Dumn, Agent Jane Carter and M. Brandt, analyst.” Ethan provided, probably taking pity on the British. “And this is Maria Hill, my niece. She’s a…a journalist.”
Maria rolled her eyes.
“You can say the words Ethan, I’m a bounty hunter.”
“Bounty hunter?” Brandt repeated with a hint of curiosity. The tech nearly jumped out of his skin; he had completely forgotten about the other man’s presence. To Benji’s relief, Maria’s attention reported on the analyst. Brandt didn’t flinch under her stare, merely stared back blankly.
“Yes, I chase criminals for a reward.”
“I know what a bounty hunter is.” Brandt cut. “I just didn’t expect you to be one.”
Maria raised an eyebrow.
“Appearances can be deceptive, don’t you think M. Brandt?”
For a second, the analyst seemed ready to reply something but thought better last minute. Benji couldn’t blame him; _he_ was a field agent and obviously older than the woman but she still scared _him_. Ethan sighed heavily.
“Fine, you’re coming to Dubai, but you are returning to New York right after.”
Maria rolled her eyes again and Benji knew Ethan had no choice anyhow; the woman would follow, like it or not. Obedience and self-preservation were _clearly not_ family traits. Jane eventually attempted to gain control of the situation:
“We need to pack and leave, right? So let’s just do that.”
“Hear, hear” Benji piped in and all attention was on _HIM_ again. The tension was palpable and the tech didn’t like it. Eventually, Ethan took his role as a leader in hand and declared:
“Carter’s right. Let’s pack. I assume you have everything ready?” he added, turning towards Maria. The woman raised an offended eyebrow.
“Who do you think I am?”
Ethan rolled his eyes, but in an Ethan-amused way. Seconds later, a barely visible smirk appeared on Maria’s face and Benji wondered why was the Hunt family ever declared sane.
3. Chapter 3
**When a Hill joins the Hunt -3**
Maria pov: | 6de024cd63c946be9deba8ab92ebf05d | ['c529a2cba44344d49c4ec830e3e47d1d'] | “And that was all I got from her.” Natasha concluded, frustrated, as she reread her notes. She had left the Fury’s household with the strong impression that Maria knew more than she was letting on and had shared her impressions with the team. Only Stark seemed to find the tidbit of information interesting and had claimed he would spare some of his precious time to dig deeper before cutting the Skype live feed. Due to his broken leg, the bastard had asked for a videoconference to be kept on the loop. Then, she had returned home and spilled her guts to her lover.
A snort made her glance up. Clint was hiding what was definitively a smirk behind his glass. She narrowed her eyes.
“You think that’s funny?”
“No, not especially.” He replied, but amusement was clearly laced in his tone. “But honestly, I’m not surprised. Maria was already the most stubborn and secretive kid back in the days; Nick had the hardest times to get her to open up. She must have liked you to say anything at all. I have to consider myself lucky when she ever answers my texts.”
Natasha nearly dropped her pencil.
“Wait, you’re in _contact_ with her?” she asked in disbelief.
Clint stared at her with a questioning eyebrow.
“I wasn’t aware you were investigating on Fury,” he defended himself. “You just mentioned a ‘triple homicide’ and none of the guys killed were with me back then. I would have introduced you if you’d asked.”
“Clint…” she started warningly. Her lover sighed deeply and took a seat on the opposite couch. He knew he would be in the doghouse if he tried to withdraw information from her.
“Yes, as you know, I served under Colonel Fury’s command.” he said, and of course she knew that, but she wasn’t aware he had had an encounter with any of her victims. He was right though, she hadn’t told him who this was about. “And the only reason I’ve met Maria was…” his voice trailed off. “I was there when we rescued her and another bunch of pre-teens from being shipped off as slaves.” He shook his head, she suspected, to chase away the memories. “They’d been there for weeks. She had actually been trying to escape the building when we arrived. Fury sort of adopted her on spot and made it official when he returned. I would see her hanging around during our training sessions, but that’s all.”
Natasha tensed, sensing this was a particularly touchy subject. As she remembered the hard face of the woman and with what Clint had just slipped, she beguilingly understood her reluctance to speak.
“That must have been hard,” she noted.
“Fury tried to keep that part of her past under wraps, something about giving her a new start.” He added with a fond smile. “Poor kid had gone through enough already; I gave her my number if she ever needed anything.” His face sobered drastically. “She was devastated by his murder.”
“So you definitively think it was murder?”
Clint snorted, meaning yes.
“You’ve read the file on his past actions, Tasha; you know what he was capable of. That guy would have survived an atomic bomb.”
His right hand settled on her shoulder and he slid his left fingers under her chin and pulled gently. Her head was tilted backwards as he leaned forward for a kiss.
“Working with Rogers is tensing you up,” he remarked. “You need to trust your instincts more.” Both hands cupped her cheeks and his eyes planted inside hers. “And relax.”
In spite of herself, Natasha felt the tension leave her body.
“You just want sex,” she said with the token resistance in her voice. Clint flashed his boyish grin, the one she still had trouble resisting even after three years of common life.
“I want you bent over the table, shivering and begging me for release, while I pound into you from behind and admire your gorgeous breasts crushed on the surface and your flushed face in the mirror,” he corrected with dilated pupils. Natasha couldn’t help glancing at the kitchen table and felt the shiver run down her spine and warmth grow in her lower stomach. Sometimes his words were as effective as having his fingers inside her. “You were making such sexy noises yesterday night. I kinda want to hear them again.”
She playfully slapped his chest, cheeks slowly turning pink.
“Stop redirecting the subject, I’m trying to be serious here.”
He cut her with another kiss, deeper and more passionate. Thoughts fled her brain as she started picturing the next step…And Jordan started crying, awakening from her sleep. Clint pulled back reluctantly. Natasha chuckled at his disappointed groan.
“I’ll feed her,” she said. “And I won’t put my bra back on.”
Clint peeked up with clear interest. Natasha rolled her eyes; that man’s sexual appetite was unbelievable. It didn’t help that he knew every trick to make her beg.
“You know, I think I fall in love with you a little more every day.” He said, blowing her a kiss. Natasha laughed, cheeks pink and chest fluttering, and left to feed her daughter.
* * *
When she arrived the next morning, Steve was already there. Stark too, typing on his tablet, even though he had a big plaster on his leg. The former looked ready to kill something while the second all too proud of himself. Natasha wondered how much time it would take for Steve to file a report on Stark. Or hit him. The consultant glanced at her upon her arrival and raised his eyebrows high.
“Oooooo-kay,” was his first word. “Someone got fucked within the inch of their life,” he noticed out loud.
Natasha didn’t even flinch over the indignant and furious glare of her ex-husband. |
7aaf01b086f04850a4ffdcbb235885d1 | ['c5482cccdd994fc09bb0fbad34c33ae6'] | “Bit Not Good,” John thinks to himself as he climbs up the stairs to his room on a quest for dry socks, getting his phone out of his pocket so he can text Sherlock to ask where he is.
He stops dead as he pushes his door open. There, on his bed, curled up on his side and facing him, is Sherlock Holmes.
John stares at him in total shock. Sherlock’s eyes are closed and his chest is rising and falling slowly, evidently asleep.
Sherlock’s wearing his normal pajama bottoms and an old t-shirt which is riding up and revealing a slice of smooth ivory skin at his midriff. The crease that seems to be permanently on his brow has smoothed out in sleep and his curls are cascading over his forehead. The cupid’s bow mouth is ever so slightly open, revealing a glint of perfect teeth and soft pink tongue. He’s on top of the covers, facing the doorway, and even though he’s curled up his limbs are relaxed and he looks peaceful.
John’s heart fills with love and affection for his madman and his breath hitches audibly. Sherlock’s eyes slowly open. He looks a bit disoriented for a moment, trying to suss out why he’s lying down and why John’s staring like that at him. Then he realizes. He fell asleep. On John’s bed. He hadn’t meant to. He had just been bored and exhausted and John hadn’t been home and he wanted to know if John’s pillow smelled like him. John hadn’t been supposed to find him like this.
Time for damage control. A quick glimpse at John’s face confirms that beyond his shock, he’s hungry after his day at work.
Sherlock smoothly jumps off the bed. “Ah, you’re finally home. Fancy Thai for dinner? The place near Bart’s or the one on-”
“Sherlock?” John interrupted, his face blank as he looked into Sherlock’s eyes.
“Yes John?” Apparently they would have to talk about the compromising position John had found him in. Although, honestly, that was not as compromising of a position as it could have been.
“Why were you asleep in my bed?” John asked, narrowing his eyes inquisitively.
“...experiment” Sherlock mumbled in response as he tried to move towards the door that John was still standing in front of, hoping that John would just let it go so they could forget about this whole incident and Sherlock could go back to just pining from afar.
“An experiment? And what were you testing, exactly?” John responded, not moving as Sherlock tried to get to the doorway and instead only achieved being much closer to John, who was starting to smirk as a pink flush began creeping over Sherlock’s face.
“Nothing important, I’m sure you wouldn’t understand. I was testing to see how exactly my reflexes and nervous system would respond if my sense of hearing was stimulated while in an REM cycle, but unfortuna-”
“Sherlock.”
“What, John?”
“Why were you sleeping in my bed?”
“I was just telling you, weren’t you listening? Did you not understand? Surely as a doctor you must have some comprehension of what I was saying I mean honestly, John-John what are you doing?”
John had raised himself onto his toes to lessen the height difference between himself and Sherlock as he gently placed a hand on Sherlock’s waist to steady himself. Sherlock looked at John in confusion as John carefully raised his other hand to cup his jaw and smooth his thumb across Sherlock’s cheek. His eyes fluttered closed and John smiled at how responsive he was to such a small touch. John slowly tilted his head up, closing his eyes as he chastely brushed their lips together and Sherlock gasped at the contact.
After a moment, John moved back.
“Alright?” John asked, when after a moment, Sherlock hadn’t moved an inch, nor opened his eyes to look at John.
“Sherlock?” John said, starting to move his hands away from Sherlock’s body as he began to worry that he had completely misread the situation.
“Do it again,” Sherlock breathed, eyes still closed.
John’s hands froze, still lightly resting on Sherlock’s body. For a moment he didn’t move, just smiled at how ethereal Sherlock looked and the fact that Sherlock seemed to be committing everything to memory.
Sherlock’s eyes opened, eyebrows furrowing as he realized John had made no move to kiss him again. As he opened his mouth to argue, John rocked up on his toes and kissed him again, firmer than the first time but still hesitant at how new the sensation was. He could feel Sherlock’s bony hip through his thin pajama bottoms and he smoothed his other hand into Sherlock’s ebony locks of hair which were just as soft as they looked. Sherlock’s hands were gently settling around his waist, curling into his jumper as though he wanted to hold onto John and never let him go. John slid his tongue ever so gently over Sherlock’s bottom lip and smiled at the quiet sigh Sherlock released into the room. He pulled back and smiled, memorizing the soft look on Sherlock’s face and the amazed look in his eyes.
“What were you saying about dinner?
**Author's Note:**
> To Phoebe,
> Happy anniversary love.
> To everyone,
> Interpret that last line as they go on a date or they order in and are unbearably breathtakingly cute and cuddly or they go straight into sex like genuinely any of these interpretations are fine and accurate. | da4ec4a2f8784637a1e0b5633036921c | ['c5482cccdd994fc09bb0fbad34c33ae6'] | He watches Molly and John chat as John makes his way over to his seat, definitely not looking at how John’s jeans pull over his arse. Sherlock doesn’t bother to register any of the words they’re saying as he watches John begin to put his instrument together, and he is absolutely not staring at the way John’s tongue curls over his reed as he slides it into his mouth. He catalogues John’s laughter in response to something Molly has said, and he watches John move the reed to the corner of his mouth before lisping a response to Molly past it. Sherlock’s hit by a sudden wave of adoration for this perfect being, looking away for a moment as John starts giggling again. He sneaks glances at him as more people trickle in until he accidentally catches John’s eye and John winks at him, at which point Sherlock diverts his gaze to his violin as he pulls it out of its case, blushing faintly as he hears John’s responding chuckle across the room.
4. Staff Paper
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> For the second time in as many weeks, John is shocked at seeing Sherlock sitting in the practice room.
Unfortunately, the next time John gets to practice early is a week later. They kept having to schedule rugby practice ending a scant few minutes before music practice began and with a huge biochemistry test coming up he hadn’t had much time after practice either. John’s fairly certain he did well on the exam this morning, but he’s resentful of not having gotten to see much of Sherlock. As it is, he’s not much earlier than he normally is, but he’s a few minutes ahead of when everyone else gets to the music room. The week before, after the practice when Sherlock had told him about being a consulting detective, John had slightly awkwardly asked for Sherlock’s phone number. He needed, well, wanted, a way to continue to talk to the violinist during the weekend so he wouldn’t be pining after him the entire time. After looking at John for a second, Sherlock had written it down for John, a slight smile playing over his features. They had been texting all week, staying up late into the night to talk about their lives and Sherlock’s cases and John’s rugby and everything they could think of, but John misses getting to see Sherlock in person. They’ve continued smiling at each other over their music stands, but John misses seeing Sherlock’s eyes light up as he talks about something. Imagining his posh baritone and how he gestures when describing experiments isn’t quite the same thing.
John turns the corner to the hallway that their rehearsal space is in. He strains his ears but he doesn’t hear any violin. Damn. He wonders if Sherlock misses him as much as he misses Sherlock. Probably not. After all, Sherlock’s way out of John's league and they haven’t known each other for very long. But, maybe he’ll hang around after practice ends and see if Sherlock wants to go to get coffee again. Possibly as a date. Is it too soon to ask that? The more pertinent question might be whether or not John has the courage to do that. It’s hard to get a read on how Sherlock feels about him, even though he knows him so much better than he did a week ago.
He enters the room and for the second time in as many weeks is shocked at seeing Sherlock sitting there, working on his music. This time he’s not playing anything though. Instead, he has three stands clustered around him and is using them as desks, with pages of staff paper scattered over them. He’s scribbling on one page with a pencil, a second forgotten pencil tucked behind his right ear as he works. His brow is furrowed in concentration and his tongue is held absent-mindedly between his teeth as he carefully writes more notes on the page.
“What are you doing?” John asks, moving from his spot in the doorway.
Sherlock jumps, upsetting the page he was working on, and John smirks at the startled violinist who had been so caught up in his own head he hadn't heard John come in.
“I’m-” Sherlock clears his throat, his voice slightly rusty with disuse, “I’m transcribing what you heard me play last week onto paper.”
“I hadn’t realized you had finished it, I can’t wait to hear it again,” John responds as he sets his things down and carefully sits next to Sherlock, trying not to disrupt any more of the papers.
“Well it’s - it’s not quite finished. But I need to be able to see it on paper so I can fix the last few things and I needed more space in my head to work on the second movement.”
“Wow. You’re incredible, you know that? Do you have a name for it yet?” Sherlock doesn't answer right away, but he looks flustered as he mumbles a name towards his stand. “What?”
“I said that I named it after a person,” Sherlock says, not meeting John’s eye.
"Oh," John answers, not sure what to do with the information. "Do I know them? Or is it that composer you were talking abou- "
"I named it after you. You inspired it, so it seemed fitting," Sherlock mumbles, muscles tensing as he continues to stare at a fixed spot on his current page.
John’s breath hitches in his throat. What? Sherlock had written that - that beautiful piece - because of him?
“Don’t worry, I don’t expect you to reciprocate my feelings. I barely know you and you're far above me in the social hierarchy and you were very kind to be friendly towards me last week, so don’t think I’m expecting anything but I didn’t want to lie and I thought that maybe if I told y-”
Sherlock stops his increasingly rapidfire speech when John's palm comes to rest against his cheek, slowly turning Sherlock back to face him. He meets John’s eye in total surprise, his body rigid with tension but relaxing as he scans John’s face.
John slowly moves his face closer to Sherlock’s, keeping his expression soft and open. He watches the confusion in Sherlock’s eyes dissipate into realization right before he ever-so-gently brushes his lips against Sherlock’s before starting to pull away.
He stays a few centimeters away from his face, waiting as he watches the Sherlock’s brain come back on before the violinist follows John and insistently pushes his lips against John’s.
John makes an unconscious noise of surprise in the back of his throat, not expecting Sherlock to be so enthusiastic but thrilled that he’s reciprocating. The noise is repeated when Sherlock’s tongue swipes across John’s mouth and John parts his lips in surprise before Sherlock’s tongue delves into his mouth. John chuckles when he realizes he can practically feel Sherlock’s brain cataloguing his mouth, giving Sherlock a moment or two to do so before giving back as good as he gets. His left hand is still on Sherlock’s cheek, his right in Sherlock’s hair while Sherlock has one hand on the edge chair between John’s legs to support himself and the other fisted in John’s jumper in a death grip as though he’s scared that John will try to pull away. John smiles into their kiss and leans towards Sherlock a little more, deepening the kiss and laughing quietly when he hears Sherlock whine slightly into John’s mouth.
They break apart when they hear voices making their way down the hall a few minutes later. John grins at Sherlock’s flushed cheeks and darkened eyes and he starts to giggle, slightly overwhelmed with the happiness in his chest. Sherlock joins in, and they sit there for a moment together before John stands up.
“Can I see you again after practice?” John asks, brushing his thumb over Sherlock’s cheek and Sherlock enthusiastically nods yes, his slightly crooked grin stretching wider over his features as John backs away to his seat across the room. A moment later, Irene, Molly, and Greg enter the room chatting together.
After practice, Sherlock will take John to Angelo’s. They’ll talk over all manner of things: music, their courses, deductions of other customers, the last rugby game. They will talk until their candle’s burning down and the night outside has grown dark. John’s knee will be pleasantly pressed against Sherlock’s, fingers intertwined while they linger over their shared dessert. They’ll only leave when they realize that they’re the last customers there and although Angelo would let Sherlock stay as long as he would like, they can’t stay forever, and John will walk Sherlock back to his flat. John will leave Sherlock with a slow kiss that tastes faintly of tiramisu and the promise of another date tomorrow, and he will walk away with a head full of passionate aquamarine eyes in candlelight. But, for now, they grin at each other over their music stands and think of all the things to come.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> Thank you for reading! I had a lot of fun writing this short series, and I hope you all enjoyed it! <3 |
36c01495b7d44348a69de81da7ce538c | ['c57f2ab60a22475abbb37c3d42fde222'] | Evelyn knew the best way to deal with the Brotherhood was to convince Maxson that Danse was dead. She had a plan for that, but first she had questions for her son. She found him in his lab, mulling over his work.
For a moment she wondered what Nate would think of their son. He was successful scientist working to change the world, but at a huge cost. After considering it for a moment, she knew what her late husband would have done. He would have stood by the Brotherhood. He was a solider through and through… not unlike Danse. The thought turned over in her stomach, and she forced herself to focus on the task at hand.
“Shaun,” she said approaching him.
“Yes?” he looked up at her.
“I have some questions,” she started a bit hesitantly.
“I thought you would. I will answer to the best of my ability,” he turned his full attention towards her.
“When you first told me about the Synths, you said that their genes are based off your DNA and that is why everyone refers to you as Father. Does that mean that Danse and I are… related?”
Shaun smiled a knowing look in his eyes. “Yes and no,” he answered. “My DNA was used to fill in the gaps and replace corrupted genes. Essentially I served as model for the geneticists to copy. Each Synth is genetically unique. Genetic diversity is key to the success of the project. The closest relationship you could have with Danse is a distant cousin. It’s highly unlikely though. I could, however, run a comparison if you wish.”
“No, thank you,” Evelyn breathed a sigh of relief.
“You truly had no idea he was a Synth,” he said his curiosity peeked.
“No clue. I’ve had encounters with plenty of Synths, I suppose, but nothing about him stood out as odd,” she explained.
“Interesting,” a shadow of concern crossed his face, but is disappeared before Evelyn was sure it was there.
“Are you alright?” Evelyn asked.
“Fine, yes,” Shaun said quickly. A small lopsided smiled graced his face. He was lying, it was the same look Nate used to give her when he was holding something back.
“You can tell me anything, Shaun,” she assured him.
“Thank you,” his smile was genuine now, “but this is my burden.”
Before he could stop her, Evelyn wrapped her arms around him and hugged him. It was the first time she had done so since their meeting. Shaun was ridged, taken off guard by the sudden affection. He was never one for hugging or really anything beyond a handshake. His arms drifted awkwardly away from his body, as if disoriented. Yet, Evelyn persisted, holding her son in an embrace until he finally relaxed and returned the gesture.
“I love you, Shaun,” she whispered.
“I… love you too, mom.”
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> I should get back to more Evelyn and Danse shenanigans in the next chapter. Thanks for reading!
6. Music
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> Evelyn shares a bit of her past with our dear Paladin.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> So here's some fluff. I kinda fought over writing some smut for this chapter, but decided against it. I could however just post the smut in the next chapter if thats what you dear readers wish.
>
> Also, I altered Evelyn's history a bit. Though, I don't see how exchanging one useless occupation for another in this context makes much of a difference. Anyway, I hope you like it!
>
> Thanks for the continued support!
Evelyn watched from a safe distance as flames engulfed Listening Post Bravo. A funnel of black smoke billowed into the sky and the top structure collapsed. She could hear the whirl of an approaching Vertibird. It was only matter of minutes before they landed a short distance away.
The breeze picked up as the spinning blades sent clouds of dust swirling around her ankles. Evelyn didn’t turn around to face the arriving Knights, instead she watched the bunker crumble.
“Knight Carson,” Evelyn was surprised to hear Maxson’s voice. She turned and saw the Elder approaching as the Vertibird’s engines slowed enough to allow conversation.
“Elder Maxson,” Evelyn gripped the items in her hand tightly.
“I trust your mission was a success,” he said eyeing the burning bunker.
“Yes, sir,” she lied flatly. Slowly she handed him the items in her hand. Danse’s holotags and a scrap of the Paladin’s Brotherhood uniform. The tags and cloth had a splattering of Danse’s blood on them. The blood had been Danse’s idea, to make it more believable he had said.
Maxson took the evidence from her, “I was hoping for more.”
“No time, sir. Danse, I mean the Synth had set charges in the bunker. He planned to take any Brotherhood soldiers sent after him down with him. I had barely enough time to grab this before the detonation sequence started.”
“Of course, “ Maxson seemed to buy her story, “good work soldier. I know this was not an easy assignment, but it was necessary. The Brotherhood always rewards dedicated service, and I am promoting you to the rank of Paladin. Any and all resources previously afforded to the previous ranking officer are now yours.”
“Thank you, sir,” Evelyn was internally disgusted. How could he just toss aside Danse and his efforts for the Brotherhood like that? Though, right now was not the time to dwell on the issue. “I would like to ask for a leave of absence,” she said suddenly. “This business with Da—I mean the synth is still difficult to process.”
“I understand,” Maxson said, “we need you at your best, Paladin Carson. Return to the Prydwen when you are ready for your next assignment.”
* * * * *
When Evelyn returned to Sanctuary, Deacon was already working on a disguise for Danse. They didn’t hear her enter, so Evelyn settled in the doorway and watched the exchange. | 520b818de9ca49db83e67b6e61414247 | ['c57f2ab60a22475abbb37c3d42fde222'] | He logged in and opened the second to last message from Kaidan. It was six months old.
“Hey Shepard,” came Kaidan’s familiar greeting. “I won’t be able to send any messages for a while. Not that it really matters, I’m sending vids to a ghost,” he said sadly, before perking up. “I’m going out on a new mission. I’ll be working with some colonists in the outer rim and doing some other work for the Alliance. It’s all very secretive I guess.”
He leaned back in his chair, and thought for a moment. “There’s something big going on Shepard. I know it. I’m sure it’s going to be the type of mess you would have loved to get in the middle of. Anyway, I have to get going. I miss you.”
Shepard closed out of the vid, and hovered his cursor over the final message from Kaidan. It was dated on the two-year anniversary of Shepard’s death, only a couple months prior. Finally, Shepard opened the message.
Kaidan was seated with a glass in his hand. Only he didn’t speak for a few moments, only swirled the liquid as he stared. “Two years,” he said finally. “I can’t believe I’m still doing this after two years, Shepard. I’ll keep sending these as long as I have to, I guess.”
He looked to the camera, “this is for you Shepard,” he raised his glass, but only sipped at its contents. “I don’t…”
There was a knock at Shepard’s door, and he quickly paused the vid. “Come in,” Shepard bid.
Garrus entered, taking in the new cabin. “Nice,” he smirked. The Turian looked to Shepard, “you busy?”
“No, just going through old mail,” Shepard said.
“I’m sure you’ve got quite the back log,” Garrus muttered. “Anything interesting?”
“Well,” Shepard was suddenly unsure if he wanted to share Kaidan’s vids, but he trusted Garrus with his life. This Turian could keep a secret. “I have quite a few from Kaidan.”
“Really? Though that doesn’t really surprise me. He took your death really hard,” Garrus sat on the edge of Shepard’s desk. “We all did, but I was pretty worried about him for a while. He seems to be doing okay now from what I’ve heard.”
“Yeah, I can tell,” Shepard sighed.
“Have you messaged him back?”
“What would I say? ‘Hey sorry for being dead, but I’m back now.’ I have a feeling it wouldn’t go over well.” Shepard sighed, leaning back into his chair.
“I didn’t find the news all that shocking. I think everyone is kind of expecting you to come back from the dead like one of those creatures. What do humans call them again?”
“I am not a zombie, Garrus,” Shepard smiled.
“Zombies, that’s right. I have to say you look better than most of the living dead I’ve seen.”
“So you were a zombie slayer during your off hours being Archangel?”
“One can only aspire to my level of awesome,” Garrus jested. “A couple of my men were big horror movie fans. I may have caught a few of them during my time on Omega.” The mood suddenly turned a bit grim, but Garrus continued. “You should send something to him,” he changed the subject.
“I suppose so. He’s sent nearly a hundred and fifty messages in two years,” Shepard said.
“A hundred and fifty?” Garrus gawked. “You _have_ to send him something. Let me know if you need any creative advice,” Garrus called as he headed towards the door.
As soon as the coast was clear, Shepard played the rest of Kaidan’s last message. “I don’t know what’s going on,” Kaidan’s tone was serious. “Colonists are going missing. Whole communities just disappearing, and there’s nothing I can do about it. You’d probably know exactly what to do, you always did. I miss you.”
The vid closed, and Shepard tried to think of his next steps. Garrus was right, he had to send something.
He opened the vid application and began, “Hey, Kaidan.”
3. Reply
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> Kaidan receives Shepard's message.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> I'm back with another chapter.
>
> It seems like this series is going to consist of short chapters. That seems to be the pattern so far. I'm also planning on sticking with writing between missions for the most part. We've all played the games, I assume, so it would be rather redundant to write those in. Instead I'll just be focusing on Kaidan, Shepard, and maybe some other familiar faces here and there.
>
> Anyway, thanks for the kudos and comments! Here's Chapter 3!
Kaidan stared wearily at the screen of his computer. He was about ready to abandon his report to Anderson and finish it in the morning. Running his hands across his face, Kaidan leaned forward resting his elbows on the desk. After a moment, he reached to shut down the console when a notification pinged.
In the lower right corner of his screen a new message was waiting. The source was encrypted, but there was no urgent flag on the message. Which struck Kaidan as strange. He opened the message anyway, and a vid window opened up.
“Hey, Kaidan.”
Kaidan’s heart nearly stopped. This wasn’t possible, it had to be some cruel joke. It couldn’t be Shepard, he had been declared dead two years ago. He had watched the Normandy be completely destroyed with him still on board. Kaidan had helped carry the empty casket at his funeral. This couldn’t be real.
“I know this is a shock for you. Trust me it was a shock when I woke up on an operating table,” he trailed off trying to think of where to go next. “I, uh, got your messages. I’m sorry you had to go through all of that.” |
6cba3d53271e4dff8b457c72841e5f83 | ['c59dbd12a2a24f949469a68e6cbfd699'] | Draco’s eye widened when Harry looked away sheepishly and didn’t answer him, “Oh my god, you did think that, didn’t you?”
“Well—” he stopped when he realised that he couldn’t think of a single thing to defend himself with.
“My, my Potter, what are we going to do with you,” He was laying on his back again and staring up at the ceiling.
Harry’s traitorous mind immediately started to imagine all of the inappropriate things that Draco could do with him before he thought that he should probably try and steer them back to the original topic of conversation.
“I don’t think that you’ll end up all alone. Anyone would be lucky to have you as their partner, their boyfriend, their husband,” I would be so lucky he thought to himself.
“That’s a lie and you know it. You know the things that I’ve done, what kind of person I can be.” He sounded so resigned, like he truly believed this. Hell, maybe he did.
“Yes. Yes, I know what kind of person you can be. You’re the kind of person that works to change themselves for the better. You’re the kind of person that takes care of your friends when they need it, you would drop everything for Parkinson, I now you would. You’re the kind of person that people who don’t know you well enough find so easy to hate but when people know you... they—” he swallowed the word love, “don’t. They don’t hate you,” he finished in a small voice.
“Very eloquent, Harry, as always.” Harry could see the small smile forming on his face though and knew that he wasn’t unaffected by his words. He felt a little bit proud of himself for being the reason for that smile. “So what are you afraid of, oh great Saviour?”
“You’re such a prat,” he said before he tried to smack Draco with his pillow, forgetting that the barrier was there until he felt the shock run up his arm. He yelped and fell back against the bed as Draco just laughed at his idiocy.
“I’m afraid that I’ll never find someone who will love me for who I am,” He kept talking before Draco could interrupt him because by the look on his face he really wanted to, “I mean really love me, not as the ‘Saviour’ or ‘The Chosen One’ but just… me. I’m not an easy person to live with, I still have nightmares from the war, there are still nights where I wake up screaming and forget that it’s all over. I hate going out in public, the last guy I dated just wanted to parade me around Diagon all the time as if I was some kind of prize, which I assure you, I am not. I’m a mess in just about every way possible. I need someone who will understand that and accept me as I am without wanting to change me but who will also call me out on all of my bullshit. And I don’t want to date another person that just looks at me as if I’m some kind of trophy or a prize.”
He closed his eyes to avoid having to look at Draco who had gone completely silent while Harry was talking. He still half expected the other man to make fun of him after his impromptu confession.
When Draco spoke his voice was soft and hesitant, “Maybe the reason you haven’t ‘found’ them yet is because you’ve been searching too far, maybe that person is already right in front of you. Maybe they’ve always been there.”
Was Draco implying what he thought he was? “I’ve really hoped so,” Harry replied as he opened his eyes again, deciding to assume that he was.
They continued looking into each other’s eyes, both unwilling to look way until the barrier separating them shimmered into nothingness again and they were left in darkness, not even the moon offered them any light tonight, hidden behind the clouds as it was.
He heard Draco sigh and the sheets rustle as he presumably arranged himself into a comfortable sleeping position. “Goodnight, Harry.”
“Night, Draco.”
He was in so deep. He was in a lot of trouble. He rolled over and rearranged his pillow into a more comfortable position before eventually falling into a fitful sleep.
******
_Voldemort was coming for him, steadily making his way down the long hall in the Department of Mysteries with Nagini slithering along by his side. He barely had time to react before Voldemort cast a Crucio at him and his world exploded in pain......_
“Harry… Harry! Harry, wake up!”
He could hear someone shouting his name in the distance, could feel someone frantically shaking him. Opening his eyes he saw Draco hovering above him with a terrified look on his face.
“Harry… ” He trailed off faintly though he looked relieved as he let go of Harry and slumped back against the headboard.
He grimaced when he realised that he was soaked in sweat, even the sheets around him were damp.
“I-it was just a nightmare. I’m sorry,” he said as he began to sit himself up and push the damp sheets away from him. He shivered as a chill swept over his sweaty body.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I just— I don’t really want to talk about it.” Draco nodded, but was still eyeing him carefully, “Get up.”
“What?”
“Get up. I’ll put on some fresh sheets before you go back to sleep.” His voice was soft and caring as he spoke and it just made him want to cry. He always had trouble understanding when people tried to take care of him.
Draco had the sheets changed in no time, the Muggle way even, and they both climbed back into the bed. Harry settled himself on his side as close to Draco as he could without being obvious, it was comforting to be near someone after one of his nightmares. | 4ff0e8f7192e4a2c92aa4413f1e01e6b | ['c59dbd12a2a24f949469a68e6cbfd699'] | "Hey!" Neville replied indignantly "I mean, I know I'm not the best at Potions but I do try."
"Obviously not hard enough, Longbottom, you're a disaster, it's a wonder they let you into this class at all" Draco said scathingly.
Still a prat, Harry thought. "You know Malfoy, I know that having a stick permanently shoved up your arse is practically a Malfoy tradition and all, but have you ever thought of having it magically removed?" Harry was pretty pleased with himself when he heard Blaise let out a snort of laughter.
"You know Harry, I have it on pretty good authority that there's something else he would rather have sho-"
Harry never did get to hear the end of that sentence because at that moment Malfoy shot Blaise with a silencing spell. Blaise broke down in silent laughter and fell off his chair causing Snape to take five points from Slytherin. Bitterly, Harry thought if that had been him, Snape would have delighted in taking fifty points from Gryffindor.
Malfoy glared at Blaise and then turned his glare on Harry, "Just go and fetch the ingredients, Potter" He ordered imperiously, spitting out the last word. But his words were a bit at odds with the blush that was still furiously spreading across his aristocratic cheekbones.
Harry thought about arguing but decided it wasn't worth it. Especially as Snape was walking past, probably looking for an opportunity to take more points from Gryffindor. He got up and walked towards the store cupboard to get the ingredients they would need for the potion. Ron was already in there.
"So, how is it being partnered with the Ferret?" He inquired while rummaging through the shelves looking for the rest of his ingredients.
"He's a prat. As per usual" he said, for lack of anything better to say while he started looking for his own ingredients.
"Are-" Ron started before Snape appeared.
"Potter, Weasley, this isn't social hour in the Gryffindor Common Room. Ten points from each of you. Back to your seats.” They both exited the storeroom after Snape and went their separate ways back to their seats.
When Harry got back to their desk Malfoy had finished setting up their cauldron. He eyed Harry coldly before grabbing the ingredients and making a start on their potion. Harry tried to make an effort to help but every time he tried to touch something or reached over to stir their potion Malfoy batted his hands away so after a while he just gave up and let him get on with it.
They had been brewing for nearly an hour when Malfoy leant over Harry to grab some more ingredients. At the same time, Harry had taken a breath in. He had never been so close to Malfoy before and he smelled, well, he smelled good. Like vanilla and…something else that he couldn't quite put his finger on. He breathed in again, savouring the smell and then mentally slapped himself when he realised what he was doing. He hoped that Malfoy hadn't noticed. If he did then he didn't say anything.
By the time their potion was done Harry was nearly asleep. A common occurrence in potions as the air was so stifling and warm. He jerked to attention when he heard Snape's voice.
"You should all be done with your potions by now. You will each place a flask of your Amortentia on my desk for grading, remember to label it with both of your names otherwise you will not be graded. Although for some of you, that may make no difference anyway." He looked pointedly at Seamus who's cauldron had exploded halfway through the lesson. "You will all take note of what it smells like to you and I want 6 inches on it’s composition by the beginning of next lesson. Class dismissed."
"No guesses as to what it smells like to you. The Weaslette I'll bet." Malfoy mumbled bitterly as he started to clean up their station.
"What? Why would it smell like Ginny? And don't call her ‘Weaslette' that's not her name." Harry wasn't in the mood for any more of Malfoy's shit today. "Besides, I can't even smell the potion, the whole bloody room smells like you so maybe you should wear a little less cologne, yeah?"
When Malfoy didn't say anything, he looked up only to see Malfoy sitting in his chair with his mouth hanging open and Blaise in front of him trying to stifle a laugh but failing miserably.
"What the bloody hell is so funny?" He snapped. He was tired and sweaty from sitting in a stifling room for so long and he was starting to get irritable.
Malfoy seemed to gather himself and hastily started throwing his stuff into his satchel, shaking his head avoiding all eye contact with Harry. It was Blaise who answered him in the end. "Potter, you do know what Amortentia is right?"
"Well yeah, it's a love potion." Harry wasn't sure where this was going.
"Yes….and…?" He was waiting eagerly for Harry to answer.
Harry thought for a moment. "Well, I wasn't really listening when Snape was talking about it, I kind of zoned out."
Blaise gave up trying to hold in his laughter at that and burst into hysterics. Draco glared at him. "Oh, this is too good. Draco, do you want to tell him or should I?"
"Leave it alone Blaise." He was resolutely not looking in Harry’s direction as he finished packing up his things.
"Aw, Drakey, don't be like that." Blaise cooed innocently "Do you want to tell us what yours smells like?" He said raising an eyebrow. "I bet I can guess."
"No, I don't think I will. And if you ever call me that again, so help me Merlin, I will hex your bollocks off," Malfoy growled before picking up his bag and disappearing from the classroom. |
f477fe8259c94009a5cb183c449e4502 | ['c5cfd143aa9b4158a29059bca9fcb69f'] | Aokiji felt even more tired than he felt when the class began. His students weren't boring. Not in the slightest. He was just.. tired. Like he always was. He was well known and hated for his laziness, especially by Akainu. Kizaru thought it was cute.. What's with him and cute??? Aokiji groaned. Why am I here? Why did I say yes? I have no obligation to the principal.. but something made me agree to the job. Whatever it was, he didn't care anymore. Just like everything else. Except for Akainu.. wait.. he cared for him? That grouchy old man? How in the history of Aokiji's laziness and his mutual hatred for Akainu could he CARE about the flaming hot cheeto standing three meters away? Impossible..
Aokiji yawned, waiting for his next bout of students unhappily. He just really wanted a nap. No. Not wanted. NEEDED.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> flaming hot cheeto
>
> lmaoooooooooooo
**Author's Note:**
> aaaaand that ends the first chapter!
>
> teachers
>
> yeah
>
> interesting bit of people huh? haha yeaaaaaah.... qvp b
>
> had to read the one piece wiki on some of them since those i didnt have to read im really into (like Crocodile and Akainu tho i did read crocodile's a bit because why not. Kizaru's made me laugh omg and Kaku is adorable haha .. the others i could get but law's is the hardest for me ugh)
>
> anyway, next few chapters will be introducing the teachers with their students plus student introductions just like these teacher ones but smaller hopefully
>
> some of these were long (cough that meant i know the character by heart haha).. the shorter ones were because i just couldn't type more for them cus i was kinda rushing it before bed haha
>
> anyway leave a comment and/or a kudos and all that good jazz and i promise you that'll help if you have some suggestions on characters and what not
>
> alright it's midnight
> GOODNIGHT | 3a15ab6d4fc344d9b7c4ff9aab90bedf | ['c5cfd143aa9b4158a29059bca9fcb69f'] | Class 4-A belongs to a professional surgeon and family doctor whose treatments can cure any ailment except for some. He's studied so many diseases and illnesses as well as all medicines available as he creates his own cures. He knows many other doctors break the code all physicians are to follow but let's their own doing be their downfalls. He enjoys teaching his skills to his students and hopes they will exceed him later on. His favorite student is Chopper, who has a distinct natural affinity to medicines and never falters on all of his classwork. He is Law's most promising student. The teacher is well.. Trafalgar D. Water Law. He teaches Human A and P as well as Health, where students dress as nurses and perform medical tasks on each other, helping them get good hand's on experience. Law watches his students closely, never batting an eye to make sure his students get the best results. He is always willing to answer questions and concerns for every student, even those who aren't his students. He is also the schools main nurse and works in the main office during his planning periods. During the orientation, he was studying his own notes, flipping through one of his many notebooks. He always took a few moments to pause and look to the podium, knowing the principal would expect him to. He, out of all teachers, held a great fear of the principal. The fear stemmed from one of his younger days, when the principal wasn't the principal of Grand Line High, but the son of a very established billionaire. The two met on the streets of Sabaody Archipelago and fought it out. Law lost horribly, his body torn to bites and his consciousness fading. The last thing he saw was the now principal's large grin as his vision faded to blackness. When he awoke, the principal was there, offering a deal. The principal was freakishly strong and up to this day, Law has followed his every command. He had to be a good boy.. for now..
Class 3-B belongs to a man Ace, Marco, and all of the whitebeard pirates look up to. This man has kept his pirates safe from harm and has always put them first above himself, which makes him a valuable teacher to all students at Grand Line High. He sees his students (who he calls his crew very often) as his family in this school, taking care to always help motivate them to get out there and create a better world. He has faith in all students admitted to GLH. He never thought he'd become a teacher here, no less the Physical Education teacher. He was the one to train all students who joined his class, which was a huge majority of the school since most were fighters to begin with. His sessions would wear out even the toughest of students but they were worth it. The students could feel the growth and so could Mr. Newgate. He knew many marines worked here and so did many pirates and rouges like Mihawk, but that didn't stop him from letting the principal string him to the school like a puppeteer. During the orientation, WhiteBeard looked over the crowd of students, his eyes alight with curiosity as to how these students would impress him and continue his hope for the new generation. His eyes fell upon three waving figures: Ace, Marco, and Thatch. They were all members of Newgate's whitebeard pirates gang before this whole high school mumbo jumbo. He reacted with a large grin upon his face, nodding to the three boys. _These years should be interesting..._
And last but not least of the first period crew of teachers is Class 5-B which belongs to a young man in his early 20s. One of the youngest to be hired but also exceptionally well in the subject of Zoology which was an add on class to teach students about Zoan fruits. This young man was formerly a member of CP9 and was their strongest swordsman. During his time at Galley-La University he met Mr. Iceburg and Paulie who helped him get into Water 7 Institute to further his knowledge on fruits and their powers, especially Zoan types. He is constantly poked at for his Pinocchio-like nose but doesn't let it bother him. He has a high defensive rate when talking about his own Zoan power, the Giraffe Model from the Ox-Ox fruit. This man is none other than Kaku, a close friend to Lucci and Jabra. He does have a rather short temper when around Jabra and so does the latter when around Kaku. Kaku is extremely honest, not taking much for jokes and insults. He bounces from his CP9 attitude to his Galley-La attitude whenever his mode is good, especially when talking about his favorite animal(s). Cough. With his young age comes his enthusiasm at times but he struggles to try to blend with the students with his old fashioned way of speaking like an old man despite his age of just 25. During the orientation, he stood by the double doors the students came in through, his arms crossed and his head angled downward, his nose lowered and his eyes staring straight ahead, his CP9 attitude activated. _The quicker this ends, the quicker I can form the rest of my notes about my Zoan_ , he thought, a small smirk forming on his lips..
**And those are the 1st period teachers! They are all a rowdy bunch aren't they? During their joint planing period, 0 period, they discuss morning matters such as cafeteria , hallway, and waiting area(the area they wait at before the bell rings to start the day and head to first period) matters while other teachers are on patrol. Those on patrol are always notified later on of what the 0 period meeting was about.** |
72ab7c7384bf4a9ebc93dcb21acc9ba5 | ['c5d22e5d323c4763bc45883e0d6f19f6'] | Draco sank into the chair near Harry's bed and finally took the time to look over the man's face. Ever since he got him out of the bottle dungeon he'd been running around trying to get him comfortable and warm and then he was contacting Harry's friends (which took a while to do, no direct link between Malfoys and Weasleys for years). So he didn't notice how Harry's skin was an ashy brown instead of the healthy glow it had when he'd last seen him alive and well. But even in this state he looked so much better than the ghostly being he had been over the time it took them to find his body. Draco reached out with his free hand and brushed some stray tufts of hair out of Harry's face. He watched with fondness as the man scrunched up his face at the lock tickling his brow and nuzzled further into his pillow.
Yeah, Draco was in trouble.
6. Holding on.
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> Denial is not a river in Egypt. And there's none here.
_The skin under his fingers was warm and soft with the lightest stubble over a lovely jawline. Draco ached to press his lips to this delicious curve and follow where it led to an equally delicious mouth. His other hand slipped down a muscular and defined back to rest on a waist that seemed to fit perfectly under his palm, and Draco tried to move closer to the warm body before him..._
Draco startled awake when instead of warmth his chest connected with cold metal. In his sleep he had moved closer to Harry's bed and had bumped into the bedframe. Hoping that the jostling didn't also wake Harry he slowly moved back. When he looked up his eyes met sparkling green ones.
"Good morning. I hope I didn't cut off circulation in your hand, there."
Harry nodded towards their still joined hands, a small smile on his lips. Before Draco could remove his hand Harry tugged it towards him, which resulted in Draco flopping over Harry in his hospital bed.
"Nope, I can finally experience warmth and I am not letting you leave me to freeze. Gods, haven't they heard of heating in here?"
Draco did his best to regain his dignity by perching on the edge of the bed, glancing at the door over his shoulder. It wouldn't do, after Weasley's comments, to be found in the bed of Harry Potter.
"If you need to go, I understand. I'm just exercising my medical right to be a spoiled brat right now," Harry continued, still smiling, "You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"
"What are you on about?"
"Oh sir, I need help cutting up these daisy roots because of my arm," Harry supplied in a high pitched voice. Draco stared at him.
"Are you high?"
"No, that was you. Third year. Hippogriff. Remember?"
"Yeah I do, but why do you?"
Harry's face colored with a healthy blush. The silence that settled over them wasn't quite awkward, but it wasn't something that Draco was prepared to endure.
"I know I've asked this question at least ten times now, but why did you meet with my dad?"
"Because he..."
"No, I know," interrupted Draco, "I mean why you decided that was reason enough to do it. Even if I was in danger, so what? You're not my guardian. And you've already saved me plenty of times. It's not like you're responsible for my wellbeing."
"I didn't like the idea of you being in danger."
"How very Gryffindor of you."
"No, actually. It was more Slytherin than anything. I was very selfishly hoping that if I was there enough times we'd get to...I don't know, talk? Mend whatever we could? Be friends?"
"You wanted to be friends. With me. After everything." Draco stared at Harry, genuinely surprised.
"Yeah. And mission achieved I guess. Nearly dying repeatedly seems to have its perks."
"But why?"
"Because you were someone I wanted to have in my life," Harry shrugged, "the you that I saw in the tower the night Dumbledore died, the you I saw in the manor when you refused to tell anyone who I was, the you who grew up to do questionable things out of familial love and self preservation, not evil. I wanted to get to know Narcissa's son. "
Draco realised that he was crying only when Harry sat up and wiped the tears from his cheeks with the corner of his hospital blanket.
"Do you...do you think my father was evil?"
Harry kept on gently wiping the tears from Draco's face as he shook his head.
"No, Voldemort tortured him to insanity. He cared for you. I saw it. But stronger people have gone mad from what Tom Riddle did."
"How are you so forgiving, you idiot."
"Well, two of my childhood bullies have turned out to be two of my favourite people. I got to live three, no wait, four times. I think giving second chances is the least I can do."
"Wait, who is this other childhood person?"
"My cousin, no need to be jealous," Harry laughed. Draco felt his face grow warm and he attempted to hid his reddening cheeks by wiping furiously at his damp eyes. Harry caught his wrists and bent his head so their eyes met again.
"I've been waiting until I got my body back to do this, if you'd let me."
7. Worth the wait.
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> In which things finally happen that don't involve comatose Harry.
Even if he hadn't just been crying, Draco still wouldn't have been able to speak. All he could do was mouth _what_ at Harry all while being extremely aware of how warm and gentle the hands that were holding his wrists were.
"I'd like to kiss you, Draco."
Oh, yeah, that clarified things. So he shakily nodded and then he was dreaming again.
Except he wasn't because this was better.
Harry was kissing him incredibly softly and slowly and Draco was melting into a puddle. The hands holding on to him finally let go, only to return to his nape in order to pull him closer for a deeper kiss and the only reason Draco backed away was because of the bloody bedframe digging into his leg. The two separated, slightly more breathless than before, but judging by the happy warm glow in Harry's eyes, this was just the beginning.
"I would also like to kiss you outside of the hospital."
"I'm sure the nurses will let you go for a stroll."
Harry swatted at Draco shoulder, grinning.
"You know what a mean, you git."
"I could be persuaded to go for tea."
Draco couldn't keep his expression serious, not when Harry was beaming at him, and only him and when his eyes kept darting back to his lips like he couldn't wait to kiss again.
"And I know a tea tray that could be persuaded to go on a picnic ." | 44d9736a8bec4ed1949d0b4c1278e963 | ['c5d22e5d323c4763bc45883e0d6f19f6'] |
1. Lemongrass
It was another one of those grey and windy evenings that meant that most of the population of Hogwarts was indoors, by a fireplace. For the 8th years, however, it meant that the Quidditch pitch was free and not in use by any teams or the first year classes. In the aftermath of the war the returning students of the final year were moved to a separate dorm to make space for the new first years that joined last years' to make the largest group of excited eleven year olds to ever grace the halls of Hogwarts. And the 8th years weren't that big of a group anyway, something that was difficult not to dwell on. Headmistress McGonagall made the executive decision of removing the concept of houses for the small group of her eldest students and provided a separate common room for them. The dorms in question were located at the site of what used to be (still was?) the Room of Requirement. On the first day back Harry found himself standing outside its doors after all of his classmates had disappeared inside. Or almost. Draco Malfoy stood a few feet away from him, blank faced, staring at the door that led to their new dorms. He looked unhealthily pale, but still heaps better than he did last time Harry saw him, right after the trials. Harry could guess that Draco's apprehension also came from their common memory of the Fiendfyre. Which is probably why he spoke up.
"I think uniting all houses this year was a good plan on McGonagall's part, but this doesn't seem as well thought out. Surprisingly."
Out of the corner of his eye Harry saw Draco tense up when he started to talk. The blond glanced sideways at him, surprised and a little confused.
"I mean, I guess renovation efforts had to be focused from the heart of the castle and outwards, but there are many other towers or, uh, turrets that would have been a better choice." Harry continued.
The silence stretched on and Harry began to think that him talking was not as helpful as he had thought. After all, he and Draco were far from being friends. Yes, Narcissa had insisted on a lengthy conversation with him in the aftermath of the trials to thank him and to apologize in person, rather than in front of the Wizengamot. Then, most definitely on purpose, she left her son alone with him. Harry found himself thinking about the conversation he and Draco had had.
_"I owe you, Potter. More than you might understand. And I apologize, to you and your friends and classmates. Not because my mother expects it. But because I truly need to do so."_
_"You don't owe me, Malfoy. You know what happened. Your mother saved me for your sake. And my life debt to her is settled." He had almost added that they could go back to being boring old rivals, but that didn't seem true._
_"This isn't about magic, Potter. It's not about life debts. It's..." Malfoy took a deep breath and finally looked directly at Harry "It's about starting over. Your word at the trials means more to the wizarding world than anything at the moment. You saved my mother and I from Azkaban. But you also saved me from becoming my father_ _."_
_And then he extended his trembling hand. And Harry shook it._
_"Thank you...Harry."
_
_"You're welcome, Draco."_
"She probably thinks that we'll give the Room of Requirement its life back by using it in some way."
Draco's slightly hoarse voice startled Harry out of his thoughts.
"Yeah, I reckon you're right. And two traumatized students is nothing new to Hogwarts anyway."
That made Draco snort, if not full out laugh. And then Harry felt ready to go inside.
"Shall we? I'd like to graduate this year at least." Draco asked as he placed a surprisingly steady hand on the door handle. Harry mirrored his movement and pushed the door open.
If reuniting all the 8th years into one house was accepted rather well, their ban from playing Quidditch was not. Now that caused an uproar. Which is why a small group of 8th years, dressed in outdated Quidditch robes found in the backs of the broom closets regularly invaded the Quidditch pitch after dark, in terrible weather or while skipping DADA classes.
And so, on this grey and windy evening, Harry and other sports fans returned from a friendly game, muddy and sweaty but overall pleased with the time they got to spend on brooms and away from essays. He lounged across an entire couch in the common room, waiting for the showers to be free again after the first batch of players claimed them to get rid of all of the dirt and the threat of frostbite. His limbs were slowly defrosting but Harry was pretty sure the dirt and twigs in his hair had congealed into a proper bird's nest. So he took this time to try and convince Hannah or Dean, the 8th year prefects, that they should give him the password to the prefect baths.
"There are way too many of us here and not enough showers. And honestly, if anything we deserve a nice soak in water that smells like a bloody garden after a week stuck in the dungeons measuring out distilled leech juice."
"Harry, I understand and agree, but the Headmistress really looks down upon any preferential treatment given to the 8th years."
Dean nodded in support of Hannah's words and smiled apologetically at Harry.
"It would help if you didn't spill half the juice on your robes, mate."
Harry groaned and flopped back on the couch. A blond head appeared in his field of vision and Harry felt a few water drops land on his face.
"Are your friends still refusing to help you improve your hygiene?" |
378115a656a0464493472108ef0dc633 | ['c5f249ed8e0444db85ce069225e7619a'] | She leaned down and kissed him, soft and slow. He cupped his hands, upside down, around her cheeks, and deepened the kiss, until he was arching his back, and Christine’s lower back was straining to lean down far enough. She pulled back.
“Wait.”
She pulled her legs out from under his head, and crawled around on the bed so she could climb on top of Jeremy, straddling his hips. She leaned down again, cupping her hands around his face. She could feel his hands on her hips. She kissed him, deepening the kiss as he moved his hands to her ass. She bit gently at his bottom lip and his mouth opened, allowing her to slip her tongue in. After a couple minutes, she pulled back, to dive down again to nip at his neck. Jeremy gasped and pulled back. Christine quickly sat up, frowning worriedly.
“Jer?”
“Could we just– just c-cuddle or something?” Jeremy breathed, looking up at her.
“Yeah, of course!” Christine said with as much softness and warmth as she could shove into three words. As she slid off him to lie down and put her arms on her chest around her neck, she could feel the unasked questions about why in the back of her throat. She didn’t know the entire story of why Jeremy was so messed up about Sebastion, but she would let him tell her in his own time. She didn’t want to push him.
As Jeremy’s breathing evened out in sleep again, she slipped out from under his arm around her quickly to flip off the light switch, and grabbed a blanket to pull over her boyfriend and herself. With Jeremy’s soft breathing in her ear, she drifted off, from her thoughts that she'd fended back to focus on her boyfriend, to dreams of Jeremy crying in the dark as she watched, unable to run to comfort him. Around her floated scripts and smoke and Michael’s glasses.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> i'm slow and. sorry these chapters take so long to write for how short they are. hope you guys like this, let me know with a comment and/or kudos that i shamelessly ask for every chapter!
8. what the fuck is going on
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> michael knows he fucked up a lot. why did he though? the mystery of sebastian continues.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> did you say mostly dialogue? because that's what this chapter is. sorry. also this story's plot has changed so much, wow.
When Michael woke up the next morning to his alarm blaring in his ear, it took a few minutes for him to figure out why he had a pit of regret in his stomach. Oh, right, Jeremy.The room still smelt of weed and, like, B.O. or something. He groggily rubbed his eyes, sitting up and stretching his arms over his head, grabbing his glasses from next to his head. His room was a fucking mess, which was a little unusual. Sometimes he spilled shit or whatever when he was stoned, but he hadn’t ever made this much of a mess– clothes were all over, and one of his posters was on the floor, and his comforter was inside out, somehow. He hadn’t just gotten stoned, either. After Jeremy stormed out, and Michael could feel the pit in his stomach form, he wanted to get rid of it, so when the dude–Sebastion– brought out some other pill, he’d agreed to take it, a dumbass move he usually wouldn’t do. But Jeremy and Michael hadn’t really ever fought, and Michael hadn’t ever said something that blatantly insensitive, and he didn’t know how to deal with it.
He climbed out of bed, searching through his mind for whatever else had happened last night. Honestly, after he downed that pill, (chasing it with Mountain Dew that Sebastion had, for some reason?) he didn’t remember much. That was not a good sign. Michael could feel his breath picking up. He leaned down to the nearest pile of clothes to his bed, scrabbling through it. He felt his phone at his fingertips and pulled it out, hand trembling as he unlocked it and clicked on Christine’s contact. The phone rang, and Michael glanced around his room, trying to scan for anything significant missing. It was a little hard when all he could think was ‘fuck I fucked up I fucked up oh my god oh my god-’
“Michael?”
“Chris!” Michael gasped. “I fucked up!”
Silence. Obviously intentional silence, in which Michael could hear the killer glare Christine was giving the wall.
“Chris–”
“Yeah, no shit, fuckbrain!” Christine hissed into the phone. “Jeremy cried at Rich’s place for like three hours! Why the fuck would you do– do anything you did yesterday?”
“I don’t know,” Michael nearly sobbed. He stood up, grabbing for his hoodie. “He didn’t come home last night, did he?”
“He’s at my place- you didn’t even check?” Christine’s voice was so filled with rage it was a wonder the phone wasn’t aflame.
Michael took an unsteady breath that did nothing. “I don’t remember much of last night– I don’t– I just woke up.”
Christine’s voice shifted just a little. “Wait– you don’t remember last night? Why– weed doesn’t make you black out, right?”
“I mean– no, I took a pill– and he’s gone–” Michael gasped into the phone. He couldn’t breathe. This was bad, he’d fucked up so badly, holy shit–
“Michael!” Christine was definitely less mad. “Deep breaths, okay? In four, hold seven, out eight– with me–”
Michael breathed as much as he could to her voice counting, but it still wasn’t doing much. Too many thoughts and what-if’s were flooding him, this didn’t usually happen, but he’d messed up so fucking bad–
“It’s not–” he croaked.
“Five things you see, Mikey, five things you can see,” Christine said, voice also kinda panicked now. She hadn’t really helped with panic attacks before, mostly because Michael didn’t have them often. | 8214cf87d5d143c783539077661fd6e8 | ['c5f249ed8e0444db85ce069225e7619a'] | “Yeah,” he said, looking over at Jeremy who was on the ground, laying flat out.
“Christine’s nice… she’s cute,” he mumbled. Michael raised his eyebrows.
“Hm! Okay…” he filed that thought away for later. Jeremy was bi. He knew that. So here’s a cute girl, who Michael knew would be perfect for Jeremy. Maybe he should set them up… but…
Jeremy was on the couch next Michael all of a sudden, snuggled into his side. Michael smiled. He could think about setting his friends up later. Now was the time for sleepy bodies, pressed together-- completely platonically, of course, but cuddles with Jeremy were a necessity after a day, which he would now have. He drifted off to sleep with Jeremy’s snores filling his ears.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> gah i'm sorry this fic updates once in a blue moon and with short chapters, too, but i'm just not writing as much recently, although luckily i have the story semi-planned out. please leave a comment or kudos to motivate me as those feed my soul
3. lunch? just the two of us?
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> kisses in michael's room (not what y'all think. probably.)
Almost a month had passed since Michael had introduced Jeremy and Christine, and they could not have been better. Jeremy and Christine became fast friends, and the three of them quickly established traditions- game night every Tuesday for instance, where they played anything from Uno to Apocalypse of the Damned. This was the college he was talking about, back in high school when he got through the long and painful days of bullying and homework and nagging parents. His mantra had become a reality- he was actually pretty cool in college.
“Hey, Michael?”
Michael was brought out of his half-conscious thoughts by a soft voice in his ear. He looked blearily around his dimly lit living room to identify the source of the voice- Christine, curled up next to him on the couch.
“Yeah?” he mumbled back. On his other side, Jeremy shifted, snuffling as he turned in his sleep.
“What would you think… if I asked out Jeremy?”
Michael jolted upright and turned to Christine. “W-what? Yeah, go for it! I’m fine with that! Totally! Why?”
“You think he’s into me?”
“Definitely!” Michael’s voice had raised an octave and in volume. His heart was pounding in his ears. Why was his heart pounding in his ears? “Yeah, go for it! He’s definitely into you!”
“You- are you sure?” Christine was whispering, and Jeremy was stirring next to Michael.
“Yup!” Michael lowered his voice. “Yeah, do it!”
“Okay,” Christine whispered, settling her head back on Michael’s shoulder. Michael stayed where he was, staring into space. Why was there a pit in his stomach?
\--
Jeremy was sitting on the couch, his head buried in his hands. Notes were scattered around him, he was wearing a stained shirt and old sweatpants, and a day old bowl of cereal sat on the table next to him. The scene was the physical manifestation of how he felt. Jeremy was a day old bowl of cereal. He groaned, nearly missing the sound of the doorbell.
The sound brought him to his feet and his brain out of the gutter, where it promptly kicked into overdrive, sending every thought like who’s at the door who’s at the door and oh fucking hell I look like a mess and my house looks like a trash bin almost as much as i do spiralling through his brain. He grabbed a hoodie from a nearby pile on the floor, praying it wasn’t stained and/or reeking of body odor, and pulled it over his head to hide his shirt, and opened the door.
“Hi Jeremy!” Christine greeted. Then she noticed his appearance. “Is this a good time?”
“Yeah, this- this is a great time!” Jeremy said, opening the door wider. “C-come on in, ignore the mess please, let’s go to Michael’s room now.”
He swept Christine through the living room and down the hall, kicking open the door to the only clean room in the house, Michael the Neat Freak’s room. Christine instantly flopped down on the bed.
“Is Michael at work?”
Jeremy nodded, sitting down next to Christine.
“Wanna play video games or watch a bootleg of Spring Awakening that I have?”
“The bootleg,” Jeremy said. “Duh.”
Christine grinned, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. “Obviously.”
Neither of them moved. Christine swung her legs, and the last spoken words hung awkwardly in the silence.
“Um, Jeremy, could I ask you something?” Christine said, coughing.
“Y-yeah, sure, g-go ahead?” Jeremy responded. Almost immediately a rush of words poured out of Christine’s mouth.
“Do you want to go out sometime?”
Jeremy stared, eyes widening. His brain had frozen- does not compute. How was his luck making this happen? A cute girl, his friend, someone he would most definitely want to date was asking him out? Oh god, he hadn’t responded. Christine’s cheeks reddened.
“I mean- oh god, I’m sorry this is so awkward, but I was thinking that it’d be nice and maybe we could get lunch or something-”
Jeremy cut her off. “No, Christine that’s- that’s great! I’d l-love to go out with you, that’s fantastic-”
It was Christine’s turn to cut him off by taking his head in her hands and planting a kiss on his mouth. They broke apart after a couple seconds, grinning.
“Um, so lunch tomorrow- are you free tomorrow?” Christine started, then giggled. “Oh, this is great! Jer, you’re so-”
Jeremy kissed her again, melting into it. She grabbed his shirt, but they broke apart again at the door slamming open.
“AH- why?”
Michael was standing in the doorway. “Why on my bed? It’s my room!”
He dropped his bag in the door and started forward. “Out, out, the both of you! Go make out in Jer’s room or something!” |
77c890e80f404e6bad1375cbd13539a4 | ['c5f374ccbf8c4ad9a81c31f903b99900'] | “Sherlock-” John bit his lip, hesitating. “I think I know why they locked us in here. I mean, beyond the obvious prank potential.” Sherlock closed his eyes. This was it, the conversation he’d work to avoid for years. He had never hated Molly more than right at that moment.
He didn’t want to hear John’s rejection. He couldn’t.
“John please, don’t...just don’t.”
“Sherlock?” Sherlock held his hands up in a gesture of defence.
“I mean it. I understand that you can’t- and it’s fine, really. I just don’t want me to be the thing to ruin our friendship.
“Sherlock, what are you talking about?”
“Please John, don’t act naive it doesn’t suit you.”
“Sherlock, I genuinely have no bloody idea what you’re saying. Why would you ruin our friendship?”
“Because of how I- my feelings for you.” John stared at him with his mouth slightly open.
“I know it’s embarrassing for you and all, but I’d really appreciate it if you could just pretend this never happened, and-”
“Woah, Sherlock, hold up. Why would I be embarrassed by you?” John looked genuinely confused as to why he would think that. Sherlock sighed.
“Because you don’t feel the same way.” John frowned.
“When did I say that?” Sherlock stared at him.
“You didn’t but, I just assumed-”
“Why would you assume that I wouldn’t like you?”
“Well because I’m not normal. And people like you don’t go out with people like me.” Sherlock’s confidence faded as he watched John’s expression change from perplexed to annoyed.
“What do you mean “people like you? Sherlock, you’re my best friend.”
“Yeah, but that’s not the same as being- You’re popular! And I’m just the social reject everyone makes fun of behind their hands. If you were with me, it’d just drag you down in the eyes of our peers.” Sherlock said angrily, turning away from John.
“Why does that matter? If I let things like popularity affect my friendships, then by your own logic I wouldn’t have been friends with you all these years.”
John crawled awkwardly over to where Sherlock was curled up, and put his hand on the brunette’s shoulder. “Sherlock, do you really think that little of me?” he sounded almost hurt, but Sherlock still couldn’t let it go.
“It doesn’t matter,” he mumbled, shaking off John’s hand. “You’re not gay anyways.”
“No, I’m not.” agreed John, and Sherlock felt his heart clench painfully.
“See, I told you, it doesn’t matter anyways, we can just forget this ever happened and-”
“Sherlock, shut up. I’m not gay, I’m bisexual.” Sherlock froze.
“And...I do have feelings for you. God, do I have feelings for you. I’ve been in love with you since we were fourteen.” Sherlock sucked in a sharp breath, hardly daring to move.
“And I don’t care about what people say,” John carried on with a hint of worry when there was no reaction. “You’re brilliant, and mad, and an absolute genius, and you’re the probably most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.” Sherlock blushed and looked down.
“Beautiful John? Please, I’m not a girl.” his tone was contradicted by the smile on his face.
“Well it’s true. I mean, have you seen your eyelashes? You could be in a mascara ad!” John exclaimed, slightly relieved. Sherlock let out a surprised bark of laughter.
“A mascara ad? Really?” he turned back around to look over his shoulder at John.
“Yeah well.” John rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “But in all honesty, Sherlock, I was kind of thinking the same way about you. That’s why I didn’t tell you sooner, I thought you were “married to your work” and all.” he made quotation marks with his fingers at the words.
“I said that five years ago John. I didn’t like anyone back then!”
“Yes, well you can’t blame me for thinking you’re out of my league! With your scarf, and your hair, and those stupid eyelashes.” John grumbled, gesturing at Sherlock’s face.
“Well I guess we were both wrong then.” Sherlock said, suddenly shy. John blushed lightly.
“Yeah, I guess so.” They glanced at each other and burst into laughter.
“God, I never thought it would be this awkward!” John said through his giggles.
“Well it’s your fault for being so-” Sherlock waved his hands weakly towards John’s general position. “That’s my Sherlock,” John said fondly “Always so articulate.”
“Do you suppose they’ll let us out now?” Sherlock asked, glancing at the still locked door.
“I dunno. How would they know we’ve spoken?”
Sherlock sighed deeply. “They didn’t plan this out very well, did they?” John laughed again, and shook his head.“They meant well. I’m sure they were just sick to death of me talking about you twenty-four/seven.” Sherlock raised his eyebrows curiously at the blonde.
“Talking about me? Whatever did you say, John?” John grinned mischievously.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, causing them to dissolve back into giggles.
“But seriously,” Sherlock gasped when they’d finally calmed down “How are we going to get out of here? No offence to Greg and Mike, but I’d rather not sit around while they figure out how to get us out of here.”
“Agreed. Maybe we could pick the lock?”
“That would be a good idea, if this door could be unlocked from the inside. But it only locks from the outside.”
“Ugh. Well maybe…” John sat back on his arms and scanned the room, searching for possible escape routes.
“John. Look.” Sherlock poked John’s side and pointed to a row of windows at the other side of the room. “What do you say?” he asked with a grin. “Want to help me break out of here?”
~
*Half-an-hour later*
“John! Johnny boy, we found the key!” Greg grinned at Mike and waved the hand holding the key in front of the classroom door’s window. | fb83cefbdb354493b968384a1a2b48b9 | ['c5f374ccbf8c4ad9a81c31f903b99900'] |
But First, We Talk
**Author's Note:**
> Hello again!
> So I decided to do my best to try and write as many of highfunctioninggaybaby's headcanons as I could, and make it a series!
> This ficlet is based off the first headcanon in her list, although they ended up going for coffee and not to dinner. But details.
>
> I hope you enjoy it!
>
> (Link to tumblr post: http://highfunctioninggaybaby.tumblr.com/post/104362497804/some-teenlock-before-you-go-john-and-sherlock)
“So what’s the update on Sherlock today Captain?” Mike Stamford shouted as he walked into the locker room. John rolled his eyes at his friend and ignored the question. Bill Murray, his locker mate, grinned and nudged him with his shoulder.
“Yeah John, what’s new? I haven’t heard you obsess- sorry, talk about him yet today.”
“Shut up, Murray.” Greg’s voice chimed in from behind them. “He doesn’t always have to talk to us about Sherlock.”
“Exactly. Thank you Greg!” John said, somewhat relieved. Greg peeked his head around the corner with a sly grin.
“Yeah- we all know John doesn’t like to share his boyfriends.” Greg ducked his head back around the lockers with a laugh before John’s bag could hit him.
“I never should’ve told you lot about this. I swear, you’re worse than my mum!” John grumbled, slamming his locker closed.
“We’re the Kingsbury rugby team, John. We’re worse than everyone’s mum!” Mike declared.
“Alright, alright. Hurry up you lot. If you’re not all out in ten minutes, you’ll be running extra laps around the field.” John threatened good-naturedly as he prepared to leave the locker room. His words were met with a chorus of groans from the team, and the few boys who had just walked in hurried to get changed.
“But seriously John. Is something going on with Sherlock? I’ve never heard you go a whole day without mentioning some amazing new deduction he made.” Greg Lestrade was arguably John’s best friend, excluding Sherlock of course, and the only person whom John could never really get annoyed with. John sighed.
“It’s nothing, really. I’m just getting a bit tired of this whole...thing. Whatever the hell it is.”
“Well then why don’t you say anything mate?” Greg asked as they walked out to the rugby field. “God knows you two have been dragging this out long enough.”
“It’s not that easy Greg,” John said frustratedly. “Sherlock isn’t- he’s different. You’ve heard him, he’s always saying how he’s “married to his work” or whatever. I can’t just go up and ask him out for a coffee, he’d laugh in my face.”
“You don’t know that John.”
John shook his head stubbornly. “But I don’t know for certain that he’d respond positively either. Besides, he probably doesn’t feel the same way and I’m not willing to risk our friendship over some stupid crush.” John ran ahead of Greg, effectively ending their conversation. Greg shook his head at his friend’s retreating figure. “These boys, I swear.” he muttered before jogging forward to help set-up the team exercises.
~
“Why won’t you just speak to him?” Molly ran to catch up to Sherlock as he made his way out of class and to his locker.
“Why won’t you leave me alone?” he said with clear annoyance. “I said I won’t, and that’s that.”
“But Sherlock, you’ve been crushing on John since we were twelve years old! If you’re still holding a torch for him, you clearly believe he might feel something back.” Molly leaned against the wall, watching Sherlock shove things haphazardly into his locker. “What are you so scared of?” she asked softly. Sherlock slammed his locker closed and turned to face her.
“What am I so scared of? What do you think Molly?” he hissed. “John is my best friend. I’ve no reason to believe that he cares for me as anything other than a friend, other than false hopes, and I have no idea how he’d react to the news that I li- think of him in any other way. And he’s the only person I’ve ever met who has taken the time to understand me, who’s shown genuine interest in my deductions and work. It’s not as if I can just replace him if he decides he doesn’t want to be friends with me any more. I mean-” Sherlock opened his arms wide, gesturing to the crowds of laughing students around them. “I’m not exactly Mr. Popular around here.”
Molly frowned up at her friend. “Sherlock you’ve known John for years. Do you really think he’d just up and leave because of how you feel?”
Sherlock sighed and his shoulders dropped. “No.” he whispered finally. “I don’t, not really.” he looked back up at Molly with a suddenly helpless expression. “But I can’t risk being alone again.” Molly sighed in resignation and dropped the subject.
~
Molly met up with Greg after school that day to go to lunch. “How was rugby practice?” Molly asked, linking her arm in her boyfriend’s.
“It went well. John’s been pushing us harder than normal because of our upcoming match, so we’re having extra practices all week.” Molly winced in sympathy.
“Actually, speaking of John, can we talk about this Sherlock situation?” Greg turned his head to look at her.
“Have you noticed it too?”
“Greg, the whole bloody rugby team has noticed it. The two of them are just too stubborn to talk to each other about it.” Molly said, rolling her eyes.
Greg sighed.“I know. It was funny at first, but not it’s just getting depressing. And they won’t stop talking about each other either! It’s like they’re trying to provoke us.”
Molly laughed at the exasperation in Greg’s voice, then paused.
“Well maybe we should help them along a little.”
Greg stopped walking abruptly.“You mean...give them a little...push?”
Molly smirked up at him.“Exactly.” An evil smile spread slowly across Greg’s face.
“I’ve got just the thing.”
~ |
3fc55cb2217242039d5a7dc513d6c02c | ['c602a1481f8c4e57a14b8ff5e1664ad0'] | When the hell did he become so enamored with someone else? Thorin had always prided himself a dwarf with strong conviction and unwavering focus, but now he was overridden by the desire to stay by the hobbits side and forgo all other responsibilities. Which no matter how tempting the hobbit was, he could never allow himself that luxury; even if Bilbo was the softest creature he’d ever seen. Even if those honey curls flowed so gently he found his hands craving to touch the locks as they bounced slightly in the breeze that blew over the lake. Even if the small hobbit had the courage of a dwarf regardless of his comfortable upbringing. Even though he had shown such loyalty throughout the journey to Erebor and even with complications of the arkenstone, although he was beyond thankful to his kin for not abandoning him when he was consumed with the desire for gold; it was Bilbo – and Bilbo alone – who had the courage to do what he thought was right. Despite Bilbo telling him – twice now – that he had already forgave Thorin for his actions, he still deeply regretted how he spoke to the hobbit that day. Bilbo had not deserved the treatment he had given, and Thorin did not deserve the forgiveness he was getting from the little hobbit. But Mahal did it make his heart thump hard, pumping warm blood fast through his body every time he was near the half-ling.
Thorin was definitely in trouble.
xXx
When the stew was done Bilbo handed out the wooden bowls they had stuffed in the pack they had brought, one pack of three, and held onto his own and Thorin’s only filling the two after the others had filled theirs. Coming to sit by the dwarf’s side against the log – Oin having left as soon as Bilbo got there – he held out the steaming bowl to Thorin.
“Sorry its not much, I know you must be sick of potatoes by now.” Bilbo apologized. For the last three days they’d been eating the same stew, for it was the quickest thing to make and it was all they had brought with them. Even knowing there would be a feast when they got back it still felt like the cooked meats they would eat then were miles and miles from them. Thorin grunted in response, taking his bowl carefully from the hobbit.
At first they ate in silence. The broth was warm and seasoned well, the potatoes and carrots soft. Luckily this evening Dwalin had killed two rabbits to add to their food, but thanks to the winter that was harsher this side of the misty-mountains the rabbits hardly had any meat on them. Bilbo then spoke up feeling the silence between them a bit awkward.
“H-..How is your arm?” Bilbo hadn’t thought of what to say when he decided to speak, so he was left with only what first popped into his head. Thorin didn’t even glance at him as he spoke.
“Better.”
Bilbo felt there was something now between them that he hadn’t felt earlier that day, and couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps he had done something wrong in the past hour or more. However he knew better than to ask, if all those months with Thorin had taught him anything was that the dwarf was not the type to open up when tired, if at all. So they finished their supper in silence.
Fili and Dwalin cleaned up the cook-spit and put more logs on the fire to keep away the cold. Balin and Oin went ahead into the first small tent at the north of the fire, Fili and Dwalin would share the middle one, which left Bilbo and Thorin to share the last. Bilbo was only nervous for the awkward silence between them, feeling as though for what ever reason the dwarf was giving him the cold shoulder. Attempting to help the dwarven king stand, which was help Thorin hardly accepted but Bilbo wouldn’t back away, then waited for him to enter first.
The two wool bed rolls had been rolled out were not but a few inches apart from each other. The closer they were the warmer the two of them would be, but the tent itself was also forcing the rolls to lay close as they were rather small. Thorin was already laying himself down, not stripping off any of his clothes and grabbed the first of the folded fur blankets. He lay with his back to Bilbo’s roll and the hobbit couldn’t help but sigh. It would seem the dwarf had no intention of talking to him any this night, even though just the night before they had spoken quite a lot. When they’d camped in the edge area of the forest, all of them sleeping under the stars with the elves taking turns on watch, Bilbo and Thorin had spoken softly to each other.
Of course the whole camp could hear them whispering and all pretended to sleep while they tried to listen in. Though it was hardly anything of note, which they were talking about, but just sharing tales they knew about the stars and how they seemed brighter closer to the mountain. Bilbo had spoken fondly of the fireworks Gandalf used to bring to the shire, and wondered if perhaps he’d show them at the mountain. Bilbo wished for all his dwarven friends to be able to see the magnificence of the fireworks Gandalf made.
But their last night before entering Erebor once more, was spent in silence. Bilbo had curled up and just stared at Thorin’s back, watching his shoulders slowly move with the movement of his breathing, until he finally caved into sleep, unaware that Thorin himself was wide awake fighting growing urges within himself that were becoming increasingly hard to suppress. | b5aa08ae21e54397b3bec7a28626a166 | ['c602a1481f8c4e57a14b8ff5e1664ad0'] | 1. Background Changes
**The Middle Galaxy**
**An Unexpected Expedition**
**Background Basic Information**
_The middle galaxy full of solar systems and planets abundant with life. Technology has taken off and made space travel possible for the last couple thousand years, over an age. Wars have raged and peoples have been put in mass danger. Some planets have successfully evaded the dangers of all the worlds, where others have gone all but extinct._
_In present story time, One of the largest dooms of the age goes by the name Azog the Conqueror. A massive, white, orc who controls one of the larges armies/fleets of any race. He travels freely as he wills and conquerors any planet he wishes, leaving it in ruin or taking control over all it’s resources._
_One of Azog’s greatest claims was on the planet Erebor. A mountain/rocky planet with the best mines on the far side of the Galaxy. The planet in possession of some of the rarest gems and materials in all of trade. Azog had his eye on it for as long as he had been flying in space, and when he conquered said planet he left almost no survivors. However a few members of the Durin line managed to escape the death clutch of the conqueror and find their way to freedom._
_The orcs are a plague on the galaxy. One that even the elves can't ignore for much longer._ _Their armies are growing and causing mass repercussions to all planets and stations alike. Slavery being one of them, as prisoners are often sold off for the highest price or made for trade on weapons and gear for the goblins and orcs._
_There are a few planets that have managed to stay far away from all the death and destruction. The Shire, a small planet (not much bigger than earth's moon) is one of them. One of the only home planets left to the Hobbit people. Their small population forcing them to keep to themselves, preferring to stick to the old ways as much as possible. Leaving their planet nearly unadvanced with only one space dock that only allows for trade once every month. Beyond that they stay on their planets, separated by family trees with couples having as many children as possible. Their population is still small however, and self sustaining._
_The elves, however, have many empires across the middle galaxy and though not all are connected all are strong in their own aspects. But they too like to keep to their kind. Not getting directly involved unless an affront has been made directly against them. This usually makes them a hard race to get along with. This has also caused many conflicts with other races as when war stood near their doors they kept them closed to keep their people safe instead of lending a helping hand._
**A couple Changes**
So Hobbits still look basically the same, just a minor height change. They still wont be taller than 5'0 but I'd put Bilbo at maybe 4'11 instead of his 'cannon' height. But everything else regarding hobbit's appearance is the same (maybe lol)
I've also made Dwarves a little taller, and I only call them Dwarrow in this fanfic. It makes it feel more 'spacey' to me XD Thorin being a very tall dwarf will stand at maybe 5'10? maybe 5'11? Still not 6ft but close.
Elves and Orcs will all be taller than 6ft to keep them as the tallest races. Humans ranging from 5'0 to 6'0
Goblins being the smallest , with the average being shorter than 4ft.
All races age as they would, maybe a bit longer if really count down to it. Hobbits maybe up to 150? Dwarrow maybe 300? ect, ect.
**Character changes**
Thorin Durin / Oakenshield is the name of his ship, cruiser.
Thorin's hair is cut short (most of the characters hair is short XD) Dwalin is almost bald!
Nori's hair is combed flat back, not in the shape of a star fish
Dori's is a simple tight bun
Other's will be listed as I write them in.
**The Crew of Oakenshield**
Thorin is captain (duh)
Balin is co-captain
Fili is pilot 1 (he's better at it)
Kili is pilot 2
Dwalin is head of security/ lieutenant to Thorin
Oin is the doctor/medic on board
Gloin is the maintenance chief, overseas all the engine and ship detail
Bifur is the weapons master, supplies the ship and crew with all they need
Bofur is the Fabrication-ist, gathers the parts for the ship and any other item Thorin wants (does the occasional reconnaissance mission)
Bombur is the chef
Dori is the political chief? Handles all the social interaction, talks through deals and handles political problems
Nori is the data analyst main
Ori is the second data analyst but also helps Ori or helps who ever is short handed
Dis (yes Dis is on the ship) helps with Oin mainly, but also oversees all the extra staff and helps keep the ship running on time
2. Character sketch
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> I moved the piece I did to over here, to make things easier.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> It's not done and its not that great, forgive me, But here is a scene that may or may not happen between Thorin and Bilbo. I may continue drawing the other characters as well. If you want to comment then go ahead, but only positive things please! |
5ef0ae4532994c279ebde15905d93b3f | ['c614a9b995c2476c817a00a31ac47a9f'] | The Brightest Star Of The Galaxy
Sitting on the steps leading to the subway station in the middle of the night,
A young boy wondered what it is like to be among the stars.
Having nothing to survive on but a torn blanket on a dark, rainy and cold autumn night,
He wondered and waited for the dawn to come.
He made it, or so he thought,
And he made his presence known among the stars in the galaxy.
Everyone looked at him in awe, as if he was from another world,
As if he was the messenger of peace and harmony that God himself had sent.
He continued to shine even brighter,
As his moves were emulated by every kid you saw on the street,
As his words spoken were like nectar to whoever heard it,
And his charisma, his passion, projecting an aura that no one could touch, but could only feel.
Tragedy struck soon however, one after the other,
As he was being pulled to hell by demons previously unknown,
He found himself on the bridge between life and death,
Feeling that in overcoming all this, he was forever alone.
He picked himself up, and rose like a phoenix from the ashes,
Walked across the desert of numbness and loneliness,
With the pain and the trauma of the past on his back,
He wondered where would he end up in his last days.
Now, he knows where he wants to be,
Safe and sound, and free from all worries,
We know, and now we can see,
The rays of hope, and peace in his eyes. | 252802c4e51343ab99e9941fa0f228d6 | ['c614a9b995c2476c817a00a31ac47a9f'] | What Does It Mean To Be A Hero?
What does it mean to be a hero?
Look in the mirror and then you'll know.
It is the human dressed in a colourful costume, soaring high in the sky, swooping down to right the wrongs and prevent injury.
It is the human who lurks in the shadows, behind a frightful mask, dispensing justice by hurting the oppressors.
It is the humans who put their life on the line everyday to protect the people, their loved ones and the roots of their existence.
It is the human who saved another living being's life by offering something which is essential for their existence, but is given away so that the sanctity of life may be maintained.
It is the humans who fight their own hell, sometimes may even get consumed by it but still rise up everyday to help the others going through the same realm.
It is the humans who work painstakingly hard to provide the comforts that we have today to speak of.
It is the humans who make us smile, in ways we cannot even think of.
So the next time you question what is the meaning of life, of existence, ask yourself,
What does it mean to be a hero?
Look in the mirror and then you'll know.
**Author's Note:**
> The first two lines and the last two lines of this piece are taken from Karen Page's speech at the end of Marvel's Daredevil Season 2 Episode 13.
>
> Hope you liked it! Please leave constructive criticism and positive comments below. |
483740f7a40e4ee987d3d5a85cf7b61a | ['c618156bc67b4957816be8eb1a532df3'] | “Oh yea.” Wilson shimmied his hips and House held onto the condom as he separated himself. Wilson rolled off to the side of the bed, heedless of the many wet spots. “I can’t believe you thought I wouldn’t like that. It was … so intense. So amazing.”
“Told ya.” House tied off the condom and tossed it into a nearby trash can.
“Yeah. You were an amazing lover. You have surprisingly strong upper body strength.”
“It’s all the steroid use.”
Wilson smiled and snuggled into House’s chest barely able to keep his eyes open any longer.
“We should shower.”
“Uh uh.”
“You falling asleep?”
“Mmmm … yeah … sorry. I came twice. I’m surprised I’m still conscious.”
“You fall asleep directly after sex?” House nodded his approval. “Man after my own heart.” He nudged Wilson. “Hey, Wilson.”
“Hmmm.”
“I told you I called dibs on your prostate exam.”
Wilson slapped him lightly on the chest. “You’re an ass.” | dd2b3d5a7d474f35a682da2aa7c9b687 | ['c618156bc67b4957816be8eb1a532df3'] | “Oh, uh… Joe is gonna be pissed at you.”
“Trust me, he already is. It’s you I’m worried about.”
“I’m not up for this today. I need to get out of here.”
“You got it. Let’s go.”
“Your arm? You’re gonna need stitches on your eye.”
“Na, just an icepack. It’ll be fine.”
“I’ll look at it later.”
“Much later.” Johnny moved to the door and checked the hallway. He spotted a nurse and told her to let Dr. Early know that Dr. Brackett would be leaving for the day and would call in tomorrow. She nodded and busied herself with other duties. Kel and Johnny made their way to Kel’s office for his keys and left through the main entrance at the end of the hall closest to Kel’s door.
The escapees walked into Kel’s house to the sound of the telephone ringing. Johnny answered it.
“Hello.”
“Johnny, what in the hell are you doing? I need to see Kel, I need to examine him! You have no right to…”
“Doc, c’mon! It happened two weeks ago. There is nothing you could be doing for him tonight physically that can’t wait until tomorrow, but emotionally, he’s exhausted and needed to get the hell out of there.”
Joe sighed. “Fine, but I want to see him tomorrow.”
“I’ll bring him in myself.”
“And he’s taking some time off.”
“I couldn’t agree more. I don’t think he’ll have a problem with that either. Good night.”
“Goodnight, Johnny… and tell him…”
“Yea Doc, I will.”
The two sat in the living room in front of a warm fire at opposite ends of the couch. Johnny sported 6 stitches above his eye and had an icepack on his left shoulder.
“I could’ve helped you get through this. I’d know what to do to help you. I would have had the answers. I don’t have them anymore,” Kel sighed forlornly.
“What would you tell me to do then? If it were reversed?”
“I would… I’d never let you get away with half the shit you’ve let me get away with.” Kel smiled.
“I know!”
“I’d make sure you had support at home and a strong network of people to help you.”
“You mean like you, Roy, Dixie, Joe?”
“Yeah and I’d make sure you saw a therapist. Tim Masterson, actually. He’s dealt with this kind of situation before and he’s a great guy. Very empathetic.”
“You have that phone number?”
“Yea, Johnny, I got it.”
“Okay, just checking.”
A few minutes of comfortable silence went by before Kel spoke again. “I can’t believe you went after them. You’re like Batman or something.”
Johnny laughed. “I don’t look good in blue tights though.”
Kel reached over and patted Johnny’s hand lying across the back of the sofa. “It’s good to talk to you again, my friend.”
“Same here.”
“Honestly Tim, I feel like an idiot still coming here. It’s been months, I’m back to work, and those assholes are behind bars. I’m doing fine now.”
“Mm hmm.”
“Oh, for the love- Tim, I’m fine. What was that about?”
“I think it’s interesting that you think your fine.”
“Why is that so interesting? I am fine. No more memory flashes. I have an occasional nightmare, but not the night terrors I had before. Work is great. My friends are great.”
“Which friends?”
“Johnny and I are getting together later. He has a ranch out in Carson backed up against a mountain. We’re gonna take the horses out camping for a couple days next weekend.”
“Oh?”
“Jeez, nobody can say make a single word sound like such an accusation than a damn shrink. What does that mean?”
“You spend a lot of time with him.”
“He’s my best friend. So what? Should I feel badly about that?”
“No, not at all. Tell me how you feel about that?”
“About what?”
“Well, when we first started you felt guilty that you wanted the rape to have happened to him instead of you.”
“No, I didn’t WANT it to happen to anyone. I said if it would have happened to him rather than me, I would’ve been able to help him more than I can help myself.”
“And you felt guilty about that.”
“Yes, I felt guilty because… because I wasn’t as… prepared for it.”
“You mean like a gay man would be?”
Exasperated, Kel stood scrubbing his hand through his hair. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then explain it to me.”
Making eye contact once again, Kel perched on the end of the couch finding the words he needed. “I’ve known Johnny was gay. I’ve known it for a long time. He has this… this tenacity about him. I don’t know, people just cling to him. He has this way of… of… getting to people. And when he believes in something, you know all about it because he’ll tell you exactly how he feels.” Kel laughed and looked away. “And he’s just got that air about him that well… you would just consider it rude to mess it up. Like the world shouldn’t be without him… just the way he is.”
“You think the rapists would’ve considered it too rude to rape Johnny?”
Shaking his head out of his reverie, Kel looked back to Tim. “What? No…well, I don’t know if they had the decency to see that…”
“But, you do.”
“Yea, sure. He’s too strong. It either would’ve happened to him and he would just move on with his life like nothing happened or he would’ve flashed them the Gage Charm and walked away unscathed.”
“That’s interesting.”
“Yea, I know Doc, real interesting.”
“How do you feel about gay men?”
“What do you mean? I don’t feel anything about it. Johnny’s gay, I don’t care. He’s still my friend.”
“Before you were raped, did you have feelings for Johnny?”
“Don’t go there Tim. Seriously, I can’t… I can’t ever do that.”
“But, you’re not denying that there are definite feelings there?” |
fdb0a906509449328940a7fbdc1d7277 | ['c62333604bc3446aa2a1bbd75acd8d4d'] |
Thank you for everything
**Author's Note:**
> Hi! I though the writing thing was a one time thing, but apparently it's not. Also, since this was originally me venting after seeing furuya hate (fighting hate with fluff, yas!) there is a high chance of the writing thing happening again.
> I had loads of fun writing this, mostly because I headcanon Furuya thinking process as going from A to B not in a straight line, so it kinda gave me a lot of freedom.
It was an exercise in futility; if he tried to perfect it anymore, (and there were tons of things that could be so much better; who was it that said he was good with his hands?), he wouldn’t have time to color (he was actually bad at that; not enough patience, too forceful…), but the creases in the clothing…the hair!
Furuya huffed in annoyance as he pushed his bangs out of his eyes (maybe it’s time for a trim). While he himself didn’t particularly consider himself talented in this regard he didn’t think that he had gotten this rusty; then again, he hadn’t drawn seriously in… (less than a year? many months?)
It was Sawamura’s fault. His fellow pitcher had commented the day before, while they were doing their morning run, that the next day (today) was Miyuki’s surprise birthday party, planned by Kuramochi, so he only had two days to prepare (less, actually). Oh, and it was Sawamura’s fault because if he was going to be loud and a pest about said surprise party (which Miyuki-senpai probably already knew about; whose idea was it to tell it to the vocalest?) he should have been loud and a pest earlier. (Harucchi later reminded him that apparently he was informed of this beforehand, though for the life of him, he couldn’t remember when it had happened)
The mitt at least looked pretty good (and taking into account all the times he had stared into it, if it didn’t look at least decent, he wouldn’t be able to live it down… wait…with the arm like that…damn, no time to change that). Mmm… the eyes, that’s another thing he needs to fix; the shape is right, but the… (feel?) is wrong. Or it could be that they were still just lines put together. No time to fix anything big, if he is lucky it’ll fix itself once it’s colored.
Miyuki is going to laugh at him. Furuya can already feel heat creeping up his neck in self-consciousness; he feels so juvenile, but he wanted to give the catcher something back, and his birthday seemed like a good occasion; never mind that he forgot about it till the last moment and decided on drawing him something (asking the second year to catch for him wouldn’t really cut it, besides that’ll carry its own problems; like remarks on his staminaroll)
Furuya rubs at the bridge of his nose (oh…, he probably smudged it with charcoal… again) Where did Ono-senpai say he put the colors? He turns around surveying the room with his eyes… On his bed, if he recalls correctly (because they were taking up space that should be used for books).
Well, looking at the picture from afar doesn’t make him want to cringe; so there is some room for hoping it turns out good enough.
Color properly, he reminds himself while trying to keep his locks out of his face. Theoretically he learnt how to do it; he should be able to pull it off.
* * *
He isn’t entirely satisfied with the end result; he doubts that hair is supposed to look that messy, (he may have externalized his own problem through the drawing; he’s definitely getting a trim either the next day or on the next weekend). Nonetheless, what Furuya is actually happy about are the eyes, albeit they took a ridiculous amount of time (time that he would have rather spent on taking his second shower of the day).
All that’s left is tying the ribbons that he had gotten earlier on the day and he’s done. The blue and yellow ribbons that were actually a plan to avoid worrying about the possibility of sweaty palms; contrary to popular belief he’s not ruining his hard work over being an idiot (plus; it wasn’t like he would have just handed the drawing without turning it into a paper roll in the first place).
Now, where could Miyuki be? Kuramochi said that the catcher was going home after that morning’s practice, so they should take that time to prepare the cafeteria and the food (not him, that’s what Zono-senpai said, and Sawamura had been adding some jibes of his own until Nori-senpai shooed him from the kitchen to everyone’s amusement), although he should be back by now (considering that there wasn’t much time till his own birthday celebration). His room was a good bet.
(No)
* * *
Furuya should have guessed sooner that the catcher would be doing some practice drills on his own, since he himself had had an injury before, (the feeling of falling behind, even if he should be resting…; and he didn’t even have to sit a tournament out).
-Rushing doesn’t help
-You would know that, right? – Miyuki doesn’t bother turning and instead throws another ball at the net. Furuya can imagine it preventing a steal to second (just enough time to dodge the ball passing over him)
-Yes – At that, the catcher stops mid motion of getting another ball – You should be getting ready for your party, anyway
-Wasn’t it supposed to be a surprise? – The laugh in Miyuki’s voice is obvious.
-… - It’s not like he had looked caught out of guard by his statement in the first place (his senpai had definitely gotten wind of the plan beforehand, either from Sawamura or Zono-senpai) | 5c247fdfd1aa4a4e8971c3a719740748 | ['c62333604bc3446aa2a1bbd75acd8d4d'] | Silence was apparently the way to get catcher’s attention. Although he had not expected him to snort with laugher (what was so funny? he hadn’t given him the drawing, yet)
-Did you win?
-Eh? – Furuya waits for the second year to compose his self (Win? Win what?)
-The battle – Miyuki starts chuckling again – oh man… I can’t – (Maybe he just finally cracked?) – The battle against your homework – Seemingly his face is reflecting his inner confusion (Homework? What?), because Miyuki explains his train of thought – You look like a mess; like… well, it’s not like you would notice without a mirror. Don’t move – (Why’s he taking off his mitt?)
Furuya swallows awkwardly as the catcher proceeds to ruffle his mane (did he just said he had eraser’s dust?) and continues on to rub at his cheek just beside his nose (so close, he is so close). Oh… the smudges from earlier (tch, he should have taken that second shower; then he would have noticed these things)
-So, what is it you wanted? Or did the others send you to make sure I wouldn’t escape? – The catcher still looks amused, but at least he doesn’t look like he will start cackling again.
-No. Here – Miyuki’s eyes widen a little as he presents the scroll (yes; he’s gotten the eyes right)
-What’s this? – He couldn’t have guessed that instead of just opening the roll of paper the catcher was going to simultaneously play with the ribbons and interrogate him.
-Hum… Happy birthday
-A gift then? – Furuya had pegged Miyuki as the type to revel in his embarrassment, so what was it with the disappointment in his voice? (He was a student, it’s not like he could just up and buy him something with so little time, there’s also the fact that he wouldn’t know what to get him…)
-Yes – The catcher twirls the scroll in his hand in contemplation (doesn’t he plan to open it? maybe that’s where his nasty personality comes into play; he’s going to drag it out for as long as he can, enjoying his anxiety)
-You didn’t have to get me anything, you know? – (Wrong again; Miyuki-senpai isn’t even looking in his direction)
-I wanted to – Furuya squeezes the inside of his pants pockets nervously. He bites the inside of his lip; the second year is looking at him again (curiosity?). He decides to go on -…as a thank you
-For being born? – It’s so easy for the catcher to disperse a heavy atmosphere, not that he minds it; this time he is actually glad for it.
-Hum… - (Does he want him to say something to justify himself?) Miyuki stares at him like this sometimes; mostly when he expects him to do something but doesn’t really count on it happening. (Should he add something? He’s so bad with words: how can he convey how tough the last year was? Quitting, joining the art club, the cold, THAT article, his CHANCE; how can he even begin to describe the roller coaster this year was?) -… for everything
And now Miyuki is regarding him as if he just said something weird. Well, he already handed his “present” over, so he could just cut his losses.
-I knew it was better to leave it at the happy birthday
-I didn’t catch that – Furuya stops at that, and turns repeating himself, clearer this time and feeling his cheeks warm up. The catcher nods (Did he get it? Probably not) – Don’t mind it, it’s fine – He smirks and puts his hand on his hips being careful not to crush the paper – And since it’s my birthday what I say is law – (Yes, he is good at dispersing the atmosphere) – Hum…, the ribbons are for Seido, right?
-Yes – (Did he get it after all?)
-You are pretty thoughtful sometimes, who would have known? - Miyuki gets close again and squeezes his shoulder (did he just say “thank you”?) – Now, be a good underclassman and tidy this up, will you?
-Where are you going?
-Eh?... To get ready? I have to make it to a surprise party, remember? So clean up after me, hum?– At that the catcher smiles and leaves.
Well, this could have been worse (even if his senpai had left him with chores)
Wait.
Miyuki never opened the scroll.
* * *
_-Oi, Furuya. About the thing… from the other day….It’s down the middle_
_-…_
_-Are you an idiot? - *ignores*- Didn’t you learn anything? Who was batting? Were you pitching or was it someone… Hey! Don’t leave me talking alone!_
_-…_
_-Sheesh, that guy… I actually liked it!_
_-Miyuki-senpai_
_-What?_
_-You’re loud_
_-Duly noted_
**Author's Note:**
> Hope you guys liked it
> Just in case: Furuya knew the mitt was positioned for a throw down the middle; it was one of the things he wanted to fix. And there were some things in relation to Miyuki that didn't make it into the story because it was exclusively from Furuya's POV: like actually finding out about the party from Chris-senpai (an honest mistake from Chris); that Furuya was wrong and Miyuki wasn't training because of his injury, but rather because he was jittery about the party, he was conflicted with the "are they doing it out of obligation or did they want to do it?" (Furuya helped without realizing it, hence the thank you); and that he was never going to see the drawing in front of Furuya; because he didn't know what he was going to find, therefore not knowing how he was going to react (basically he was making sure he didn't mess anything up, the control freak) |
ca8a143fefa24be5a30d42f33ff009a5 | ['c62481b1c32a4434ad35d45c6ed458eb'] |
1. Chapter 1
Lance let out a deep sigh. He hadn’t time to remove his pants and get comfortable before Keith had climbed on top of him, still flying from the endorphins. At least he hadn’t taken his phone out of his pocket so when Keith fell asleep, he had something to do.
He pulled up his textbook, wishing he had his reading glasses. Actually, this was really nice. Many of his subs didn’t want aftercare and he couldn’t remember the last time any subs that had wanted anything like this after their scene.
Keith licked his lips in his sleep and smiled. Damn, he was simply gorgeous. Lance wondered again for like the tenth time that night if it was possible that he really didn’t have a dom. He was too good-looking to not have been snapped up. He brushed aside that thought for now and went back to reading textbook, trying to concentrate on the material.
Suddenly Keith jerked awake, picking up his head. Lance smiled and put down his phone. “Sorry,” Keith mumbled. Those blue eyes were still hazy from the endorphins racing through his body.
Lance looked down at Keith’s back, which was still an angry red. That had to hurt like a bitch. “Don’t move,” he ordered and grabbed the bottle of salve. Once he had covered the marks again, he set the bottle back on the nightstand and turned his attention to those gorgeous blue eyes again. “You fell asleep.”
Keith nodded as the haze in his eyes cleared a bit. He looked so sad and vulnerable in that moment that Lance wanted to brush away all that fear and loneliness. He was moments away from leaning in and kissing him, wanting to banish all those demons.
Then the wall came up again. Lance couldn’t help the disappointment that filled him but he shoved his own feelings aside for the moment. Keith needed him to keep his shit together. “Hey, did you want to get a shower?”
Keith blinked. He smiled and his whole face changed, though the happiness didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, that sounds like an awesome idea.”
Lance swallowed hard. _ Who hurt you, baby? _ “Then let’s go.”
2. Chapter 2
Lance held out his hand and led him into the connecting bathroom. Keith moved slowly and his back had to be on fire. He looked around the bathroom with wonder. This was one hell of a decked out custom bathroom, with detailed tile all over the shower stall.
He turned on the shower and then waited for it to get to just the right temperature. “Look, I’m going to step out for a minute. Do your stuff you need to and I’ll be back. That cool?”
Keith nodded and Lance turned to go but Keith’s voice stopped him. “Sir?” Lance turned back. “Thank you.”
His genuine gratitude for something any competent dom would do for their sub baffled Lance but he just nodded and left the bathroom. Once he closed the door behind him, he walked out to the main hall, leaving his shoe in the auto-locking door to prop it open while he picked up his bag.
Once he was back inside the dungeon, he took off his trousers and underwear and folded them neatly inside his bag. He grabbed another bottle of juice, since Keith had gone through the first one after the scene and another water for himself.
On the way back to the bathroom, where the door was now open, he drank down the water in a few gulps and then threw the bottle away. He walked back in to find Keith standing in the stream of warm water.
“Does that feel good?”
Keith nodded, his face getting some of the spray from the shower head as he did so. “We got kinda messy, didn’t we?” He spoke slowly, his words slurring slightly.
Lance nodded; he liked Keith messy like this, especially with his hair ruffled. “Let me clean you up,” he said, grabbing the bottle of body wash.
Keith looked back at him, his long eyelashes fluttering. “Okay,” he said.
Lance gently brushed his soapy hands down Keith’s back, trying to let the soap be the only thing that touched the red skin. He wasn’t sure how much pain Keith could take and Keith was too deep in subspace that he couldn’t trust his answer, not right now at least.
He trailed his hands lower until he touched Keith’s gorgeous ass. He hadn’t paid enough attention to that last night, preferring to use the flogger across his upper back. He couldn’t help himself, he rubbed the firm skin, Keith’s moan driving him to continue.
Keith pushed back, rubbing into his caress like a kitten. God, he was fucking perfect, especially with those two dimples right above his pert ass cheeks. Lance washed away the soap and then kneeled. He dipped his head and kissed the indents and then ran his tongue across it, tasting the saltiness.
The groan that came out of Keith drove him wild. He grabbed another squirt of the body wash and soaped up his fingers. Keith looked back at him and Lance was impressed because twisting like must have caused fiery pain to shoot through him.
Lance massaged Keith’s gorgeous globes, trailing one finger between them. A low, long moan came from Keith and Lance swallowed his own groan in response. Keith pushed against his fingers, grunting.
“Please,” Keith whispered.
That begging did him in and Lance trailed his thumb between his cheeks, the answering moan was like music to Lance’s ears. Keith reached down to his own cock and started stroking it as Lance pressed his thumb against the tight ring.
Keith let out a hiss as Lance pushed in slowly. Feeling Keith clenching around his finger pushed Lance to full hardness and it throbbed in response. He wanted nothing more than to bury him inside that tightness and claim Keith in every way possible. | a886d6618a744e54945a7d5eb2ff3d33 | ['c62481b1c32a4434ad35d45c6ed458eb'] | Finally, he had to take a breath. He broke the kiss, looking down into Keith’s lust filled gray eyes. “Damn,” Lance said. “You sure do know how to kiss.”
“Right back at you,” Keith said, tilting his head up for another. “And more. I want more.”
_ Greedy little sub. _ Lance covered his mouth again, deepening the kiss this time. He rocked his hips into Keith’s, groaning when he felt the bulge grinding against his hips. God, he was going to come right here on the dance floor if he kept grinding.
Lance pulled back suddenly, remembering they were in a club and he was practically fucking Keith through his pants. “Do you want to get out of here?”
Keith grinned. “I thought you would never ask.” He grabbed Lance’s hand and dragged him off the dance floor, through the throngs of club goers.
On the way out, Hunk pointed at Lance and shot him a shaka. “Have a blast, dude.”
“Take care of Pidge,” Lance shouted back before turning to Keith. “My place or yours?”
“Well… since you have roommates, mine would be better.”
“I don’t have roommates. I live in the dorms and I have my own room, at least this semester.”
Keith shrugged. “I think my place is closer.”
Lance walked out the door and hailed a cab. “Your place then.” Once they were in the cab, Lance leaned over and kissed Keith, cupping his jaw gently. He barely noticed the ride to Keith’s, too caught in those perfect kisses.
Once they were inside the elevator, Lance rugged Keith to him. “I wasn’t expecting that,” Lance said.
“What were you thinking I wanted?” Keith said.
“I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know if you wanted me to reverse roles--”
Keith stuck his tongue out. “Eww. No.”
“Or if you wanted a dom for a week.”
“Oh,” Keith said. “I’d really like that.”
Lance grinned. “That can be arranged. But why just a dance?”
“It wasn’t just a dance.” Keith sighed. “I just...the other night, I felt something. I wanted it to be just us, no submission or domination, just us. And I wanted this, whatever might happen between us to be real.”
Lance nodded. “I get you.”
“I want you to want me, too,” Keith said. “I mean, I’ll pay for every night with you but I had to know you wanted this too.”
Lance quirked his lips. They would have to discuss the whole pay issue but that could come later. “How could you think I didn’t want you? I can’t fake this,” he said, grinding his hard cock against Keith’s hip.
Keith leaned his head back and groaned. “I don’t know. I can’t think when I’m around you.”
Lance chuckled. “Thinking is overrated.”
Keith sighed. “That’s so fucking trite, I can’t even…” He laughed, shaking his head.
Lance grinned. “It’s the truth. I just want you to feel…” He leaned in and kissed Keith’s ear. “I want you to feel my cock in your ass for days.”
The sound that came out of Keith didn’t sound human. It was a good thing the elevator doors opened when they did or Lance might have torn Keith’s jeans off him right there.
He wasn’t sure who was pulling once they made it inside the penthouse. He wasn’t even sure where to go so he let Keith guide him down the hallways. Their shoes squeaked on the marble as they walked until finally, they were in a dark room.
Keith hit a switch on the wall and the lamp in the corner lit up a bedroom. “We never made it here, did we?”
Lance looked around. “I liked where we were before, too.” He looked back to Keith, who pulled his shirt up and off, throwing it to the ground before kicking off his shoes. “Whoa, whoa, slow down.”
“Why?” Keith said as he undid his belt.
Lance reached out and grabbed his hands. “This is our first time. We can’t take it back or change it. I want it to be special.”
Keith froze, staring up at him for so long that Lance wondered if he had blown a circuit in his brain. Suddenly, he smiled. “Yeah, it’s gonna be special but I can’t wait.”
7. Chapter 7
Lance tugged on Keith’s belt loop, pulling him close. “You’re just going to have to wait. Now c’mere.” Keith obliged, tilting his face up when he got close. Lance gave him a quick kiss as he unzipped and unbuttoned Keith’s jeans.
He stopped for a moment and admired Keith’s lean body, especially those abs. He pushed Keith’s jeans down and helped him step out of them.
_ Boxer briefs. Oh, nice. _ With a body like that, he definitely should be showing it off. But suddenly Keith crossed his arms and tapped his own arm with a finger. “How come I’m the only one undressed?”
Lance grinned. “Undressing you is like unwrapping a package.”
Keith pinched the bridge of his nose. “Has anyone ever told you that your sayings are trite?”
“Yeah, but then I just whip them and they’re pretty quiet about it after that.”
Keith laughed. “Yeah, I suppose that would work.” He took a step closer to Lance. “Get these clothes off now.”
Lance cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “What did you say?”
Keith sucked his breath in. “Take your clothes off?”
He shook his head.“You don’t have any control over me.”
Keith shivered. “No, I don’t, sir.”
Lance pushed him up against the wall. “Good, can’t having you get too cocky on me.” He slid his hands around to cup Keith’s backside, grabbing two handfuls. He kissed Keith hard on lips before trailing his lips down, past his chin and nipping at his collarbone. |
56a6ce692dda4974af0c8e7f71152401 | ['c6250201600e45aab6826ba673a0de8a'] |
1. Where Did We Begin?
**Author's Note:**
> Is this a tragedy? Don't ask me, because I don't know if there's a happy ending for our nine. But be prepared for the trappings of one, anyway - a tragic hero, a fall from grace.
The three girls had been looking forward to this weekend for months - in fact, they had planned it originally for the month prior, but those plans fell through on Maki's end due to a scheduling conflict. It was precisely because Maki was so busy that this date was so special - it was the first time since last year that the three first years had been able to go out together. Rin and Hanayo, being the happy couple that they were, of course made time for each other, but Maki was always, always busy. It was a miracle that the three had met at all, Rin thought.
They had plans! A meetup at Hanayo's house the first day, a trip to the mall and back to Rin's the next. Maki was once again packed starting that Monday, so this weekend would count.
While Rin sat excitedly on Hanayo's floor, thinking about all this, Hanayo was making tea in the other room. A good housewife! Rin felt bad about not having the skill in the kitchen to help out, but she knew Hanayo was happy to. What a good girlfriend. When they were married, as Hanayo had once promised Rin would one day happen, she felt that she was in good hands.
Oh, Rin loved Hanayo. That was all she knew to be true, and the guiding force in her life. She was sure that if Hanayo were gone, her life would have no meaning. You could say Hanayo was her everything. She'd been told that that was an unhealthy mindset, but those who told her that had never seen anyone like Rin and Hanayo, she was sure.
Something soft brushing against her head lifted Rin out of her reverie and into the reality of Hanayo standing over her with the tea. "It's done!" she said sweetly.
Rin startled Hanayo into a gasp and nearly knocked the tray out of her hands with a leaping hug, an affectionate nuzzle. "Ehh, what's this?!"
"I love you, Kayo-chin!" At Rin's words, Hanayo's face melted into a gentle smile that made warmth spread through Rin's heart. Surely, this was the best feeling ever - to make someone you love genuinely smile. Rin vowed to do it more often.
A knock at the door tore Hanayo from Rin's greedy arms and Rin from the sugary-sweet moment she'd been savoring. Maki's red hair peeked in through the small window next to the door. Rin hid behind Hanayo's larger frame with intent to... strike!
Maki screamed, the door was swung wide open, Hanayo gasped. A thoroughly perturbed Maki pried a giggling Rin off her body with some difficulty. "Nice to see you too, you jerk."
Rin proudly picked herself up. "Maki is the same as ever, nya!" A spin, a hop into the living room, Hanayo in tow and Maki following behind, dusting herself off. "There's tea! Oh, and there's games! Kayo-chin, Kayo-chin, do you remember when we played that card game with the weird faces with Honoka and Yukiho? We should play that, it'll be fun!" A pensive pause. "...Or maybe that was only fun because Honoka was there?"
"You calling me boring?" teased Maki. She hung her nice coat up on the nice coat rack - Maki and Kayo-chin are both so neat, thought Rin. "I'll have you know, I'm here to have a good time. I won't lose to the likes of you."
"Then I won't lose either, nya!"
A partnered game with three players. It would have to be two-on-one. Poor Hanayo was overpowered when Maki's skill and careful thought met Rin's pure determination. In an attempt to make the game more fair, Rin tried pairing with Hanayo and subsequently crushed Maki with their superior teamwork - "This isn't a fair match," complained Maki. In a last ditch, the losers combined forces.
Of course, Rin didn't stand a chance.
2. Happy Lies
The girls lay on the couch, at this point just lounging around, showing each other cute or funny pictures on their cell phones. Maki was getting a little tired of cat memes.
"But look at this one, nya! This one is really good, I swear!" It was a small cat with a smug expression, apparently being threatened with a knife to the throat. Rin was giggling. Hanayo smiled graciously.
In an aside to Maki - "You get used to it, being around her all the time."
Rin put on an air of mock offense. "These are good! You have no taste in cat pictures!" A little jingle played out of her cell then, appearing with a notification that she'd gotten a message from Honoka. She opened it in anticipation.
[3/26/16, 4:36 PM]
honk: heyyyy you free tomorrow? :D
"What was that?" Hanayo inquired.
"It's Honoka! She wants to know if we can get together tomorrow, it's too bad we three were already-"
"Don't tell her," pleaded Hanayo.
"...What? Why not, nya?"
"...She doesn't know. That Maki was free this weekend."
A piece of a memory floated to mind; from when, exactly, Rin couldn't place, but it was months ago, surely. An evening when all four had been peacefully talking, or so Rin had thought. What started it, again?
[??/??/15, 10:?? PM]
[Group chat: Hanayo✿, honk, Rinnyan, Maki]
Hanayo✿: i told you, those posts weren't about you
honk: and you expect me to believe that?
honk: im tired of all the god damn lies
Rinnyan: stop! stop yelling!
Hanayo✿: i'll just give my phone to Umi and let her tell you. you like her better anyway
Rinnyan: DON'T LEAVE ME
honk: see youre making your girlfriend upset | a057ef32ebd045e680428e3ee36fe0b2 | ['c6250201600e45aab6826ba673a0de8a'] | Hanayo, her precious girlfriend, and Honoka, her very best friend, had a fallout over... something. Vague posts on a blog? Rin felt torn and panicked.
Later that night, Hanayo asked Rin if she really made everything about herself. Rin had no answer.
Honoka and Hanayo didn't speak for months.
Yes, Hanayo must still feel uncomfortable around her. And if she knew, she'd want to come. She'd want to know why she hadn't been invited.
"...I see, nya!"
[3/26/16, 4:36 PM]
honk: heyyyy you free tomorrow? :D
Rinnyan: no, i'm going out with my family for the day!
honk: that sucks :(
It felt wrong. They were friends. But what would telling the truth accomplish? Push her and Hanayo apart? Make Honoka feel bad, maybe pick another fight over it? Rin would carry the burden of a happy lie for the sake of harmony, make herself a martyr for peace. Noble, she thought. In any case, there was no reversing the rift between the two. It was over and done.
"Maki, watch this video with me, nya! It's funny!"
"As funny as your cat pics, I bet."
A catlike smile played on Rin's lips. They could have fun, just the three of them. Who needs Honoka?
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> Noble, isn't it? |
8f7bd3479e014c6a987389c5322b33b1 | ['c62f97e3d3ea4509ba9401868edfdebc'] | > Yeah, took me a while, and then it's short, but I'll try to finish the next chapter a bit quicker...
> And I have absolutely no idea why the text is centered but no matter what I do, I can't get it away, so sorry for that
James puts down the bowl of Popcorn he brought with him and settles down on the couch, waiting for Shepard to finish dinner. Their twice-a-week-movie night has become a tradition over the past months.
On Tuesdays it's Shepard's turn to pick a movie on Fridays it's his choice. At first he feared she would chose chick-flicks, but he didn't need to worry.
***********************
_"You did WHAT?"James gaped at her. She was really one hell of a woman. He knew few men who would actually stand up to an angry Krogan and this small, black-haired girl in front of him headbutted one just cause he was being an ass and upset one of her crewmembers. "Why didn't you tell anyone? Imagine the headlines!"_
_Shepard grinned at him. "Yeah, Khalisah al-Jilani would have loved it. Commander Shepard attacks innocent Krogan on his home-planet. Is she finally losing it?" She snorted. "And anyway, the first rule of fight club, you don't talk about fight club." He just shot her a questioning look. "Never seen Fight Club? It's a classic!"_
_When James shook his head she smirked and ordered: "Tonight you will. You bring Popcorn, I'll make dinner. I think I still have it on my Omnitool."_
_
*************************_
He grins at the memory. He thought the film was quite good but also pretty fucked up. Three days later he made her watch a James Bond movie. ("Really? The hero's named James?" "Yeah, cool guy. Secret agent. Saves the world and gets the girl everytime. Just like me." "Whatever you say, Agent Vega.")
The week after, Shepard forced him to watch the Lion King. He would never admit it, but he actually liked that one. And he surely DIDN'T cry when the lion died. He just got dust in his eye.
Over the next three months they watched classics like Star Wars or Indiana Jones and new films, mostly action films and even Blasto 3, even if Shepard wasn't a big fan.
Today it was again his turn to pick a movie.
"You're kidding me, right?" She looks unbelieving.
"Nope. I'm surprised you didn't knew about it. Was a blockbuster when it hit the cinemas."
"But didn't they, I don't know, need my permission to do a film about me?"
He grins. "Well, you were dead. And while the Alliance used you for their recruitment campaigns, others produced this film."
The movie is at best awful and Shepard's mood seems to alternate between amused ("That's called an armour? It has heels and her boobs are nearly falling out? And why is her hair that long? That's completely impractical in combat!") and horrified ("Wow, Shepard, never knew you had a thing for Asari." "Why is she hooking up with Liara? I never… Oh my god, she didn't really say that… Please kill me now… I think I'm gonna die of embarrassment…")
James patted her back and told her "You know, I like the real you a lot more than the chick in that film." and the bright smile she gave him was totally worth watching that terrible movie.
Nevertheless he decided to get her a "Paragon in the streets – Renegade in the sheets" shirt out of the movie franchise. Just a bit teasing under friends and certainly not cause he thought she looked cute when she was embarrassed.
6. Chapter 6
A few weeks later he's sitting in Shepard's living room, waiting for her to fetch the deck of card and some snacks, when he notices a frame on her desk, the picture to the table. It probably fell over so he decides to put it right again. And probably he's a little bit curious... But that's not the main reason.
It's a photo of an alliance soldier and he could swear he saw him around the headquarters last week. _I guess that's her boyfriend. Yeah, I should've thought about it. Of course a woman like Shepard has a boyfriend._
James is thinking about why the man didn't even try to visit her when he was around, when he hears Shepard gasp behind him. She stares at the frame in his hands.
_Shit._ “Uhm, sorry Shepard. I shouldn't have –“
She sighs and takes the picture from him. “Nah, it's okay. I probably should have thrown it away the moment I found it in this box.”
_What? Why should she throw it away?_
“That your boyfriend, Shepard?”
She sighs and motions towards the couch. After they're both seated she continues.
“No, not anymore.”
_Ah, so she dumped him._
“So, who is he, Shepard?”
“His name is Kaidan. Kaidan Alenko. He was on my team on the first Normandy.”
“And you two liked each other.”
“You could put it that way. I kinda liked him a lot. But I didn't plan to act on it. Superior officer and stuff. And honestly I didn't think he felt the same way.”
James chuckled at that. _How could she think there was any man out in this galaxy who wouldn't be head over heels for her._
“But then all that shit happened. To stop Saren we had to steal the Normandy and before we really knew what happened we were on our way to Ilos and didn’t knew if we would still be alive tomorrow. And then he came to my cabin. Told me he loved me. And it was kinda perfect. I mean, we hadn't known each other that long, but it just fit.”
She smiled at the memory and James tried to figure out why the thought of her being with this man bothered him. | 901b5a25eaa74fce80ae2a2c7f7096c4 | ['c62f97e3d3ea4509ba9401868edfdebc'] | “Goddammit! Look at me! I’ve got something to say and you’ll listen to it and you’ll look me in the face while I’m talking.” Finally Wade turned around, but his eyes had this empty look again.
“Yeah, okay. You won. I’m listening.”
“Why did you do that? I mean Flash… Why did you help me?”
Wade scratched his neck nervously. “Uhmm… I… I don’t like him…”
“Yeah, that might be true, but that’s not the only reason, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is… What are you talking about?”
“You lied…”
“What?” Now Wade just seemed confused.
“You lied. About us being friends.”
Wade choked out a laugh. “Yeah, we already established that, genius.”
“No, not that. You were lying, when you said… all this mean… stuff…”
“I don’t know –“
“Don’t give me this shit! I’m no idiot. It took me a few days to figure it out and I still don’t know why you did it, but I know that much. So, tell me why you pulled this bullshit on me!”
++++++++++
Great job. He was nearly there. And now Peter’s figured it out. But he just couldn’t let Flash beat him up.
He tried to think of something else. Another explanation than the truth, but when he lifted his gaze and saw Peter looking at him equally furious and worried it all came pouring out.
“They pity you, you know… Some even laugh at you…”
“What?”
“Because you are friends with this weirdo who never takes his hood down.”
Peter looked confused. “So what? Why –“
“I don’t even know why you wanted to be friends with me! I’m annoying all people around me! I don’t do… friends! I’m not smart! I’m not nice!”
Peter tried to say something but he couldn’t stop now.
“And then I had this stupid crush on you, but I knew you were way to good for me and it would end anyways if you’d see the scars. But you didn’t even ask about them and you didn’t run or told me to get lost or were disgusted and we were still friends. And that was already more than I deserve!”
The other teenager looked at him dumbfounded.
“You had a crush on me? But why --“
Wade stared at the ground again. “Then you asked me out. And I couldn’t let you do it. I mean, I’m a bad influence on you! I screw everything up! You can do way better than me! And you deserve way better than the fuck-up I am! You –“
He stopped when he felt the hood being pulled from his head. He nearly panicked. Wade didn’t want anyone to see his scars. But probably Peter wanted some revenge for all the hurt. And what would be better that showing everyone what a monster he was. He didn’t think Peter would be the type for things like this, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t understand.
His thoughts were interrupted when Peter grabbed his Hoodie and pulled him down into a kiss. First Wade wanted to stop him, but the second their lips met all thoughts got replaced by utter happiness. Somehow everything got okay. |
e73e9e00742b4e4ca790c4a0379812de | ['c6499d53f87247abb5a20daf04c9de37'] | “Please, I plead for you all to be silent about this topic. This was not meant to escalate into an issue. I was simply sharing my thoughts with Arthur-san. I do not wish to bother Gilbert-kun with any of this. He did not propose to me.” Kiku asked politely.
“Wait… so he didn’t propose? He just hinted it?!”
“Elizabeta-san…” Kiku gave a stern look and shook his head in disapproval.
Elizabeta wanted to protest more but saw that pleading look from her Japanese friend. She only pouted and nodded along with everyone else. Regardless of the pleading look from her friend, Elizabeta definitely had a few words to say to a certain albino.
* * *
“Oh, so you got nervous and just blew it? It’s okay amigo, it happens.” Antonio patted Gilbert’s back sympathetically.
“Oi, Toni… I don’t need sympathy.”
“True, you don’t. He’s saying you were a fool which you were quite frankly.” Roderich said adjusting his glasses.
“I doubt you were any better at proposing to Lizzie and I didn’t even ask for your terrible opinion! Besides your soon to be wife wants to murder me because I didn’t go through with my proposal.” Gilbert said sticking his tongue out.
Roderich attempted to keep his composure while ignoring the childish gesture. “Of course. I was flawless… and as for Elizabeta, have you told her exactly what happened?”
“She told me you were so nervous that it was _adorable_ , that how could she say no to that? Because you looked like you were about to faint. Muy lindo Roddy!” Antonio smiled happily over at his two companions. “Oh and yes, Gil did you tell Elizabeta the actual truth? Misunderstandings aren’t good.”
Gilbert gave a look that simply said, _“No shit”._
“What?! I’d suggest for you to keep your Spanish nonsense to yourself and she…said that?” Roderich could feel the embarrassment creeping up on his face.
“I’m pretty sure he was going to piss his pants. Haha!” Gilbert replied obnoxiously to his Spanish friend.
Roderich could feel a headache coming. “Look you. Why exactly did you pick us up to go to a café?”
“Well, you’re practically married I figured I could ask you and I also want to know how the hell Lizzie found out about my idea? She hasn’t told me. I just got a disturbing text message earlier. Plus, Toni is planning on asking Anri to marry him. I guess I just wanted to clear my head.”
“Anri? Isn’t that Abel’s younger sister?” Roderich said before sipping his coffee.
“Si, she is.”
“Good luck.”
“Ja… good luck.” Gilbert replied similarly as he and Roderich both gave sympathetic looks to Antonio.
They knew how protective the Dutchman could be of his younger sister.
“Now, don’t look so gloom. You can always serenade Kiku and ask him to marry you like that or write him a poem.”
“Wait. Before you go on with that ridiculous idea, where exactly would you be marrying him?” Roderich continued.
Gilbert blinked to the question.
Roderich sighed. “You didn’t think this through did you? Of course not.”
Gilbert gave an irritated frown. “What the heck are you talking about?”
“You are aware that marriage isn’t legal in Japan, correct? And you two do not live together, so moving would be in your options.”
“Well, I kind of figured. I mean I come to visit Kiku really often… but along with asking him to marry me I wanted to ask him to come live with me… Besides, I can wait for however long.”
Roderich and Antonio both blinked for a second at how calm and warm hearted Gilbert’s expression was at that moment. He looked so shy speaking of the subject, it was almost _too_ innocent.
“You irritate me….” The Austrian sighed in clear annoyance.
“Aw… Gil… that was beautiful! You should just say that and be true to him.” Antonio laughed patting his friend.
“What?! What the heck did I do? Oi, princess I’m talking to you.” Gilbert smiled at his Spanish friend for a brief second only to turn to poke Roderich’s side feeling offended at being ignored.
Roderich jumped up in surprise out of his chair only to glare shortly afterward as he smacked the albino’s hand out of the way.
“Good GOD, you have zero manners for personal space. How does Kiku deal with you?!” The Austrian replied in a flustered manner.
“Well, it’s a good thing Kiku will be the one dealing with him huh?” Antonio responded with a laugh.
“Yes but we deal with him almost as much too and we’re _not_ married.”
“Eso se llama la amistad!” The Spaniard spoke even more enthusiastically and dear god the man was too much sunshine for him to handle.
“What?” The Austrian looked even more confused than before.
“ _Friendship_ , Roderich, _friendship_.” Gilbert repeated the term slowly almost in a patronizing manner.
“I’m not an idiot. You don’t have to repeat yourself, once was good enough.”
“Ja, whatever. So how the hell did Lizzie even find out I was planning on asking Kiku? And that I didn’t exactly ask him?”
Roderich sighed, adjusting himself comfortably to his seat again. “She got it out of Francis, who got it out of Arthur, which I’m sure Kiku told him in the first place and she is at Kiku’s house right now.”
Gilbert’s eyes widened. “Wow. That spread around quick.” He said dumbfounded at the piece of information.
“It did, even I knew about it because Francis was worried about you, Gil!” The Spaniard replied. “But now that we know how you really feel, you should be fine!” | 1177bdad3dbc4cbbad1199c907add652 | ['c6499d53f87247abb5a20daf04c9de37'] |
Something more, maybe.
**Author's Note:**
> I got sudden furusawa feels? That's my only excuse.
>
> I am trying to get a feel of them, sort of, but I also wanted to write a bit of Miyuki/Kuramochi/Haruichi perspective. I apologize if that becomes confusing sometimes???
>
> /uploads this mess of a fic that makes no sense
>
> PLEASE READ: Since not everyone reads the manga, there might be slight (??) spoilers. Just mentions of very few things (like two/three things lol) that haven't been introduced in the anime yet. That's all, so if that bothers you, don't read this fic please and thanks. It's just mentions of people/things but it's pretty brief so it might not seem like much.
Miyuki notices it first.
It’s when Sawamura and Furuya stop asking him for extra catching sessions after practice. He doesn’t think anything of it the first few days, especially because _lucky_ him, he gets to relax and catch up on his much needed alone time. Especially because he never really gets a wink of sleep with Sawamura barging into his room uninvited in the early mornings. Seriously, the kid needs to use that energy elsewhere and leave him alone and _not_ get an injury while he’s at it. He feels a little sorry for whoever ends up with Sawamura for the rest of their lives because they’ll be getting forced awake at early hours.
Except that after a few days it starts to become a little _too_ convenient. Miyuki even goes as far as being purposefully available for Sawamura because he figures Sawamura is the easier of the two between him and Furuya. The kid’s an open book so he can definitely tell when something’s up.
Sawamura doesn’t even give him any type of acknowledgment, even after practice is done with so Miyuki says, quite loudly with a small smirk, “I’m up for some extra practice. Want to practice on the numbers, Sawamura?”
And yes, he thinks he has him right where he wants him, because Sawamura is hesitating with his steps whereas some seconds before he was rushing out and this has always been Sawamura’s weakness. It’s what has kept him coming back for more, because this is _their_ thing and no other catcher knows Sawamura as well he does, though he’s hoping Okumura will eventually take that spot. He sees Sawamura stop fresh in his tracks, his back still facing Miyuki, and he hears a low whine, his shoulders slump, and Sawamura _whines_ , turns around with a pout and shakes his head with a whisper of, “ _not tonight Miyuki-senpai, sorry_.”
And boy does Miyuki’s jaw drop. He can clearly see the restraint on the boy. He can’t help his awe though because Sawamura would never skip out on extra practice especially because Furuya has been having more time with Miyuki lately due to him carrying the ace number. So _this_ , this completely throws Miyuki off and before he can even ask what the hell is going on with him, Sawamura picks up his pace from where he left off and dashes right out of the bullpen successfully evading any further conversation.
_Weird._
So he tries with Furuya next, except Furuya easily tells him he’s working more on his running lately and that he’s going to meet up with Sawamura at the track because while he’s made progress on his stamina, Sawamura is still quite ahead in that department.
Okay so, usually Miyuki would let it go because those idiots have had this obvious rivalry since their 1st year, except he also knows Furuya very well, as well as he knows Sawamura, or at least he likes to think he does but Furuya does tend to be a bit more reserved and despite Sawamura and Furuya being polar opposites, Furuya is also an open book when it comes to his greed for pitching. So yes, Miyuki is definitely suspicious despite Furuya’s cool demeanor. Because the way he dismisses Miyuki—Miyuki sees a small flash of something in Furuya’s eyes, like he’s in a rush to get to the track and Miyuki’s being that one nuisance stopping him from getting to his destination.
He wants to be amazed and proud of his ace’s dedication but really, he feels there’s something more and Miyuki feels a little offended because he’s quite used to Furuya and Sawamura fighting over him as _their_ catcher. This is the part where Kuramochi would probably throw a jab at him and ask him if he’s lonely or feeling neglected by his two pitchers. _Ugh._
He decides to simply follow them one night because that’s what he does when he wants answers. That’s when he catches a sight he supposes is none of his business but he really had to know what the hell was going on, can anyone blame him? He doesn’t blame himself. Except he slightly regrets this now. It isn’t like they’re kissing or anything but—the scene seems a bit _too_ intimate for his taste and Miyuki’s seen a lot of physical contact between his teammates, especially in the baths, but this, this is something warm and tender—something that seems to be a secret between the two usual loud pitchers. While Sawamura’s brash on the field, Furuya’s strength alone is loud enough to cover the field with no need for words. It’s a completely different kind of attention grabber in comparison to Sawamura’s usual magnetism. |
9fa9b1931109416cacdd243652242215 | ['c64f00dca1c74ae38bea7f9bd02ee863'] | Ryan storms out of the room in lieu of replying, and Jack follows after him, hot on his heels because she rarely if ever lets Ryan get off that easy. Alfredo's still snickering, and Fiona's stewing, and Trevor's very tired, suddenly.
Plops down on the couch and earns a gentle "Hey, you'll mess us up," from Alfredo as he goes back to concentrating on the jacket.
"God, what is my life." He says to the disabled ceiling fan, Alfredo shifts, and their arms press together, a gentle comfort.
Trevor gets a couple minutes of reprieve before the front door slams with such force it shakes the whole house, dust and grime knocked down from the rafters with the brunt of it. Despite her big talk Fiona jumps, and Trevor finally allows himself to _really_ look at her.
Because it's so easy to see how people get to where they are out here. It's so easy for anyone with a little bit of logic to deduce someone's _story_ , their _baggage_ , because there were only so many ways you could make it this far at the end of the world and each one left some type of scar.
Fiona carries it in the stillness of her body, perched on the edge of the couch cushion, grip a little firmer on her jacket than need be. Skittish and scrawny and too quick to fight in a way that reminds him of Jeremy, when they first met, of the old stories the rest of them tell of Michael. Only the balls of her feet touch the floor, pointed to the door, and Trevor realises she's been in that position since she sat down.
And maybe his first impression of her was wrong, where she had her back to him oblivious in a way that was almost unthinkingly trusting. Maybe she didn't trust anything except for her ability to get away.
"Ryan'll come around." He offers her, to be kind, to give her some peace of mind. Her eyes flicker to him with a hesitancy that makes him realise this is the first thing he's said directly to her. "He's had some bad experiences with other survivors, but everyone trusts Geoff when he vouches for someone, and he'll come around."
"Uh huh." She sounds unconvinced, he can't blame her.
Alfredo scoffs, prying the jacket from Fiona's hands to shake it out, testing the patched up stitching to see if it held. "Ryan's a fucking bitch." Is all he offers.
Fiona snorts, and then slaps a hand to her mouth to hide it, and Alfredo grins at her. Trevor realises this is the first time she's smiled in front of them too, teeth and gums and the same sort of crinkle in her eye that Alfredo has, all apple cheeks.
/
They’re trekking their way through a desert, group eleven strong and sticking out like a sore thumb across the flat horizon. Really, Fiona barely impacted that, they’ve always attracted attention, but.
Alfredo’s kind of over it, him, Ryan, especially. Arm slung around Fiona’s shoulders in a too easy camaraderie as they take the rear. Naturally Trevor takes _their_ rear, because it’s just safer, really, if he’s the lookout.
It’s hot, but Fiona doesn’t try to shove him off. It's not like she doesn't know what he's doing either, eyes flitting to the front of the group where Ryan's picking yucca bushes dry and avoiding looking back, but she's got an arm wrapped tight around his waist too. Laugh in her voice as she and Alfredo share a can of tuna between them and he tries to get her to chug the oil.
"Gross, no." She checks him with her shoulder, but doesn't let go and the two of them go stumbling off to the side in a hobble. "You fuck off with that, I'm not playing with you."
"But the _nutrients_."
"You do it then."
Trevor makes a show of checking behind them to cover how hard he rolls his eyes at the pause that follows. He can imagine the way Alfredo's pursed his lips perfectly fine. "...I bet Jeremy'll do it."
When his head finally swivels back 'round to them Fiona's eyes are sparkling, reaching for the can. "Gimme it."
Trevor slides up into the spot Fiona leaves after brushing off Alfredo, bounding to Jeremy with too much of a spring in her step to be anything good. Even though it's not as easy with their lack of a height difference, Alfredo's arm immediately comes to rest around him too. Trevor doesn't know where to put his hands. "She's great."
"You warmed up to her fast." He can't help the comment, he's been wondering too.
Feels more than sees Alfredo shrug.
"She needs someone in her corner right now."
Trevor hums. They're both watching her now, roping Gavin into it, and oh, despite his protests Jeremy is doomed. Already that big smile is dangerous, wide and bright and so hard to say no to. Trevor wonders if she really trusts them, if she should. If she's smart enough not to, but Trevor doesn't think anyone in their group is. Doesn't think distrust is too smart of a move either, really. Not when the last newcomer was met with such an explosive backlash it nearly split them all apart, for no good reason, and Trevor understands Alfredo's need to shield her from the brunt of it.
But Ryan's got his own story, his own scars, and Trevor understands that, too. Understands that it's just defensiveness, the kind that Trevor can't fault him for, not when despite every rocky beginning Ryan's just protecting all of them in his own way. Trevor just has to soften the blow for a bit, he's used to it.
"Well then, I'm in your corner too."
It's hot, but Trevor lets him when Alfredo pulls him tighter in.
"Yeah, you always were."
/
"Trevor, c'mere. I got something for you." | a2dd84fa7e364571a7cb6a2080512957 | ['c64f00dca1c74ae38bea7f9bd02ee863'] | Takes the chance to do that thing with the eyebrows. "It'll be a tight fit, but,"
Drops the sentence open ended for him to finish, and Trevor laughs at his chutzpah. "I'm good here. Enjoying the view."
"It's because you don't wanna get sweaty, don't lie." Alfredo says easily, because he knows him and knows he needs the out.
He's thankful, really. So much. "You caught me."
Alfredo makes to rub a hand down his face, gives up halfway through to just leave it there. Shoots him a wry look through the gaps in his fingers. Something more fond than it is annoyed, but there's a fair bit of both there, Trevor won't lie. "How long's it gonna be one step forward two steps off a ledge with you, Trevor?"
Opens his mouth—
"Because I'll wait." Alfredo cuts him off. "Don't get me wrong."
Eyes steady, earnest, rooting him to the spot.
"And you know, it might be wishful thinking on my part, but I think she will too."
Time slows to a gentle hold with the pause. Only starts again when he remembers how to breathe.
All Trevor can do in this moment is lean down, watch Alfredo close his eyes as he blocks the sun, slots their hands together with something wrapping taut around his chest, his heart. The wooden couch frame creaks with it, and he shifts his weight more evenly, considerate of Fiona still fast asleep on Alfredo's chest.
"I'm sorry."
Tightens his grip, because he is. Because Alfredo needs to know.
It makes all his excuses catch in his throat, when Alfredo blinks his eyes open, looks up slow and warm at him.
"A little while more, then." Alfredo says, forgiveness folding easily into the smile of his mouth as he draws their locked hands to hold over his chest, pulls Fiona closer with his other arm.
/
Should've figured, really, that you can't expect things to just stay benign and domestic at the end of the world.
/
Matt barely stumbles two steps into the cabin with a broken leg and Michael's already shouting.
"We have one roll of duct tape left, you assholes—"
"Yeah, thanks for the concern buddy, really." Matt flaps a hand at him, makes Michael redder. "But we've kinda got a situation here."
And Trevor's stomach drops when Michael shouts anyway, because there's a big bloated looking fella looming behind him in the door frame and then a pop of a shotgun before his guts splatter across the floorboards. Where the body falls Jeremy stands revealed in the aftermath with this strained expression on his face, frantic.
Near drops the gun when he sees Matt. "Did you get bit?"
There isn't any time for the room to absorb the horror of the question before Matt snorts. "Stop being a dumbass."
" _Matt_. I need you to _tell me—_ "
"No, I didn't get bit asshole, now do you want to keep asking stupid questions or should we tell them about the horde sometime today?"
And—
"Horde?" Gavin squeaks, leaning over the banister on the second floor, eyes alert for all that he'd been sleeping just five minutes ago and that finally kicks Trevor's brain into action right as a piercing scream rings from outside the east facing window. Inhuman.
Because they've all gotten a little complacent, you see. _Trevor_ got complacent, overconfident and too secured. The dead don't care about the home you've made for yourself, they don't care about your burgeoning tentative yearning or your crumbling trepidation.
Forgot, for just a little while, that they're living in hell and that no one stays lucky for long and sometimes, sometimes hordes just happen to you. Roving bands of undead stirred into a frenzy by more than just whatever mindless hunger they feel, something toxic about the misting blood in the air when their numbers get up there that almost makes the sky seem to bleed.
They've got twenty minutes to 22:00.
And that's when Trevor realises it wasn't just Jeremy and Matt on the perimeter.
Oddly, he feels calm.
"Gavin, can you wake the others? I'm going on a run."
Jeremy whirls on him with a startled, "What?" At the same time as Matt hands him a pistol (not the best, but they need the heavy weapons here, don't they).
And it's Matt who answers for him. "Lindsay."
Jeremy stands there, pale faced and helpless.
"It was a big horde, Trevor."
Matt shrugs. "Well, Michael's already gone."
" _What?_ "
/
There's an awful lot of trust Trevor's placing in them at the moment, but he sees shadows shambling between the trees and there's just no time to make sure of anything. Slips out quiet from a backdoor in the opposite direction even though he knows Michael's not smart enough to be thinking about that, (worst sense of direction out of the lot of them and Trevor's going to kill him himself when they find each other).
Tracks them down by following a split in the horde, where some of the dead splintered off in lieu of closer prey, breaks into a run when he's certain of the direction and doesn't mind the trailing stragglers at his heels.
By the time he finds them _Michael's_ the one half way up a tree, somehow. And Lindsay nearly blows his head off.
"Whoa! Easy!" _She_ says, like she's the one with a gun pointed at her head.
" _Really_ , Lindsay?" He says, because he can't believe her on a normal day.
There's a stream of expletives from the tree as Lindsay fires a bullet past him regardless, knocks down a lumbering woman at his back and they really should stop being complete idiots at some point in this, really. It's just getting inconvenient now.
"How were you going to get back on your own?" |
556a843cba4a4f57bf583a1f13e3bddc | ['c64f177b768e4b81bde569944ce2ecb1'] |
1. ill get the socks
avengers
members:
steve rogers (starspangledman)
tony stark (irondad)
bruce banner (smashinglymean)
natasha romanov (blackwidownatty)
clint barton (birdbrain)
thor odinson (godofsparkles)
peter parker (kicknamestakeass)
[ thursday, 8:15 am ]
starspangledman: tony why did you invite the freshman
kicknamestakeass: that's rude, brooklyn
irondad: because he's my son fuck off rogers
kicknamestakeass: i'm honored?
godofsparkles: okay well good for you pete anyway t'challa got a girlfriend.
birdbrain: WHAT
blackwidownatty: whom???
starspangledman: peggy, right?
godofsparkles: yes, margaret!
smashinglymean: i hate how literal you are, thor
godofsparkles: well, you can get over it because you love me
smashinglymean: ...fine
godofsparkles: :)
birdbrain: has anyone seen sam
blackwidownatty: i thought you would've
irondad: steve says no
birdbrain: why can't he text
irondad: he's hit his hand on that metal thing in the dining hall again
blackwidownatty: idiot
birdbrain: i guess i'll text sam
-
falconhawk <3
members:
clint barton (birdbrain)
sam wilson (onyourwings)
[ thursday, 8:40 am ]
birdbrain: where are you
onyourwings: oh shit sorry i was at the library printing something out
birdbrain: whew when steve said you weren't there when he woke up i had a mini heart attack
onyourwings: i'm okay babey ur so panic-induced
birdbrain: shut up
onyourwings: make me ;)
birdbrain: that's not my job
onyourwings: dining hall in 5?
birdbrain: you betcha
-
gucci gang
members:
scott lang (greattscott)
peter parker (kicknamestakeass)
loki odinson (disastrouslycute)
wanda maximoff (scarletwanda)
peter quill (starlooord)
rocket racoon (notaracoon)
wade wilson (chefwithamouth)
jessica jones (nakedvigilante)
pietro maximoff (fastandanxious)
michelle jones (ohshizmj)
shuri (princesstiana)
[ thursday, 9:00 am ]
scarletwanda: ay loke what r those pronouns today bud
disastrouslycute: i'm feeling a she/her mood today
scarletwanda: gotcha, here's jess
nakedvigilante: okay sis look your sister told me i need more green in my outfit
disastrouslycute: what's wrong with green
chefwithamouth: she won't wear anything but black or dark purple
nakedvigilante: red if i'm in the bedroom
fastandanxious: ew.
kicknamestakeass: pietro just vomited in his mouth next to me thanks jess
nakedvigilante: :)))
princesstiana: t'challa has a girlfriend i'm so proud
ohshizmj: isn't he dating steve's ex
starlooord: KSNDJSNJF
greattscott: yeah but steve and pegs are still good friends are they not
princesstiana: yeah they are
notaracoon: guys help groot is yelling at me again because i accidentally knocked his cactus off the window
starlooord added treeluvr to the group.
treeluvr: FUCK YOU ROCKET YOU KILLED MY GOOD PLANT :(
notaracoon: I DIDN'T MEAN TO YOU IDIOT
treeluvr left the group.
scarletwanda: nope nope nope
starlooord: aw man. dining hall in 10, people, let's get a fuckin move on
kicknamestakeass: bossy
-
guardians of the galaxy
members:
peter quill (starlooord)
rocket racoon (notaracoon)
groot summers (treeluvr)
gamora rivers (redhairdontcare)
drax jones (myreflexesrbetter)
mantis king (spiderluvr)
nebula rivers (bluespacegirl)
[ thursday, 9:01 am ]
starlooord: dining hall in 10 people lets go
redhairdontcare: you're demanding
bluespacegirl: you love it
starlooord: you guys have a weird relationship
spiderluvr: sorry drax is taking me to chick fil a
myreflexesrbetter: chicken minissss!!!
treeluvr: ROCKET I CAN SEE YOU
notaracoon: FUCK
redhairdontcare: why the hell is rocket running from groot
-
james charles cult
members:
bucky barnes (whothehellisbucky)
peter parker (kicknamestakeass)
scott lang (greattscott)
wanda maximoff (scarletwanda)
brunnhilde valkyrie (callmeval)
hope van dyne (ilovewasps)
sam wilson (onyourwings)
loki odinson (disastrouslycute)
stephen strange (iamnotsherlock)
[ thursday, 10:30 am ]
whothehellisbucky: why is steve's hand in a brace???
kicknamestakeass: tony said he hit his hand on the metal stuff in the dining hall again
iamnotsherlock: Rogers is clumsy.
callmeval: aaaand here comes the extremely literal rich boy
ilovewasps: what time is it
callmeval: 10:32
ilovewasps: SHIT
greattscott: WHY AREN'T YOU IN CLASS HOPE
scarletwanda: oh boy
ilovewasps: LEAVE ME ALONE
onyourwings: hey buck don't we have that psych lecture today
whothehellisbucky: yeah i think so
onyourwings: okay cool
disastrouslycute: flash thompson just called me a freak
kicknamestakeass: excuse me
kicknamestakeass: TRANS SIBLINGS UNITE
disastrouslycute: let's go find a snake to put in his dorm
scarletwanda: DO NOT
scarletwanda: they already left the classroom
-
trans siblings
members:
peter parker (kicknamestakeass)
loki odinson (disastrouslycute)
nebula rivers (bluespacegirl)
[ thursday, 10:37 am ]
kicknamestakeass: nebbbbbbb
bluespacegirl: yes peter?
kicknamestakeass: flash is bullying loki
bluespacegirl: i'll get the snake
disastrouslycute: ily guys :')
-
the odin bunch
members:
hela odinson (helayeah)
loki odinson (disastrouslycute)
thor odinson (godofsparkles)
brunnhilde valkyrie (callmeval)
bruce banner (smashinglymean)
[ thursday, 11:00 am ]
helayeah: Loki, why is your RA calling me?
disastrouslycute: totally not because pete, neb and i got a snake to put in flash thompson's pants
helayeah: Carry on..
callmeval: flash is bullying loki
godofsparkles: again??
callmeval: again.
smashinglymean: i'll find wade
helayeah: I'll get the socks
callmeval: why socks
godofsparkles: just incase we need to bound or gag him!
callmeval: fair point
2. deals and nosebleeds
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> birdbrain: akbduebfhdbxbbsqiqokdnf
>
> smashinglymean: clint fell down the stairs again nat
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> this is really short but i just finished school so there should be more updates in the future. i may edit it just keep tuned
trans siblings
members:
peter parker (kicknamestakeass)
loki odinson (disastrouslycute)
nebula rivers (bluespacegirl)
[ friday, 2:04 am ]
kicknamestakeass: cann one kf you gusy come over
disastrouslycute: peter are you okay
bluespacegirl: i'm on my way just hang tight okay bud
-
silver spider
members:
pietro maximoff (fastandanxious)
peter parker (kicknamestakeass)
[ friday, 2:06 am ]
kicknamestakeass: pietro
kicknamestakeass: fuck i need you
fastandanxious: hey hey baby i'm here what's happening
kicknamestakeass: he came
fastandanxious: what?
kicknamestakeass: he came home i can't handle him being here please oh god i don't know what to do
fastandanxious: who came home???
kicknamestakeass: rumlow.
fastandanxious: oh fuck
fastandanxious: we cannot let bucky find out
kicknamestakeass: yeah yeah you're right
-
american winter
members:
bucky barnes (whothehellisbucky)
steve rogers (starspangledman)
[ friday, 6:00 am ]
starspangledman: good morning beautiful
whothehellisbucky: meet me in the dining hall now
starspangledman: it isn't even open
whothehellisbucky: it is now
whothehellisbucky: please
-
[ earlier ]
untitled chatroom | 920a476db19347289dc42c6ff7427bdd | ['c64f177b768e4b81bde569944ce2ecb1'] |
1. introduction
_**2015:** Carol Danvers takes over S.H.I.E.L.D
_
**_2020:_** _Nick Fury announces his first spaceflight and successful colonisation of the moon._
_**2025:** Successful colonisation of Mars._
**_2030:_ ** _A new project at NASA has been taken over by S.H.I.E.L.D. A new spacesuit is in the works._
_**2035:** Successful colonisation of Ceres, with Wakanda at it's core.
_
**_2040:_ ** _Pepper Potts-Stark is pronounced dead. Tony Stark takes to space travel._
_**2045:** Carol Danvers announces a project working alongside Wakanda.
_
_**2050:** Carol Danvers and S.H.I.E.L.D create the ship known as_ _the_ Event Horizon _, which is capable of interstellar space travel._
_ **March, 2050:** Hela and the crew of the_ Event Horizon _disappear beyond the orbit of Neptune._ _
_
_**2057:** Now...
_
2. 1; a (not so) nice surprise
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> "Hey, Pete? You may want to see this.."
> -
>
> Scott and Peter find a strange signal coming from Neptune.
_Dark_ , _dark, dark. Too dark for my eyes. Make it stop, Carol! Make it stop!!_
Carol woke up with a jolt in her room on the space station. _Maria...,_ she thought to herself. She always blamed herself for Maria's death, but everyone else knew who did it. Rumlow, a monster of his own design. Killed Maria without a second thought. Steve and Bucky tried to help, but Maria lost too much blood. Natasha helped bury her. Carol retreated to the space station after that.
"Wasp, start up the coffee," Carol said as she sat up and stared at her pictures of Maria.
"Certainly, Carol," The AI replied. Carol waited to hear the sound of the coffee pot starting before getting out of bed. She walked slowly to the kitchen, ignoring the empty bedroom in the hallway. She cooked herself some scrambled eggs to start the day, staring out of her window at the stars, the moon, and Venus.
-
"Hey, Pete? You may want to see this.."
"'Sup, Lang?" Peter Quill walked over to his fellow astronauts computer.
"I've picked up a distress signal," Scott said, obviously worried, "from Neptune."
Peter nearly choked on his own spit before rushing to his computer and contacting someone.
"Shuri, Shuri this is Peter Quill from the Mars station. I have information that needs to be transferred to someone, please. Over and out." Peter said before exhaling sharply.
"Fuck," Scott muttered.
-
"Carol, you have an incoming call."
Carol sighed and hit the _answer_ button.
Rhodey and T'Challa appear on the screen.
"Can I help you two?" Carol says, annoyed that she is receiving a call nearly 2 hours after she woke up. Especially from the king of Wakanda.
"We have a matter of the upmost importance, Doctor," T'Challa says, elegantly as ever.
"Shuri received startling information from the Mars station regarding a distress signal," Rhodey said, sounding slightly panicked.
"A distress signal? From where?" Carol asks, knowing it had been 7 years since any manned missions went beyond Ceres.
Rhodey just takes a long pause, sighs, and looks at Carol. "The orbit of Neptune."
Carol's eyes go wide, astonished. "N..Neptune..could it be?"
"It is. We had Lang and Quill check." Rhodey nervously rubs his neck.
"The problem is that part of the video is missing, but the audio is pieced together," Shuri says, coming up behind her brother.
"Play it," says Carol, leaning in to hear it.
Shuri hits play.
What comes from the other end is a terrifying mix of human screams and inhuman sounds and gurgling and crying.
" _Liberate...me.."_
"Do you...do you know what that means..?" Carol asks shakily.
Shuri shakes her head. "I do not. If it was any other language, I probably would. But my software does not detect Latin."
Rhodey looks just as disturbed as Carol, but Carol's face reads extreme worry.
She inhales, exhales, and looks at Rhodey. "Call him and his crew."
T'Challa clears his throat. "Barton and his crew are on vacation on Mars. Can't it wait?"
"I want to leave in 9 hours," Carol demands, "I need to find my ship as soon as possible."
Rhodey just nods and disconnects. Shuri lets her brother leave. "Do you need anything, Doctor Danvers?"
"No thank you, Shuri. You're a sweet girl," Carol says with a weak smile.
Shuri disconnected. Carol stared outside. Her ship, her creation, her legacy...it had just reappeared. Maybe she would even reunite with Brunnhilde, if she was okay.
The _Event Horizon_ has returned from the dead.
-
Clint Barton was in his room, while the rest of his crew was shopping around on Mars. Natasha wanted him to go, but Clint insisted on staying alone.
"Sir, you have an incoming call."
"Patch it through, Jarvis," Clint mumbles.
Rhodey appeared on the screen. Clint groans. "What, missing Tony?" Clint snaps. Rhodey sighs and flips Clint off. "Shut up, birdbrain."
Clint just laughs. "Alright, alright, what's up?"
Rhodey sighs. "You have a mission."
Clint drops his jaw. "You fuckin' kidding me? A mission during the vacation..."
"Just gather up the rest of your crew, Barton. I'm sending a woman by the name of Carol Danvers to the Mars station. Three of you know her. She'll direct you guys," Rhodey says.
Clint his the disconnect, contacts his crew, urgently beeping Peter Parker because he's prone to forgetfulness. Clint sighs.
"This is gonna be a long vacation." He gets up, packing his clothing and grabbing his uniform, annoyed and confused by this Danvers woman.
-
"A mission? During our leave?" Natasha blurts out. Wanda is clinging to her arm.
"Steve was planning on taking us to Ceres..," Bucky says, squeezing Steve's hand. Steve nods.
"It's not my damn fault, alright? We're picking up a woman named.." Clint glanced at his screen. "Carol Danvers."
Steve, Bucky, and Natasha all look shocked. "Carol? Oh my.." Steve says quietly.
Tony looked over at them, then back at his husband. "Who is Carol Danvers?" |
6ce65d2c439e42848033930e0e10d04a | ['c668918801eb4c6e812c1445bc3fbcd1'] | “Doesn’t matter, I don’t want to preach to the kids how to practice safe sex while sitting with gonorrhea in my own pants again.”
“That one spread from Taeyong, we have already investigated this.”
“So you don’t care about spreading shit back and forth, making you or your bestie Jaehyun infected again?”
“Hey, I’m a responsible man, and leave Jae out of this.”
“You probably don’t even know yourself where your dick goes on the weekends,” Ten scoffed. “Just put the damn condom on.”
Johnny groaned and walked over to the bowl of free condoms for the students.
“Think these will even fit me?”
“Shit, maybe not. Look in that cupboard instead.” Ten pointed to the left of him, too lazy to get up to help.
Johnny ransacked the shelves, slightly stressed now as the clock ticked towards 11.30. He found the packet of XL condoms and ripped one out, rolled it onto his hard on and made his way back to his desert.
“All right missy, satisfied?”
“Yesyes just fuck me before we need to re-do the stretching again,” Ten said to the ceiling.
“Here we go then,” Johnny replied and proceeded to push into Ten.
Ten hissed for air but took him all in like a good boy. Johnny added more lube and went on to start pounding his way into Ten, legs and stomach muscles working hard. Ten just closed his eyes and felt himself being filled to the brim, basking in bliss. Johnny picked up the speed of his thrusts, making the office table shake and pushing small “ah”s out of Ten’s throat. Soon, the “ah”s weren’t so small anymore, and the expensive ergonomic working table was in serious danger of falling apart.
“Ten, baby, you need to shut it, the whole fucking school will hear us,” Johnny huffed out of breath.
Ten actually made an effort to keep his mouth shut and secure his future paychecks incoming, but the slamming of the table was still loud enough for students out in the corridor to think about calling the police for burglars.
“Maybe fuck me against the wall instead, it might be a bit more stable,” Ten suggested with a hoarse voice for once not dripping with irony.
Johnny picked his toy up and made him put his legs around Johnny's hips and arms over his shoulders. Without slipping out of him, Johnny tensed his muscles and lifted Ten’s body and carried him towards the wall, Ten’s open med coat sweeping around them when Johnny turned them around and crashed Ten’s back into the wall. Ten just held on for his life as Johnny started sliding up into him again, slamming Ten’s bum roughly into the wall with every push. Both of them started to break out in sweat. The banging against the wall was still kind of loud, but better than the table, probably, Ten thought, but then he couldn’t really make sober judgements right now.
“Aah yes Johnny yesyesyes right there,” Ten let out when he felt Johnny’s girthy dick stroking his bundle of nerves, sending him jolts of intense pleasure.
“Call me Daddy,” Johnny blew in his ear as he continued slamming Ten against the wall.
“You and your mainstream kinks,” Ten sighed as he closed his eyes and tried to focus on this man’s amazing dick inside him to ignore his annoying mouth.
“Say it,” Johnny egged on.
“Nope.”
Johnny stopped moving and put his forehead against the nurse’s to stare him down.
“Say it.”
“I hate you.”
Johnny slid his dick out of Ten, leaving the other whining loudly at the missing friction.
“Okay okay fine, gosh, you’re such a kid,” Ten muttered. “Please, d-a-d-d-y, put it back in, I need you so bad and all that.”
Johnny didn’t have it. “Say it like you mean it.”
Ten collected the last of his disheveled pieces of his pride and threw it out of the window. He lined his eyes up with Johnny’s and tried to look as serious as he could.
“Fuck me, Daddy, now.” Ten spiced his voice with the lust he felt for Johnny’s cock.
Apparently, it worked, as Johnny crashed his lips against Ten’s and pressed himself past Ten’s rim to fill him up again. Ten lingered in the moment, finally being fucked properly. He must’ve done an especially good job, since one of Johnny’s hands let go of holding his ass up and proceeded to stroke Ten’s semi hard dick. Ten was filled up so good, the sensation in his prostate tingling in his back, the twisting of Johnny’s giant hand on his dick. It didn’t take long until he came, shamelessly, all over Johnny’s hand. He kind of lost grip of Johnny’s shoulders and hips for a moment and almost fell down to the floor. Johnny slowed down his movements and slid out of Ten’s gaping hole.
“Shit, this won’t do,” Johnny threw a glance at the clock on the wall beside them. It struck 11.40 and Johnny still hadn’t finished.
“Get on your knees honey,” Johnny demanded.
Weak-legged Ten obeyed gladly. He struck out his tongue and knew exactly what he was waiting for. Johnny delightedly slid off the damn condom and felt his bare cock in his hands, giving himself the final stimulation he needed. With tight strokes, he pumped himself to completion watching the sinful sight of Ten waiting for his seed below him. When he burst, he let out a laudable groan and shot his white stickiness all over Ten’s pretty face, hitting his lashes, nose, chin and mouth. Ten happily lapped up what he could reach with his tongue and swallowed it while keeping eye contact with Johnny. Johnny loved the sight.
“You’re so damn good, baby boy,” Johnny praised, giving Ten a soft hair ruffle. Ten smirked and got up to his feet again. | d39cbe2f4d324010a66b36f997523e52 | ['c668918801eb4c6e812c1445bc3fbcd1'] | Mark was loving the reaction. He then put the thing to his lover’s lips, a soft cling heard when Donghyuck took it in with his tongue. It tasted like metal, was thin and sharp. Donghyuck tried nibbling at it slightly, guessing it was round and in two pieces, one of them dangling down to his chest in a chain.
Donghyuck opened his lush lips glistering with saliva to signal Mark to remove the object from his mouth.
"It’s handcuffs, right?" Donghyuck triumphed.
"Good boy," Mark praised him with a smirk from enjoying the game. "Wanna put them on?”
Donghyuck swallowed and nodded slowly.
"Hands up!" Mark ordered and Donghyuck shyly lifted up his arms for Mark to cuff him, hearts beating like crazy inside both of the boys. Mark put Donghyuck's hands above his head and pushed them back towards the bedframe. With a click, his left wrist was captured. After some rustling of Mark threading the chain through the poles of the bed frame, another _click_ and his right hand was secured tightly.
Donghyuck tried tugging at the handcuffs, finding himself unable to move his hands more than a decimeter. It wasn’t particularly uncomfortable, but the position exposed his body, no arms to protect him anymore. His body was stretched out and vulnerable to Mark’s touches.
“How does it feel?”
“Hmm, a bit strange, but I like it,” Donghyuck answered thoughtfully.
“I wish you could see yourself, you look so hot.” Mark licked his lips at the sight before him.
The second gift turned out even better than he imagined. He couldn’t help but to lean forward to touch at his boyfriend’s soft golden skin, to nibble at his perky nipples, to softly smell Donghyuck’s freshly washed arm pits and kiss them. Donghyuck jerked his body when Mark licked his sensitive ear, dick lying angry and red untouched at his stomach.
Mark stuck his tongue deep into Donghyuck’s mouth and started touching himself, probably, Donghyuck guessed from the slick sounds of a hand twisting around something that wasn’t his own dick. Mark then stopped moving his tongue in his mouth, the younger getting the hint at once and started sucking on Mark’s tongue, completely focused on the sloppy wetness of their saliva blending. Almost as if sucking his dick off, Donghyuck moved his head as good as he could while being tied up, bobbing at Mark’s mouth muscle. A filthy moan emitted from somewhere deep inside Mark.
Mark switched from touching himself to finally touching Donghyuck’s leaking dick aching for attention again. Donghyuck started moaning into his mouth and he loved every second of it.
“Oh, god, Mark, more…” Donghyuck begged.
Mark kissed Donghyuck’s neck as he sped up his hand.
“You close already?” Mark whispered against the younger’s pretty mole on his Adam’s apple.
“Mmmmh,” was the only sound Donghyuck could make in between his hitched breaths, head leaned to the side resting on his upper arm as he began losing control of his body.
“We can’t have that. We still have the main event left.” Mark slowed down his pumping hand and Donghyuck felt the tickle of a small kiss being pressed on top of his nose.
Donghyuck was a hot mess when Mark left him alone panting in bed again.
If Mark had been nervous all night, it was nothing to what he felt right now. Hurdled over his bag, he picked out their good old bottle of lube along with the last present. He almost regretted buying this one, but at the same time he was excited to see how his lover would react to it. The worst thing that could happen was just that he didn’t like it, no worries, Mark persuaded himself to calm his nerves.
“Here comes the last one,” Mark said with a gulp.
“We playing the same game as with the handcuffs?” the younger asked from behind his blindfold.
Mark let out a small laugh. “Yeah. Feel it,” he said dropping the lube bottle on the sheets and dragging the new object along Donghyuck’s cheek, down to his neck, then his chest.
Donghyuck noticed a weird but soft round shape, along with the slight friction it created against his skin, making him guess it was something made out of rubber.
“A… dildo?” Donghyuck threw in a safe guess.
“Nope, but not too far from it.” Mark smiled as he flickered the toy over the younger’s sensitive nipples, sending jolts directly to Donghyuck’s cock. Needy groans escaped his mouth. If his boyfriend was going to go on like this, Donghyuck wouldn’t last long.
“Can I taste it?” Donghyuck asked politely, but out of breath.
Mark lifted the thing to his lover’s mouth who welcomed it with a lick. As Mark fed the toy deeper into his mouth, Donghyuck noticed it had a strange shape for a dildo. It was less girthy, a bit shorter and angled. And it had some kind of base that prevented Donghyuck from taking the whole thing into his mouth, something pressing into his chin.
“Maybe you wanna hear it.” Mark smirked, really getting into the fun game now.
He slid the wetted object out of Donghyuck’s mouth and held it close to the younger’s left ear. Then he pressed the button.
A faint vibrating sound met Donghyuck’s ear drums. Donghyuck let out a loud gulp, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his bronze colored neck. The buzzing rang in his mind like the melody of a small drill.
“Guess.” Mark teased him.
“It will go into my ass?” Donghyuck asked cheekily.
“Correct.” Mark snorted a small laugh. “But don’t worry, I got the smallest size since you’re… we’re… pretty tight.” His cheeks flushed red at his own words.
Donghyuck’s heart rate increased once again. He’d always been curious about vibrators, having seen porn actors absolutely lose their minds using them. Now he finally had a chance to try it for himself. His boyfriend really was the best. |
271e480f21e445b6b5d1d6f7858d751a | ['c675124c3fd04d1e9dd99940529d91ea'] |
1. Prologue
It was just a regular day at the water tribe, and today, Sokka, Katara, and I were going fishing. Sokka and Katara were like a brother and sister to me, their family took me in after my father was killed in the war. My mother died when I was born. But their family became my family. While I was thinking about other things, Sokka said,
"Watch and learn, Katara and (Name), this is how you catch a fish." While Sokka was 'catching a fish like a master', Katara and I tried to catch a fish, too. We both caught a fish by lifting the water around it, trapping it in a water bubble.
"Sokka, look we caught a fish!" I said, trying to get his attention. As we were bringing it over to him he poked it with his spear and bubble bursted, letting the fish get away and he got soaked.
"Why everytime you two play with your magic water, I get splashed or soaked?!" Sokka yelled.
"It's not magic water, it's water bending! It's an-" Katara started but she was cut off by Sokka saying,
"It's an ancient art that unique to our tribe. I know, I know. But if I had weird powers I would keep my weirdness to myself."
"You're calling us weird?!" I shouted.
"We're not the ones who makes muscles at themselves everytime they see their reflections." Katara said, laughing a little, I was too.
Then all of a sudden, the water current picked up speed, straight into some ice. Sokka tried to avoid getting the boat crushed by the ice. Katara shouted at him to go left. Then our boat got stuck in between two pieces of ice,and got smashed into pieces. Leaving you three stuck on an ice block.
'Well that's just great.'
Breaking you out of your thoughts again, Sokka shouted,
"Leave it to girls to mess things up!" Katara was furious,
"You are the most sexist, inconsiderate...I'm embarrassed to be related to you! Ever since mom died, (Name) and I have been doing all the chores, while you go off to play warrior! HAVE YOU SMELLED YOUR SOCKS?!"
Little did she know, she was water bending at the same time, which was slicing an ice block...
2. Chapter 2
Then, the gigantic iceberg broke, the waves taking us for a ride. When the piece of ice slowed down,
"Okay, you're gone from weird to freakish, Katara."
"I did that?!"
"Yep." Sokka and I said.
"Congrats." He said, sarcastically.
Then a bright blue light shone from the water, then a huge iceberg surfaced. Inside, was a boy with arrow tattoos and a animal that I never saw before. The boys eyes then opened and Katara said,
"He's still alive we have to help him!" She grabbed his club, and hopped over to him.
"Katara we don't know what the heck that is!"
"Sokka we should a least try..." I said. Katara started to strike the large iceberg, eventually a large burst of air blew us back. The iceberg broke and a blue light shout straight into the sky.
~~~Zuko's POV~~~
I was standing on my ship, until a bright blue burst of light shot into the sky. I knew what it meant, the avatar is back. I could finally bring him back to the fire nation and restore my honor.
"Uncle, do you realize what that light means?"
"That I don't get to finish my game?"
"No, that my search for the avatar is over."
~~~(Name)'s POV~~~
Once the wind settled, the boy crawled out of the remains of the iceberg, and fell down with Katara catching him. Sokka started to poke him with his spear.
"Would you cut it out?!" I yelled. The boy seemed to be a little groggy, but then asked Katara,
"Will you like to go penguin sledding with me?" Then I heard a growl from the iceberg. The boy then flew over the ice wall. Katara, Sokka, and I, ran around to see this weird beast.
"Aww~! He looks so cute!" I said, earning a strange look from Sokka.
"This my flying bison, Appa." The boy said as I came over to pet it. Sokka then sarcastically replied,
"This is Katara and (Name), my flying sisters."
Appa, then sneezed and his snot shot right onto Sokka, making him rush to clean it off in disgust.
"What's the matter, warrior? Can't handle a little bison snot?" I said. The boy asked if we lived around this area. I was about to reply with a 'Yes.' when Sokka said,
"Don't answer! That crazy bolt of light could have been a signal to the Fire Nation army!"
Katara said,
"Oh of course, he's definitely a spy for the Fire Nation,"
"You can obviously tell by that menacing look in his eyes." I added.
"And the overly paranoid guy is our brother, Sokka." I said. The boy sneezed and he flew sky-high, once he came back to the ground, he introduced himself,
"I'm Aang."
Sokka said,
"You just flew 10 feet in the air when you sneezed!"
"You're an airbender!" Katara and I shouted.
"Giant light beams, flying bison, airbenders, I think I've got midnight sun madness. I'm going home." Sokka started to walk off, but then realized that we were in the middle of the ocean, with no boat to return home in.
"Would you guys like for me to give you a ride?" Aang offered. Katara and I gladly accepted and got on the flying animal. Sokka objected.
"Are you hoping some other kind of monster will come and give you a ride home?" Katara said.
"Before you most likely freeze to death." I said. Sokka was about to say something else, most likely a comeback, but came up with nothing. Katara and I exchanged glances, happy that Sokka finally has nothing to say. After everyone was settled on Appa, Aang said, | 99f61469bf9a4bc2b0a534a936f954b5 | ['c675124c3fd04d1e9dd99940529d91ea'] | "Be patient, Catalina." I take off her panties, and I put one finger inside her. Damn, she's so tight, I barely fit my finger in. I pump my finger in and out of her, and she pulls me off of her nipple for a kiss. She moans into my mouth, and I add another finger. She whimpers in pain, but eventually starts moaning again. At this point, she is so wet, that when I pull my fingers out of her, a string of her wetness is connecting my fingers to her heat. I break the kiss to suck my fingers clean, and god she tastes amazing. I pull off my boxers and I intertwine my fingers with hers, and I line myself up at her entrance.
"Are you ready?" Catalina nods.
"Break me." I thrust into her, and she feels so good, her walls are like a second layer of skin around me.
"Cazzo. (Fuck.)" I said.
Catalina has tears in her eyes. I was waiting until she told me to move, meanwhile I comforted her, and told her that the pain would go away soon. Eventually, she spoke,
"Niko, you can move now, it doesn't hurt anymore."
I thrust into her gently, and she begs,
"Niko, harder, please."
I thrust into her harder, and she begs for me to go faster, and I thrust into her, over and over again.
"Ah! Niko, yes!" She moans breathily. Her moans only made me go faster, before I knew it, I was pounding her into her mattress, and she was on the verge of screaming.
"Ni-" I silenced her by placing my lips over hers, and she continued to moan into my mouth. When I hit a certain spot, she moaned particularly louder than before, so I focused on it. I was so damn close. Catalina pulled away from me and said,
"Niko, I'm going to...Ahhh!" And she came, and she looked so beautiful. Her cheeks were so flushed, her skin glowed in the moonlight, her long hair laid perfectly across the pillows, and her amazing light blues eyes were staring into mine.
I pulled out and came on her stomach. After we caught our breaths, we cleaned up, got dressed, and I gave her one last kiss goodnight.
"I love you." I said, with my hand on her cheek.
"I love you, too."
"Goodnight." And I closed the door behind me and walked back to my room and got into my bed, and I looked at the clock, it was 1:38 AM, what happened tonight is so worth being tired the next day.
**Author's Note:**
> Thanks for even clicking, and if you enjoyed, comments and Kudos are appreciated, and lets me know if you want more. Also, I will be moving my other fanfictions from my DA account to this one, just to make things easier if you want to read any of my other works. And much love, Karson. |
e0c654c1525b45688143772b07b91dff | ['c67fb3c28e0d4f1183772d9a52842b2d'] |
A Matter of Timing
It wasn't like Amy to be late up in the morning.
They are on a planet, and Amy _loves_ planets.
The Doctor fudges about in the control room for another five minutes before boredom overcomes him. He sets off for Amy's room at a determined pace. Just because they are living in a time machine, it's no excuse for _tardiness_.
He arrives at her bedroom door, and is about to knock, but hears a low moaning sound coming from inside the room. He puts his ear to the door, listening intently. The moaning sound continues, punctuated by Amy saying his name.
Clearly she is in distress, and calling for his help! The TARDIS _really_ should have alerted him to her predicament.
He tries the door handle, but it's locked. Obviously. She wasn't going to leave her door open on board a space ship with an alien wandering about the place. A commendable attitude, and one he similarly adopts, but that isn't a help when she's in need of him.
He slides his sonic screwdriver from his jacket pocket, and aims it at the lock. But then he hesitates, looking at his wristwatch.
He's _early_.
He's about two hours _early_. He lets his head fall against her door with a soft thud. She isn't late at all, he's _early_. So she probably isn't in distress, she's probably dreaming. About him. Which is perfectly _natural_ , they've spent a lot of time together. And there's that whole childhood fixation thing going on, as well as all the narrow escapes from certain death.
But still. He should just look in on her, it would be the caring thing to do. If she was in distress and he'd left her, he'd never forgive himself. He aims the screwdriver again, but lowers it with a sigh.
If she was in distress, the TARDIS _would_ have alerted him. And if he hadn't gone looking for her, he _wouldn't_ have heard her, and would be none the wiser.
He spins away from the door, about to pocket the screwdriver, but hears a muffled cry from behind the bedroom door.
He turns back again, counting to five, and points the sonic device at the lock again. She's probably having a nightmare about one of the aliens from whom they'd barely escaped with their lives. It would be cruel to let her suffer that alone.
He depresses the button, and the screwdriver whines into life, releasing the lock.
The Doctor carefully opens the door, if she's asleep and he bursts in on her, it won't do either of their nerves much good.
He opens the door, just wide enough to poke his head around, and withdraws it hurriedly, eyes wide and cheeks flushed.
She's not having a nightmare.
Nor is she in distress.
She's... Oh _Gallifrey_ , she's pleasuring herself!
He closes his eyes, wondering what to do. Leaving and never, _ever_ letting on that he's _seen_ her is probably the best thing. But he was never one to take the easy way out.
The soft moans and mentions of his name are louder now, with the door open. The poor girl is obviously frustrated; he's whisked her away from her life, and it was naive to think that a girl so pretty wouldn't have some young man at her behest. Maybe even that nurse fellow, Rory. Or Jeff. Not that it matters who, not really. She's young, in her prime, and in need of gratification.
In spite of himself, the Doctor cautiously peers around the door again. He swallows. Hard.
Amy is sprawled on her back on the enormous bed, the covers kicked off in a dishevelled heap at the foot of it. She's wearing that white cotton nightdress she'd come aboard in, the fabric pushed up around her waist as her slender hands dip down in between her spread thighs, the middle finger of her right hand rubbing determinedly where it would best serve her, left hand working a long cylindrical object in and out of herself; a dildo.
The Doctor doesn't recall any such sexual aids being present on the ship, but then the TARDIS wasn't likely to make him aware of them; after all, it wasn't him who'd be needing them. He briefly finds his mind querying which other females have given themselves the same treatment as Amy. That thought is not good for his bodily state.
Her head rolls from side to side on the pillow, eyes screwed up in concentration, lips open as panting breaths escape from between them.
She slowly slides the dildo almost completely out, her right hand slowing as she licks her lips. She waits a moment, hips undulating on the bed, the moaning sound escaping her again.
The Doctor watches, _indecently_ fascinated at the sight of his companion teasing herself, trying to ignore the effect it's having on his loins.
Amy's right hand circles her clit, as the left thrusts the dildo hard up inside herself, arching her back and crying out as she now pumps it hard in that all too familiar rhythm.
"Doctor! Yes, _harder_!"
He should leave.
He should turn around, close the door, relock it, and go and hang his head in shame.
But the sight and sound of her, as she works herself towards her climax, is just too compelling, appealing to the anthropologist as well as the man.
Amy's moans of pleasure are growing louder and more urgent as her hands work furiously. She raises her hips from the bed, digging her heels into to the mattress as she meets each deep thrust of her own hand.
The Doctor has to steady himself against the door frame, his knees are losing substance in the face of such lurid abandonment.
He should leave before she finishes; but the scientist demands to know the sounds she makes, the words she utters, the colour of her skin as she comes.
And suddenly, that knowledge is his, as Amy finally reaches the point of no return. A low mewling sound starts somewhere deep inside her throat, rising in pitch and volume until it breaks, like an angry tide across her body; she shrieks his name, entwining it with affirmatives and deities as she convulses on the bed, and he finds himself wishing he was clinging to her, as her orgasm claims her and she's lost to the outside world.
He closes the door now, hoping against hope that she was preoccupied enough that she didn't hear his blurted "blimey!" as she came; hoping the circle of light from her bedside lamp left the doorway sufficiently dark, as he locks it and steals away to his room.
He is two _hours_ early, that should be enough time. Enough time to find his own release from the aching hardness in his trousers; enough time to practice not feeling _painfully_ awkward, when he meets her again in due course. | f6a1e5b8a9cd4be4ab8cb8d648d3ffff | ['c67fb3c28e0d4f1183772d9a52842b2d'] | His mind has thrown shame out of the window, and instead is making it's way slowly through the back catalogue of his time with Amy, putting a decidedly more entertaining spin on some of their adventures.
For a start, there was the whole being handcuffed to a radiator by a police woman; oh yes, the fun that could have been had if he'd been in full possession of his new faculties, and not under an alien threat.
He remembers those long legs and seams, the tiny skirt... yes, he was obviously not in his right mind, those alone should have alerted him to the fact she wasn't really an officer of the law. No, no, _focus_ ; the legs, the seams, the blood red nails, the mass of ginger silk tumbling from beneath her hat...
And then there was that nightdress. He'd woken her from sleep and whisked her away in her nightie. She was so trusting, she just agreed, she walked into a box with a madman. He could have done _anything_ to her, could have pushed her up against the console, could have slid his hands up under that thin sheath of cotton and ravished her with his fingers...
Oh yes, _this_ was the stuff, this would get him there. He groans, his left hand screwing up a handful of bedspread as his right hand works harder; close, so very _close_ now...
That hug, on Starship UK, such a missed opportunity. He could have turned her around, backed her up against that enormous window, kissed her until she was dizzy and stripped her naked. And then he could have taken her, making her tremble, watching her come against the backdrop of blazing stars...
He's _almost_ there, his chest heaving, hand pumping, eyes closed tightly as he _fucks_ her in his mind, all distaste for the word now overcome, as he enjoys the raw humanity of it's concept.
A familiar feeling starts to tighten somewhere down deep inside of him, and he growls her name as it starts to unfurl.
" _Amy..._ "
"What are you _doing_?!"
Her voice rings out across the room, freezing his movements and snapping open his eyes.
He swallows, hoping in vain that this is just his mind playing tricks, just a last shred of guilt trying to thwart him.
"Oh my _God._ Are you _wanking_? Over _me_?"
He closes his eyes for a second, and then slowly turns his head.
Death would be so welcome, right about now.
He sees her there, in the doorway, slender hand on the handle, eyes wide in shock, in that damnable white nightdress; a picture of innocence, belying what he saw.
And instead of retreating, she walks into the room! He silently begs for an asteroid strike, unconsciousness, a distress signal, anything, to get him out of this situation right this second.
"So," she purrs, folding her arms and coming to stand right in front of him, "this is what you get up to behind closed doors. Very _human_."
He's _still_ got his cock in his hand, and it's _still_ refusing to deflate. Impotence suddenly seems so appealing.
He clears his throat.
"I believe it's customary to knock before entering, Amelia." He tries his stern voice, his I-am-not-very-impressed-young-lady tone. But he's sitting there holding his erection, which really undermines every word.
"I wasn't expecting it to be open, I just thought I'd try it. I'm nosey, so sue me. I wanted to see what colours you had in your room. I'm a girl, girls like to know that stuff." She uncrosses an arm and inspects her nails.
She's a girl alright. He wants her to _touch_ him...
"Anyway, carry on, don't mind me. I'll just sit over here and watch." She crosses to an antique looking chair in the corner, and settles herself in it, looking at him expectantly.
_She knows_.
She _knows_ he was watching her.
This is her revenge. And how can he get angry, or tell her to go? She's right, it's only fair, he watched her, and now she's going to watch him.
"Well? I'm waiting? And seriously, you look like you're gonna burst, so I'd get on with it if I were you."
She smiles at him with a sarcastic sweetness and he hangs his head with a sigh.
"And, if you're thinking about me, what could be better than the real thing to look at?"
Amy scoots forward to the edge of the chair, and lays back, hitching her nightdress until she's put herself on show.
She's not sure why she's doing this, but the sight of him is turning her on. She still feels wet from before, and she feels herself twitch inside, prompting another rush of moisture.
"Amy, I'm sorry, you have every right to be angry..." he tries a last appeal, but it falls on deaf ears.
"Sorry for what? Just get on with it, let's see if we can come _togethe_ _r_!' The excitement in her voice and the flash in her eyes sends another surge of arousal to his groin.
And then she touches herself.
She slides her fingers down into to her wetness, and he can smell her, and hear the slick sucking sounds as her fingers disappear inside.
He starts to slowly stroke himself again, eyes fixed on her fingers, as they slip and slide and rub.
She moans so deliciously, so _wantonly_ that he can barely stand to hear it. He swallows down his self-consciousness, in the face of her _shamelessness_ and begins his strokes once more.
Amy watches him hungrily, her pupils feeling like they're going to explode. She's so wet she can feel it sliding along her thighs, and the sight of him looking back at her, with a familiarly human yet feral glint in his eyes, snaps her resolve just to tease him.
She throws herself from the chair and is upon him before he can protest. She knocks him back on the bed and is astride him, fingers tearing at the buttons of his shirt, a frustrated growl building in her throat as she fumbles with the fastenings. She squeals in annoyance and just rips it apart, buttons flying. She reaches down to guide him into her, though she hardly needs to, her slick thighs ensuring he's not likely to lose his way.
The Doctor is taken by surprise, and before he can _pretend_ to protest, she has ripped open his shirt and taken him by force.
Life doesn't get much better than this.
She rides him hard, almost angrily, shedding her nightdress on a downward stroke. His hands, which had been splayed passively by his head, reach up towards her, but she pins them back down. And then she rolls to the side, and somehow he's on top now, her heels digging into his arse as she urges him on.
Faster and harder and deeper and tighter; again and again, and then the universe explodes.
She wraps herself around him as he falls down into her.
And _this_ time, he's clinging to her; as she's ripped right from the world. |
d9c94303da084712909fd9da782ac478 | ['c6be1ca229c048889a066e3fba2a51c7'] | “As I said, his heart is not mine to command. I just wanted a little taste of his blood and only brought him home as a mere present. As he said to you before, his own words turning on him now, sentiment is often found in the losing side.”
Suddenly, the doors flew open and the young female vampire named Delta came running inside and stopped in front of the desk in a flash.
“Forgive me for interrupting, sir, but there’s news from the spies,” she said in a hurry.
“Yes, what is it?”
“Mr. Holmes has gone to Greg Lestrade for help with something and his supplies of blood are entirely empty.”
“They were full when we were there last night,” said Victor, “He must’ve drank them all after he realized how appealing John’s blood was to him. Sir—“
“He’s going to have to find more blood, otherwise John will be dead by the end of the week,” said Moran.
“We must have John alive,” said Jim, “Sebastian, you and Victor need to find Sherlock and bring him back to Irene. She needs to have a word with him.”
“Where shall we bring him, sir?” Victor asked as he began to leave with Moran.
“The dining room,” Irene answered with a small smirk, “John will get to meet the dogs.”
The two taller men stopped in their tracks and looked back to Irene in slight disbelief.
“You know some of them can’t be controlled,” said Moran as he turned back to face her, “If we let them loose on Watson, he won’t survive.”
“We will keep those here. Send the three oldest as well as the two Jim dismissed. They know their place enough to not kill a valuable possession.”
“And what if they do?”
“Then so—“
“She will be killed, as will they,” Victor answered for her, “Vampires who imprint will avenge their loved one to the death, even if it ends in their own. But Sherlock is a strong vampire and should not be underestimated. We will bring you Holmes, but you have to make sure the dogs do not kill John. They kill him and the entire mission will be terminated, as well as your life.”
“I don’t understand why it would matter—“
“Of course you wouldn’t. You’ve never cared about anyone but yourself and James is feeding that to see how far you will go.”
“And he’s not feeding Sherlock to you? I know you go and watch him—“
“To protect him from people like you.”
“Why shouldn’t he be protected from people like you? You’ve been pining after him since that night--”
“Children, children please!” Jim moaned and walked around his desk to face them, “We have alternative motives: Irene wants Sherlock to come running back to her, Victor doesn’t want him hurt by another lover, and I want to watch him dance. We will keep him alive only for him to watch his doctor die. Victor, you need to get to John before Sherlock returns. Sebastian, get after Sherlock. I want him back here before midnight.”
“Yes sir,” they said in unison and immediately left the room, leaving Jim and Irene alone together again. She looked at him as one would look upon a crushed insect that she feared would come back to life at any second.
“You need to learn your place, Irene,” Jim growled, “Just because you are the fair female leader of our coven does not mean you get to the chew toy first. A fair queen waits until the toy has been played with enough and she then delivers the final blow.”
“You know nothing of monarchy,” she hissed and set her stance, his hands balled into fists at her sides.
“And you know nothing of proper discipline. You are to wait here for Sherlock Holmes and you are not to kill him. The idea of this game is for him to suffer as his John does. Do you understand?”
Irene took a deep breath before she chose to answer, and only did so with a nod before being dismissed. Jim watched her as she left and the moment she was out the door, he turned to watch the four vampires climb the wall to the city and disappear behind it. He hummed softly as he walked around his desk and walked his fingers along the wood as if he were playing pretend like a child.
“Jack and Jill ran up the hill,” he muttered and grabbed a knife from his pocket, “to fetch a pail of blood. Jack fell down and broke his crown and Jill waltzed right into his mud.”
There was a loud crack as the knife was shoved deep into the wood of his desk over the photograph of John in his file containing all the information Irene, Victor, and Moran had gathered.
**“Such a shame...he only wanted a flatmate.”**
9. Chapter 9
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> Hello!! I do apologize for it taking so long to update, but I've been extremely busy with college and moving in and it's been a wild time. Thank you so much for being so patient :D BONUS, this is the longest chapter thus far and I hope you enjoy it :D
**_ Chapter Nine _ **
Late in the evening, John returned home from a night out with Stamford, tired and hungry due to the shitty bar food he didn't want to eat, but he was surprised when he found the flat entirely dark. However, the moment he reached to turn on the lights, Sherlock, lying on the sofa in the dark, jumped up and hid himself behind his chair, begging him to not turn on the light. Confused, John walked forward and glanced around the room to see if there was a body somewhere in the room drained of blood, but he didn't see nor smell any. | 593f216e91834b48bff2ac691d9e7b00 | ['c6be1ca229c048889a066e3fba2a51c7'] | “Just try to understand. We told you what Delta saw, we told you that he would destroy us when he did change John, and we told you that he would not get out of this alive.”
“But why?”
Irene and Moran looked between them and Jim didn’t really seem to understand why he was so opposed to this, but then again, he didn’t really care.
“I must destroy him,” Jim answered, his voice low and dangerous, “My only competition is no longer enjoyable. He must be beaten, and feeding John Watson to him is the greatest pleasure I can have.”
Victor sighed and shook his head before straightening himself and sauntering over to Jim.
“You really think this is the way to go about ending Holmes’ life? Why not kill John Watson outright? Sherlock will be begging for death then. You know how hard it is for soulmates to kill one another and that it is impossible without the help from another outside source that we don’t want to mess with, especially since we haven’t uttered a word downstairs in centuries.”
“Yes…yes you’re right.”
“He’s right?” Irene chimed in suddenly, “How—“
“Sebastian, collect Johnny Boy for me. Victor, go with him and get Sherlock. Make sure they are both quiet when brought here and keep them separated.”
“Shall I take the dogs?” Moran asked.
“Just three or four. Sherlock will put up a fight and the dogs are stronger than him.”
“What about the wolves?”
“Leave them here. The full moon is soon and I can’t lose John to lycanthropy.”
All three nodded and bowed to Jim before they left the room and went immediately to the dining room to leave Irene there. She wasn’t entirely too thrilled to be left alone, but at the same time, she didn’t mind, for she was getting what she wanted…more or less. In a matter of hours, maybe even days, Sherlock and John would be dead and they wouldn’t have anything else to worry about, as it should be.
“Don’t harm him,” she warned them, though her voice was soft even as she looked at Victor, “Please.”
“We will do what we can,” said Victor, “but mind you, we could be gone a few days.”
Irene sighed and slowly turned to take her seat at the high end of the table as though she were queen, the feast of the night prior still lying with his ribcage broken open in the middle like a roast.
“Don’t harm him,” she warned them again, and with that, they were gone and she was alone to think and wait.
**_221b Baker Street_ **
About three months had passed since John and Sherlock had first started sleeping together and the two had been living a somewhat domestic life together. Well, if domestic means solving murders and case after case for New Scotland Yard and cleaning out the fridge of severed body parts, then their lives were completely normal. Some nights they didn’t even make it back to the bedroom, Mrs. Hudson would just find them curled up together on the sofa with their shoes still on their feet, but tonight they luckily had the night off and were lounging together on the sofa, Sherlock’s head resting comfortably on John’s shoulder and John’s arm around him. Still, he was a little tense around Sherlock as if he were going to seduce him once more.
“John?” Sherlock asked quietly as he looked up at him.
“Hm?” he answered as he turned the volume on the television down.
“Why are you still uneasy around me?”
“What? I’m not, Sherlock.”
“Yes you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Then kiss me.”
John froze at Sherlock’s request, but to prove his own point, he kissed Sherlock swiftly on the lips and sat back against the sofa.
“See? Not tense.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes and sat up more to bring their faces close together, their lips almost touching but not quite, just enough to make John squirm and his heart pound in his chest.
“Tense,” Sherlock purred and laid his hand tenderly over John’s chest.
“N-not tense…” John argued, but failed to keep his voice steady.
“Tense, John Watson…relax.”
The way Sherlock’s deep baritone voice vibrated against his chest and went straight to John’s trousers was absolutely agonizing. He hated the way the man was able to reduce him to a quivering pulp of…whatever he was, but he had grown to fall completely in love with what he could do to him and how he could make him feel whenever he wanted.
“I…I love you,” John breathed and kissed Sherlock tenderly, unable to bear the distance any longer.
Sherlock smirked against his lips before returning the gentle kiss and wrapped his arms around his lover so he could turn and have John settle atop him instead.
“I love you, too,” he murmured and subtly began to deepen the kiss to distract John from his wandering hands that were now sneaking up the back of his shirt.
Of course, John _did_ notice, but he didn’t say a word to stop him from feeling him the way he was because—damn—it made him feel absolutely amazing. Luckily Sherlock kept it at a boundary to let the tightness in John’s trousers relax since he knew the other man was not ready for that just yet.
“Sherlock?” John asked breathlessly when their lips finally parted.
“Yes?” he answered as he began to card his fingers through the other man’s hair.
“Can…is there a chance that we could maybe move this…elsewhere…?”
Sherlock’s eyebrows shot up and a small smile turned up the corners of his lips, though he was still surprised at John’s question. Still, something was telling him that John was only meaning for their protection against Mrs. Hudson or any other intruders that might happen upon them, and so he gracefully scooped up the other man and carried him back to their bedroom. |
3217370e18284e649136ff672c5e93ba | ['c6d3a118c4ea4becafa702eef9dd2972'] | Breathing easier is entirely metaphorical, of course. That much is obvious. Riddle seems trapped outside, unable to come in, unwilling to leave, hesitant to use magic. That helps: the seeming. Some of it is probably even true. In any case, it lessens the urgency she feels, the creeping certainty of imminent death.
But it isn't a cure-all. It's the ticking of a clock.
Hermione opens her eyes and takes another breath.
" _Incendio!"_ she says again, speaking precisely, like she's reading a pronunciation guide, moving her empty, heavy hand as Flitwick taught her, textbook picture-perfect.
She fails.
Again.
She fails.
Again.
Again. Again.
Each time is an echo of the previous attempt. A car engine turning, the battery run out. Click-
click-
click.
Soon enough, the lights will flicker off and not come back on.
"Trying to cast a spell, are you?" Riddle's voice is muffled but distinct enough in this moment of forced lucidity.
Brushing damp, clinging strands of hair from her face, Hermione turns to the window and squints. He's a partial silhouette, backlit by the ever-stronger summer sun. His clear-cut form moves, blurs.
"Maybe I can help, Hermione," he says kindly, his hands beckoning against the glass. "If you come over here and try the spell one more time where I can see."
He's been talking to her a lot lately. Muffled noises flung out like a cast net, grasping for purchase. Whenever he opens his mouth, his tact shifts, as mercurial as a boggart's form.
He's probing for a reaction. Changing based on what he thinks he reads on her.
It's all a tactic. A front. Who knows what he really looks like, sounds like?
"What about if you stand?" he tries again, reasonable. "I might be able to see your form better that way, work with you from there."
And there it is.
He wants to see her to fall again. That's what happened the last time she stood.
She doesn't respond. Looking had been a mistake.
* * *
What is she without a wand?
Is she even a witch?
* * *
Hands and knees. Hands and bloody knees.
She is a child, crawling to the corner of the room. This is what she's reduced to: crawling underneath Voldemort's watchful eye.
His stare weighs on the line of her back. Alone, on her hands and knees, she sees herself as someone who is seen by him.
Despite the stare, she reaches her destination. And it's that — destination, determination, deliberation — that brings her back to the task at hand.
The cabinet in front of her is dark, roughly hewn oak. Steadily, she sits back, planting herself on her haunches. The wood is smooth to the touch from what must be decades of wear. Her hand pulls out the lowest drawer and rummages through it.
There are clothes inside. Long, dingy-white undergarments, brown cotton trousers, an old black robe, mothballs.
Not what she needs.
She isn't expecting an anachronism here. She's more than willing to work within the bounds of this setting. This cottage stagnated somewhere in the seventeen-hundreds, its own little pocket outside of time. There won't be matches.
Flint, though. Flint and steel. Those are hovering maybes. Things worth reaching for, working for.
So she looks, and she finds. Potion ingredients, bottles covered by a thick layer of dust but contents surprisingly preserved. Chocolate, dittany, murtlap tentacles—and more. Surprising, yes. Things apart from the rest. But not what she needs.
The next drawer holds more promising items: blunt metal instruments, a fork, a skewer, three knives, and a dagger encased in sloppily-stitched leather. One of the knives looks to be steel. She takes it—and the dagger, too, sliding the sheathed weapon into her back pocket.
What's after is trash in the purest sense of the word; a hoarder's illogical trove brought into the light, bared out and molding.
Combing through this hovel is a repetitive, futile forever.
Rusting pots. A waterlogged journal. Bloody feathers from too many species of bird to name, a broken leather strap, crow's feet. A dried twig. Tissue-thin snake skin scraps. Madness. Lunacy. No purpose, no meaning. Just drawer after magical drawer of ruinous decay.
She goes to another drawer, the last one. Her hair and shirt collar are sweat-soaked and dripping at a rate incongruous with the heat.
The final drawer is file-sized, and it sticks. A tiny part of her leaps at the unexpected scrape of resistance, a lifting lightness in her chest, like the fluttering wings of a small bird. Nothing good here has ever come easy, Hermione thinks. She's had to fight for it step by bloody step.
If it's difficult, it must hold her answer. Or _an_ answer. That's how plots work.
She wrenches it open.
A concentrated putrescence erupts from the airtight container, and a stench like she's never known hits her like an anvil. Her hand flies to cover her nose and mouth. Inside, there are five rats in varying stages of oozing, necrotic decay, forgotten by all but the inevitability of entropy. She slams the drawer with her other hand, staggering as she does, but it's too late.
The cottage is a hot box, closed tight under the summer sun, and the heat has amplified the toxic smell. It's as if someone microwaved the rotting, nearly liquified flesh, then shoved her in the microwave with it and closed the door. The inescapable smell doesn't even make her gag; her stomach heaves, and she retches straightaway.
Once. Twice. Her body shakes with the force of it.
She's burning and leaking at the same time. It happens again. It _hurts_.
God, make it stop. She is a wrung out rag. An old kitchen sponge squeezed out and left to shrivel in the sun.
Her awareness centers on her raw throat and heaving chest, a rapid, uneven rise and fall, as she recovers from the violent exhalations. Then she looks down. | 42c3121d1afd427d8403475ebc6f2e2f | ['c6d3a118c4ea4becafa702eef9dd2972'] | In a heartbeat, George's head lifted, and he smiled wickedly. “You don’t know the half of it, dearest.”
Well, she walked right into that one, didn’t she?
A blush flamed across her neck and chest and cheeks, quick as wildfire and twice as hot. The color could possibly be explained away by the heat, maybe, if George was an idiot.
Hermione cleared her throat and rubbed at her shoulder, which was starting to twinge. “Yes, well, I really should be getting up to the castle. I’m working with Professor McGonagall at Hogwarts. She’s expecting me.”
“And I wouldn’t dream of keeping you,” George said, finally rising, standing straight and tall like a normal human person. “I’m grabbing dinner at Rosmerta’s later today with Angelina, and,” he inclined his head to the abandoned shop. “You know. I’ll be around.”
Around. Right.
“Oh, okay. Maybe I’ll see you later, then?”
George smiled, the mischievous grin back and there to stay. “Definitely.”
◑
◐
◑
What a tangled mess. So much worse than she had originally thought.
“A hidden library and a dueling court? What does that have to do with chairs disappearing from Professor Binns’s classroom?” Harry asked, his bespectacled face blazing and flickering, composed entirely of flame.
“I have my hunches,” Hermione said, leaning further into the Floo in McGonagall’s office. “But I'm not really sure.”
After she’d told the Headmistress her suspicions, she’d agreed to let Hermione send a quick message to Harry, letting him know she wouldn’t be back for dinner. Judging by how things had gone, she might even be staying the night. The week.
“How could those huge spaces possibly exist in the castle without anyone finding a hint of them for a thousand years?”
“Oh, I’m sure they were found and used at some point. Besides, stranger things have happened here. Are _still_ happening. Who would have thought an underground chamber beneath the girl’s toilets really existed either? Or a room that changed its interior based on a person’s needs and desires. The castle is... unto itself.”
“At least there were always rumors about the Chamber,” Harry pointed out.
“There weren’t for the Room of Requirement.”
Harry made a hum of agreement, conceding the point. “Has anything shown up on the map?”
“No, but it never showed the Chamber or the Room of Requirement, either.”
“True,” Harry conceded, his brow furrowed. “So what are you going to do?”
Hermione smiled. “Research,” she answered. “What else did you expect?”
◐
◑
◐
Books and cleverness. They weren’t everything to life.
She glanced briefly at her reference book, a fourteenth-century tome referencing a second-century work referencing ancient murmurings of ley lines and transitory spaces and liminal thresholds. She jotted something on a piece of parchment, underlining it twice.
No, she thought, books and cleverness certainly weren’t everything to life.
But, you know. They had their uses.
◑
◐
◑
_Spectatum veniunt, veniunt spectentur ut ipsæ._
_And for to see, and eek for to be seie._
_They come to see; they come that they themselves will be seen._
She rubbed her eyes, the motion conjuring red and pink floaters that danced across the inside of her eyelids. She blinked.
The light had dimmed significantly, nearly black where it wasn't speckled with bright, flesh-colored pinpricks. It was darker than it should be for summer. That is, unless she’d lost track of time and read straight through dinner and into the night. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“Ugh,” she said, rubbing her eyes again, feeling exhausted and thoroughly run down. Jetlag was truly a menace.
Her hands scrubbed over the rest of her face, then returned to her aching eyes. They were dry and strained from hours of reading. This, while not a new occurrence, was still an incredible annoyance.
After several quick blinks, her vision adjusted. Hazy golden light suffused the room, dappling books and tables and chairs, even this far back in her favorite forgotten corner of the library.
So, not bad, all things considered. It wasn’t as late as she thought, either. Perhaps only eight or nine o’clock?
She shrugged, stretching her arms above her head, then carefully picking up a fifteenth-century blueprint of the castle. Her stomach rumbled, but she ignored it. When her hunger got too distracting for her to work, she knew where the kitchens were.
Those rooms hadn’t changed, at least.
“ _Hermione?_ ”
The voice was gruff and gasping. It cut through the room, and she jerked her head up. The unhinged quality of it set off alarm bells, and she turned quickly to its source, to the man standing stockstill by the open arched doorway, several feet in front of her. His eyes were wide and brown, pupils blown out almost completely.
“Goodness, George, you look an absolute fright! What are you doing here?” she asked, leaning forward over the table to scrutinize him. “Are you ill?”
For his part, he did look rather poorly, pale white and visibly shaking. He didn't seem aware of the tremors in his own hands, though, busy as he was staring at her. Gaping, really, looking more than a bit touched in the head.
Hermione rose swiftly from her chair and moved over to him, staggering for a second as she stood, her feet not quite used to her weight after sitting for so long.
But it was only a moment, and in the next, she was right in front of him. Reaching up, she placed the back of her right hand on his forehead, then copied the gesture, putting the back of her left hand on her own forehead, like her mum used to do for her.
George flinched at her touch. Then he opened and closed his mouth like a sputtering, freckled fish. “I’m - You’re - ” |
5f8206da214a4ba59e4390c60664c026 | ['c6df6c9925de4a3daa067707cf40ebcc'] | Hmm.
He brushes his fingers across your outer thigh before they wrap around it, causing you to gasp as he's abruptly lifting you up into his arms. You hastily wrap your legs around his bare waist, feeling a rush of heat flow through your body. Cullen grins at you as you clench your hands on his shoulders, letting him carry you brazenly to the side of your bed, apparently intent before someone changes their mind.
You've never been so hot in your life.
It's the way he sits you down though, so gentle, like you'll break if he's too rough. You lean back on your hands, your thighs wide where he still stands between them. You're gazing up at him, the firelight casting shadows across your body, but he can still see the desire in your eyes, and his are drawn to your parted, swollen lips.
He kisses you once, just a swift, rough brush of his lips before he's dropping to his knees. You stare at him as his fingers hook in what's left of your clothing, his eyes catching yours as he begins to draw it down your lovely thighs. You lift your hips obediently, giving him exactly what he wants.
Your chest is already on full display, and he intends to admire that at a later date --- right now he wants you moaning in pleasure, to feel your thighs squeeze as he brings you to the highest of ecstasies --- hear his name as you cry out.
Cullen doesn't say a word, he doesn't have too, and you doubt you can at this point. The air seems so heavy with the desire between you too, and you're afraid that if you speak, the moment will shatter into a thousand pieces. You've admittedly thought about it so many times, it's still hard to believe that it's happening.
You bite your lower lip as Cullen feathers your thighs in kisses, his breath warm, causing you to shiver. Your stomach tightens the closer he gets to your heat, obviously taking his time, making sure each moment counts.
He nuzzles your sensitive skin, your thighs twitching where he holds them open. You're already wet, you can't help it. Your skin is crawling with anticipation of his touch, his lips, all of him. You're nervous and excited at the same time, and when he finally touches you, when his teasing digits softly rub against your heat, you can't help but moan as your head tilts back.
Cullen's eyes are on your face as he caresses your wet skin, pleased immediately. He's going to put all of his talents to use tonight, and he's going to make sure you cum one way or another, even if it takes him all night. He tugs on your thighs, pulling them up onto his shoulders as his face disappears between them.
He exhales against your heat teasingly before letting his tongue dart forward, circling your clit. You immediately attempt to shift, but his grip is iron on you, holding you still. Your fingers clench in your tangled sheets as his mouth works magic on you --- is this how the mages feel when they enchant? Because --- oh goodness --- nothing has ever felt so good!
Heat crackles against your skin, and your heart is suddenly hammering so hard against your chest you think it'll escape. You tighten your grip on the thick blankets, feeling like electricity is starting to crawl up your body through your very veins. Your eyes flutter closed as you focus on the feeling, of his tongue inside of you, his fingers lightly caressing your thighs as he pleasures you.
His fingers slips up your wet slit as he shows your clit attention, stroking your dampening skin. You're certainly not shy, he likes that, but you're not moaning yet, not like he wants. He suckles on your swollen bud as his finger sinks inside of you, finding your hot, squeezing muscles waiting for him.
Your teeth dig into your lower lip.
He slips a second digit inside of you, your arousal soaking his fingers and making it easy to move them inside of you. He curls and twists, all the while his tongue licks and massages until your clit is so sensitive it almost hurts! You squirm on the bed, your hand thoughtlessly reaching for that thick head of blonde hair.
Cullen groans as your nails rake lightly against his scalp, clenching in his lockes. He presses deeper inside of you until you clench, and he finds his underthings are very uncomfortable. The more he tastes you, hears your sharp breaths and soft gasps, the harder and harder it is for his self control.
He wants you so badly he's aching for you.
But he wants to worship your body first, he wants to make you feel like you've never felt before. Every lick of his tongue is calculated, every thrust and twist of his fingers, he's gauging your reactions, finding what makes you drench his palm with desire.
Hmm.
You whimper as his mouth takes over from his hand, his tongue darting inside of you. You're so warm, and his mind is already on how you're going to feel around him. Your body clenching on his cock, how wet you are, how loud he's going to make you be by the time he gets ---.
"Cullen!" You suddenly breathe, your back suddenly arching off your bed as he pinches your clit, sending a spiral of fire so explosive through you you almost lose yourself then! You moan thoughtlessly, squeezing your eyes shut.
Aha! | 8681b6fc2b834d4182d0db3ac08fd638 | ['c6df6c9925de4a3daa067707cf40ebcc'] | Is it suddenly very warm?
It seems warm.
You grow still as his leather gloved hand suddenly tucks your hair behind your ear, and you blink in surprise. You're even more surprised at how you turn your cheek to his touch, his warmth immediately heating your own skin.
"Cullen ---."
He kisses you.
You go still instantly as his warm lips descend on yours. They're so soft, so gentle, it's as if every single part of you melts into him despite your intentions of pulling away.
He's kissing you, and you're not dreaming!
You don't even realize you're kissing him back until your fingers curl into the fur at his neck, holding him close where he can't pull away. You can feel your pulse race as his hand curves at your lower back, pulling you flush against him.
Oh.
How nice.
He's so tentative at first, his lips a mere brush against your own before settling fully. You like how warm he is, how careful each kiss is, the pressure gradually increasing until your lips are parting. Why are you giving into him? You shouldn't be doing this, you shouldn't, but it's too hard to give up.
Your fingers slip into his soft hair, his thumb caressing your cheek.
Are you sure you're not dreaming?
You're really kissing Cullen, this isn't some Fade trick?
You sigh into him.
How far does he want to take this? Will you regret one night with him?
Would one night hurt that much? You were always wary he would reject you should you make any advances, and of course there was the fact you were dying. Well, sort of. He knows that, doesn't he? He knows you are on borrowed time.
So why is he doing this?
You should stop, you should pull away, you ---.
Oh but that's so nice, why does his tongue know to do that? How does he know to kiss so well?
Is that your bed pressing against your thighs? When did you move backward?
"Mmph, Cullen, wait ---." You press against his shoulders before it goes too far, needing to gather your wits before they finish escaping. He stops immediately, his lips drawing away from yours without a fight.
"Too much?" he rubs the back of his neck, suddenly embarrassed. He's just been wanting to kiss you far longer then he cares to admit, and you didn't reject him ---.
"No, definitely not too much," you hastily assure him, aware you've no room to move. You're pressed up against him, and the bed is directly behind you. Cullen is a wonderful man, and you know if you ask him to leave, he will.
But you're not going too.
You're not strong enough to deny yourself a night with him if that's what he wants.
You like him too much.
"It's just ---, well." What are you supposed to say now, exactly? Why did you ask him to stop? "Oh --- nevermind."
You cup his rough jaw between your fingers as you kiss him again, throwing your inhibitions away completely --- you just want this one thing ---.
Cullens arms close tightly around you, holding you against him. You slip your fingers down his jaw, trailing them against his neck until you reach his furred collar. You slip beneath it, urging him to let it fall, to get it out of your way.
The sound of his armor hitting the floor is so satisfying.
Your lips are soft and yet demanding, and the commander has never been so eager to undress before --- he's more eager now then even his first time! His chest plate clanks as it hits the stone floor, the cool air rushing against his bare skin and causing goosebumps.
Finally!
Oh wow.
You brush your fingers against his shoulders, pleased at how firm they are, how... very muscled. He keeps in shape despite he's restrained to papers and strategies.
You notice the scars, the thin white lines that decorate his skin, each telling a story of his life. His hard, strenuous life.
Your eyes flick up to his.
"Are you sure about this?" You're not even sure why you ask him that, your hand resting against the center of his chest. His skin is so warm, and you can feel his heart, hammering hard against your touch.
"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," he murmurs, and before you can breathe another word he's kissing you, his talented fingers tugging on the buttons of your shirt.
So you're doing this then.
You relax, helping him drag your shirt off, your trousers, his --- why does he have to wear so much clothing!?
You wrap your arms around his neck, your lips fighting the control from his; his very touch is like electricity against your skin, and it has been since the first time he touched you.
Is it just lust?
Your eyes close as his lips trail down your slender throat, planting butterfly kisses along the exposed skin. So soft and warm under his lips, he wants to take his time devouring every inch of you, letting his mouth miss no curve. He doubts he'll ever get another opportunity like this, and he wants --- he wants ---.
You've certainly never wanted a man so badly as you do the one kissing you before --- his very touch makes your skin prickle, just his gaze makes you have to shift your weight. You've always had such a ridiculous crush on him, well, you allowed yourself to have it because you thought nothing would ever come of it.
You're pleased you were wrong.
Cullen is determined he's going to give you the night of your life as soon as he gets all your clothing off of you. His hand curves around the back of your neck, making sure you can't break away from him as his free hand teasingly begins to draw its way down your torso, finding very little fabric remaining. |
9c4e737be5cd450d956794dc0246bee3 | ['c6e56231a91442eda90c8fc193e5681a'] |
1. Moving
Your POV
"Ahh.. home sweet new home!" I yelled into the empty apartment. The apartment is a two room two bath apartment, all the walls were a dull white and there were a tan/cream color plush carpets.
"Well Elenora, what do you think?" I asked with a wide smile. She stepped in looked around and then looked at me with the most bored expression on her face.
"I don't like it, its boring." She said dully, I let out a sigh as I scoop her up in my arms and spin her around.
"Mommy! Don't." She giggled as she moves her beautiful jet black hair that just barely goes past her shoulder blades, out from her face revealing Persian blue eyes. I let out a sad sigh, I miss when my eyes held such hope, innocence and even happiness.
"Why did we have to move? I liked it there." Elenora sounded sad as she asked.
"Ohm, because it wasn't very safe, and anyways we are closer to aunt Touka!" I exclaimed trying to hide the fact that I was kind of sad. I recently started to train her to use her kagune, which is almost exactly like mine, (F/C) and all known existing kagune. not only that but she can eat more human food than I can or at least some of the stuff I cant. I love my daughter I really do, but I hate that she is a ghoul, that she has to stay on her toes, that she will never know her father, that she has to hide and be fearful, that she can't be normal.
"Come on we need to go get some of the boxes." I smile at her as I start to walk towards the door hear a small groan and some angry footsteps follow me.
"But all the boxes are heavy!" She wined as she followed me down the stairs.
"Yes, but not everything is in a box now are they, so stop complaining and get your butt to the car to get some stuff," I say more playfully than anything else. She ran down and to the car with a groan, knowing that there is no getting out of this unless I get distracted by something or someone. I go and start to pick up a box when I suddenly smell someone, I look up to see a pair of shining candy apple red eyes.
I quickly step back and start to observe the person that showed up from god knows were. At first, I wasn't sure if it was a boy or a girl but quickly decided it was a boy. He had white hair that came down just past his ears and extremely pale skin. Huh an albino, been awhile since I've seen one. I saw many self-stitched marks, first down his throat in more of an X pattern, lord knows how he managed that, that disappeared under his shirt that was white with a slight pink hue to it. How far the stitches went down was a mystery to me. He also had stitches all down his arm and up to the tip (hehe, sorry I'm extremely immature.) of his middle finger, as well as a few under his right eye and lip. I then noticed his red hairpins arranged in the Roman numeral thirteen. He had blue suspenders that started as dark blue and seemed to bubble up till it disappeared into a sky blue. He had black leggings that came down just to his knees with yellow parts at the bottom with red stripes that looked kind of like scratch marks. He was also wearing cherry red slippers, like the ones you would put on in the morning. He also smelt like candy, like overwhelming sweetness that made me slightly sick.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> Ok so first part over, I feel like it's shit but I could care less, I know that the chapter is called 'moving' and it wasn't really wasn't about moving, but hey. I also pre-wrote this so there will be no "Sorry I was having righters block" if I say that then I'm full of shit, anyways hope you enjoyed. Thanks-Alex
> word count:706
2. The Meeting
Your POV
The boy put a hand on his head and smiled a toothy smile.
"Juuzou Suzuya! Nice to meet you, uhh.."He exclaims loudly as he puts his hand out, I smile. he's the smell of death and candy, weird mix.
"Oh umm, (Y/N) (L/N), nice to meet you Juuzou." The moment I shook his hand a shiver went up my spine, what I saw a large silver briefcase. SHIT! A dove, I need to be careful. I made extra sure to hide my worry.
"Can I help you move some boxes, Shinohara-san said that I need to try to make friends." He chirps as he grabs the box I was grabbing when he showed up. I have no idea who this 'Shinohara-san is, but I just gave him a smile and nodded thanks.
"YES! I'm off the hook!" Elenora cheered as she ran back into the apartment, I glare slightly at her and turn back to Juuzou, who was waiting while holding both his briefcase and the box.
"Sorry about my daughter, she took after her Mama a little to much and is really lazy." I laugh it off but realizes that when I said, mama, he froze.
"Uhmm...Juuzou?" I wave my hand in front of his face, he seemed to snap out of whatever was happening and smiled, but he soon looked confused.
"Daughter, but you look so young?" I laughed a little and grabbed a box and started walking towards the stairs, in which he followed me. | 340a4e15723d4fb5aa5ad6a0dd7be426 | ['c6e56231a91442eda90c8fc193e5681a'] | I woke up in one of the best moods, and I turned to my husband's side of the bed to express this, but I see the blanket pulled over his head. I frown a bit and pull the blanket away, and there is a sight I would do anything to get rid of, Yuri in tears.
I have been trying to get him to tell me what's wrong but he only cries harder. Soon I give up trying to figure it out and just pull him onto my lap, he looks away from me.
"Oh Yuri, have I done something to upset you," I ask in worry, "If so I'm sorry, I cant tell you what I have done because I do not know myself but I will never hurt you." He only takes a quick glance at me, and gets up from my arms and leaves the room, it brakes me he is like this, but I don't know what to do. So I call the only person I know has had experience with this.
"Ahh, Yakov! I need your help. Yuri is so sad today and I think I have to do with it, but I don't know how." It's taking me a lot not to cry, but I can't focus on my own emotion when my husband is having a break down in the living room, and I seem to have caused it.
"And why do you think I would know something?" He asks sounding slightly mad.
"Because your old and are divorced, you have experienced a lot! Please." I heard him sigh, he started to ask things like what has happened between us, has anything happened with his family, and if its the anniversary of a death. Nothing that would make him sad is what we both came to agree on.
"Sorry Victor, maybe talk to his parents." He sighs and hangs up, wow no goodbye. I frown and start to call all of his friends and family members, all saying the same thing as Yakov and me, there shouldn't be anything making him sad. I walk into the living room to find him curled up watching some of the old footage of when he skated, but after he injured his leg during the Grand Prix he wasn't able to skate. That was almost three years ago, maybe he misses skating again.
"Yuri, please tell me your ok, I'm worried, at least tell me if it's my fault." I plead but he spares me a pitying glance, now I'm starting to get mad, but I suppress it. I walk over and sit next to him on the couch and before he can leave or scoot away I grab him and pull him onto my lap, holding him there so he can't move away.
"V-Victor, please." The first thing he says to me and he doesn't sound mad. I hold him closer leaning my head on his shoulder, I hear him let out a sigh and start to push against me, trying to stand up. I only hold him closer.
"Please Yuri, I will let go if you tell me what's wrong." I pleaded sound extremely desperate. He starts to shake and I can tell he is trying not to cry. He hugs me and lets the tears fall, soaking my shirt, but I don't think I could care less.
"I-I don't know why, I see you and I get jealous, sad, mad, and self-conscious. I look at Maccachin and I see V-chan, so of course, I get sad. It's like everything I see involving the two of you makes me sad or mad." He then brakes down in tears, I have never seen anyone like this. I hold him close and rub circles into his back.
"Shhh its ok, I understand," I grab his chin and make him face me, "I'll leave you alone today ok, I'll take Maccachin with me and we will leave, you call or text me before you go to sleep and I'll head home ok? you just need to promise you'll smile, for me." I kiss him move him off my lap, smiling I take Maccachin out and the two of us go out.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
At around nine at night, I get a text from Yuri telling me its ok to come home. I walk into the dark house assuming he is asleep, I take off my shoes and start walking towards the room. I had this horrid feeling deep in my gut, but I pushed it aside. As I walk down the hall towards the room, I see our room light seeping out from underneath the door.
"Yuri? Are you feeling any better?" I ask as I push our door open. Oh god.
"Don't worry Mr. Nikiforov he's stable." I let a breath of relief leave from my mouth, "you can go and see him. But I suggest you prepare yourself." And with that, the doctor left. I Take a few breaths and walk into his room. Yuri was laying in the bed with a tube down his throat and many, many machines hooked up to him.
Oh god. That's all I could think as I rush over to my husband who was laying on our bed, he was out cold, tear streaks down his cheeks, clutching my pair skate outfit while he had his on, and not too far from his right hand was an empty bottle. I grab my phone and dialed the emergency center. (I have no idea what that number is for Russia if you do please tell)
"Hello, what's your emergency?"
"I-I think my husband has overdosed," I answer all the normal what is your address, what is your name, how long do you think it has been since he overdosed, and so forth all while holding him close.
"Oh, Yuri." Tears were streaming down my face as I collapse next to his bed, taking his hand in mine.
I haven't left Yuri, who was in a coma but stable. I refuse to leave him, scared that if I do then he would leave me. My head was resting next to his leg on his bed as I slowly drift off to sleep, but shot up when I heard his heart monitor beep really fast. I look at the screen and see many spikes and barely any space between each spike. The nurse who was checking up on him quickly left and came back with many doctors and nurses. The monitor started to slow down when I heard the dreadful beep that doesn't end. I was pushed back into the waiting room, of course not without a fight.
Three hours. Three hours since I was dragged out of the room, I don't know if he is ok or not but doctors have entered and left with a lot of equipment, I was completely ignored until...
"Mr. Nikiforv?" I look up to see the doctor who had told me that Yuri was stable, "I am so sorry." |
dbaf8ce6ff514368848d5b1f96ff0f66 | ['c6f7fba9bef442e8adcb7f3ab4da70b6'] | Massive internal wincing. God, how much creepier can it get—an older homeless guy who vomits in your apartment first and then proceeds to hit on you? Oh, god, what if she thinks he’s just using Yukine to get on her good side? But it’s not like he can bring it up without possibly making her suspect that in the first pl—
“Yato,” she says, “I mentioned I don’t have a boyfriend, right?”
“Y-yeah, um, you said that.”
She sighs, loudly. “What I mean is, if you were to kiss me right now, there wouldn’t be any issues.”
There’s a peculiar whining ring in Yato’s ears, like someone just struck a tuning fork.
“Can I?”
Hiyori’s eyes flit away. Through his utter haze of confusion, Yato notices that she’s blushing. “That’s what I just said, isn’t it?”
“I just wanted to… make…”
He leans down slightly, testing the waters, and like magic, she turns her face towards his.
“Sure…”
The last part of the word is cut off by impact, the pillow-soft cushion of Hiyori’s lips pressed against his own, like landing in a cloud. She tastes faintly of fruit. Somehow, her hands are on his shoulders, and he dares to touch her neck, her cream-smooth cheek, the line of her jaw with its bones fine as birds’. One part of him tells him that nothing he’s done deserves this. It marvels that this lovely human being could accept this, could _want_ this from him. But most of him just—marvels.
“What the _hell_ …”
They leap apart like startled cats; the tips of her ears are bright pink and his own face doesn’t feel so cool either.
Yukine is standing some ways away, staring at them like they’ve both personally betrayed him.
“I’m gone for _five_ minutes, and look what happens,” he complains.
Yato dashes a glance at Hiyori like a distress signal, but she’s avoiding both their eyes—he can tell she’s going to be of no help whatsoever.
Brushing brusquely past the two of them, Yukine throws the scarf over the snow-woman-unicorn’s lopsided breasts.
“It’s about time,” he mutters fiercely, flicking the end of the scarf, and turns back around abruptly. Yato gets the acute sense that he’s just as embarrassed as the two of them. “I’m going back now. You guys can do whatever.”
Looking helplessly at Hiyori as Yukine stomps determinedly away from them, Yato makes a vague gesture that he intends to convey some sort of purposeful message, but just ends up looking like the sort of movement a deboned fish would make.
“Well…”
Hiyori looks at the snow, at him, away again. “I—” She breaks off, then suddenly grabs his hand. A shock of heat clambers up Yato’s arm to rest somewhere along his collarbone; he thinks he can feel his pulse in his fingertips.
“Let’s—go,” she declares jerkily.
Together, they walk back to the house, hands linked like two mittens tied by a string.
In two weeks, the freeze will break, but right now, Yato feels like spring has already come.
()
_Part two: fin._
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> Hope you guys liked it! | bc59fa05d2304a429d66dc2ae3fcbbfe | ['c6f7fba9bef442e8adcb7f3ab4da70b6'] | Nitori sighs. “We should probably slow down. You’re going to wear them out if we keep going at this rate.” After a few moments of tetchy silence, Nitori pulls his dromad to an even walk, forcing Rin to follow suit a few minutes later. “And you don’t have to keep glancing around like that, you’ll just give yourself a crick in the neck. It’s highly unlikely they’ll take this route with that big of a group, and anyway, even if they did see us they wouldn’t think anything of two travelers.”
“Do you always have to be so damn reasonable?”
“I’d be more than happy to be the crazy paranoid one if you wanted to switch someday.”
“...I don’t think you could if you tried.”
“My Prince would be astonished at the things I’ve picked up from him.”
Truth be told, the guard’s the least of Rin’s worries. The farther out they get, the more he’s realizing what a half-assed plan this is. Not for _him_ ; by now, he’s more than proficient at getting away with all sorts of trouble. No, it’s Nitori he’s worried about.
This always seems to happen. Rin cooks up some cock-headed scheme, Nitori faithfully tags along, and in the end Rin somehow manages to pull princely privileges and get Nitori out of any serious consequences. But this, this is serious, and it’s only now, with Nitori rattling away about something or other by his side that he’s realizing it.
Rin sighs. He’s always so shit at this—at thinking about others. At taking care of the people around him. He couldn’t protect his mother, or his sister, and this time he might not be able to protect Nitori. Is it because he’s a prince, or would he have been this selfish even if he’d been born a commoner? He doesn’t know which bothers him more.
He’s always tried to fight it—that inbred, in-looking, _royal_ way of thinking. He reminds himself of his position at least a hundred times a day, but he’s not a prince just a hundred times a day, he’s a prince all the time, day and night, and it’s like being slowly poisoned, being surrounded by all those painted-on smiles.
Sometimes he gets so sick of this trap that’s his life that he wants to scream at everyone, hurl precious things out the window of his room, kick open doors and bruise things that don’t matter. But then what would people say— _look at the royal brat, throwing tantrums again. Just like his father. Just like Father._
The day someone tells him that, Rin’s sworn to himself he’ll go jump out a window or something.
So he sulks and snaps instead, and one time punches the wall and _yells_ because he was unprepared for the pain, and then has to get stitches put in his knuckles. _Stupid, stupid._ Nitori had called him an idiot, then, behind the relative privacy of the sickroom curtains. Rin half-smiles. Yeah, Nitori’s good for him. He might be an annoying little bitch sometimes, but then again, Rin’s pretty sure that’s just himself rubbing off on him.
Nitori’s waving a hand in front of his face. “Hello? Anyone in there?”
“Yeah, yeah, I was fucking listening.”
“What was I talking about, then?”
“…probably not anything important.”
“Rude, your Highness. As a matter of fact, it was rather important.”
“Just spit it out, already.”
“As I was _saying_ , we’ll be at Damesthebeba by nightfall.” When Rin stares blankly at him, Nitori prompts, “Did you have, say, a plan or something? Or were we more favoring the, ah, ‘running-around-like-headless-chickens’ method of approaching our murder most foul? And before you say yes, let me remind you that the last time we tried that—”
“Very funny. You’ll be happy to know I do indeed have a plan.”
“I’m relieved and pleasantly surprised, your Highness.”
“Yeah, save your relief for after we get away with it.”
“I have full faith in you,” says Nitori, and the damnable thing is that Rin knows that Nitori means it.
_Well_ , he tells himself, _that just means you can’t fail._ The thought isn’t reassuring in the slightest.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> mehhh not a fan of this chapter. it's one of those weird-inbetweeners. more action/plot to come in the next one!
4. Chapter 4
Haru can’t help staring at the trunks as Kairas’ men unload them, staggering bow-legged across the sand in pairs like a misshapen crab. Earlier, Gou had flipped the lid of one open with her dagger and nearly blinded Haru with the flash of light on gold. Pure, merciless wealth; half the king’s treasury must go through this town every day.
Meanwhile, Gou’s men are unhitching the four dromads they’d been using to pull the cart. They snort, pawing at the sand, eager to get away from their strange, heavy harnesses.
Makoto keeps glancing at the sky, no doubt urging on the onslaught of sunset. After dark, Damesthebeba seals up like a tortoise in its shell, the winds set to whipping up blinds of sand all around, and all the men of Samezuka’s army couldn’t pry its residents out. Gou doesn’t like staying in the city, but if they don’t have time to make good tracks before the sun falls, she’ll most likely have them shelter the night. Better to sleep with one eye open and knife in hand then to wake to king’s steel in the throat.
Probably, Kairas is aware of the price on his prize’s head. Still, watching him stare at the tank, his pale blue eyes soaking in its light like thirsty teeth, Haru can only imagine he finds the risk worth taking. “Aye, you’ve right delivered this time, lassie,” he growls, and before anyone can protest, vaults right into the tank. |
ecaca31be7654faeba1cefe83af8e721 | ['c7214278301c40c5b7190eeedfd1ecfa'] | He nodded and went put his backpack in his room.
Later that night he did a sweep of the apartment, it was spotless. The Eight year old never looked at his father the same way again.
***
Stephen held his suitcase handle in one hand.
His dad had been threatening to send him too a boarding school for years. His mom had always refused it, but a few days ago, she complied.
Apparently she thought sending him off half way across the country was better then the absurdly large apartment in New Jersey.
Beverly hugged him tightly, whispering in his ear. “Im so sorry Steph, I’m sorry. I can’t have you being influenced by Eugene. Your the light of my life, I'll always love you. Remember that.”
***
School had been okay. He hadn’t really made any friends.
He tended too steer clear of people like Justin Hammer, who bullied Tony Carbonell. Something about their fathers being rivals.
A girl with curly blonde hair sat down in front of him one day.
“Hi, I’m Christine Palmer.”
***
Christine proved to be a loyal friend over the years. She stuck by him through thick and thin.
Like how she helped him with his essay, pulling an all nighter just to edit it.
Or how she got him coffee when he was dead on his feet.
Or how she hugged him with tears in her eyes, since his Mom just lost a battle for custody over Stephan when he was twelve.
“Call me ok?”
Stephen was too numb to say anything.
“And remember that you like a frapechino with a creeme base, three pumps of caramel flavor and two pumps of toffee flavoring. You think it’s what Butter Beer would taste like if it was real and not in Hogsmade.”
Stephen nodded.
“Also-“
“For heavens sakes girl, get it in your head that we have a plane to London too catch in two hours!”
Christine nodded, “I’m sorry Mr.Strange. Goodbye, Stephen.”
“Goodbye, Christine.”
***
Eugene slammed down a paper on the table. Muttering, “Damn Starks and all their damn money. Probably didn’t even pass the entrance exam, Daddy paid it all.” He looked up. “Why aren’t you going to MIT right now huh?”
Stephen didn’t even need to have context to know what he was talking about.
“Because I’m not Tony-Mother-fucking-Stark?”
“That’s right, your better then him. You’ll save lives, the Stark’s destroy them.”
***
The acceptance letter from Harvard Medical School gleamed in his hands.
His dad clapped him on the back, “I’m proud of you, son.”
His new girlfriend, April, seems to have changed him. He was nicer, more appreciative, and paid a whole lot more attention too Stephen.
Still doesn’t take away from the fact that his Dad hadn’t let his mom have visiting rights all those years ago.
Doesn’t change the fact that today was the day Beverly Strange died “falling down the stairs.”, 5 years ago. Directly two months after the ugly divorce.
Doesn’t change the fact that Stephen doesn’t think her death was an accident.
17. Doctor Strange, Part Two, Memories
Stephan walked into the hospital early in the morning for his 48 hour shift. This was going to be a long two days, he could already tell that much.
Well, he could tell when he walked into a nurse that standing up straight, standing, even though she looked half asleep.
He knocked her down and the file she was holding was knocked too the floor. Kneeling, Stephan gathered everything up and handed it back to her.
“Your new, who are you?”
“Uh, yeah I’m new. Fresh out of Harvard.”
She nodded. “NYU school of Medicine, but still, what’s your name?”
“Stephan, Stephen Strange.”
The blondes eyes widened, an muttered “I shoulda known.” She raised her hand and slapped him across the face.
“What was that for?!”
“That’s for not keeping in contact with me.”
***
They fell into an easy companionship.
Stephan didn’t know how she did it, but Christine was by his side for almost every case.
She knew what cases he would want, and ran the others by him if he wasn’t sure.
It wasn’t until they decided to go see a new movie with a couple of other Doctors, who backed out last second, that they decided to go on a date.
***
“Ok so I have a Air Force Colonel that has spinal damage, lower back, could lead to paralysis.”
Strange gripped the wheel tighter. He couldn’t stand to not help those who helped defend his country, but he couldn’t loose this person’s life in the process.
“Tell me the next one.”
“Ok so well-“
Headlights came on in front of him and the last thing Strange remembered was going over the edge
***
Strange found it hard to open his eyes, but when he did, he took stock how his hands were elevated and how bright the lights were.
Thats when he saw it, and his head rolled to the side to face Christine.
“Wh-what did they do to me?”
***
He knocked everything off his desk.
No one would take his case.
***
“Welcome Doctor Stephan Strange, to the mystic Arts.”
He couldn’t believe this person. Magic? Of course. The only way to heal himself was through magic. Of fucking course.
***
Strange skimmed through a book, moving his hands the way it said too, and what felt natural to him.
The Apple changed.
It went from eaten, too full and fresh.
He was messing, with Time.
***
Strange fell to the ground. Dormammu was relentless. And each time he killed the Doctor, Strange felt the pain.
Over and over again.
He had a goal, and he wouldn’t give up.
He stood slowly, “Dormammu, I’ve come to Bargain!”
18. Doctor Stephan Strange, Part Three, Weakness and fear
“First off, I was definitely not bullied by Justin Hammed. Second, I didn’t know I was a topic in the Strange household.” | d6d93e786af04cde827d64263aa4f295 | ['c7214278301c40c5b7190eeedfd1ecfa'] | The One with Extroverts and Introverts
Of Extroverts and Introvert.
An extrovert is described as someone who mentally recharges by being with people. The person doesn’t have to be outgoing or a leader. And that person doesn’t have to be always mentally or physically stimulated; they can be alone.
An introvert is the exact opposite; they mentally recharge by being alone. This doesn’t mean they don’t like being with people, they just value their alone time more than others.
That being said, Peter Parker and Harley Keener we’re introverts, and Monica, well, it depended on her mood.
Taking all of this into account, it was rare for all three of them to not have plans, on the weekends at least.
Monica did almost weekly sleepovers with MJ and Betty, who had integrated her way into the group. Shuri joined them when she was in town. If she was with any of the girl’s mentioned, she stayed in her room sleeping or playing video games. (She recently discovered Doki Doki Literature Club And was driving all of her teacher’s insane by purposely misspelling her name on a few non-important assignments.) she considered herself an extrovert, purely for the fact that she liked and enjoyed the company of others and always felt better mentally after socializing with someone.
Peter picked up a paid internship at the Daily Bugul because in his words “why not?”. He worked some hours after school and sometimes half-days on weekends. Peter mostly does photography, which works out perfectly because he can get great shots while spider-Manning.
Harley sometimes joins him on his shifts because he’s ‘bored’ and unofficially works there too. He helps peter edit the photos and helps Peter’s boss format the newspaper itself.
Around week three of this dynamic Mr.Jameson added Harley as an intern as well.
When those two weren’t working, they were hanging out with Monica, MJ, or Ned, Betty or Shuri, sometimes all of them at the same time (that was very rare).
So, when one quiet Saturday evening at the tower, when almost everyone was gone, Harley was very surprised when half-asleep Monica walked into the kitchen. She was in a baggy t shirt and slytherin pajama pants and her hair was sticking out every which way.
‘Still,’ Harley thought, ‘she didn’t look any less great when she was fully dressed any-‘
Whoa. Where did that thought come from?
Harley quickly looked down, hiding a blush that was forming. Say something, Kenner, anything...!
“Wasn’t MJ hosting something tonight?”
Monica jumped, obviously having not noticed Harley until he spoke. “I think that’s tomorrow.”
“Oh.”
Monica yawned, “Where’s the others?”
“Uh I think Mr-Tony- took Sara and Morgan our for some ice cream, Pepper is in London, a conference or whatever, and Peter is out doing whatever he does nightly, probably taking a jog or something. I don’t know about the rest, but they don’t seem to be here.”
Monica nodded, opening the fridge and taking out the milk. Harley watched as she took out a spoon and some chocolate powdered Nesquik mix and almost poured the whole thing into her glass.
“That’s um, a lot of chocolate.”
“I’m lactose intolerant, Keener, if I’m having chocolate milk it’s going to be the best chocolate milk ever.”
Harley laughed.
Monica stirred the milk and waked back over to the couch Harley was sitting on.
“It’s almost six and you seem pretty tired, you ok?”
Monica shrugged, “I stayed up playing some DDLC mods last night and I just woke up from a nap.”
Harley nodded and fidgeted with the blanket next to him.
Monica grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. “Wanna watch a movie?”
“Sure, what movie?”
“Hunger Games okay?”
Harley smirked, “Yea I’m in the mood for some Peeta and Finnick angst. I’ll go grab popcorn.”
***
A bowl of popcorn successfully made, they started the movie.
About thirty minutes in Harley noticed Monica was shivering so he offered the blanket he had.
She rolled her eyes and just grabbed one end, tugging it over her lap.
Over the course of an hour, both had subconsciously moved closer to the other. So by the time said hour has passed, they were next to eachother and only a few inches between them.
Monica moved and patted Harley’s head, “You had a cowlick.”
Harley nodded and tried to return his attention to the movie.
In that moment someone from behind pushed Harley away from Monica and seated themself between them.
That person was Tony Stark.
“Hey kiddos what we watching?”
**Author's Note:**
> So what do you think of Harley and Monica? Personally, I ship it, but I decided to test the water with this fic.
>
> I realized I basically replicated my friend group with this fic.
>
> Three males and five females.
>
> Ooo I should do a group chat fic or something. Base it off of random things that goes on in the group chat I’m in. |
f7d35f40bea044f5b4281772a26a51b6 | ['c73c70ccb6334df3bbd06763f3f50eca'] | Alois only looked at him desperately. “I'll care for you as much as you want, as long as you don't leave me!” He grabbed on to the corner of Kaneki’s shirt again, holding it tightly like it was his only lifeline.” ...It's a promise.”
Breathing out shakily but refusing to let go, Alois tried to calm himself down by changing the subject before Kaneki had the chance to respond to his earlier statement. “So tell me more about how cool it's going to be to be a ghoul! Are there secret ghoul hotspots? Is it like a secret society? Trancy's are always part of the exclusive clubs.” Getting a bit excited now, he smiled enthusiastically “And after Claude's gone are you going to show me around all the best places of Tokyo? Ah, I want a job working with you too! I would look so much cuter in that maid uniform!”
Kaneki laughed softly. “I told you we don’t wear maid uniforms! But, this coffee shop is pretty special… It's a sort of safe-spot for ghouls there.” He smiled, before shaking his head. “There's not any secret hotspots or societies I'm aware of, though. But I promise, I'll show you around and take you anywhere you want to go, okay?”
“Oh? Kaneki in a handsome waiter uniform by day, and then a sexy ghoul at night!” He nudged him playfully and stuck his tongue out “What a double life you're leading! I knew you were more scandalous than you let on!” Grinning he leaned in closer to finish off with a little wink “I wonder what else you might be hiding…”
Kaneki only blinked cluelessly; once again not seeming to pick up on the blonde’s innuendo. “Well...I only have this job...it's not like I'm a superhero or anything, there's really nothing else I'm hiding.”
Alois rested his cheek in his hand and studied the other for a moment before coming to a conclusion., (A slightly exasperated but fond expression tugging at his lips.) “…you really are naive sometimes, aren’t you?” The shorter let out a small sigh as the thought couldn’t help forming. _‘Sometimes Kaneki’s innocence reminds me of Luka...’_ Swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth, Alois shivered slightly from the cold and shuffled closer to the older so that he could lean against him for warmth.
Kaneki pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around Alois’s shoulders in the most cliché fashion, causing the younger to flush slightly and pull the coat more tightly around him.
"What did you mean, though, when you said you wondered what else I may be hiding?”
“Hm? Oh nothing important.” He was about to wave off Kaneki’s concern when he smirked and decided to instead tease him a bit more. Turning back to look at him, he continued “Actually, maybe I was wondering if you were hiding a secret scandalous sex life! Maybe you’re even crazier in bed than me!” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and rested his hand on the half-ghoul’s knee. “Don’t worry Kaneki, I won’t tell~”
Kaneki scoffed, placing his hand on top of the younger’s. “Yeah...I highly doubt that that will ever be true.”
The blonde only giggled and gave another wink. Replying in a sing-song voice “We'll see.~”
Alois allowed himself to enjoy the stillness for a moment; for once trying not to think about the heavy dangers hanging over his head like a dark cloud. He squeezed Kaneki’s hand softly, promising himself that he’ll never forget this moment before letting his masks fall back into place, and letting go of his hand to face him.
“About the surgeon...” He bit his lip nervously, wondering if he should even suggest it before deciding he didn’t really have a choice and let out a low sigh. “There...might be someone who could do it. He's not a professional though and I don't even know if he's still alive. But...maybe…” Grimacing, Alois wrinkled his nose just thinking about finding that creepy grim reaper. “Remember that ‘friend’ I told you about who died? The one who was trying to kill me? Well this guy was definitely closer in friendship to him than me, But he was also pretty weird and would probably be willing to do the operation if for nothing else, then to get a laugh at the results. He isn’t the type to care whether or not I live or die though, so at least there won’t be any chances of him purposely botching it up out of revenge or something.” The blonde scowled at the thought of him cackling loudly with that creepy laugh of his while cutting him open “…it’s really a last resort.” He finished in a distasteful mumble.
The ravenhead however, looked completely excited. “Really? Who is it? I'll help you find him!” He grabbed his hand again, squeezing it eagerly. “I mean...that is if we can't find anyone else willing...”
Alois grimaced harshly in reply. “Well last I heard he was still living in England…but I wouldn’t be surprised if he was interested in the morbid happenings of Tokyo. …I have a number.” He groaned internally at the prospect of really going through with this, but then flashed his companion a smirk when he realized there was one good thing he could get out of it. “If we’re using this guy instead of your guy then you owe me one okay? One all-exclusive favour that can be called upon at any time!”
”An...all-exclusive favour?” the taller squeaked. He looked a little nervous but just as Alois predicted; the teen didn’t have a choice. “...Okay...whatever it is, I'll do it.”
Grinning at him smugly, the flirtatious blonde nods. “That’s right, all-exclusive no questions asked!” Hopping off the bench, he pulled Kaneki up with him. “The number is hidden back in my house. We'll need to get it before Claude comes back.”
Kaneki swallowed but there was no going back now! “Alright. let's go get that number!” | fdaf8cd5dc874e2ca9d96086c5f2a499 | ['c73c70ccb6334df3bbd06763f3f50eca'] | The butler stopped directly in front of the closet, and just when Alois was getting ready to stop him, Claude threw the picture in the trash bin beside the closet door instead. Turning back to face Alois’s shocked expression, he stated coldly. **“You have no need to hold on to something like that.”**
‘ _You have no need to hold on to anything that gives you a shred of happiness.’_ Is what Alois was pretty sure he meant.
The smirk was visible in the butler’s eyes, even if the rest of Claude’s expression was emotionless. He walked back over towards the boy and stroked the side of his contract holder’s face. **“Yet I wonder why your heart is beating so fast. Are you afraid of something?”** He asked mockingly. **"In fact it almost sounds like you’re scared enough for there to be 2 heartbeats in the room...Your Highness, is there something you’re not telling me? Could it be there's someone else here?”** His eyes flickered across the room, once again stopping upon the closet door.
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Alois scoffed. Forcing himself to rest a hand on Claude’s chest, he replied as wantingly as he could muster; trying to channel the old Alois who was blinded by delusions and denial. The Alois who was in love. “When has my heart not raced for you Claude?”
Meeting the demon's eyes, he smiled seductively for a few long moments before letting his arm slowly drop from the butler’s chest to cross his arms instead. “If you’re hearing 2 heartbeats that obviously means there’s a mouse in the basement. What are you waiting for? Go catch it and leave me! I wish to be alone. And when you’ve found the mouse there’s a list of things I want you to take care of by the door.” Tapping his foot impatiently, the blonde glared at the demon to get moving.
Claude paused for a moment before bowing “ **Yes, your Highness.”** He stared at the closet door one last time, and it was only with Alois's insistence that he turned to leave.
But not before first turning to abruptly roam his gloved hands over the boy's pale throat, trailing his long slender finger's down to linger directly over Alois's thumping chest. **“Never forget…you’re my prey, and your soul belongs to me.”** The demon's eyes flashed red and an ominous feeling filled the room **"You will remain paralyzed in this spider’s web until the day our contract is up.”**
Kneeling down, he lifted up the boy’s hand, and kissed the back of it. And despite Claude using no less polite detachment as any diplomat performing such a gesture; to Alois the kiss felt possessive; like a threatening promise.
Standing back up gracefully, the demon made his way to the door, but paused right before leaving to speak again. His voice raised slightly in volume as if to make sure it would reach all corners of the room: **“And your highness, may I just say; your new jacket...it’s quite an interesting look.”** He flashed a malicious smile and inhaled deeply, licking his lips hungrily as he did so. **“It truly reeks of despair…how very tantalizing. I dare say the original owner just may end up with a more delicious soul than yours."** Smiling mockingly, he let out a dark chuckle and finally left the room. The door finally clicking shut behind him.
Alois didn’t dare breathe. It was only long after Claude had left, and the front door could be heard safely shutting behind him; that the boy fell to his knees and hugged himself. “K-Kaneki!” he cried out shakily.
Kaneki came speedily out of the wardrobe doors the moment the younger called for him. He immediately went over to the younger and knelt down in front of him to gather him in his arms. “What happened? Did he do something to you?” He asked protectively.
“No... he just left. But! He knows! I’m sure he does!” Alois tugged the jacket closer around him and looked up at the older worriedly “I-I forgot I was wearing your jacket a-and he noticed and w-what if he figures out who you are and goes after you?”
Kaneki’s expression softened and he hugged him tighter. “It'll be fine, Alois.” He promised, holding him close until the blonde began to show signs of calming and then kissed the top of his head. “We'd better get out of here while he's occupied, though.” He suggested quietly, attempting to give a reassuring smile.
Alois had curled in on himself slightly, but gave a shaky nod in response. “...Okay.” Still looking worried, he put on his mask of confidence and then took Kaneki’s hand to lead him out of the house. This time going out through the back door of the mansion.
-
4. The Hunt
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> Kaneki risks his life, and Alois struggles to understand his newfound feelings of _caring_
Once they were both a safe distant away from the Trancy Manor, Alois stopped near a large park and turned to face the half-ghoul. “Can I use your phone to call the number?”
Kaneki pulled his phone out of his pocket, handing it to him once he looked both ways and made sure they weren’t being followed or anyone else was around. “Of course!” He stood back to give him a bit of privacy as he waited for him to call this mysterious potential surgeon.
The blonde carefully took the crumpled paper out and dialed the number, tapping his foot impatiently as it rang.
“…I don't even know how many years old this number is... “ With a frown he looked back over to the taller as it continued to ring. “You better think of a back up plan if this doesn't work. Maybe a sleazy surgeon with a gambling problem or something...someone who would be easily bribed by money.” |
9dfbb29816d546ccab3409ca08ca1a0d | ['c747e15782f14cb78506584f0c330fc8'] | turn the lights off (carry me home)
Noah flexed the fingers on his right hand, and then his left. His friends watched as he stretched up onto his toes and inhaled deeply, choking on the taste of oxygen he hadn't needed to breathe for years. He rolled his shoulder several times, feeling the muscles stretch and relax and stretch all over again. It was all so real, so very real. He shivered when the wind tousled his hair and tears dripped from his cheeks. He could feel them ache as he smile big and bright.
The favor from Glendower had worked. Noah stood before his friends, alive and whole. There was no longer a shadowed bruise across his cheek, no empty, faraway look in his eyes.
Ronan was the first to move. He stepped forward and pulled Noah to him, swinging him up and spinning him around and around. He let out a joyful, victorious howl that startled Noah into laughing. He buried his face into Ronan's neck and Ronan just clutched him tighter. He flashed a grin to the rest of his friends, the one that they so rarely saw. The grin that reminded Gansey of the old Ronan, the one that broke Blue's heart and left Adam breathless.
Two seconds passed before Blue joined Noah and Ronan. Noah patted her hair and Ronan pulled her into the hug by her waist.
Gansey marveled at the trio. While Ronan was Gansey's rock, and vice-versa, while Adam and Gansey were close enough to have entire unspoken conversations, these three had a connection all their own. It was an amazing surprise when Ronan and Blue had walked into Monmouth, arm in arm, completely at ease with each other for the first time. Noah and Blue had an instant connection and Ronan had fallen in love with Noah from day one. As odd as it was, the way that the three fell into each other was so natural and so easy.
Robotically, Gansey and Adam moved as one. Left foot in front of the right. They squeezed onto either side of Blue and the whole world fell into place. Every question had been answered and every worry erased. Ronan's left arm curled around Adam's neck, his fingers gripping the back of Blue's head. The fingers of his right hand gripped Noah's and Gansey's belts.
The hug was an awkward tangle of limbs, everyone trying to touch everyone else all at the same time. It was comfortable and not a single one of them would have it another way.
Noah, now in the middle of the group, cried even harder into Ronan's neck. He hiccuped. “You are all sappy losers,” he said.
At Nino's they clambered into their usual booth. Noah ordered a whole pizza for himself and ate it all. Not eating for seven years left him with the feeling of perpetual hunger. His fingers twitched relentlessly, like he needed to be moving or else he would fade away.
They were no less tangled together than earlier. Adam held Ronan's hand above the table for the first time, not caring who saw their fingers laced together, not caring what anyone might think as his thumb traced patterns on the back of Ronan's hand.
On the other side of the booth Gansey sat between Noah and Blue, both of whom seemed to be trying to sit on his lap. Ronan nudged Adam with his shoulder and they watched as Noah kissed Blue and Gansey's cheeks before climbing over both of them to get to the bathroom, cursing his bladder. He turned around several times, just to be sure that everyone was still where he left them.
When the group crashed through Monmouth's front door, Ronan had one thing on his mind. He stripped the bedclothes from Gansey's bed, and then his own. He opened Noah's bedroom door and threw everything onto the bed. He gathered pillows from around the house and put them there, too. No sheet, comforter, or overstuffed pillow was spared any mercy as they were all piled on top of each other.
He opened the curtains that had been closed for so long and let in the last rays of sunlight. He took things from his own room--the lone cowboy boot; a dream keyboard that only played Queen, no matter what keys were pressed; a replica of the glitter snow globe Noah loved; a two-year-old calendar that displayed a different puppy for each month—and decorated the sparse room. He tilted the calendar until it hung at an angle and pinned it to the wall with more tacks than were necessary.
Without a word everyone piled up onto Noah's bed. It was a tight fit, but with Adam pressed close against Ronan's back and Blue and Noah nearly lying on top of Gansey, they made it work. Soon Ronan's fingers were curled in Noah's shirt and Blue's foot stretched to kick Adam in the shin. Adam nudged her back with notably less force than she had used.
If they hadn't all been wrapped up in one another, they wouldn't have noticed that Noah was crying again. He made no noise, but his chest heaved and his tears darkened the color of Gansey's polo shirt..
“I really do love you guys,” Noah said when he could catch his breath.
No one said anything, they didn't need to. They all just held each other tighter, knowing it would be enough. In the morning they would handle any problems that came their way, but in that moment everything was okay. They were all alive and loved and everything was okay.
**Author's Note:**
> The title comes from Blink 182's _All The Small Things_
> LINK
> *EDITED | 2cb454ae02214452b9e461cf8cb0056e | ['c747e15782f14cb78506584f0c330fc8'] | “Just chilling. I know you're itching to study but I kind of needed this today.”
Ransom wrapped an arm around Holster's waist and pulled him impossibly closer by the hip. “Hey, man. We're drift compatible, alright? You and me 'til the end of the line, you've got a friend in me. You're the Ron Swanson to my Leslie Knope. I can tell when you need a cuddle, bro.”
Holster dropped his head to Ransom's shoulder. “Why do you get to be Leslie, again?” he asked.
“Because,” Ransom said. “I'm the bubbly people person and you're the grumpy asshole.”
“Hey, I'm a people person,” Holster said, faux offended.
Ransom snorted. “You say “I hate everyone” sixteen times a day and glare at anyone who tries to talk to you before three in the afternoon.”
Holster hummed. “I'd be Ben, I think,” he said after a while. “He's a little bit of an asshole but he's also nerdy and sweet.”
“Okay, then. It's settled, you're the Ben to my Leslie.”
Ransom didn't acknowledge the way his heart skipped a beat at what that implied but it was much harder to ignore the barely-there kiss that Holster placed on his shoulder before pressing play on _The Office._
“Was that weird?” Holster asked before Michael Scott had the chance to say something stupidly offensive.
“Nah, bro. It wasn't.” And if Ransom was being truthful, it really wasn't. Sure his stomach currently happened to be a butterfly habitat but it just seemed natural. It seemed perfectly normal for Holster to kiss and cuddle him. It didn't even freak Ransom out when he came to the realization that he _wanted_ Holster to do it.
Holster nodded and relaxed into Ransom's side. If after Holster fell asleep Ransom dragged his books and papers onto the bed so he could prolong the cuddle session, well. No one but him, Holster, and the four walls of the room needed to know.
* * *
Christmas with the Oluransis was simultaneously vastly different than and blissfully similar to any holiday Holster had known. He grew up in a large family much like the Oluransis; loud and colorful and affectionate. Everyone in Toronto switched between three different languages and something was always cooking. Starting three days before Christmas Holster had been asked to taste several different dishes ranging from typical roast chicken and casseroles to jollof rice and banga soup. Mrs O had even asked for Holster's mother's latke recipe to make him feel more at home.
Holster hoped he was being a decent guest but his mind wandered elsewhere after he had been patched into a call with his mother and his father's doctor. The chemo treatments had stopped working, the doctor said.
“ _Frankly, your father will be lucky to make it another year.”_
Samantha, Tara, and Margaret—Holster's older sisters—had been texting him non-stop since the call. It was some sort of rule of the family that when something bad happened all three of them would rally together in a group chat to keep Holster occupied. The last time it happened was when the family dog had to be put down while he was away with a billet family.
Their texts were a constant reminder, though, and Holster turned his phone on silent for the rest of the day.It was clear that Ransom had noticed the change in Holster's mood. He didn't say anything outright but let his worry show in the crease of his eyebrows and the lingering touches to Holster's shoulder.
Dinner was eventful. Despite the number of people at the table taking up Ransom's time, Holster didn't have to look far for conversation. Mr Oluransi asked about how he was settling in at college, Auntie Cassie showed him several pictures of her twins who had just started learning to walk, and The Girls—Althea, Ife, and Dami—asked if any of the other guys on the team were as cute as him. Holster talked back with surprisingly genuine smile. _Just fine, oh how precious, no one is as cute as me._
“I'm not saying I'm cuter than you, Holtzy, but you and I are at least even,” Ransom interrupted.
Holster turned his grin on Ransom. “You excluded, obviously. I don't think your sisters want to hear about how cute I think you are.”
The girls all pretended to gag in sync but Ransom beamed from across the table. They had attracted the attention of a few of the aunts as well as Ransom's dad so they just shrugged.
After dinner came the prolonged goodbye session. Holster gone through at least five rounds of goodbyes with each of the departing relatives. The only people who stayed were a handful of aunts and the girls. Althea had her own place but opted to stay for a night of wine and board games.
The vote for Risk over Monopoly ended up being unanimous. Everyone needed to split into teams because so many people wanted to play and Holster called dibs on Ransom so loudly and enthusiastically that no one fought him on it. Althea met his eyes and wiggled her eyebrows. She reminded Holster so much of his oldest sister Samantha in the way she had teased him about his grandpa vest and ruffled his hair when he pretended to pout. For a moment it was almost like being back home where all three of his sisters took turns chirping and coddling him.
In that moment Holster was immensely grateful for Auntie Cassie's heavy handed pouring. Too many glasses of an expensive red wine with a name Holster didn't even want to try saying left him warm pressed against Ransom's side for most of the game. Another glass and a half had him singing along to the radio for everyone to hear. Ransom poured the remains Holster's wine into his own glass after that and moved the bottle far from reach. |
43deb273bc604d2eb305136226d7048c | ['c74868a4887d4c73a663e066e499df86'] | That was when it hit him. What if this was Balthazar? What if he’d used Bobby to get back at Jo for turning him down. It was quite possible, everyone in Dallas knew the Winchesters, and they knew the Harvelles and the Singers as well, by association. Dean didn’t know if that was the case, but it made sense. He wondered if anyone on the police force was going to make that connection, but if they didn’t he knew he’d make sure that they would get it if they didn’t come to it on their own. Dean watched Cas go into the viewing room. The viewing had been the afternoon before, and honestly, it had turned into just the Harvelles and Winchesters in the end, drinking lots of Jack and Coke and toasting Bobby and telling stories about him.
When Cas stepped into the viewing room, he went up to the casket, which was closed, partly due to the wounds he’d suffered and the other part was Bobby had asked for it. Cas stood by the casket, his fingers running along the mahogany. He really thought it was beautiful. “Hey, Bobby.” Cas started, his eyes starting to brim with tears. Cas didn’t know where to even start. There was so much he wanted to tell him. So much he wanted to say. He didn’t know if he could get it all out. But Cas wanted to try his best. “Bobby, I don’t know why this happened to you. But we all miss you so much. Especially Dean and John, but they knew you the longest.” Cas had to pause for breath then, trying to get the words out. He didn’t know how to say what he needed to say.
“Bobby, without you, Dean wouldn’t be who he is now. He is the best thing that ever happened to me. I know that I wouldn’t be the same person without him. We have found forever. We really are going to live forever together. I can’t… I can’t believe that it’s not going to be with you there too.” Cas sniffled, he wasn’t sure what else he was going to say, he couldn’t put his thoughts together. He wished that he could. There was so much more that he wanted to say. “And I can’t believe that you made sure Frankie, Claire, and not yet born baby Winchester are set up for life. And Claire, she’s my daughter. Yes, she’s Dean’s too, but you haven’t even known her a month and a half. You included her in your family no questions asked. There is nothing that I could ever have done to make that up to you. To pay you back for just accepting us, her, like that. You will always be known as my Uncle Bobby, I swear to it.”
Clearing his throat, John stepped into the room. He’d heard the tail end of it. “Cas? They need us to get in the receiving line, people are starting to arrive.” He was loathe to interrupt him, but they really did need to be in the receiving line. John knew how hard this was. John watched as Cas walked towards him, and he saw the tears dripping off Cas’ chin. John reached out and clapped his hand on Cas’ shoulder. “I’m sorry to interrupt you.” John said, and he knew that Cas was trying to be strong for him. “Cas, you don’t have to hold your tears back for me. I don’t have the monopoly on pain, you guys are allowed to feel pain too. You guys lost Bobby, same as I did.”
It was honestly hardest on John watching the kids deal with this.John knew how hard they were taking it, and he wished that he could take it away for them. John had been thinking about who had done this, and he was starting to think like Dean was. That this was all to do with Balthazar. He was upset that Sam wasn’t going to be serving jail time for what he had done and this was how he was going about it. He knew how much them losing Bobby would hurt. John hadn’t spoken to anyone about this yet, he didn’t want it to get back to Balthazar that he might be suspected. John wanted to take him down silently and swiftly if that was the case. John watched as some tears started to fall from Cas’ blue eyes. “It’s going to be okay Cas, it just might not be for awhile.” It was all he could say, and they shared a look.
The funeral took a couple of hours, what with the words being said and then the putting him in the ground. Dean was quiet the whole time, sometimes crying, but mostly stoic. Cas stood with him now, they were all at John’s for the wake. Bobby’s place was up for sale. They didn’t want to have to go through and clean up or anything like that. Cas watched Dean’s face, wondering what Dean was thinking. Cas didn’t want to upset him. They were standing in the kitchen, they were supposed to be getting some paper plates for pizza. The wake was low key, most of the people who had gone to the funeral hadn’t come to the wake. Cas brushed his hand through Dean’s hair, it was soft and silky like always. When his fingers moved through Dean’s hair, Dean’s eyes turned to Cas’. Cas leaned out and kissed him softly. | 536a2c05ec954054a549e7d298bd6497 | ['c74868a4887d4c73a663e066e499df86'] | When he got to the Slytherin common room, Pansy Parkinson was waiting for him. “What do you want, Pansy?” He asked. He didn’t want to talk about whatever it was she wanted to talk about, he was sure. She’d been crushing on him since first year, and he hadn’t ever been interested in her. Draco had always known that he was gay. He wasn’t one to date people that he wasn’t into.
Pansy folded her arms. Her brown hair was down, and it hung down to her back, she usually wore it up and Draco hadn’t ever known how long it was. She gave him a glare. “You were hanging out with Potter and the Weasel and his Mudblood again, weren’t you?” Draco thought she was quite brave to use the Mudblood term around him now, he had hexed Crabbe and Goyle for using it the other day.
“What’s it to you?” He asked, settling in at one of the tables with his snacks, taking a bite of his sandwich. It was delicious, as he knew it would be. He didn’t know that he cared what she had to say. It wasn’t going to change his mind about anything. “And if you call Hermione a Mudblood again you can find out what it was like for Crabbe and Goyle when they called her that.”
Pansy’s face took on a shocked expression. “Crabbe tried to tell me we’d lost you… I didn’t want to believe it.” She said, and she watched as he ate, clearly he didn’t care what she had to say. That hurt her more than she wanted to admit. Pansy brushed her hand through her long wavy hair. “Thanks for nothing, Draco.” She said, moving to head up to the girls’ dormitories. She could hardly believe that they’d lost Draco to the dark side. It really wasn’t fair.
*****
The following morning, as Draco was making his way up to breakfast, he was stopped by Snape. “What do you want, Severus?” He asked, Snape was his godfather, and he was used to being less formal with him than everyone else. Not that he cared anymore, Draco was now not trusting him, like his friends.
“I’d not be so familiar with me if I were you, Draco.” Snape said, and Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes. He wondered what Snape even wanted, it’s not as if they had anything to talk about anymore. Draco had been on the fast track to be a Death Eater, but now that wasn’t going to be possible. “I think you can stand to be late for breakfast with your new friends and that Potter for a few moments.”
“Just tell me what it is you want, Professor.” Draco said disdainfully, folding his arms. Draco wasn’t going to forgive Snape if he missed Harry eating, he had a different class this morning than he did, and they wouldn’t get to see each other till after lunch.
Snape began with, “Ten points from Slytherin for your insolence, Malfoy.” He said, and Draco did roll his eyes that time. Snape wasn’t one to take points from Slytherin, he was Head of Slytherin House. “I want to know why you are going around with the Gryffindor lot.” He said, and Draco wondered if he could get away with lying. Not that he would be able to get away with the truth either, not that he could TELL him the truth.
“I want to, Professor.” Draco said, this was true and it was something that he could say. Draco brushed his hand through his curly blonde waves. He didn’t know what else he was supposed to say. He glared at Snape. “What’s it to you? I’m allowed to be friends with whomever I want.” He said. “If I told my parents I wasn’t going to change for them, what makes you think that I’m going to change for you?”
Snape was really angry looking by then, and took twenty more house points from Slytherin, and let Draco go. He headed up to the Great Hall, saying hello to Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom on the way to his boyfriend and his friends. He’d also met Cho Chang’s eye, and she had glared at him. Draco didn’t know what he was going to do about that. He was concerned that she was going to break the charms Hermione had put in place and tell someone about the DA.
“Morning, love.” Harry said when he saw Draco, and gave him a kiss. Harry was pouring himself some pumpkin juice and Ron was reaching for bacon. Ron reached for the eggs also, as Draco sat down, very glad that he hadn’t missed breakfast with them. He told them about Snape taking away house points, and everyone reacted just like he thought that they would. Draco loved being right. Let’s just hope that he was wrong about Cho Chang.
_**Author’s note: Hi. So, I hope ya’ll liked, and not to be JK Rowling here and mess with people’s headcanons, but my Draco is Alex Pettyfr. I also do not see Harry as Dan Radcliffe. Sorry, but as much as I like the movies, some of the casting I disagree with. Anyway, I hope you feel like telling me what you thought! Again, don’t get used to the fluffy. :)** _
6. All About Us
Chapter Six: All About Us
It was a cold evening a couple of nights later, and Harry and Draco were alone in the Shrieking Shack. They were lying in a tangle of limbs on the sofa. Draco had used the handy charm that Hermione had taught him to make fire, and it was burning in the fireplace and in front of them in the air, above the coffee table. Draco looked at Harry, still unable to believe that he was his. “It’s getting harder and harder to sneak out here.” He said. |
7b3f51e687614076a2b1257d8b24cf26 | ['c7876a78590040a396546a11df2a404d'] | "So you admit there was a Mrs. Dodds." I said, crossing my arms. "You told me Harry was just tricking me. You made me think I was crazy."
"...yes."
I paused, unsure if I should be angry or not. "Then why-"
"The less you knew, the fewer monsters you'd attract," Grover said flatly, like that should be perfectly obvious.
"Harry said the exact opposite." I said, irritated. "He said that they'd come anyways, _'regardless of my astonishing ignorance'._ But he also called you a _'gormless pillock_ _',_ " I conceded. "Whatever that means."
"You shouldn't trust him." Grover told me huffily. "He smells weird, and he hurt Mr. Brunner...we think."
"You _think_ he hurt Brunner?" I asked wryly. "And he _smells_ weird? Maybe like a regular, B.O. riddled teenage boy? Quite the assurance you have, there."
Grover glared. _"Anyways,_ we had hoped that you'd think the Kindly One was just a hallucination. We put the Mist over the humans' eyes, but it was no good. You started to realize who you are. Even more, the Mist didn't work on Harry- which just _proves_ he's untrustworthy," he added.
"Who I am?" I asked in bewilderment, ignoring his bellyaching. He'd been complaining about Harry for months now. "Wait a minute, what do you mean?"
A bellow erupted somewhere behind us, closer than before. Whatever was chasing Grover was right on our trail. I began twitching in my seat, hoping that this was all just a bad dream. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," my mom said from the front seat. She never once tore her eyes from the road, not even to brush back the hair in her face. "But there's too much to explain and not enough time. We have to get you to safety."
"Safety from what? Who's after me?"
"Oh, nobody much," Grover said moodily, obviously still flustered. "Just the Lord of the Dead and a few of his blood-thirstiest minions."
"Grover!" My mom didn't much appreciate his sarcasm, and made a hard left. We swerved onto a narrower road, racing past darkened farmhouses, wooded hills and _PICK YOUR OWN STRAWBERRIES_ signs on white picket fences.
"Where are we going?" I asked her anxiously, craning my neck to peer through the rain-splattered window.
"The summer camp I told you about." Her voice was tight and strangled. "The place your father wanted to send you."
"The place you didn't want me to go." I accused, voice sharp.
"Please, dear," my mother begged. "This is hard enough. Try to understand. _You're in danger._ "
"I've been in danger for a long while, Mom! Harry had to save me from Mrs. Dodds by _killing_ her, and he told me that those old ladies who cut the yarn-"
"Those weren't old ladies," Grover interrupted. "Those were the Fates. Do you know what it means, the fact they appeared in front of you? They only do that when you're about to...when someone's about to die."
"...But Harry said-"
"Enough about Harry!" Grover snapped. "You only met him a few months ago and all of a sudden it's _'Harry this'_ and _'Harry that'_. I'm your best friend, Percy! Can't you just _trust_ me for once?"
I scoffed at him, defensive. "Harry's been a hell of a lot more trustworthy in these last months that _you_ have! At least he's telling me what he knows!"
"He shouldn't _know_ anything, Percy, that's the point! And the fact that he _does_ means he's _one of them_! Or worse!"
"One of _what?!_ For God's sake, Grover, can't you give me a straight answer for once?!"
"If I _could,_ I _would-"_
"Boys!" my mom interjected as our voices rose. She pulled the wheel hard to the right, and I got a glimpse of a figure she'd swerved to avoid.
"What was that?!" I demanded, in a panic. "That looked like-"
"We're almost there," my mother soothed, ignoring my question. "Another mile. Please, please, please." I didn't know where ' _there'_ was, but I found myself leaning forward in the car, anticipating, wanting us to arrive.
For some reason, I began wishing for Harry's presence. He wasn't a _calming_ person, by any means- but at least he was adept at _explaining,_ and possibly fighting whatever large creature was stalking us. Then I remembered Grover's weariness regarding him.
Could I really trust him? Harry wasn't a trustworthy person by most standards, but in the last few months of school, I began to consider him a close friend- closer than Grover, even. Then again, I thought I could trust Grover, and he turned out to be half fucking _goat._
Before I could even consider asking Grover, again, about his _furry little problem,_ the hair rose on the back of my neck. There was a blinding flash, a jaw-rattling _BOOM,_ and our car exploded. I remember feeling weightless, and yet constricted by the tight belt across my front. My eyes rolled up momentarily, and I thought I could hear screaming- _my_ screaming. And before I knew it, the darkness had both ascended upon and disappeared all at once, and the ringing in my ears had ended.
I peeled my forehead off the back of the driver's seat, and pressed a hand into my bleeding chin. I seemed to have smacked it on something, although I couldn't for the life of me recall _what_. "Ow." I said lightly, and startled as my mother called out for me.
I shook off the daze, shakily pressing my hand into her nearby shoulder. "I'm okay." I told her. "Are you?"
The car hadn't really exploded- we'd swerved into a ditch. Our driver's side doors were wedged in the mud, and the roof had cracked open, rain pouring in. Lightning; that was the only explanation. We'd been blasted right off the road.
"Yes." My mom said finally, glancing back at us. "Grover?" | 4bb4b8b18af64c0ebf2c633a8893b1d5 | ['c7876a78590040a396546a11df2a404d'] | _"As humans living in the UNDERGROUND, monsters may attack you. You will need to be prepared for this situation. However, worry not!"_ Toriel said cheerfully. _"The_ _process is simple. When you encounter a monster, you will enter a FIGHT. While you are in a FIGHT, strike up a friendly conversation._ _Stall for time, and I will come to resolve the conflict. Practice talking to the dummy."_
"I'm not _'talking'_ to the dummy," Frisk hissed to her brother a few moments later. The monochrome FIGHT screen had returned, and when they tried to Flee, Toriel blocked their way. "It's -"
"Dum?" Harry suggested with a grin. He could swear he heard Toriel snort (elegantly, of course) in the background.
Frisk stared at him, fists clenching. "I swear to God I will kill you."
"That's not very merciful, Ches," Harry giggled, and pressed the 'Talk' button before she could stop him.
"Hey, you know, white is a really great color on you," Harry complimented the dummy. "It's a nice contrast with your seams." Frisk supposed Harry was a bit more confident chatting with an inanimate object than actual people, seeing as the dummy (probably) couldn't reject Harry or stuff his head in a toliet.
If it did, though, that would be awesome.
After a bit of one-sided small talk, it became clear that the dummy didn't seem much for conversation, but Toriel seemed happy. As the FIGHT scene faded and Harry gained a warm-hearted compliment, Frisk sulked a bit, kicking the dummy's pedestal. She flinched away in surprise as it suddenly glowed orange, and she quickly hurried after Toriel.
* * *
After being left in the long-as-hell corridor with nothing to do except fiddle with Toriel's spare phone (and Harry had taken that task upon himself), Frisk was starting to get stir-crazy.
Harry, meanwhile, was sitting patiently against the wall, tracing the phone antenna absentmindedly as he (probably) contemplated life's greatest mysteries. Usually Harry was the anxious one in their duo, and seeing him all patient and collected while she paced about restlessly _really_ pissed Frisk off. "I'm leaving," she declared, pushing off the pillar.
Swiping the phone from Harry's hands, Frisk tucked it away and skipped towards the door. "Wha- Ches! No, _stop!_ " Harry called out, scrambling to his feet. Frisk ignored him with ease and had barely crossed the threshold when their phone started ringing.
_Great timing, Goat Mom,_ she thought sardonically. She flipped the phone open, and muttered a greeting.
_"Hello? This is Toriel. You have not left the room, have you?"_ Frisk blinked, and glanced around the room for a hidden camera. All she saw was an oddly-shaped frog, staring at her and **ribbit** ing nervously.
"No, of course not," Frisk said convincingly, smirking as Harry hobbled toward her. He scowled at Frisk, gesturing for the phone. She handed it over, mouthing _'don't you dare snitch',_ before going to speak with the Froggit. Expecting incoherent croaks and other frog-noises, Frisk was taken by surprise.
" **Ribbit, ribbit. _(Excuse me, human. I have some advice for you about battling monsters...)"_**
Harry flipped the phone shut, even more wary than before about proceeding than before. "Ches, please," he begged, wringing his fingers. "Just go back to the room. Toriel said that there were more puzzles ahead, and it would be dangerous to solve them by yourself."
Shaking herself from the conversation with the Froggit, Frisk gave a wry grin before entering the next room.
"Don't worry, Driad. I _won't_ be solving them by myself," she called out, returning a few moments later with a handful of Monster Candy. Sucking on one, she passed a few to Harry, who eyed them suspiciously. Frisk grinned, her teeth stained pink and blue. "You'll be helping me, won't you?"
Harry, much as he despised the trait, could never deny his sister. "Fine..." he muttered, pocketing the candy. "But I get the phone. Did you know there's a FLIRT button on it?"
Frisk barked out a laugh, absently waving goodbye to the Froggit as they forgoed yet another SAVE point. "You flirted pretty well with the dummy," she teased good-naturedly. "Why don't you try it, but...but call her 'Mum', first?" Frisk choked out, laughing.
Harry looked horrified at the very prospect.
3. Heather
**Breaking Barriers:**
By Tannin & Tele
* * *
_Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling and the creators of UNDERTALE, voiding that of original content and characters._
* * *
**Prompt:** Heather,
meaning; _independence, protection, good luck_ and **_stained by blood_** _.
_
* * *
**"i usually come to the RUINS because there's nobody around. . .but today i met somebody nice. oh, i'm rambling again. . . i'll get out of your way,"** Napstablook said sadly and quickly faded away, leaving Harry staring at the empty leaf pile, lips turning downward in sympathy.
Impatient, Frisk shoved Harry forward and stalked past him into the next room. "I don't know what it is with you and these monsters, but you're becoming far too friendly with them," Frisk admonished playfully as she dolled out seven golden coins and placed them in the spider web.
"Says the girl that's donating to a _spider charity_ ," Harry scoffed, reaching out to grab the proffered Spider Donut. Deciding to save it for later, he slipped it away into his pocket.
"Hey, do you have anymore Gold for a 'Spider Cider'?" Frisk asked absently. Harry stuck his hand into the pocket experimentally and removed a handful of coins.
"Anyways," Harry shrugged as they continued to the northern room. "I feel kind of bad for the monsters. It must be so terribly lonely down here, and it's obvious that most of them don't _really_ want to FIGHT us."
"Of _course_ they don't," Frisk said sarcastically. "They just get a kick out of chucking oddly-shaped bullets and sentient bugs at us-"
"Quiet!" Harry hissed as they approached a line-up of albino Froggits. The first one looked looked up at them with wet eyes. |
c99be7df6cbb461dba873e4f1d3dcc5e | ['c7999bee40d441bb87def21619459b78'] | Weeks turned into months and Tony, four months into his stay on Earth, got a leave from the army and went right to Flushing Meadow Park, or in this age, mostly called Stark Expo. It was now October, 8th. There was no way he could believe he was here. Tony couldn't stop an excited chuckle escaping as he saw the great stands and all the people. Tony knew this place, and he knew what would happen, even if it happened 5 years earlier than it was supposed to. The genius sighed. The place swarmed with people, all sorts of them, and he couldn't help himself, it was so weird. A year or more ago he had been here, of course, here in 2012, flying about, nearly destroying the place, well, the drones did most of that, not he. The stage was hidden by curtains, but Tony already knew what was behind it. He fixed his hat. As much as he had resented the uniform in the beginning, he was beginning to like it a lot, and he was slowly beginning to love the little things about this century. The curtains rose and people got a tad bit to excited for Tony's liking. He walked past the crowd, hearing his -no, not his anymore- Howard's voice and how he presented the new car and Tony had to take a double look. Howard was indeed how he was once in Tony's past, younger of course, but still Howard. However, even with that snarky, light and almost seducing personality, Tony could see the mask, it was all a faked personality. He could see the shy nature of this Howard Stark, so unlike the man he knew. Tony was more than surprised when the car actually started, in his world, Howard hadn't been able to start the car the first time on stage. Tony sighed, slipping out of the crowd, heading for the streets. Slowly, but surely, he was coming to terms with the fact that he was stuck here, and with 1938 closing in, he knew he had to get even better and get a higher position. 1939 was the year he dreaded, but knew would come, and he was the only one who knew too. Of course, the Japanese was already being outright evil towards China as he even thought about it, and he'd be lucky if he got shipped over to help the Chinese. He would, like most cadets that had gotten more than enough training, be shipped over to help the Chinese flee or something else that was considered help, even outright fighting against the Japanese, even if it wasn't their fight, not the American's.
“For the love of.. how many people decided to come today?” he muttered, squeezing past people before he bumped rather harshly into someone. He quickly grabbed onto the man as he seemed to lose his balance, but Tony steadied them both. The man quickly noticed his clothes and flushed.
“Ah, sorry.” Tony just smiled, looking at the face of the one he bumped into.
“Oh, no it's my fault, I really wasn't paying attention to where I was walking, I was in a bit of a rush.” he said, smiling even more. The brown haired man stared back, looking slightly ruffled. Tony could have sworn he had seen the man before, or maybe it was because he resembled someone? Yeah, that would make sense, but wait, who did he resemble anyway?
“Hey, Bucky, what the hell happened?” Tony felt his blood freeze slowly at the voice. So familiar, so unfamiliar, so precious and so, wait, so different. Tony turned. A tall blonde was coming through the crows, a couple of girls following his lead, quite a few others staring at him like they wanted to eat him. Tony couldn't believe it. Steve fucking Rogers, tall as the captain Tony knew, only real?! Tony had read the files and heard enough of his fathers stories to know that Steve was a scrawny kid before he got the super serum, so how come he was large and buff now? Was this another part of this world? Tony just stared at the man before he caught himself and turned back to the other male. So that was Bucky? James Bucky Barnes? The great captain's friend? The man who fell off the train and disappeared into the mountains? Indeed, he seemed to resemble the man described to him by his father. Tony held this back though, it was after all, still 1937, no need to rush the truth or even tell it, it might not even happen that way if this world really was parallel to his own. It might even be Steve who fall of the train for all he knew.
“Sorry Steve.” Bucky offered, giving a apologetic smile to Tony, who nodded back. Steve on the other hand, didn't even seem to notice Tony, who, despite his appearance, gave of a rather dominating, military aura. And wait, Steve had cursed hadn't he? Tony gave the blonde a perplexed look. He had never heard the captain curse, and no, Fondue isn't a curse. So this was the parallel Steven Rogers. A buff, cursing man who knew he had just about every girl, single or not, following his perfect body. Bucky smiled to his friend and Tony raised an eyebrow.
“I happened to bump into him.” Tony spoke up before Bucky had the chance to say anything. The blonde turned towards him, giving of the aura of an arrogant, strong man, obviously calculating him before he realized he was wearing uniform and seemed to at least hold back some snarky comments. Tony already felt like wanting to right hook this guy. He was everything the real Steve wasn't and everything he shouldn't be. It made Tony irk for a fight, one he was likely to lose.
“Ah, yeah, and no harm's done, so..” Bucky seemed to be a bit unsteady on his words. | e87d613ae1f9494cae53eff5fbffc54a | ['c7999bee40d441bb87def21619459b78'] |
Pashaara, Kadan
**Author's Note:**
* For LINK.
> Okay, so my bff and I was talking about angst and Dorian using blood magic to save Bull on skype and this became a thing apparently.
>
> ALSO!!! BASICALLY A GIFT FOR HER BC SHE GOT AN A ON HER EXAM WHICH IS GREAT!!!!!!
> so, enjoy the weird angst and the sex UwU
There was blood everywhere. Running from his nose, mouth, ears and cuts. Dorian’s head was throbbing painfully and his ears ringing as he swayed where he stood. He’d depleted almost all his mana and used the last of his potion flask, and yet, the Venatori seemed endless. It didn’t help that Bull was lying behind him, bleeding out and unconscious. One of the Venatori had caught him with the blade of his staff and eventually, Bull had just sagged into a heap on the ground.
“Fasta vass,” Dorian grit out, hissing flames out from between his teeth. It was weak, barely a flicker of heat. A rather bold statement to how tired he was. The Inquisitor and Varric was nowhere to be seen and that just made it all worse. There was only so long he could protect Bull before the Venatori finally overpowered him.
“Na via lerno victoria,” one of the Venatori yelled and Dorian grit his teeth, pulling as much as he could on his reserves to create a somewhat weak, but still large wall of fire in between them. His eyesight blurred and he wavered, feeling his knees give in. The earth grated into his knees as he fell, but Dorian just grit his teeth, heaving for breath as he turned to look at Bull. He didn’t look any better than he did a while ago. The Qunari was paler now, still unaware of what was going on. The mage dragged a hand over his cheek and it came back bloody. He held it out as he stared down at it. There was one thing he could do, but to fall to that low.
“Kaffas,” he cursed when the firewall gave in and sizzled out. “Festis bei umo canavarum, amatus…” he grit out and struggled to his feet. Dorian raised his staff and with it, raised the dead. There weren’t many, but with their attacks, Dorian could spare time to summon up a little more mana. It wasn’t enough, but it would hold for as long as possible.
“Kill the mage,” a Venatori yelled. Dorian shook his head to get some of the fog out of his brain. Gazing over his shoulder, at Bull, he smiled fondly and cast a barrier around the Qunari. Bull twitched, but didn’t wake. It was a little infuriating, really, but Dorian could live with it.
“Vitae benefaria, amatus.” Dorian then turned and rushed right into the fray, unsteady feet making it hard to keep up the attack. But he wasn’t some weak southern Circle mage. Dorian was a proud mage of Tevinter, and any self respecting mage knew how to use the blade on their staff. He ignored how one mages staff blade grazed him, ripping through clothes and skin, but not deep enough to be a lethal hit. His vision darkened as his knees gave in and he crashed to the ground. Venatori circled him and one blade was placed right on his neck. Dorian coughed blood and gurgled.
“Traitor,” a mage hissed at him and Dorian laughed, choking on it and coughing up blood. He turned his head a little, looking over at where Bull lay, barrier flickering. Yes, he could take the chance. To fall so deep. It was worth it for Bull. Magic, warm and sizzling with unnatural power whipped up, within him and his hands throbbed with it.
“Blood magic can’t save you now, altus,” another mage sneered and Dorian chuckled wetly.
“I never intended to use it on myself,” he grit out. He lifted his hand, reaching out towards Bull and let the magic sizzle, shooting out from his fingers. The mages whirled around, but the barrier had been strengthened and Dorian could see how Bull’s wounds stitched together. The Qunari grit his teeth and took a deep breath. Dorian smiled as the magic finally failed him and he was yanked up by his collar. An arrow whizzed through the air, hitting a Venatori in the eye and sending him to the ground. Dorian’s head lulled to the side and he saw Bull twitching, waking and he smiled. “Amatus…” Dorian’s world went black.
* * *
Bull groaned as he woke. There was yelling, and magic sizzling through the air. The Inquisitor was shouting, her magic much more present than anything around them. And yet he barely felt it above a lay of magic that was very familiar. Bull didn’t quite jerk up as he realized that the magic settled on him was Dorian’s, but smelled of blood and lyrium. He almost knocked into a barrier that was flickering, breaking apart at the seams. The Inquisitor ran past him, staff ready and spirit blade in the other. Varric was nearby, sending arrow after arrow ahead, whilst cursing loudly. Last thing Bull could remember was fighting alongside Dorian and- Dorian! Bull’s head whipped around as he grabbed his axe, but stopped, blood running cold in his veins.
“Do-” He just stared. Dorian had collapsed, hanging from a Venatori’s arm by the collar. The mage’s head had lolled back and his eyes were closed, blood covering more of his face than not. Bull could both smell and see dark red, sinister magic still fizzling at the mage’s fingers, but it was dying out quickly, along with the barrier around Bull. The Venatori released Dorian and the mage dropped to the ground, far too still for the usually energetic mage. The Qunari saw red. The Venatori probably barely saw him move before Bull had his hand locked around the mage’s neck.
“Release me you fuckin-” |
3de5237ee2e54c929d3e4fc65b42eb52 | ['c7cf4e08812e4da8bf5936a74bcd2b5a'] | In Which They Argue On Who Tops
“I’m _older_.”
“I’m manlier.”
“That’s my line. It even made live television.”
“Doesn’t make it true, just look at your face—I’m also taller than you.”
“Nonsense. We’re practically the same height.”
“Shut up. I at least have two inches over you.”
“But not in the area where it matters most.”
“That’s it. I’m getting a ruler.”
“Fine. But you’re clingy, that practically reeks of girlish behavior. That means you bottom.”
“You’re more possessive. You look for me everywhere like a lost puppy. That means I _top_.”
“Well, I’m not the one who glares at people just because they’ve touched you; which reminds me, stop scaring Min Seok.”
“He deserved it.”
“You gave him a spanking!”
“It’s not my fault he’s so vanilla.”
“What about when you handcuffed Yifan to Baek Hyun’s bed then? He’s forever traumatized.”
“ _ONLY_ because he found Chan Yeol riding Yifan _ON_ his bed, and then, he joined in anyways. I hardly call that traumatizing.”
“And when you replaced Yixing’s music with pornographic sounds when he tried to present his song to the higher ups?”
“He was hugging you. I’m just protecting your virtue like any alpha male.”
"He cried for weeks that he even won Zitao's title of Crybaby."
"He. Was. Touching. You. I don't like it when people touch what's mine."
"Pot kettle black. Who's the possessive one now? Argument's closed since this is called ‘Se Hun’s Definitely Bottoming.’”
“Discussion hasn't ended because you're wrong. This is called ‘Lu Han’s STILL Bottoming ‘Cause He Sucks Worse than Se Hun in Everything.’”
“Name one thing. Just one where you’re better than me.”
“Rapping.”
“Your lisp gets in the way.”
“Sing—”
“Please. Don’t even go there. You wail like a pregnant whale when you do. I’ve sang in all of EXO-M’s songs and featured in other singles.”
“Dancing then!”
“At least I can control my face so I don’t look like I need to shit all the time. Besides, who starred in MAXSTEP, THE dancing unit of SM?”
“Fans!”
“…”
“I definitely have more fans than you.”
“…”
“I so do!”
“I’m not even going to comment on that. Can we just have sex now?”
“Thought you’d never ask. This means I win though, right?”
.
.
.
_“Maybe next time.”_
**Author's Note:**
> Disclaimer: These are my own words, any similarities, any likeness to other works are purely coincidental.
>
> As for EXO, I am not SME and unfortunately do not own them and I'm merely using these boys for my writing pleasure.
>
> Distribution of any kind is prohibited without the written consent of HMB. | b1fc0c7dcca141e7a5a89095911518be | ['c7cf4e08812e4da8bf5936a74bcd2b5a'] | Lesson One
_Do you want this?_
_Do you want… me?_
_No._
A dark soothing voice exuding with virility caressed Lu Han’s insides, melting his solid stance into silly putty in a matter of exactly three point two seconds. Commanding and unapologetic hands came and went, touching every inch of open skin almost too languidly, lightly mapping the thin and hard contours of his body as he feverishly tried to swallow the moans attempting to escape and be heard. He was startled only for a moment at the sound of belt buckles being undone and whimpered clumsily when fingernails grazed his hipbones and made contact with his shirt; a fan-given customized polo with unceremonious baby fawns galloping across a field so green it reminded him of jade crystals that came undone under a strong assault of need and pulled free over his delicate head.
_How about now?_
_…Maybe._
Warm digits were then substituted with wanton lips spattered with breathy whispers and wicked promises at the bottom of his neck, soft and scorching and plump and wet and – this feels too good. Lu Han’s thoughts laughingly remarked, reverberated, and taunted: too damn good. A slippery tongue he knows well enough to leave alone when woken up in the morning with its’ sarcastic commentary flicked flatly at his sternum and mechanically, he threw his head backwards as a gesture of unrestricted and shameless invitation.
Suddenly, sharp teeth nipped and bit brutally at his left clavicle, evenly cutting, demanding, and challenging which left him breathless and transfixed. All he could do now was grip unyielding-ly on Se Hun’s forearms which rested on either side of him, permanent and substantial, trapping him against a dusky-marbled kitchen counter rough and grainy against his back, but Lu Han had no nuances left for concern. Not one utterance at the slightest hints of new-found bruises that will be there tomorrow, garden-fresh and obscure as a remembrance of today. Not one solitary thought especially when Se Hun was now tonguing his way to his Adam’s apple and sucking and licking and sucking and licking and engulfing him in flames of lascivious musings of things to come.
He choked aloud when they both sighed deliciously as he felt a lightning of tremor from Se Hun’s damnable chuckle running through him and somehow, his body felt oddly energized and utterly destroyed all at once at the mere sound depicting his sinful downfall.
_Hyung, do you want me – now?_
Four heartbeats and a half later.
_Gods, yes._
_Yes._
All Lu Han wanted now was more hands, less control, more lips, less inhibitions, more teeth, less clothes, definitely less clothes, and just –
More. Of. Se Hun.
_That sure didn't take you long._
_Oh, shut it --- oh, OH. Se Hun-ah, do that again._
**Author's Note:**
> Disclaimer: These are my own words, any similarities, any likeness to other works are purely coincidental.
>
> As for EXO, I am not SME and unfortunately do not own them and I'm merely using these boys for my writing pleasure.
>
> Distribution of any kind is prohibited without the written consent of HMB. |
533f6234c3de4d9682e07d577080ad6b | ['c7eeefb94f83468e9518d5a3d3573012'] | Eventually they took the bandages off his face, and for the first time he could look at himself in the mirror. A stranger looked back at him, with blond hair grown out long and untidy, and stripes of livid scar tissue forking over his cheek and across the bridge of his nose.
That was when the nurses stopped looking him in the eye.
Once he was healed enough to get around he threw himself into physical therapy; he couldn't seem to master his memory but he could at least regain mastery over his body. It was a goal to work towards, and the satisfaction that came from steadily rebuilding muscle and endurance, from replacing the ache of healing wounds with the more honest ache of exertion and finally being able to move without pain at all, mostly filled in the voids within him left by the broad expanses of memory that never came back.
It was after one of those sessions that Admiral Sutherland returned to visit him again, this time in the company of a man who didn't wear an Omni uniform. "Commander Roanoke," he said, "I'd like to introduce you to Lord Djibril," and Neo took a hard look at the man that an admiral in the Earth Alliance would call 'Lord.'
There was something about this Djibril he wasn't sure he liked - something in the way he carried himself, or maybe it was the set of his eyes - but a soldier didn't disgrace an admiral on the basis of anything as nebulous as a feeling. "Sir," he said, and inclined his head with what he hoped was enough respect to pass muster.
Djibril met his eyes only for an instant before he looked away with an expression of frowning distaste, like the nurses, like everyone. "You're recovering very quickly," he said. "It's a shame they couldn't do more about the scars, though. It must be difficult to be reminded of your failure every time you look in a mirror."
The insincere sympathy in the man's tone had Neo's jaw tightening. He kept his mouth shut.
"Well," Djibril went on nonchalantly, "perhaps I can help with that. I'm here to extend an offer to you, Neo. I could use someone of your skills in the 81st Independent Mobile Battalion."
"I'm not familiar with that division," Neo said.
Djibril smiled, slyly. "No, you wouldn't be, would you."
"Although we're currently at peace," said Admiral Sutherland, "intel has given us reason to believe that PLANT does not intend to abide by the terms of our treaties. As for us, our hands are tied. We can't take steps to defend ourselves without breaking the treaties ourselves."
"So you're talking about covert operations," Neo said.
"The captain of the 81st answers only to me," Djibril told him. "And any requests for manpower or equipment will be filled without question with the best that OMNI has to offer, to allow the battalion appropriate freedom to act. I'm sure you can understand how important it is for me to have someone in that position who can be trusted to follow orders."
There was a dissonance about the whole thing, a static buzzing in the back of Neo's head - a feeling of betrayal he could not quite pinpoint the reason for. So it would not be peace after all, in spite of all the bloodshed that had bought the chance for it.
And whose fault was that?
And what else had he supposed that he might do with himself, when war was all he had any memory of?
"So?" Djibril prompted, expectantly. "Can I count on you, Neo?"
Neo inclined his head in a stiff nod. "Yes, sir."
"Excellent." He sounded smugly pleased. "You can think of it as a second chance, to make up for Jachin Due."
\--
Afterward, walking down the hallway alone, he passed a woman wearing an OMNI uniform and the insignia of a lieutenant. She was nothing out of the ordinary, brown-haired and with a nice enough figure but not the least bit familiar, and he could not imagine what about her had prompted him to look twice. But when he did, for a moment by chance they made eye contact.
She winced and looked uncomfortably away as she moved on past.
He stared himself down in the mirror later, and the scar tissue glared back at him, still raw and vivid across his face, a badge of failure.
\--
It gave him a cold feeling the first time he put on the mask and saw himself with half his face hidden, impassive and anonymous, but it was better than not being able to meet his own eyes in the mirror. | 3f71c6b7df4a4edb80688c5d06e1eb88 | ['c7eeefb94f83468e9518d5a3d3573012'] |
Easy as Life
_Is this how the gods reward the faithful through the ages?
Forcing us to prove that the hardest things we've done
Are easy_
\--
He shouldn't really have been surprised.
Something like an hour into the middle watch, everyone else was either at their stations or in their sleeper pods, but even with fatigue draining him, reducing all hurts to a dull and omnipresent ache, Kaidan couldn't face the thought of trying to go to sleep. He'd wandered into the mess when he'd run out of anything else to distract himself with, only to find Commander Shepard already there. Alone at a table in the otherwise empty mess, she sat with her elbows braced against the table and her head hanging between her forearms, fingers laced across the back of her neck, a posture of profound exhaustion.
Only a few days ago, he might have dared to cross the distance between them and put his hand on her shoulder, to let the simple contact remind the both of them that they were not alone. Of all the commanding officers he'd had during his career as a marine, Shepard was one of the best, maybe the best. Kaidan had admired her from the start, watching the strength and the competence with which she led; you never forgot that she was an officer, but even if she hadn't been, people would have followed her anyhow, drawn to her by her quiet, steady confidence. When she said she'd do a thing, no matter how impossible, you believed it would happen.
That would have been enough for Kaidan. It had come as a surprise to realize, as she led them across the galaxy after Saren, that more than admiring and respecting Shepard, he _liked _her. Her strength, the compassion that she extended to everyone, the flashes of sharp-edged wit that surfaced from time to time... he liked being around her, had come to cherish the connection that had somehow formed between them however complicated it made things.
That was before Virmire. Now Ashley - tough, staunch, sassy Ash, who'd always been quick with a smartass quip and quicker to leap to a teammate's support in the heat of battle - was dead. Because Shepard had chosen him.
And now all he could do was stand there and watch Shepard sitting there in the dim amber light of the mess, bowed down under her own exhaustion.
"Shouldn't you be resting?" Shepard's voice was soft and without inflection, but Kaidan startled anyhow, wondering a little guiltily how long she'd been aware of his presence.
"Shouldn't you?"
"Probably," she admitted, not lifting her head. "But I hate leaving things unfinished... I still have to record something to send to her family." Kaidan winced inwardly in sympathy. He had never had to take on the responsibility of contacting the family of a dead soldier, and could only imagine how hard it would have to be. "I've been putting it off. I don't know why we ever invented vid-mail," she said. "Used to be you could just write a letter."
There was nothing Kaidan could think to say to her. If there had been a way for him to lift some of the weight from her shoulders he would have taken it from her, but the easy camaraderie he'd felt between them before seemed very far away.
"A mother and three sisters," she murmured, more to herself than to him. "She told me about them. The youngest one's just out of high school."
"It won't make anything any worse if you wait until tomorrow," he said. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded awkward and unconvincing. How could he tell her to try to get some sleep when he was taking any excuse to keep from having to lie in a sleeper pod and think about Ash?
"It won't make it any easier, either," she said heavily. "Marines just shouldn't have families."
The uncharacteristic cynicism of the words had his throat tightening. It wasn't like her. "You don't mean that."
A breath escaped her with a short little hitch that was almost a laugh, and she lifted her head a little to look up at him, her face wan and strained. "No? When was the last time you saw yours?" He winced, because she was right - it had been too long, had always been too long, and there was never enough leave time. You made do with calls and mail; that was life in the military. "The one thing about being an orphan," Shepard said. "At least when it's my turn to go, there won't be anyone to have to break the news to."
Kaidan could barely breathe around the tightness in his chest. She was wrong, had to be wrong. There was no way that a woman like her could go down without leaving everyone she'd ever touched diminished by the loss. "Commander--" he began, only to stop himself.
She sighed, a long exhalation that seemed to deflate her, leaving her sagging into her seat. "If there's something you're wanting to say," she said, "I wish you'd just say it."
But the words wouldn't come. The more Kaidan tried to put into words what he was feeling, the less he could make sense of any of it; there was too much, too tangled up and conflicting, too many things he could say that would only hurt her more, and nothing he could say to make any of it right again. Only a short time ago he'd felt like he could talk to her about anything, but now all he could do was open his mouth and close it again, unable to voice the one question that hung over everything because he already knew that he didn't want to hear her answer: _Why?_ |
fa72022347224e3d963931f409187137 | ['c7f063ee65b94d8db736a849f14d0012'] | Taking control of your powers had been easier than you’d expected. It wasn’t really controlling anything after all. It was give and take. Asking the Force to work with you, shaping and molding it to your desires. And though Kylo still demanded a great deal as a teacher, you found this aspect of your training at least somewhat easy. He indulged you with a grim smile as you levitated the chairs around the conference room table, letting them hover over your heads, before bringing them gracefully back down.
He’s not generous with his praise, so you’re thrilled when you do receive it. But your training does not consist entirely of making objects fly or stopping them in midair as Klyo hurls one after another at you.
You are assigned seemingly endless hours of reading Imperial and Sith history, which is always followed by questions and discussions. Some days Kylo teams up with Captain Phasma for your combat and weapons training. Your target practice is much more accurate when your using the Force, but you can field strip and clean a blaster in less than a minute.
You can tell you’re making progress and it feels good. At night, you fall into bed in your tiny quarters, your head spinning and your muscles aching. But unlike before your training began, you sleep soundly. There are no more nightmares. No more waking up crying, wracked with loneliness and nameless fear.
On your few and far between free days, you enjoy meeting with your mother and telling her about your training while trying to leave out as many details as possible. Your pet pitten plays with you, batting at your fingers like nothing has changed. You miss her and wonder vaguely if you can have her in your quarters with you. But you know better. She would be a distraction.
“You seem happy,” your mother tells you and you admit that you are. You have a purpose now and all the power and abilities that once seemed like and abnormality or a burden and becoming second nature. The bond with your mother has strengthened despite your physical distance and you find it much easier to read her thoughts and emotions, laughing even before she even makes the joke about how ridiculous you would look dressed in Stormtrooper armor.
One morning, you’re surprised to find the drab, grey standard issue First order clothing in your closet replaced by your own clothes. You revel in the comfort and the familiarity of the feel against your skin.
The fabrics smell familiar, like your room in your old quarters: incense and lotion and pitten fur. But the scent isn’t home anymore. Home is the dedlanite of a blaster pistol, the upholstery of the conference room chairs. Home is the glare of a datapad screen and a deep, slightly melodic voice. Home is Kylo Ren.
5. Grandfather
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> A familiar face makes an appearance.
You’re completely perplexed as you follow your usual Stormtrooper escort down the corridor. He’s informed you that Kylo Ren wishes to conduct your training in his private quarters today instead of your customary impersonal conference room.
You wordlessly follow and wonder what new phase of your training awaits you. He’s allowed you to peer into his mind only once, and you’re still somewhat haunted by what you’d found there, the fear and loneliness, the image of his father pierced by the glowing saber. Perhaps seeing where and how he lives will give you some new level of insight into your master. Will his quarters be sparse and plain or full of Imperial antiquities? Instruments of torture, perhaps?
“Here you are, Miss.” Your heart pounds as the trooper leaves you at the door and makes his way back down the corridor. As if somehow alerted to your presence (he must know you’re out there), the door opens and you find yourself facing Kylo Ren as he stands on the threshold.
He silently steps aside and motions for you to enter. As you walk past him, you register that he is wearing his mask and wonder if he wears it even when in his own quarters. He never dons the mask during your training sessions and you’ve grown so accustomed to his face that the sight of the mask unnerves you and you’re reminded of just how intimidating he can be.
He’s seen everything in your head, your hopes and fears, those damn recurring dreams. Though he’d sworn to never enter your mind without your permission, you wonder just how much your emotions are betrayed in your face or voice. In truth, he still frightens you, despite the tenuous bond forming between the two of you. His lodgings are indeed simple, utilitarian even, the requisite work surfaces and chairs punctuated only by the occasional Sith artifact or text. He leads you t o the main sitting area and bids you to sit in one of the chairs surrounding a low table.
He removes his mask and places it on the table, but remains standing, towering over you. “I am very pleased with how your training has progressed,” he tells you. You murmur a thank you and struggle to meet his eyes. “Your powers grow stronger every day and your willingness to learn has not wavered.” In spite of yourself, you can’t help but duck your head and smile at the compliment. Your fierce dedication to him has not gone unnoticed after all.
“I think the time has come that I may share something with you.” You nod encouragingly, your heart buoyed by the fact that he’s willing to share anything with you, but still apprehensive at what that it may be. | 81a961eb9feb429f9072b6f5811c9f28 | ['c7f063ee65b94d8db736a849f14d0012'] | At the mention of your unborn child, all the hate immediately fades and is replaced with blind, gaping fear. “Don’t hurt him,” you whisper. “Please?” You watch as Leia’s face changes and the battle-weary Resistance general disappears.
“Him?” she asks, staring at you. You watch as her eyes fill with tears. “A son?” Your own tears spill over and for a moment, the medical bay disappears, the doctor, the uniformed Mon Calamari standing next to her. All that remains are two mothers, terrified for their children’s lives. Leia reaches for your hand and you grimace, hating her touch. “You’re safe now. Both of you.”
“Where is Kylo?” you choke. “If you hurt him…” You squeeze your eyes shut against the pain. Against the thought of losing him. The thought of how much more this woman who dares to call herself his mother can hurt him.
“He’s fine,” Liea’s voice is low, but tinged with regret. “We wanted to get him out too, but there wasn’t time.” She lets go of your hand wipes her own tears. “Snoke was able to escape with him and we can only assume that he and Ben are both safe.”
You know he wouldn’t leave you. He promised. Snoke must have coerced him, overpowered him. You know he wouldn’t leave you! You can picture him, fighting against the Force, against Supreme Leader Snoke’s unyielding powers. In tears, perhaps, screaming your name.
“Don’t,” you mutter. “Don’t ever call him that.” You can feel your voice rising as you stare up at the pair of brown eyes, so like his. “I don’t care who you are or what you think you are to him. He is not yours! He will never be yours. I know what you did to him, how you destroyed him.”
Leia sighs. The sadness in her eyes is unfathomable. But it’s nothing compared to what you’ve seen in her son’s eyes, what she’s put there.
“He’s not yours anymore,” you tell her. “He’s mine now. Mine! “I’m the one that comforts him when he’s upset. He falls asleep in my arms at night! I’M PREGNANT WITH HIS CHILD!” you scream. All your fear at seeing her is gone now and replaced with seething hate. You want to hurt her.
“That’s right,” you continue, babbling almost incoherently as Leia and her two companions just stare at you. “Tell me General, did his father teach him any tricks? Your handsome, filthy smuggler? Did he ever have you sit on his face, with his tongue inside you. When he knocked you up, did you scream his name as you came. Han!” you cry mockingly into the silent Medbay.
You watch as Leia’s face crumples and know that you’re truly breaking her heart. But in an instant, she’s recovered, taking a deep breath. “Enough.” Her tone is still tired, but it’s clear that she’s let you have your little tirade and now she’s back in control of the situation. She motions to the doctor, standing nearby. “Let her rest.”
The doctor steps closer to your bed as she stabs a syringe into her vial. “Get away from me!” you shriek. If she touches you, giving you more of the sedative, you know what will happen. They’ll put you back to sleep and cut the baby right out of you! You’ll never see your son again! You’ll never see Kylo again. They’ll brainwash you into one of them, just a mindless Resistance drone. They’ll send your son off to Jedi training just like they did to his father. They’ll find your mother, Qica. They’ll destroy everything you love.
The thought of being in their power and all the ways they can hurt you makes your head reel and before you know it, you’ve vomited down your chest, choking and coughing on the acid. “Put her out, then clean her up.” Leia’s voice is brisk and efficient. “This isn’t good for her.”
Though you turn away from her, Leia is still able to wipe your mouth with the damp cloth in her hand. But it’s not enough to distract you from the pain of the needle plunging into your arm. Between your sobbing and coughing, you can only utter one word. “Please?” you beg all three of them. You beg everyone else on the ship. Anyone in the galaxy who might be listening. “Please.”
As the sedative takes effect, the last thing you feel is Leia’s hand on yours once again and hear her whispered words, “I love you.”
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> Oh my GOD, this was hard to write! I hated having to abuse Leia, but it was so necessary from within Reader's headspace. I feel like I want to contact the ghost of Carrie Fisher and apologize now.
13. Freedom
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> While his wife remains in the grip of the Resistance, Kylo must face a challenge when his faith is put to the test and he's forced to make a final choice.
You wake again, slower this time and unaware of your surroundings or where your arms and legs might be. You blink slowly, unable to take in your surroundings before your eyes drift closed again. Your memories rise to the surface, but remain fuzzy and blurred around the edges. You remember General Organa, the Mon Calamari and the nameless doctor with her drugs, with her syringe.
You try to scream, to struggle against your bonds, but all you have the energy to do is swallow thickly before slumping back against the bed. You realize suddenly that someone is in the room beside you, you sense her presence and feel her breathing in time with yours. |
326c6de187f445189bd6c6715db6e816 | ['c7f59278daac4b14933da4fd8e6db24a'] | She feels a blast of cold air and a flurry of movement beside her. _Shut the damn door,_ she tries to say but her brain feels mushy and she can’t hear anything and it’s a dark white where she is and it’s heavy. She’s not sure why that particular word comes to mind, but there it is. Heavy.
She opens her eyes, tries to move against something soft and rather unyielding.
The movement moves closer. It has a scent, a sound. She feels pressure in her neck. It’s not unpleasant.
“ _Eames._ ”
_Bobby?_
“Are you hurt?”
Which is a silly question, she thinks, because right now pretty much everything kind of hurts, but her head especially. She nods because it’s easier.
She waits.
After a long moment he pulls her to him.
//
Don’t move her, he tells himself. He pushes two cold fingers into her neck and can’t feel a thing. But then she opens her eyes and he assumes she’s alive anyway, even without a pulse.
“ _Eames._ ”
She stares at him, lolling, air bag and all.
“Are you hurt?” he says. She nods and her hair shifts and he sees the large purple lump on the side of her forehead. “Anywhere else?”
She thinks. She shakes her head, then winces. He wants to touch her. He wants to touch her all over to make sure, but his hands still aren’t functioning properly and she might be hurt.
_Don’t move her,_ he tells himself. _Don’t, don’t._
He doesn’t listen.
//
“Cold,” she says very quietly against his neck and he wants to laugh. It’s the first thing she says and it’s the best fucking thing he’s ever heard.
“Oh, I love you so much,” he says quickly without realizing he’s said it out loud. She frowns at him. The bump on her forehead is purple, pulsating. He wants to put his lips against it, but resists.
“What?”
He’s manages to unbuckle her, maneuver her towards him, awkwardly. She is very cold. Even in his coldness he can feel hers radiating off her. In the two minutes he’s been inside the car the snow has shifted again, piling up against both doors and he can’t open them, can’t budge them and even if he could, how could he get both of them back up the embankment, back to the road where no vehicles are traveling?
“What did you say?” she says again. “Because I think you said something and if you did say what I think you said I may very well be unconscious or hallucinating because—”
“I have to get you warm,” he says abruptly.
“Because it’s cold,” she says.
“Yes. It’s cold.”
“Wait…” she says. “My phone.”
“Where?”
“My bag.”
The phone. In his haste to get to her he’s forgotten. He fishes it out, punches in the number of One PP. Nothing. Nothing. He tries 911. And again. No signal. No matter. He shoves it in his coat pocket.
He clambers into the back seat and pulls her along under her arms, settles her next to him. He starts rubbing his hands together, trying to generate some heat. It’s slow going. His hands don’t feel attached to the ends of his arms. He rubs and blows and flexes until he can bend his fingers and make them do what needs to be done. He pulls her onto his lap, unbuttons his coat, unbuttons her coat. She watches this with some measure of amusement. Then her head droops against his shoulder.
“What are you doing?”
He keeps unbuttoning. Clumsy, desperate.
“Wait,” he says. “Wait.”
//
Her head against his neck.
His hands brushing against her breasts in his urgency to reach her skin.
Heavy breaths and hammering heartbeats.
He’s had dreams like this.
//
The wind blows. It grows darker. He has his arms wrapped around her, inside her coat. He presses his hands flat against her back, under her sweater, under the T-shirt beneath that. He counts the bumps along her spine, feels the separations between her ribs. She doesn’t protest. In fact, her hands are inside his clothes, too, but he can’t think about it too much, because it’s all about staying alive right now. Heat, contact, skin on skin.
Survival.
He no longer knows which way is up, so he just hangs on. He keeps hanging on.
//
From time to time he tries the phone, which means removing his hands from her body and digging the phone out of his pocket. No signal, no signal.
When he slides his hands back in place she sighs a little and he wonders when this stopped being just about survival.
//
“Can you talk to me?” he asks.
“What about?” she says.
“Anything.”
She thinks.
“My head hurts.”
He nods. “I bet it does.”
He can feel her breath warm against his neck when she talks. He likes it.
“What’s that noise?” she asks.
“The wind.”
“Why are we moving?”
“We’re not, really. It’s a storm. We’re stuck in a snowstorm and it’s snowing and I can’t get the doors open and—” He’s starting to babble. He forces himself to stop.
“Where are we?” she asks.
“Not quite sure. Halfway to Woodbourne, maybe.”
“Where were _you_?”
He presses his hands down harder, pulls her closer.
“I missed your calls.”
“I know _that_ ,” she says, irritated. He smiles against her hair.
“Where were you this _morning_?” she asks.
He starts to reply when the car is buffeted hard by a gust of wind. He pulls her closer.
“Why are you here _now_?” she persists.
“Because I love you,” he says. It all seems very simple, even though he knows it’s not, and what the hell, he might as well just say it.
There follows a terrific silence which is punctuated only by howling winds that he’s grown mostly immune to.
“Where were you this morning?” she asks again.
“Let’s talk about something else,” he says.
// | 5403143df30448ce9c020d5202a59c89 | ['c7f59278daac4b14933da4fd8e6db24a'] |
Love and Sex: A Mostly True Story
**Author's Note:**
> **These characters do not belong to me.**
//
For the wonderful suffisaunce and lozziecap.
//
This part is all true:
She was a little drunk and they both knew it. He’d been drinking, too, but he still had his wits about him, for the most part. More than she did, anyway, which, as it turned out, wasn’t saying much.
Friday night, late-April, cold with drizzle but with the promise of Spring, whatever that meant. O’Malley’s, Logan and Wheeler, Price and Diluzio. Just a few drinks after a few bad cases, which Bobby had been about to turn down, but one look at Alex’s face and her sudden shift in expression from hopeful/upbeat to not, and he’d (reluctantly) acquiesced. He’d had been back for two weeks and they’d barely spoken, he and Alex, about anything other than work. (You finish the paperwork? I did. You ready to go? I am. What’s for lunch? I don’t know. What do _you_ want?) The tension was there, but so was something else. Something else just beneath the surface that neither one cared to scratch.
So, he went and they all laughed and they all drank, and then drank some more. After some good-natured and unnecessary jostling, Bobby and Alex had ended up next to each other, pushed up against one another in the red, vinyl booth, closer physically than they’d been in months, years maybe. She laughed loudly at all the jokes, even the unusually lewd ones, and even let him buy her a Margarita, leaning over and murmuring _thank-you_ against his ear. It was pretty much the most pleasant evening he’d spent in, well, forever.
Everyone split up in the end, and he was pretty sure Logan didn’t raise his eyebrows as he watched Bobby hail a cab for himself and Alex. And, if he did, Bobby found himself not caring.
In the cab she leaned against him heavily, her head on his shoulder, and she slipped an arm through his and held on to his elbow. He looked down at the top of her head several times during the ride and resisted a strong urge to drop a kiss there, where her hair parted and was damp from the rain.
A _very_ strong urge.
He swallowed and looked away, looked out instead at the night city, at lights so bright and garish they made his eyes water. He blinked slowly and thought about things he’d never really let himself think about.
Then he thought he must have had more to drink than he realized.
//
In her apartment he was unsure and he hated feeling unsure. She calmly kicked off her shoes and dropped her coat on the couch, then walked — a little unsteadily and without a backwards glance — down the hallway to her bedroom. Well, he assumed it was her bedroom.
Now what?
He waited an acceptable amount of time, and then followed her.
She was fully clothed, sprawled across her bed, one arm thrown up over her face. He hovered in the doorway.
“I shouldn’t drink,” she said finally. “I always end up feeling sick.”
“Can I get you anything…before I go?”
“Just a glass of water, please.”
Happy to be given a task, he hurried to her kitchen, thinking about things like domesticity and how her apartment smelled like jasmine.
She drank most of the water and set the glass on her bedside table.
“Do you need more?”
She shook her head.
“Well, then,” he said, not turning to leave.
“I missed you, you know.”
One hand, small and cool, slid into his and he grasped it without thinking. Her fingers moved beneath his in a sort of deliberate pattern, he realized, back and forth, then a small circle, then back and forth again. It was incredibly — he searched for the right word — _sensual_.
What was she _doing_?
“Eames—”
She looked up at him in the half shadows.
Ah god he wanted to kiss her so badly. Ah god he needed to get out of her bedroom, now, fast.
Now.
Fast.
He spoke rationally and with great deliberation, though he felt neither rational nor deliberate.
“Eames, you’ve been…well, you’ve had some drinks and you’re tired, we’re _both very tired_ —”
She was still doing that horribly wonderfully maddening thing with her _fingers_ and her hair was splayed across her face and the pillow and if he reached out just a little he could _touch_ it—
“Maybe you should just, you know, sleep—”
“Maybe,” she said. She yawned.
“Maybe.” He nodded in something like relief, but not quite.
“Or, maybe you’re just not attracted to me.” She said this last part very quietly, so quietly he wasn’t sure he heard her correctly, but the way she had turned her face away and the way she was speaking into the pillow made him realize he _had_ , and the implications of her words rendered him speechless and horrified.
Was she serious? How on earth could she _possibly think—_
He wanted to laugh at the utter absurdity of it but managed to convince himself that laughing at this precise moment could only bring disastrous results. Instead he bit the inside of his cheek hard and closed his eyes and squeezed her fingers and willed his heart to stop doing annoying things like hammering against his ribs so hard he was sure she must have been able to _hear_.
“Eames,” he murmured in near despair, but she had fallen asleep. Sometime after that he let go of her hand and made himself leave.
//
They didn’t talk again until Monday morning. He was sitting ramrod straight at his desk, staring at her empty chair, then at his watch, which read 9:23 a.m. Ross appeared over his left shoulder and dropped three case files in front of him. Bobby jumped.
“Eames called. She’s sick.”
Goren shook his head, as if coming out of a great fog.
“She’s…what?” |
d0c67ed3f44943c8869f03163b753bdd | ['c7f69af5d8ca4d89be3d3e772b8d8d12'] |
1. Chapter 1
**Author's Note:**
> Warning! This work might contain minimal SPOILERS for the end of Suzanne Collins' The Underland Chronicles series. Luckily, you could probably read it and not get all that much spoiled for you, but if you want to be on the safe side, wait until you've finished the series.
>
> Soundtrack for this story: Welcome Home - Radical Face, Breathe - Anberlin, Shake It Out - Florence and the Machine
Gregor squinted against the bright afternoon sun and brought a hand up to his forehead to briskly swipe away the sweat that had collected there. Even after almost nine months between him and the last time he had set foot in the Underland, he still felt like the sun was consistently too bright and too hot, though that may have been, he thought, the effect of southern Virginia, not the sun itself.
Virginia was beautiful, even he had to admit. The rolling mountains around him (who knew mountains could be rolling?) were pristine, covered in forest, but with a few open fields. The valleys in between were almost entirely farmland, much like where he stood now, waist deep in young grain stalks. Only a few fields over, he could hear the rumbling voice of his uncle and the slightly higher pitch of his aunt, the actual owners of the farm he and his family were living on indefinitely. When he once bothered to ask his dad if they would ever be going back to New York (and the Underland), his dad just got an uncomfortable look in his eyes and changed the subject. So in all likelihood, Gregor wouldn't be going home. He didn't dare ask his mother, and asking his aunt and uncle would do nothing for him. Not for a long time.
It wasn't so bad here, though. His aunt and uncle put him to work on the farm, with Lizzie and Boots helping where their chores required it. Gregor had enjoyed learning how to coax a harvest from the ground while all of the other kids his age were all in school. It was peaceful. It was nice.
When they first arrived in Virginia, only a week or so after Grandma had passed away peacefully, his mom had wanted him to go directly into school; his father had talked her out of it. The deciding factor, Gregor thought, was himself. Despite an already-long recovery, he had still been gaunt and brittle; a minute's run could leave him shaking, then. For weeks after his emergence from the Underland, Gregor had existed in a haze; stumbling around, leaving the house at odd hours, walking at night, barely speaking to anyone at all. He had carried himself so carefully those weeks, talking only softly, moving only as slowly as he could, because it felt like he would snap if he went any faster or louder. His mother's looks, sad and wistful, had felt like bullets.
So his parents had decided that maybe Gregor needed some time to wake up and remember that he was Gregor Campbell, a teenage kid from the surface, not the Warrior, not a soldier, not an Underlander. So he had gotten all the rest of the school year just to heal. Healing and growing things on the farm. But it was summer now, and soon enough he would be back to school, back to life, such as it was. For months, he'd seen and spoken to no one but his aunt and uncle, his parents, and his younger siblings, not counting the animals that lived on or around the farm. But soon, within a few short months, he would have to face the world again. It should have been a terrifying prospect.
But it wasn't. It wasn't anything at all, not to Gregor.
Gregor wasn't entirely sure why he wasn't afraid, or even nervous, about something like the first day in a new school anymore. Afraid that he might lose control, yes. Afraid of social humiliation, of bullying, of bad grades, not at all. Maybe it just hadn't kicked in, yet. Maybe he was broken, or something.
Maybe it was just that he had seen far scarier things than young humans and change.
What ever it was, Gregor felt... not at peace, not quite. His nightmares could attest to that, and the way he flinched at the sound of banging metal and the smell of blood, both of which brought back flashes of terrible memory that overtook him like a storm. Grief, for Aries and his home and everything, shook him at the most unexpected moments. The noise of battle crept into his ears when it was too loud, or too quiet, or he wasn't paying attention. But aside from that...
He felt... passive. Empty. Lost. As though the world would do what it wished with him, and he had given up trying to stop it, or even caring about it. He had already done everything he was supposed to do in life. Now he was like a cast-aside tool, no longer used for any purpose, waiting for whatever happened. Uncaring either way. A warrior in a world that no longer wanted warriors.
That was all he was. That was all he had.
It was just a sad irony of fate that he was only thirteen, too.
Gregor shook his head and bent down into the grain field again, tugging again on the weeds scattered among the golden stalks. Thoughts like these were useless when there was work to be done. Autumn would come, whether he liked it or not, or neither of the above. So would school and the world and everything else outside the farm's borders. | 5a0989ddf6a64c15988db3b39a4a347c | ['c7f69af5d8ca4d89be3d3e772b8d8d12'] |
1. i - vi
**Author's Note:**
* For LINK.
_i. sunlight_
The wonder in her eyes when she got her first glimpse of what day meant, above ground, was childlike. It reminded him a little of Boots, if Boots had ever been the sort of kid who was awed by anything and didn't take the entire world happily in stride. It had remained, even after the confusion and wariness and disorientation had faded with repeated visits. Now, she lies back on top of the stone which covers their way home and closes her eyes in lazy pleasure at the way it reflects the heat back into her. Gregor lies beside her, and doesn't bother to close his eyes; instead, he watches her face.
The sunlight, its heat and brilliance and beauty, that is what dazzles her, and it's enough. The way she looks as she tips her chin up to soak it in, lazy and relaxed and at peace like she never is anywhere else, that is what dazzles him, and it is more than enough.
_ii. thunderstorm_
One of their very first visits (when Howard is still frowning at them, just a bit, and Luxa still threatens to smack him over it), Luxa is taking to the odd joy of climbing trees in Central Park like a duck to water when Gregor glances up at the dark, quickly gathering clouds in the sky and grimaces.
"Luxa," he says, "We should probably head back."
She drops out of the tree and lands next to him with a confused frown. "Why?" she says. "The bats do not expect us back for many hours yet."
"Look up at the sky," he says, packing up what little they brought and shouldering his bag. "It's about to storm."
Luxa glances upward, brow furrowing in confusion, and then looks around the park, noticing the sudden absence of other people with a scowl. "I do not understand," she says, even as she helps him pack up and reached for her own pack. "I thought that the sun did not...set? Until much later. Why is it becoming dark?"
"The sun isn't setting, it's just being covered up by the storm clouds," Gregor says, waiting on her to finish before they set off for the entrance to the Underland together. "Looks pretty bad, too," he comments, glancing upward again. "We haven't had a big storm yet this summer, so it's a little overdue." As if in answer, he can hear a faint, far off rumble over the sound of distant traffic.
"I still do not understand, Gregor," Luxa says with a mildly frustrated huff. "What is a storm?" After several visits, she's no longer infuriated when she doesn't yet understand some vagary of the Overland that Gregor or his family or Ripred has neglected to mention; she just asks them to explain and waits patiently while they do until she either understands or gives up entirely.
"It's..." Gregor starts, then frowns. There really isn't anything like a storm in the Underland that he could use to make a connection so she'll get why it means they have to stop climbing trees, but won't make her panic or still really confused. Honestly, seeing it is probably the only way she'll totally get what it is. That's an idea. "...do you want to stay and watch it? We have time before we need to head back to Regalia."
She tilts her head in confusion, but nods and stays silent until they reach the stone entrance. Between the two of them, they're just strong enough to push the stone back so that the opening is unblocked enough for them to get in. Gregor uses a dead branch to prop it open, just a bit. If this storm is as bad as he thinks it'll be, they won't need to worry about anyone seeing it open; no one will be stupid enough to be here to see them. He has them set their things well away from the opening, and then settles down on the floor next to Luxa to wait.
They don't need to wait long. Within minutes, the first raindrop falls with a faint splash; soon, Central Park is barely visible through sheets of pouring rain. Luxa looks nervous and confused, but intrigued. There's a blinding flash of light that makes both of them jump, and Gregor only has a moment's notice to grab for Luxa's wrist before the thunder follows with an earth-shaking roar. Luxa nearly bolts for safety.
"What?" she gasps , eyes as wide as dinner plates. "What?"
"The flash is lightning," Gregor says quickly, still holding onto her, trying to anchor her. "The noise, that's thunder, it's just the sound the lightning makes."
"I..." Luxa trails off, slack-jawed for a moment. Then she closes her mouth and rubs her free hand over her face. The other hand turns in Gregor's grip, until he can feel her holding on to him, too. "It sounds like an earthquake compressed into a single moment. It is not dangerous?"
"Not really, no," Gregor says quietly. They relax a little, and sit in silence.
"It is very powerful," Luxa offers hesitantly, after a minute or two. He watches her out of the corner of his eye and says nothing. "I think... I think I could come to enjoy this, perhaps."
"Okay," he says, because what else do you say to that?
They're still holding on to each other. They don't let go.
_iii. people_
"So _many_ ," she breathes. Gregor glances over, and sees that her pupils are blown wide with shock and awe. The sky is shadowy and starless, but it isn't dark, because below their feet where they dangle them off the building's edge, the city glows with the light of a few million people.
"Yeah," he says. "More than in the Underland, at least. By a lot." |
83016cbb1877440fa0e7d3860bf76f11 | ['c80b24dd65094c26a22931ad513164fa'] | 1. Information
The first Page will probably be a codex, what chapter has who in it and so forth. There will be pairings, singles and so on.
I need Prompts so PLEASE write a comment and tell me what you want to read or maybe give me a pairing you would like to read about. Any and All are Welcome!!
1\. I know - Alistair/Female Noble Warden
2\. Fading with Time - Flemeth
2. I know
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> Alistair is worried sick about his beloved and if she will make it through, but he knows her and knows she can do anything.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> This is a really old thing, I'll edit whenever but it's basically just a preview so you know what to expect.
If I know anything it is her ability to withstand everything for those she loves.
Alistair paced outside the door, occasionally glancing looking to the door in terror as he heard his wife’s screams.
He was about to barge in but Van stood in the way, “Alistair if you go in now you may just make things worse for her, just relax and let Wynne do her thing” Van spoke softly trying to calm the worried and anxious Alistair and he went back to pacing.
Van could understand why he was so worried for Riko, she was a warden, his queen, his wife and now she was going to be the mother of his child. But now at seven months pregnant she was giving birth. If no one knew the risks of being a female warden and baring a child they will know what happens now. Van stood to his feet, starring at the door with wide eyes, sporting the same expression as Alistair himself.
**Horror**.
That is what was written on their faces as they heard Riko scream like no other and it did not help that everything went silent. But soon enough they heard little cries.
Alistair rushed in the room looking to Wynne who held such a tiny child. She smiled to him “It’s a boy” she smiled as Alistair walked over to her and smiled as he looked at the tiny baby in her arms.
His baby, his baby boy... “I want to see him” he heard and looked to the side and with what he saw his mind went blank.
There laid Riko... His Riko and she looked like she was on the verge of death. Wynne nodded her head, the healers turning Riko on her side and continuing their job.
Wynne placed her child beside her and stepped back, allowing Alistair to take her place. Riko looked to the foreign child that once was in her stomach now laid next to her and she couldn’t be happier to see him.
“ _Such a feeble looking child_ ” she spoke with a crooked smile. Alistair looked at her oddly not understanding but then he saw her cry with a wide smile. “I will always love and protect you, no matter what happens to me” Alistair smiled at his beloved wife and child.
3. Fading with Time
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> Flemeth is slowly fading away from the memories of all.
Flemeth stared out from her perch on the mountain side, 'So he decided to give his old home to her' she laughed internally. Flemeth had been paying more attention to her old friend of late and the company he now kept. It intrigued her to say the least and now to see this new development, she wondered what hold that female elf had on him and if she had the power to make him forget what he promised to do, what the people called for him to do.
A large part of her greatly hoped that he could forget, to have this elf and be content, happy with his new found place in life. Another part of her hoped he would keep his promise, to return to the people but a smaller part still cried with greed, she wanted her old friends attention, she deserved his attention more then all of them but it seems Flemeth truly was beginning to fade from all as the hands of time kept creeping forward.
Even as she looked to Morrigan, the girl thought she was clever hiding in a place where she thought none would ever look for her but anyone who knew Morrigan would know where to look; she knew for long periods of time that she would forget about her; her mother, the woman who raised her and taught her everything. Morrigan feared her, feared being taken over, to have her body taken from her. Flemeth laughed at it once but now it saddened her greatly, that her fear bred such hate for the woman she once called mother.
It was silly given who she was, having idle fantasies about having Morrigan introduce her son, tell her that she's happy with that hero of her's. Flemeth wondered if maybe revenge, her ever lasting grudge was worth much at all. _BUT_ she had been betrayed, Mythal had been betrayed and she will have her revenge and those who forget her will not be spared her burning wrath. | abbb67af778c448a8ffc672012a40951 | ['c80b24dd65094c26a22931ad513164fa'] |
Lost Tears
_Crying..._
_Screaming…_
Crying and Screaming for someone to help…
That is what had awoken him from his deep slumber in the ruins in which he slept. Ever so slowly Solas awake from his journey into the fade, he was exactly where he had left himself, his barriers were still intact and some of the food he left for the spiders was still there. However it was something not that far off that had awaken him and with his pondering of what it could be, another cry for help rung through the ruin.
Solas got to his feet and gathered his staff quickly, he headed in the direction of the screams, from the echo he figured the yelling wasn’t far off from the entrance of the cave and he was right, there surrounded by a very weak and small barrier was a little girl, with two spiders close by. They weren’t attacking her but they didn’t seem to want to let her leave either. Solas sighed and quickly cast a spell to frighten them off.
“Come now child, they are gone now, you can lower your barrier” Solas began calmly and soothingly, he didn’t need to scare her anymore then she already was. The little girl continued to cry and kept her barrier up “I can’t” the young girl blurted out in-between sobs. Solas sighed heavily, all he had wanted to do was travel the fade but now he was stuck with a sniveling child, maybe he thought he could leave her but again sighed and waved the desire off. She was a child and though he wasn’t a big fan of her age group he should help and so Solas took in a breath and let it out.
“Yes you can, I won’t hurt you and the spiders are gone.” As soon as he spoke the child began to shake her head, it was then he noticed her ears. An elf child, he thought. A Dalish elf child, how bothersome he thought remembering his last encounter with the Dalish. “Do not worry, I’m an elf as well you can trust me” Solas said, turning his head ever so slightly to show off the points of his ears. The young girl however continued to shake her head. “I can’t, Fen'Harel might come and eat me” the young girl sniffled as she spoke, calming down; her tears at least.
At the mention of his name and the eating of this girl, his face dropped. ‘You must be joking, they are teaching them younger and younger to fear me but seriously? When I have ever eaten little children’ Solas ranted inside his mind. He was never a fan of the Dalish but accepted they would rather live with lies and falsehoods then know the truth, then be taught something different. This however, this was insanity.
Solas rolled his eyes quickly and came up with a small lie “Well you don’t need to worry about Fen'Harel coming to get you, this special amulet will keep you safe” Solas spoke in a calming and soothing manner as he took off his wolf necklace and held it out to the little girl. The young girl finally opened her eyes and stared at him, he smiled a little and slowly she let down her barrier, taking his amulet in her small hands and clinging to it for dear life.
“Now why don’t you tell me what you’re doing here, where are your parents?” Solas questioned the girl, the sooner he returned her to her parents, meant the sooner he could go back to the fade. However he did not get the response he wanted. “I don’t know” and with that the girl started to cry all over again.
Solas sighed once more, he wasn’t sure what to do and so he did something he remembered his mother doing when he was upset, he bent down to the girl’s height and placed a hand on her head, stroking her hair lightly. “Well do you know where you last saw them? The direction?” Solas continued to rattle off questions and suggestions but the girl continued to cry and shake her head. “I don’t know” the girl continued to sob uncontrollably, Solas tried not to let his frustration get the better of him but it was getting much more difficult by the second.
“Here, let us go back to the entrance and see if you left any foot prints, we can follow those” Solas gave his last suggestion as he held out his hand. The girl simply nodded, taking his hand. At full height the young girl had to step on her tippy toes and keep her arm straight to be able to keep hold of his hand. Solas noticed and made an aggravated sound before bending and picking the girl up, carrying her on his side. Solas looked down the girl who was clinging to his side and felt bad “I am sorry, I am…. Not very… good around children, they are… strange to me” Solas tried to explain, picking and choosing his words carefully. The young girl looked up at him and nodded, sniffling.
*** * ***
Solas was thankful when she finally fell asleep. Her cries probably attributing to that factor, it hadn’t taken him all that long to find the way she had come and less time to find the clan she had been separated from. Discreetly Solas put the girl down and woke her, she slowly came to and looked around and then to him. “Your clan is just beyond that set of trees young one” Solas said and as if to prove him right sounds of the Dalish camp could be heard. The girl smiled and hugged him. “Thank you” the girl spoke before she turned and ran straight to the trees but not before stopping and nearly toppling over. She turned and ran back to him, Solas bent down to her level again. “What is it?” He questioned but the girl smiled and reached to put his necklace back on his neck. Solas bent his neck so she could complete the act and smiled down at her. “So Fen'Harel can’t hurt you” The young girl smiled before kissing his cheek and running full steam ahead.
Solas could hear the shouts for people to come as someone spotted the girl and smiled, however he left quickly. Not wanting to be found; all the while thinking of the strange little girl and her -seemingly pointless- act of kindness. |
5c590e3264bd49668180b56f0937007a | ['c82d2d9d915c41fd866cce528047d64f'] | Lydia had run away from the funeral. Or more precisely, she had run away afterwards, amidst the tea and sandwiches and insincere expressions of sympathy and snuck back out to the churchyard, where Grandma Miranda was buried. Her cousins would probably get into another fight anyway, and no one would notice, as she usually found a quiet corner to read a book.
She thought she recognised the man at first, until she realised that in the gathering dark, she had mistaken him for being much older than he was. It was perhaps the slightly old fashioned suit – it looked like something from about a decade ago, although clearly quite posh – maybe from one of those 1920’s detective serials?
And something made her freeze, and for a frantic moment, something in her wanted to run – to turn around and head back to the main house as quickly as possible. But then, he looked up.
Odd, clear eyes – like a cat’s – fixed her and again, she felt a rising panic. But, this was ridiculous. She straightened her spine.
“Hello - I don’t think we met at the funeral. I’m Lydia. Were you friends with my grandmother?”
The man bowed ever so slightly. His voice had just the hint of a foreign accent – Italian, Spanish? “That is an astute question, child. But the answer is quite – complicated, shall we say. It may take some time in the telling, and the sharing of it will have consequences. Are you sure you want to hear it?”
Something clicked then, and she knew. This was where her chapter in the story would start – if she wanted it. And she did. “Yes. Yes, absolutely.”
“Very well.” He offered his elbow, which she took. His arm was thin, but had a certain sinewy strength to it. “I am Simon Ysidro. And everything started the night I hired your great-grandfather to help me hunt a murderer.” Together, they began to walk back towards the house.
**Author's Note:**
> I've borrowed Shrewsbury College, Oxford from Dorothy L. Sayers, but I'm absolutely sure it would be good fit for Miranda. Also, I fear I've now made Don Simon Ysidro the eternal Watcher for every future generation of Asher vampire ~~slayers~~ hunters, but I think that might also be what he's always wanted. | f6b7a738286d4802befa85ac19f4e984 | ['c82d2d9d915c41fd866cce528047d64f'] |
Bell, Book and Candle
**Author's Note:**
* For LINK.
_Ring the bell_
_"She is of Baphomet the sister and the youngest of her line, though puissant still and not easily to be taken with words or symbols of art. But with silver will you bind her and with her name, anagrammatized, appease her."_
For countless generations, Ajulutsikeal had watched and waited. Daughter of the mazikim, destroyer of men, devourer of souls, she rose only when called; given a task or a name. Her victims had always been men, and she’d considered them beneath her contempt, no better than cattle. For a long time, all she could remember of the summonings were the echoes of instinct. Hunger. Lust. Anger. Pain.
The silver anklet had been the fetter that that tied her to the world, much as she hated it. It chained her, but also gave her gave her form, identity and the ability to form thoughts beyond instinct. And then, when the chain was cut through the actions of an alcoholic ne’er do well of an exorcist, she suddenly became an emancipated demon - corporeal but able to take actions beyond the hunt, thus free to explore the world.
What she hadn’t expected, in the process of learning to live like a human (or at least a good approximation of one), was that she might begin to act as one, too. It was one thing to refrain from feeding, to refrain from killing men, even those she’d once marked. But as Juliet Salazar, she came to feel compassion for the women who, imprisoned or abused, arrived at her door seeking help. She developed a certain fondness and even respect for Castor, first as a mentor and later as a friend. Then she met Susan Book, and could for the first time experience desire without the concurrent need to consume. And strangest of all, in that process she somehow came to understand love - its affection and exasperation, possession and protectiveness.
Jules might indeed be released from her worldly shackles, but she is bound all the same.
_Close the book_
Sue had always prided herself on being a hardworking, sensible, down-to earth sort. At school, her marks had been good but not stellar, and knowing how difficult it would be to get a job with a 2:1 in English, especially from a new university, she’d proceeded to a course in library science. Her position as verger at St. Michael’s had been earned after years of volunteering and youth work. Despite being religious, she hadn’t been fanciful - if anything, she was perhaps a little unimaginative. When the news filled with lurid tales of possession, exorcism and the walking dead, it hadn’t affected her day to day life much or changed what she believed in.
Of course, she’d never believed in love at first sight. Not until the day she’d met Jules. Fix explained to her later, slightly abashed and more intoxicated than usual, what he hadn’t been able to in the early days of their acquaintance - that most of what she’d felt was a visceral, chemical reaction to the succubus Ajulutsikael. All she’d known at the time, all she’d realized was that she wanted – wanted in a way she’d never wanted before.
And that desire had shaken her to her foundations – her confidence, her faith, her very understanding of the world. At first, she’d wondered if it had to do with the possession – the strange happenings at St. Michael’s which had led her to find and employ the exorcist and medium Juliet Salazar. But even after Asmodeus had been chained back in the body of Rafael Ditko, her feelings for Jules hadn’t changed. Instead, they changed her, opened her to a world of spells and powers and demons, one of them her own lover.
She regrets it a little, leaving the Church. (Although she still sometimes goes to a moderate, LGBT congregation for special services at Christmas and Easter. Jules understandably chooses to refrain.) But it’s been nice to be back at the library. After all, when one door closes, another opens.
_Quench the candle_
Friday is date night, so even though Sue usually gets back before Jules, she doesn’t start dinner as soon as she gets in the door. It’s been a little awkward anyway, since she became a vegetarian, but Jules doesn’t actually need to eat, so in some respects it doesn’t matter that much. And tonight, they are going out for dinner to the same little café South London where they had their first date - since it is after all, their anniversary.
Jules moves a little awkwardly, as her injuries from the confrontation at Mount Grace still trouble her. There’s no obvious scar, but flesh is malleable for her in any case, and the wounds inflicted by Moloch go beyond that. Still the food is good, and the evening enjoyable despite the somewhat bedazzled service. Sue chats about her day – having taken two weeks’ leave to nurse Jules back to health, she’s only just returned to the library, and is still catching up on the office gossip. Jules listens quietly, asking the occasional question in her usual low murmur.
It’s not until they get home and are unwinding over a glass wine that Sue gets up the courage to say something. “Jules – something’s been bothering you all night. Is it – are you in pain? Is there something I can do?”
“I’m sorry, Sue.” Juliet looks up from the table, where she had been gazing fixedly into her glass, as if only just noticing the way the light from candle centerpiece is reflected in the liquid. “I’ve been distracted, and I’m not good at using words…”
The horrible sinking feeling has already started in Susan’s stomach, but Jules continues “…so I just thought I’d give this to you.”
The box is from Goldsmiths, and it contains a plain, simple gold band. Inscribed in the interior are the characters “שִׁיר הַשִּׁירִים,”
Sue gasps, and kisses her.
Jules continues. “I know that under the laws of Rath Adona, it will have to be a civil union, but -”
Sue interrupts. “Yes, always.”
No further words are necessary. Juliet smiles, and blows the candles out.
**Author's Note:**
> "Bell, Book and Candle" is a traditional form of excommunication for one who has committed a particularly grievous sin. "שִׁיר הַשִּׁירִים,” is a reference to the Song of Songs. |
feee212bbdac4e62b63b82d1d7ac2c5d | ['c89cabcd922f4d9fbc8dd153c3d859bc'] | She finishes just after him, slumping over him to press her forehead to his.
—-
Sansa stays confined to her room, retching in her chamber pot and begging Robb not to leave.
“You’re sick, Sansa.” He sits beside her on her bed and runs a hand across her damp forehead. “Shall I call the maester?”
“No!” Her voice is sharp and frantic. She shakes her head. “You can’t.”
“Sansa-”
She takes his hand and brings it beneath her furs, beneath her thin gown. She presses his hand flat against her stomach and looks to him, her expression wary.
“I don’t feel anything,” he murmurs.
“You soon will,” she says softly.
“Oh,” he says, his voice nothing more than a small gasp. He thinks of the sound of tiny feet padding across the castle, of small children with curly auburn hair and bright blue eyes. He thinks of childlike laughter and Sansa with a baby in her arms.
“What will we do?” Sansa sounds small and fearful. “What will they say?”
He hasn’t a clue. He is the king, and she is his queen, but a brother and sister ruling a kingdom side by side is very different than a sister pregnant with her brother’s baby. Cersei and Jaime Lannister lost their heads for such a sin, as did their children.
But this isn’t the South, and Robb doesn’t submit to Southern rules.
_Our way is the old way._
“Don’t fret. I’ll protect you, and the babe.” He kisses Sansa’s forehead and she holds onto his arms as though he may slip away from her.
—-
There are new whispers. Their people say that Sansa glows, shining as though she were made of sunlight. The common folk are drawn to her, giving her well wishes and kissing her hands. Robb watches as they smile at her, bow their heads when she passes, and call her Queen Sansa.
He’s glad to see Sansa embraced by the North again.
The North has a queen, and her belly swells.
—-
He’s a squalling pink thing, born with just the merest bits of auburn hair. His Tully blue eyes are unmistakable, but he’s Stark through and through.
“What shall we name him?” Sansa whispers to Robb over the sleeping babe.
“Eddard,” he offers quietly. “Bran. Rickon. Jon.” The names of their dead siblings quell some of his happiness.
“Eddard,” she says. “A good name. A strong name. Like Father.”
Robb wonders what their Father would think of them now.
—-
Grey Wind makes a deep rumbling noise as he sleeps beside Sansa, who holds Eddard in her arms. It’s a heartwarming sight to see all of them together, and Robb presses a kiss to his sister’s temple.
He doesn’t know what his parents would think of them, but the question no longer keeps him awake at night.
_Is it so wrong for a brother to love his sister?_
He thinks not. | 43c8911f3c354733b53509cc54800bb8 | ['c89cabcd922f4d9fbc8dd153c3d859bc'] |
by USER
He watches the maids dress his little sister, their eyes lingering on the bruises that cover her exposed skin. One of their hands brushes her the wrong way and Sansa gasps in pain.
“Careful,” Robb barks, his voice ringing with authority.
Both maids jump at the sound of his voice, and they stare at him with wide, frightened eyes. Their hands tremble as they go back to dressing her. They work slowly and clumsily, and Robb eventually just waves them away. They give an awkward curtsy and then flee the room.
“Useless,” Robb mutters. He sits on the bed behind his sister and dresses her with the lightest touch he can manage. He handles her like he would a porcelain doll, and she never flinches or cries out. He clothes her in wools and furs, dressing her in the Northern styles she belongs in.
When he’s finished, she looks a bit crooked and disheveled, but she gives him the faintest touch of a smile, and it’s the sweetest thing.
—-
_Lannister whore._ The first time he hears one of his men say it, Robb beats him bloody.
He grabs the man’s collar and throws him to the ground of the muddy yard. He lands punch after punch, and leaves him with a black eye, a broken nose, and countless bruises. Robb feels no guilt, but he sends his maester to care for the man, and has Sansa tend to his own wounds.
They sit in the dim light of his bedchamber, and Sansa wraps Robb’s bloodied knuckles in linen. Her touch is tender, her face drawn in concern.
“What upset you so?” she asks.
Robb grimaces, flexing his aching hand. “A rude jape, nothing more.”
“It must have been an awfully rude jape,” she says softly. “You nearly killed him.”
“I don’t know my own strength anymore.”
She lays a delicate hand on his thigh and presses her head into the crook of his neck. “I think I’ve become a better liar than you, brother.”
_And it’s my fault. I left you to the lions._
How anyone could’ve laid a hand on Sansa, he’ll never understand.
—-
Robb saved her from King’s Landing, but its demons live inside her.
Sometimes, she screams so loudly that she wakes the whole castle. She claws her own arms bloody while she dreams, murmuring nonsense about Joffrey and loyalty. She begs, and that’s the worst of it. She begs for mercy, her voice breaking with every plea.
Robb spends his nights with Sansa, ignoring the curious eyes that follow him as he walks to her solar.
During the day, she wanders the castle, looking hollow eyed and weary. Most people do their best to stay out of her way, as though they’re afraid of her. She is rarely spoken to. They gawk at her when her back is turned, but look away when she turns her head.
_Lannister whore._
—-
It isn’t long before there’s talk of marriage. The King in the North needs a queen, and more importantly, an heir.
Highborn ladies by the dozen are suggested to him, but every offer is struck down. His people are wary of anyone who isn’t a Stark, and for good reason.
But the Northern people whisper.
_The King in the North already has a queen._
—-
He has a crown forged for Sansa, exactly like his own. It’s smaller than his, but still fashioned from hammered bronze and iron spikes in the shape of longswords. The crown is hard and cold, and beautiful in a rough way. It’s far from the jeweled crown made of gold that Sansa had once dreamed of wearing.
He weds her in a simple ceremony, true to the Northern custom, to unite them completely. They’ll rule together, as The King and Queen in the North.
It silences all whispers of Lannister whore, and commands the respect that Sansa deserves.
His people will not bend the knee to anyone other than a Stark.
And Sansa is a Stark, no matter what they say.
—-
They find each other hungry with want. It brings their lips together in a kiss Robb doesn’t quite understand, and isn’t sure he wants to. It seems to be better to be without questioning, to be driven instead by pure desire.
She’s so desperately lonely. He tastes longing in her kisses. She has no friends, no family but him. It seems strangely fitting that the last two Starks have found a strange love between the two of them. They’re alone in the world, seeking solace in one another.
He thinks of Sansa as a fragile girl, with glass bones and paper skin, but she proves otherwise. They tumble to her bed and she pulls him closer, until their every movement is friction against their skin. He loosens her bodice, baring her from the waist up. His touch on her breasts is gentle, and she flattens his hand against her, demanding more force.
She lifts her skirts and pulls him down to her, before he sinks into her. Anything Robb gives her, she wants more of. Closer, harder, faster. _More_. She meets every thrust with a roll of her hips and Robb doesn’t hold out long, finding release just after she does.
Moments pass, filled him labored breathing and breathy sighs. And then Sansa’s up again, kicking off her skirts and climbing over Robb. She settles over him, bringing her hips down until he fills her again. She throws her head back and makes the sweetest sound. She finds a rhythm all her own, and Robb lets her guide them.
He puts his hands on her hips, helping her find more force. He bucks helplessly beneath her. The sight of her is enough to send him toppling over the edge, the elegant line of her body moving with the sway of their passion. Her auburn hair is matted to her temples with sweat, her expression blissful. |
1dc2c2d9e4f34892902338eddb05987a | ['c89dc44953e7480d8678cad97fae4afa'] | Death Defying
**Author's Note:**
> My brain wouldn't leave me alone until I threw these ideas somewhere. I didn't include all deaths and subsequent scars, just for the sole fact that some of them have died way more than others. Slight spoiler warning as well.
Keyleth has faint lines where her body was stitched back together after the fall. She laughs about it, but at night there's a bone deep ache she can't seem to shake despite the amount of years it's been since. Sometimes when she’s up high above the world, her breath catches and her hands start to shake with a fear she wishes she could leave behind.
Vex will sometimes find herself unable to breath, chest locked and unable to move. It's within those few haunting moments when she can feel herself starting to float away that her body will take in a shuddering breath and allow her to go on her day. She tries to not let it bother her, tries to put on a smile and act like nothing happened.
Vax is very intimate with death, has been for a long time. He’s danced with shadows and walked that razor sharp edge enough times that when he’s finally pushed over, tumbling down into the dark void his heart beats heavy and there’s always a roaring in his ears. Even now, years past these deaths, he can still feel the ghost of hands around his throat or the tearing of the kraken’s teeth along his chest. With a shuddering breath he shoves those memories further down.
Percy has bullet wounds, not a surprise there with his line of work and his past, but there's one near his heart that's jagged and raw. Despite the years of healing, there’s still a nasty black tint that clings to his chest in waving tendrils. He tries not to acknowledge it, though from time to time he catches his hands idly scratching at it.
For Pike, it’s been so long that it’s easy to forget she’s tasted death before. She gets lost in healing and bringing people back, so in the moment until there’s a sharp pain in her abdomen racing along to connect at her back. When she’s not wearing her armor she sometimes catches sight of the faint uneven line right above her hips. It’s easy to forget, easy to lose it among the other extensive scars littering her skin.
Grog has seen his fair share of battles, has seen warriors covered head to toe in wounds and blood. Death wasn’t something he feared. When he’s training late into the night, sweat covered and muscles throbbing as he pushes himself further and further, he can feel it. His breath gets caught in his chest and an unending emptiness will fill him until he can’t feel anything. It’s in these moments he’s truly scared, though they always pass quickly enough for him to forget and continue on like nothing happened.
Scanlan is not a man who’s easily rattled. Even if he was, it’s always been easy to hide behind that facade he’s spent years building up. He tries to lose himself in his music, tries to push the creeping cold away until he can’t. It’s always late at night, when he’s the only one still up, that the chill fully takes him. His body will lock up, his breath coming in panicked bursts as he feels like he’s being frozen once more. When he can shake himself free he sits as close as he can to the fire, staring off at nothing as he waits for morning.
**Author's Note:**
> Extra -
>
> Percy has bullet wounds, not a surprise there, but there's one scar he doesn't speak of even in the early hours he spends alone in his workshop. A ragged scar borders one of his arms, the skin not quite matching up like it used to. Sometimes he swears there’s something off, something different, though he can’t pinpoint the reason why. It’s easy to forget if he tries, though in those early hours it’s all he can think about. That trip felt like a fever dream and while the pain is, or was, real, there is still a part of him that doesn’t believe it. | 970ab80f70a344eca938c53cc386766a | ['c89dc44953e7480d8678cad97fae4afa'] |
Cut the Root
**Author's Note:**
> Me? Writing out my feelings through fictional character? More likely than you think.
The first time Beau had her hair cut short was an accident. She had been out playing in the woods, dress ripped far above the knee and shoes thrown into a pond the moment she was able to kick them off. Her face had been covered in dirt and her long, curled hair had been tangled with sticks and leaves.
When she had returned home, her parents threw a fit. There had been a lot of shouting, of anger and frustration at her for ruining what they had spent hours on that morning. Her mother had tried to undo the mess, chunks of hair being ripped out as she frantically brushed. In the end they decided it would be best to cut it short. She was sent to her room with no dinner that night.
The second time Beau’s hair was cut short was on purpose. She had stolen one of her mother's scissors she used for sewing and snuck back up the stairs, quietly shutting the door to her room and leaning heavily back on it with her heart pounding in her ears. The itch of her hair tickling the back of her neck and tumbling down past her shoulders was too much.
Before she could overthink things, overthink the consequences and her parents, she had moved over to the vanity and grabbed a handful of her tousled hair and cut. As the strands fell from her fingers she had moved in a flurry to cut more and more, tears in her eyes and face drawn tight in determination.
When she had finished, her breath had been stolen as she peered at herself in the mirror. Quickly she had cleaned up the mess, letting handfuls of old hair catch in the breeze as she threw them out her bedroom window.
When she had gone down for dinner that night her father had screamed while her mother had cried. She tried not to let it bother her, the insults and jabs they made. She was sent to her room once more, without dinner. After that they kept a closer eye on her.
The third, fourth, fifth and sixth time blurred and mixed together in a cacophony of emotions and fragments of memories. There had been a lot of late nights spent arguing with her parents. Many nights of doors being slammed and voices raw from defending herself. There were plenty of tears as she had stormed back to her room to grab the now rusting scissors and chop handful after handful of hair off. It was an act of defiance, it was the only thing she had control of.
The seventh time Beau had her hair cut short, she wasn’t alone anymore. Her parents had sent her away after years of trying to mold her into something she was not. When she had entered the library she had seen the other monks, had seen their shaved heads and closely cropped hair. Hers was the longest by far. When she had a chance, later that night, she had snuck away with her scissors in hand.
She had not been expecting to encounter someone else during this. Dairon had been waiting, leaned nonchalantly against the cabinets and her arms crossed across her chest. There had been questions and reluctant answers. When Dairon learned of her intentions, she had told her to wait and left. It wasn’t long before she had returned with a razor and comb in hand.
With a finesse Beau had yet to master, the elf cut and trimmed her hair in a way that shook her to her core. She couldn't stop looking, turning her head from side to side as she admired the work. Dairon had promised to teach her, handing her the razor and leaving without another word.
Somewhere down the line, long past keeping count of each time, someone was watching Beau with rapt attention. The blue tiefling was leaning forward, elbows perched on her open sketchbook as she stared.
"Why do you do that Beau?" Jester asked. Her tail flicked slowly behind her.
"Do what?" Came the gruff response. The monk had a mirror in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other as she carefully trimmed the unruly strands. It was a rare moment her hair was down.
"You always look so intense when you do this and why do you leave the top long if everything else is so short?"
“Because I like it like this and I want to make sure I don’t cut my face.”
“You won’t cut your face if you let me help.” Jester pulled a face as she said this, mouth twisted into a slight frown.
“I - I don’t know. How do I know you won’t shave a dick or something into my hair?”
Jester gasped dramatically, hands flying up to her face. “I would never!”
Beau lowered the mirror enough to stare over at the tiefling with a raised brow. “You say that, but I’ve watched you paint too many dicks on any surface available for me to not trust you.”
“Even if I did, at least hair grows back.” Jester pulled her knees up to her chest, pouting. “But it’s fine! It’s fine if you don’t want my help.”
Beau let out a sigh and fiddled with the rusted scissors. Something in her gut twists, guilt giving way to frustration. Part of her knows Jester wouldn’t do anything she didn’t want, but that fear built from years past has her wanting to run and hide. She had decided long ago that her hair was her own, something only she could cut and trim to be what she wanted. Having someone else do it, to have someone else have that control again isn’t something she’s sure she’s ready for.
After a beat of silence, Beau raised the mirror again and halfheartedly snipped at the last few strands of hair she had yet to clip. “Have you ever cut someone’s hair?” she deflects.
“When I was younger I would sometimes cut my own hair, though it usually wasn’t as pretty as I thought it would be. My momma was usually the one who helped me. She has a fancy pair of scissors that are like, in the shape of a bird?” Jester continued to ramble, hands flying in every direction around her as she spoke.
Beau takes this time to quickly snip any fly aways before pulling her hair back into a topknot. She grabs a red strip of cloth and ties it as carelessly as she can. The monk takes one final look at herself in the mirror, before switching her attention back to the blue tiefling. Jester has stopped talking at this point and gives Beau a small smile in return.
“Maybe next time you need your haircut I could help you out,” Beau muttered.
“I would love that!” Jester nearly shouts. Her tail is waving wildly behind her while her eyes are filled with borderline wonder and excitement. “You could make me look as cool as you do.”
“I don’t -” Beau starts, her face coloring slightly, “Well I mean I think you’re pretty cool as is.”
“You do?” Jester whispered in awe.
“Yea, I think so. But just keep my offer in mind.”
“Of course Beau, that would be wonderful.” |
8e200749bc0f42e494b9d57149a18bca | ['c8cae245af2e4d85b2ea77976464dc8b'] | We enter the tent where I see Agent Carter, we exchange smiles and I realized we are not alone. I snap back to reality, but not before Bucky gave me a smirk. I was worried about Bucky, but I know he wouldn't want to worry me about what was happening with him. “Captain Rogers, we want to form a team of elite soldiers to take down HYDRA threats, so we can once and for end this god forsaken war” Colonel Phillips said, which confused me coming the man who told me I would about result to nothing then turning around saying I could help stop the war.
“I am sorry sir, I don't understand” I said in a confused tone.
“Since your stunt with the weapons facility, the government think that you will lead us to a new and brighter era where there is peace not war, and take down HYDRA. You are the team to do that” He said.
“Well, as long as we can get this war over and done, I'm in” Dum Dum Dugan said and the others nodded with Bucky staying silent. “Looks like it is official, Captain Rogers?” he asked, “I will do what is right” I answer, Peggy smiled at me and I smiled back. We are dismissed from the tent, and sent on our way. We spent the rest of the day wondering around the camp and playing cards in the tent, we were all bored to death.
_3 rd Person POV_
The Howling Commando's sat around a small table in their tent; they looked at each other intently.
“You cheated” Gabe said in shock, as he looked at the card James Falsworth placed on top of the stack of cards placed on the table.
“I did no such thing” James Falsworth replied in disgust
“You did so” Gabe retaliated
“You are just angry because I won fair in square” Falsworth replied with a calm tone, unlike Gabe.
“Gentlemen, settle down before someone loses a limb” Dum Dum intervened.
“I say let them go at, it's entertainment for all of us” Jim Morita said, Dum Dum Dugan gave him a glare.
“Are you guys seriously going to have an argument about a game of cards?” asked Dum Dum, after a long silence Gabe apologized for the accusation and James accepted. They began to play again when Bucky, who was lying on his bed with his eyes closed but with ear listening inattentively. “You guys sure like your card games” he said.
“Well when you have nothing else to do, cards are the only way” Dum Dum Dugan replied, the others snickered.
“I going to go have a shower” Bucky said as he grabbed my stuff and left Steve and the Howling Commando's in the tent while he headed to the showers.
3. Chapter 3
_Steve's POV_
Once Bucky left for the showers, I thought I might tell the others about what happened in the Hydra facility. I jumped off my bed and walked to the others sitting at the small table, “Can I ask a question?” I ask, they all give each other a glance at one another. “Let me guess, about Bucky?” Dum Dum Dugan asked. I was a little surprised, but they obviously knew something was up with him. “Yeah, what happened in the Hydra base?” I asked.
“Well, when the 107th got captured, Zola picked some of us; he said it would benefit us if we follow their orders without question” Dum Dum said with a spite of anger. “Then we were sent to different cells, Bucky was with me. We tried to come up with a plan to escape, but we were caught. Bucky took responsibility for it saying he should take the punishment instead of me and a few others. Zola thought he would be useful, and took him somewhere. I don’t know what happened after that” Dum Dum finished feeling guilty for letting Bucky take the punishment. I felt sick in his stomach, I saw my best friend lying on the metal table delirious.
I felt even sicker knowing that my best friend was taken by Zola and he had experimented on him. _I will kill Zola, for what he has done_ I thought. “You okay, Rogers?” Gabe asked in a concerned voice. I looked up to see everyone’s eyes on me; I nodded with a small smile. I take my leave of the commandos and walk outside of the tent to get fresh air.
I walk ominously through the camp; soldiers looked at me and gave me a smile as they passed. “Captain!” exclaimed a voice. I turned around to see the familiar woman standing outside of her tent. “Agent Carter” I answer, she gives me a smile that could light up anyone’s day. She walks to me, and I meet her halfway. “How are you?” she asked.
“I’m good you?” I answered shyly
“Very busy, the Colonel wants me to do lots of things before we get back to HQ. How is your friend? He didn’t look well this morning” She asked
“Um, I don’t really know, he doesn’t want to talk and he can be more stubborn than me” I answer, she gave me a smirk.
“I am sure you will get through to him.” She said sympathetically. I smiled at her words, she was so out of my league but she was basically the only woman who would actually talk to me. “Let’s hope so” I said with a sigh.
“So, I guess I will see in New York” she said with a smile
“Yeah, I guess you will” I replied.
“Maybe while you are there you could find the right partner to go dancing with” Peggy said.
“What if I already found the right partner” I answer back, with a cheeky smirk. | 47ad578a347d49b6b54b643974fac867 | ['c8cae245af2e4d85b2ea77976464dc8b'] |
1. Chapter 1
Bucky's POV
_Dear Connie, I thought I might let you know I am alive and safe at a base in Italy. I know you must've heard that I was MIA but you can't get rid of me that easily. Myself and the unit were captured and taken to a weapon's facility in the Alps. Every day I was there I thought of you, wishing I could see your face again and to hear your voice. But I guess reading your words are as much as I am going to get. Please when you get this; write back as soon as possible._
I was sitting in my tent that myself, the Howling Commando’s and Steve shared since we came back he stunt Steve pulled to free me and the other soldiers from HYDRA clutches out a couple days ago. After writing the letter I placed it in an envelope and wrote the hospital code that belonged to the last place Connie was positioned. I had found the postal tent it was on its way to Connie. I had a smile on my face which I rarely had since I had been enlisted. But after seeing the horrors of war it was rarity to be able to smile. The Howling Commandos were a team made up of elite soldiers; they were really the only friends I had on the battlefield.
I met Dum Dum Dugan and Gabe Jones before we had been captured by HYDRA. When we arrived at the HYDRA weapons facility, we met French soldier Jaquez Demier, British soldier James Montgomery Falsworth and Jim Morita. After a failed attempt to escape I was sent into the jaws of hell that was the isolation clinic, which Arnim Zola was in charge of and they experimented on me. I don't remember much of it as such but I remember hearing my own screams as they jabbed needles into me. I shuddered at the thought. _I am safe now_ , I thought. My hands started to shake but I hid them out of sight.
I walked back to my assigned tent, there were soldiers walking around and tents filled the camp, it was completely full with soldiers sent straight to other camps when we arrived because of the amount of people Steve saved. I walked into the tent only to see the group sitting around the tent laughing. But when my presence became known they turned to me with large grins. “Where did you go? you ran out of here faster than a speeding bullet” Dum Dum Dugan asked. I sat on my lazy excuse of a bed, but at least there was a bed instead of a metal table, “Had to post a letter” I answered.
“To who?” Gabe asked.
“To a friend” I answered back.
It was about two hours later when Steve finally got back from his meeting with Colonel Phillips, The Commando's and I were telling each other stories. Steve walked in exhausted and he sat down on his bed which was next to mine. “Did you have fun?” I asked with a smirk, all I got in return was an unamused face. “Far from anything related to the word fun” he finally answered. “We all leave for New York in a couple of days where we can all have a break” Steve said.
“I think we can all agree to that” Dugan said aloud which was followed by a cheer of happiness from everyone else. I excused myself from the circle and sat opposite Steve on my bed, “How are you holding up?” he asked as he untied his shoes. “Well, I have all my limbs still and I haven't lost all my sanity” I said jokingly. He looks at me in concern, “Steve, I am fine” I reassure him and I can tell he isn't satisfied. By 6pm we are eating in the mess tent, although we can barely hear ourselves think over everyone's chatter we sit and eat the horrible excuse for food.
We all walk back to our tent and get ready for bed, although the Commandos are still fully awake and playing cards Steve and I lie down on our beds talking to each other. “I saw a poster of you in that costume, I must say you look quite dashing in the America flag” I joked.
“Very funny Buck” he said back.
“No seriously, after the war's ended I am sure there will be a space opened up for you in a musical. Or they could name a musical after you” I continued.
“I will never wear that costume again” he said.
“Keep it, in all honesty although it looks ridiculous. It has become the symbol of hope and freedom and that is exactly what we need” I said. Soon everyone was in bed and sleeping.
_I was lying on a cold metal table and straps held me down as a needle went into my arm causing extreme pain and all I could do was shout. I couldn't move and no one was coming to rescue me. All I could hear was a voice...Zola's. He was talking to what seemed to be a doctor. He turned to me and came close to me as he stuck a needle into my other arm causing me to shout again. My vision became blurred, “What...did...You...to...me?” I ask as I began to lose consciousness. “Sargent Barnes, we gave you a drug that will lead HYDRA into a new era where we become all supreme” He said. Another needle is placed into my skin._ |
e44ba6ad58bb4b9c81c18b1e2a7f9f3a | ['c8e6b150d8b24b0db9a56dcb7612ac6e'] | The apartment, the Chuunin had informed him on the way over, consisted of three rooms— a bedroom in the very back and a kitchen/dining/living room in front with a bathroom sandwiched between them. The sheer compactness of the set-up left Menma wondering if he’d start to develop claustrophobia.
Regardless, he probably wasn’t going to stay in it very long after his probation period. He might keep renting it, but he was thinking of getting a house once Jiraiya started sending the rest of his Uzu-agents out of the field. Or maybe an apartment _ building _. Kami knew the assholes wouldn’t leave him alone. Maybe a shop with an attached apartment for the inevitable all-nighters, and a forge for Tetsuko, as well, if he could get it.
He was getting a little ahead of himself. Menma shook his head and properly entered the apartment.
“I apologize that there’s nothing in the cupboards. All the plumbing works fine, though, and somebody at least brought over _ some _ bedding, so you won’t be sleeping on the floor.” Taro-san came back into the entrance room.
“Eh, that’s fine. I’ve got some field rations leftover, so I can go pick up supplies tomorrow.”
The chuunin didn’t say anything, but his politely wrinkled nose told Menma just what he thought about _ that _ idea.
Menma snorted. “Field _ rations _ , not ration _ bars _. Like hell I’m eating cardboard and glue unless I have to.”
Taro relaxed fractionally. “Good; for a second I thought you were more than a little insane.”
His extraction from Kumo a little over six months ago. How Jiraiya had found him in the first place. That thing in Ame almost four years ago. His trip to Suna a bare month before that. “If you still hold that opinion in six months, I will be genuinely surprised.”
Taro looked at him oddly but changed the subject. “I should really get back to work. Is there anything else you need?”
“Yeah, what’s the policy on the training grounds? Not,” he waved a hand, “the Forest of Death, obviously, but if someone wanted to run a few katas or something like that. Do you just walk onto one and hope no one’s there?”
“Some of them.” Taro frowned absently, looking like he was trying to remember something specific. “A handful of them require permission and some of them with specialized terrain require a reservation. The grounds attached to the Academy are for student use only, of course.”
Menma imagined the result of an Academy student or even a gennin stumbling into a trap a jounin had forgotten to clean up and winced.
“Genin teams have a training ground reserved for them at a specific time, but most of them are generally open. I think 18, 22, and 34 are entirely unclaimed at the moment.” He followed that up with brief directions to each training ground, and a promise to send a list and a map.
Yet another argument for a house— houses had _ yards _ and you could at least run katas without having to worry about someone else randomly wandering through. Usually.
“Anything else?”
Menma paused. “No, I think I’m good. I can always bother some random ninja in the street if I think of anything else.”
Taro eyed him oddly. “If you’re sure, then. Have a good night, Uzumaki-san.”
“Have fun making Hokage-sama do his paperwork.”
The chuunin rolled his eyes and sighed the sigh of someone who dealt with individuals using terrible excuses to justify their behavior on a daily basis.
And then Menma was alone in one of the tiniest apartments he’d ever seen. He was tired, still dragging a little of that general exhaustion around with him that he hadn’t been able to shake for months now in a village he was doing his best to maintain a general neutrality towards until he actually got to know it a little better. Why had he let Jiraiya talk him into this?
Oh, right, sneaky battle fatigue.
He sighed and pulled his tag kit out of its storage seal and started securing the apartment for a temporary stay. He was going to finish off his emergency field rations, fall into bed, and do a little bit of thinking before going to sleep, and while he wasn’t going to do much for the next couple of days— aside from the inanity of _ moving in _ somewhere he could put down a few tentative roots— he would still do some basic training, brush up on some of the clan katas he either knew or had discovered scrolls for. He’d put off the ninjutsu and most of the senjutsu training until everyone was a little less likely to go for a kunai when he inevitably blew something up in his vicinity, though. | 0f0383a0635d444ca838aeff595ea0ee | ['c8e6b150d8b24b0db9a56dcb7612ac6e'] |
Arrival
**Author's Note:**
> Edit: 5/21/20 Fixed teeny thing for continuity reasons. Also formatting.
Menma dropped heavily onto the seat in the bar’s private room, falling into a slouch that he hadn’t quite been able to shake for a full three months now, too tired to particularly care at the flicker of chakra that activated the privacy seals placed here by the room’s other occupant.
Jiraiya looked him over and blinked. “You look like hell.”
“Tired.” The red-head rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.
There was a snort, the sound of liquid being poured, and Menma looked up as the little cup was placed firmly on the table in front of him. “Of?”
Menma shrugged, tapping the relatively clean ceramic with a finger idly, his face resting in his unoccupied hand. “Everything. I haven’t really been able to stop looking over my shoulder since the whole Kumo fiasco, though.”
Jiraiya winced. “Yeah, that’d do it.” He took a sip and let out a long, contented sigh. The silence between them stretched out, not quite comfortable but not exactly awkward either, possibly due to Menma’s sheer exhaustion and inability to care. He’d almost managed to doze off when the older man shifted abruptly and one of the red-head’s eyes snapped to him.
“I’m taking you out of the field.”
_That _ made Menma wake up, although he kept his exhausted slouch. “Why?”
“Because there is a difference between looking like you just walked _ through _ hell and appearing to be a permanent resident,” he said dryly, snagging the bottle, although his eyes stayed on Menma. “You need a chance to _ rest _.”
“I sleep,” the red-head protested a touch sullenly, but it was mostly out of habit. “Sometimes. I think.”
The snort that answered him didn’t actually have much humor in it. “Getting knocked unconscious doesn’t actually count, kid, even if it is done by a medic.”
“Then I apparently haven’t slept in ten years. My whole life is a lie.”
“Getting back to the _ point _,” Jiraiya said, clearly amused, though his teaching face was firmly on, “you need to spend some time in a place where you don’t have to worry about someone sticking a kunai in your back.”
The red-head muttered his impolite opinion about the obviousness of _ that _ statement under his breath.
“I’m sending you to Konoha.”
Menma fixed the white-haired Sannin with a flat look that held just the slightest hint of bitterness. “Yes, just what the doctor ordered for paranoia— being in a Village full of shinobi who don’t know me.”
“There’s a difference between _ watching _ and actively _ plotting _ , kid.” Jiraiya’s expression didn’t change from its implacable stare, though. “You need to get _ out _ of the field, especially considering you’ve basically been there since you were _ eight _.”
Well, Menma wasn’t exactly able to argue with _ that _. He started to take a sip.
“Not to mention, you’ve racked up a pretty sizable amount of mission pay. You’d have to go to Konoha to get that cash, anyway.”
Menma sucked in a breath and promptly began coughing. The old man was going to _ pay _ for that one. Nearly inhaling _ water _ was bad enough; the burn the sake left was going to hang around for a ridiculous length of time.
Jiraiya just glanced over at him as he topped off his cup, and for the life of him Menma couldn’t tell if the innocence was genuine or faked. The amusement definitely was, but that little tidbit might have been something Jiraiya had expected Menma to have figured out on his own. “Kid, you and the rest of your crazy bunch have been pulling A and S ranks for me on behalf of Konoha, especially since the war ended. You think there wouldn’t be compensation?”
“Yes,” Menma said bluntly. “You’re a cheapskate.”
Jiraiya opened his mouth to object, then closed it and winced. “Yeah, okay, I am, but _ I’m _ not the one paying here. _ Konoha _ is. Although,” he admitted, with that particular emotional mix that made Menma internally sit up, “there is a bit of a… personal bonus for what you and your friends did in Ame. That… that was… thank you.”
Menma did not blow that thanks off like he might have even just a few years ago because after you’d lost as many people as they both had, you knew the weight of even just one more person you cared about being kept alive and it sure as _ hell _ wasn’t a thing to make light of. He saluted Jiraiya and downed the little cup of surprisingly good sake instead.
“I’m going to start cycling the rest of your group out soon,” Jiraiya continued. “You’ve all been racking up a little _ too _much notoriety for me to be comfortable leaving you out there.”
“And you’re sending us all to Konoha?”
“Have any better ideas?”
Menma scowled. “No.” Yokohama was an option, technically, but the last thing Menma wanted to do was drag Kumo or, worse, _ Kiri _ down on the little fishing village that was the last and closest (and most stubborn) settlement near the ruins of Uzushio.
Jiraiya stood up and walked over to set a large, warm hand on his shoulder. “Kid, you _ aren’t _ your old man. I know that if you decided you couldn’t stand Konoha, you’d be able to get out and they’d never be able to find you. But just… try?” |
14c0e67801a24bfea9145176266cd072 | ['c8e8a0a154dd4eba9bb2b99c8a92883e'] |
Nightmares
**Author's Note:**
> I know a lot of people ship johnmark as brothers but the thought of flustered johnmark realizing their feelings for each other is too much for my weak heart, and everything I write turns into smut so this is what came of that. It’s only been half edited because I’m lazy so sorry for any shitty writing/mistakes. I also wrote most of this while half asleep so. Enjoy.
This happens often. Mark would never admit to it after the fact, to save his pride, but it definitely happened. Way more than either of them would care to tell.
He’d wake up at some odd hour of the night in a cold sweat, trembling and unable to fall back to sleep after what his own mind would put him through during his slumber. He’d toss and turn and try to go back to sleep on his own, but it was fruitless each time. Each time he’d clamber out of his bed and out of his room, slink down the dark hallways until he reached Johnny’s room, where he’d quietly and slowly crack open the door until he could slip inside. He’d close the door behind him and pad over to the elders bed, climbing in and underneath the covers, snuggling up as close to Johnny as he physically can, the steady breaths and heartbeat in tandem, and the warmth Johnny’s much larger body emits is naturally soothing for Mark. He’s always found comfort in Johnny like that.
He’s so close to the elder, he can feel as he stirs a bit in his sleep, waking up slightly to realize Mark is now pressed against him, but as usual, he doesn’t say a word and silently wraps his arms around Mark to bring him impossibly closer, placing a kiss against his hairline. Within minutes, Mark is falling back into a much better, much deeper sleep, not plagued with his nightmares any longer.
By the time the morning comes and they’ve woken up, untangled their limbs and gotten out of bed, they don’t speak of it. In fact, they’ve never spoken of it. Ever since it had first started happening, they always pretended it didn’t during their everyday lives. Perhaps it was just too awkward of a subject to breach for the two of them, who already struggled in certain ways with showing affection to each other. Things were just too easy to screw up, to permanently make awkward, that they never even dared to speak of it.
Few even knew about the phenomenon, aside from Donghyuck, Jaehyun and Taeyong, who naturally witnessed it due to being roommates with Johnny and Mark. But because Johnny nor Mark never spoke of it, they didn’t either.
It was a way for Mark to deal with his sleeping problems, he just didn’t want to be alone. That’s all it was, and if he was asked, that’s what he would say.
Two nights later, Mark is awoken again by one of his many nightmares, and he climbs out of bed to instinctively make his way to Johnny’s room. He’d done it so many times, he hardly had to think about it.
It wasn’t that late, probably around midnight, which was earlier than his dreams would usually wake him up. It was normally a more obscure hour of the night, but that didn’t change the fact that he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep until he was being held in Johnny’s arms.
As he crept down the hall and cracked the door open, he immediately saw that Johnny’s laptop light was shining, and as his eyes spanned just slightly farther, he realized Johnny was awake, sitting on his bed on his laptop. Mark’s eyes widened, and he was about to turn and run off, because he’s never come to sleep in Johnny’s bed while Johnny was awake. He was always asleep, and it was never an awkward moment because of that. Mark wasn’t about to get himself into this situation in which he’d have to actually talk to Johnny face to face. That would definitely make him cringe for weeks.
“Mark, is that you?”
Of course. Johnny had seen him.
With a small sigh to himself, Mark opens the door so Johnny can fully see him, eyes wide, looking afraid and meek at the same time. He doesn’t even lift his eyes to make contact with Johnny’s, just stares at the floor. Johnny, from his position on the bed, bites down on his lip and cringes inwardly at himself, closing his laptop and placing it beside him on the bedside table.
He didn’t really know what to say, as they’d never spoken during a time like this. They’d never spoken after Mark had come to his bed after a nightmare. So he settled for lifting the blanket as an invitation, and almost to Johnny’s shock, Mark immediately shuffled to climb into the older’s bed, snuggling up to him without hesitation.
Johnny’s arm moved to wrap protectively around Mark’s shoulder, letting him rest his head against the older’s chest. They could probably get away with this, no words needing to be spoken. But the silence, unlike usual, is dreadful. There’s a heavy tension that rises in the air the longer the two stay silent, both of their eyes wide open. Johnny knows he can’t relax. So after a long moment of silence, Johnny finally decides to speak, breaking the tension that was gradually rising the longer they kept their mouths closed.
“So... did you have another nightmare?” He asked, letting his hand run soothingly against Mark’s shoulder. It was a terribly stupid question, and he wanted to hit himself, but Mark offered a tiny nod nonetheless. | ec87815a2fbb4bfcb38a2520934304eb | ['c8e8a0a154dd4eba9bb2b99c8a92883e'] | “I didn’t know you were still awake... I’m sorry for disturbing you...” he said quietly. Johnny stayed still for a moment, brows furrowed in thought. He moved a bit, turning to lie on his side so he was facing Mark, an arm going around his waist this time instead.
“You don’t have to be sorry. You know I’m always here for you if you need me.” He said, giving a small smile. But Mark still looked... what was it? Perhaps it was sad?
“I know. I don’t deserve you, hyung. Thank you.” He says, cheeks reddening, struggling to make eye contact with the older, though he did catch the fond smile on Johnny’s lips from the corner of his eyes. This was possibly the most tender moment they’d ever shared together. They never got sentimental with each other like this, it was always the two of them goofing off and joking around. It was a certain energy that Johnny loved being around, and this energy was so drastically different. Not that he didn’t like it, because although it was terribly awkward for the two of them to become accustomed to, he could see himself getting used to it.
“You mean a lot to me, Mark. I’d do pretty much anything for you.” He chuckled, which transitioned into a yawn. He smacked his lips and exhaled deeply. He was getting tired again.
Mark giggled.
Johnny opened one eye and was met with Mark staring at him, a playful smile decorating is face. “What?”
“You look funny when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“I don’t know. When you yawn. Your face makes me laugh.”
Johnny cocked a brow, but his lips were involuntary curling into a smile.
“Am I a joke to you, Mark Lee?”
Mark laughs.
“Ever since day one, Youngho.”
Johnny can barely contain the smile that spreads across his face as he moves the hand on Mark’s waist to tickle at his sides, which immediately garnered the reaction he was looking for. Mark jerked and writhed, giggling and trying to push Johnny’s hand away. “Stop! Stop it! It hurts!” He said in a fit of laughter, finally succeeding in grabbing Johnny’s hand and halting his tickle attack.
With Johnny’s hand in his, it was like an instinct to intertwine their fingers, a gesture more intimate than they’ve really gone.
And the space becomes silent again. But this time, Mark can’t tear his eyes away from Johnny’s. He suddenly realizes how close they are, how he’d somehow shimmied even closer to the older in his fit of giggles, probably only a few inches apart. The position of their intertwined hands in between them is awkward, being held up, and Mark’s arm is starting to get tired. But it feels like it would be physically painful to let go.
His heart rate increases as he catches Johnny’s eyes flitting down to his lips, then back up. He feels everything, every limb that’s touching, the skin that’s on skin. Time feels like it slowing down.
Johnny’s hand is the first to move, untangling their fingers, but before Mark can complain about the lack of contact, he feels the same hand delicately cupping his cheek. He flushes again, not even really knowing what’s happening anymore.
Should he say something? Should he stay silent? Mark’s mind is racing a mile a minute, but it all halts when Johnny finally decides to be the one to break the silence once again.
“Is this okay, Mark?”
He barely knows what it means, but his unfaltering trust for his hyung answers for him.
“Yeah.”
Before Mark can give it a second thought, Johnny is kissing him. Full on, mouth to mouth, kissing him. Johnny moves his lips so gently and delicately against Mark’s, and pulls away not three seconds later, to gauge Mark’s reaction. Mark’s lips curl into an (adorable) pout and he quite literally whines. “Why’d you stop?”
“I didn’t know if you liked it.”
“Please kiss me again, hyung.”
With a newfound confidence, Johnny dives back in, kissing Mark like he means it this time. Mark’s cute lips fit so perfectly against Johnny’s fluffy ones. Mark decides he could get used to kissing his hyung.
Two or so minutes pass, before Mark gets too flustered to let it go on any longer. He moves his arms to wrap around Johnny’s long neck, tugging him so they’re now laying back against the bed, Johnny finding his way in between Mark’s legs. In this new position, Mark’s legs instinctively wrap around Johnny’s waist, linking at the small of his back, pulling Johnny’s body flush against his. He loves how it feels, to be this close to Johnny. He loves it way more than he would have expected.
Finally, at some point, Johnny pulls away, lips swollen and red, matching Mark’s beautifully.
After a moment of silent eye contact, the two of them begin to laugh. Mark can hardly believe this just happened, but he’s strangely okay with it. He’s just surprised they hadn’t woken either of Johnny’s roommates. They really did sleep like rocks.
“It’s late. I shouldn’t have been up anyway but I was working on some stuff. Let’s go to sleep.” Johnny says, kissing Mark’s cheek and letting it linger for just a moment, before he pulls away and moves to flop back down on the bed. Mark sighs in content, turning onto his side facing away from Johnny, so the elder can press his chest against Mark’s back, effectively spooning him, and the feeling of Johnny’s warm breathes puffing against his neck is enough to lull him into a much needed sleep. |
550d1d50f1f5462986f0f12351b35386 | ['c8f32c3758a4449f89c6ae6714279276'] | After leaving the room, you went straight to the bathroom and got some warm water ready for a bath. As the water ran you looked through your closet to find a few old clothes that your big brother used to wear (just go along with it) and gathered all the clothes for Akaashi to wear. You bundled it up and took a fresh clean towel as well for him to use. "Hey Akaashi-" you said as you opened the door to his room and to your surprise you saw his bare back and DAMN IT WAS TONED. He immediately turned around to see you wide-eyed. It took a second for the both of your faces to turn bright red. "I'm sorry, here are your clothes and the bath is ready and you can use it whenever." you said in a single breath as you dropped the clothes in his room and slammed the door shut.
2. Chapter 2
**[Continuation after seeing Akaashi's abs]**
After that mini-fiasco and Akaashi's bath, you had prepared some hot tea and biscuits for both of you. "So, you play volleyball and you're in the volleyball club at your school. Which school do you go to?" "Fukurodani Academy." He replied as you nodded. "But wow, I can't believe your body can get that much with just volleyball." "Normally you wouldn't but I'm part of the varsity team and I take volleyball seriously.”
_DING_
Your phone made a sound and you just had noticed that it was late, “I forgot that it’s a school night, let’s call it a day then.” You said as you stood up and made your way to the hallway and Akaashi did the same. “Good night.” You said smiling at him before entering your room, but before you could close the door, you could hear his distinctive reply of ‘good night’ as well.
**[NEXT DAY]**
Akaashi had once again used the bathroom of a lady and he was uncomfortable beyond all means. He was thinking deeply under the running water of the shower; his thoughts clouded about how he had gone into a lady’s apartment, used her bathroom, and is using her money as well. He was devastated by how he felt he was becoming less of a man more and more. Akaashi had even thought of just breaking down his apartment door himself but he knew that he could not cover the expenses of having to replace his door. “Ahhh.” A small disgruntled scream left his mouth as he thought in frustration. He really felt grateful for you giving him a place to stay, he felt grateful for how you trusted him enough to let him into your home, he felt grateful for having met you. “That’s it; I’ll just make up for everything. I’ll do the chores, the laundry, cooking, cleaning. I’ll do it all.” He had silently promised to himself that he will not be a burden to you while he stayed here.
“Hey, varsity boy!” He was pulled from his thoughts as he heard you knocking on the bathroom door. “You better hurry up or you’re going to be late for school. I’m also running late here~” You called out. ‘Great, first day here and I’m already breaking my promise.’ He thought to himself as he finished up.
“Damn, you look good.” You said, seeing him in his school uniform, “a tie looks really good on you.” You giggled. He looked away at your comment a slight blush forming on his nose, “…ou look nice as well” He muttered in a low whisper, “What was that? I didn’t hear you.” you lied, you heard him, but it was fun teasing him. “Come on, what did you say?” you smiled, “It’s nothing. Aren’t you running late already? Let’s go.” He said as he passed you to the entranceway, “awww, is someone shy?” you teased. You continued to tease him and he continued to deny and grunt in frustration. Soon you both separated to the direction of the schools you were going to. | 2c432dcff8084debbb8cb69fea1e2ed5 | ['c8f32c3758a4449f89c6ae6714279276'] | You said goodbye to Kenma as he left for practice, “See you tomorrow!” you waved to him and he nodded as he waved back and left the room. You started tidying up your stuff and headed home. You looked through your phone and just finally remembered the reminder that rang last night while you were talking with Akaashi, it was a notification of a sale happening at a local supermarket near your place and since you were running out of groceries anyway, it’s time to go grocery shopping and thus you made your way to the store.
Pushing the shopping cart in front of you, you scanned the aisles for everything that you needed. But you thought to yourself what would Akaashi like and recalling that he’s a varsity, you thought that maybe he has a strict diet or something like that. You decided to try leaving him a message but then you realized that you don’t know his number yet, “I’ll have to ask him for it later.” You’ve finally finished shopping, “I think I got a little too excited, didn’t I?” you said as you looked at the grocery bags that were lined up for you to carry home, “would you like for us to deliver it to your home?” a staff attendee asked you but you politely declined. “Okay, let’s do this.” You were motivated to bring these all home but the bags were heavier than you thought they would be.
You were grunting as you left the supermarket, several shopping bags in both your hands and your school bag on your shoulder as well. Your arms were getting pretty tired but soon your brown eyes landed on a pair of familiar metal blue ones. “Y/N?” Akaashi was apparently on his way home and had passed by the supermarket to buy water, “Let me help you with those.” He immediately reached for all of the shopping bags and carried them with ease. All the weight you felt in your arms had disappeared, “You make it look so light.” You commented as he stood with all the bags in hand, “at least let me carry some, I don’t want to have you carry all of them.” You reached for the bags but he pulled back, “It’s fine, I can manage this much.” “No, let me carry some.” The quarrel went back and forth like so but Akaashi realized your stubbornness and gave in, “Fine, here.” He gave you one shopping bag but it was the lightest of all and it barely weighed anything, you looked back to him and he said, “You can take that one and you can carry my bag, what do you say?” You pondered for a moment and finally agreed. “Alright. Give it here.” You leaned towards him to take the bag from his shoulder. This caught Akaashi off guard due to the sudden proximity he was with you but he fought the urge of the reddening of his face if that were even possible. He could’ve sworn he held in his breath, but not before getting a whiff of the shampoo you wore that really threw him off.
“There, I got it!” you said with a smile as you carried his bag. “Hey, your ears are red. You okay?” you asked to which he looked away and started walking ahead. “Hey! Wait up!” you called out as you took your bag and his and the lightest shopping bag he gave you and the both of you made your way back home, side by side.
4. Chapter 4
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> Sorry, this chapter came out a bit late. I'm not feeling well right now and I've been away from my computer but I uploaded it nonetheless. Thank you for waiting~
“You bought quite a lot.” Akaashi commented as he set down the bags at the kitchen counter. “Yeah, I got carried away.” You chuckled, “because we’re having curry for dinner!” you exclaimed. “Really? Do you know how to cook curry?” he asked and you slowly looked away. “Uhh, about that. No harm in trying something new, right?” you nervously smiled and Akaashi was dumbfounded. After much deliberation, the both of you decided to cook it together. Haha. It was chaos.
A: “Y/N! Where are the potatoes?”
Y: “It’s there!”
A: “It hasn’t been peeled!”
Y: “I thought you were going to do it?”
A: “I’m handling the chicken.”
Y: “Akaashi!!!! Its burning!”
Yep, it was chaos. But somehow the both of you managed to finish the curry and were tired. “We did it.” You laughed as you lied down on the couch. “Let’s set the table now, I’m starving.” Akaashi said as he carried the pot full of curry. “You think we made too much?” you giggled and laughed more when you finally took in the appearance of Akaashi. He was wearing your pink apron with frills that was a tad bit small for him and he carrying wooden ladle for the curry pot that he had just set on the table. He looked at you and asked you what was funny, “that look looks great on you.” your laughter grew louder as he noticed, “This was the only thing you had!” he exclaimed as he quickly removed the apron and was screaming for you to sit down to eat. “Yes, mom~” you giggled as you finally sat down and the both of you were finally enjoying the curry you two made. “…Akaashi?” “Yeah?” “We made too much didn’t we?” “Yeah.”
**[THE NEXT DAY]** |
b6e2125d89694d008b8d2cd0e7deed2f | ['c919da9497e74734a2b76124f7f7b057'] | He wonders how close he can get to release before Kageyama gets back. His question was answered as right as he was nearing completion Hinata heard the front door open. _That was fast._ He thought. Hinata quickly recovered himself as Kageyama’s footsteps raced up the stairs.
He appeared through the door panting hard with a plastic bag with a few items in it. “I…I got it!” he wheezed.
“Did you run all the way there and back?” Hinata questioned. Kageyama nodded as he made his way over to sit next to him. “You should have saved that energy for me.” Hinata poked at his tired boyfriend’s arm.
“Don’t worry, I have a bunch of energy saved up for you tonight.” He said with a smirk as he held up the bag that was in his hand. He dug inside and brought out a small box of condoms and a bottle of strawberry scented lube. “Thought you would like.” He said bashfully. Hinata giggled. Kageyama placed both items on his night stand. “Come here you.”
Kageyama pulled the other boy into his embrace. “Kage-mmn!” Hinata was silenced as he was kissed deeply and passionately by eager lips. He kissed back instinctually as he went ahead and let things happen.
Hinata wrapped his arms around Kageyama’s shoulders as he let the taller male press his back to the sheets. He figured he might as well enjoy this while it lasts.
They’re tongues pressed together occasionally as they tried not to bite each other’s lips. Hinata was usually the one to bite but Kageyama would just scold him for doing it so roughly.
Kageyama shifted so that he was in between Hinata’s legs as he lie on top of him. Kageyama was still a lot taller and broader than Hinata which made the ginger jealous on many occasions. However despite the height difference, they’re crotches still managed to make contact enough for Hinata to feel Kageyama’s bulge through his pants.
“You’re hard.” Hinata commented.
“To be honest, I’ve been full sail this entire time.” He admitted with a small chuckle. He then leaned down to kiss Hinata’s exposed neck. The boy was getting more and more aroused but at the same time he was starting to get worried.
Hinata bucked his hips for more friction which encouraged Kageyama to grind down. Hinata gasped as his legs fell open even wider. “T-tobio…” he panted.
“I love it when you say my name.” Kageyama bit down on Hinata’s neck as he ground his hips even more. This sweet sensation curled Hinata’s toes as he gripped the back of Kageyama’s shirt. He couldn’t even think straight. It felt so good he felt like he could come by just doing this.
Then suddenly Kageyama stopped. “Are you not feeling it?” he looked down at the boy whose face was flushed from the stimulation. Hinata froze.
He probably noticed the lack of bulge in Hinata’s pants. _Here comes the moment of truth._ He thought with a gulp. “Uh…well, I am…it’s just…” he could make eye contact. “I actually have something to confess.” Hinata slid from underneath him so they both sat up.
“What’s wrong?” Kageyama’s face was full of concern. He took both of Hinata’s hands and rubbed them comfortingly.
“It isn’t easy to say this…” he began. “I’m not…well…I don’t exactly have…what you have…” he said slowly, carefully selecting his words. Kageyama’s eyes narrowed in confusion.
“What do you mean?...you don’t…what?”
“I don’t have a penis okay! There, I said it!” Hinata exclaimed. _Bakayama! You’re gonna make me feel like crying!_ He thought furiously.
“Wait, what?” Kageyama looked incredulous. “Are you…Are you serious?” His eyes then moved to Hinata’s crotch. He immediately covered himself with his hands.
“I-I don’t know! I wasn’t born with one…” His voice tapered off.
“Then what _do_ you have? Are you telling me that you have a vagi-“
“You don’t have to say it!” Hinata was quick on the defense. He pressed his legs together, still feeling moist from their earlier activities. Kageyama’s eyes were wide. He looked lost for words for a moment. The small moment of silence is killing Hinata. He finally confessed and he’s making him wait so long for a response. All the worst case scenarios kept popping up in his mind.
“C-can I see?” Kageyama said. Hinata looked up immediately at his face which was filled with curiosity.
“Wha…” Hinata was dumbfounded. All these years of hiding it and that’s his response? “Screw you, show me yours first!” Hinata snapped.
“Okay, we’ll do it together.” They stood up putting their hands at the hems of their pants. “You ready…” Hinata nodded nervously. “1…2…3!”
As they both pulled down their pants, Hinata watched Kageyama’s erection sprang from his loins. Hinata was surprised at how big it was. But it’s not like he sees penises on a daily bases.
“Whoa, so you were telling the truth.” Kageyama looked astounded.
“Of course I was telling the truth, dummy!” Hinata huffed. His pants were around his mid thighs but he pulled his shirt down to try and cover himself bashfully.
Kageyama put his hands and Hinata’s hips and pulled him close. He didn’t hesitate to press his lips against Hinata’s. The smaller boy made a bewildered noise. “You still…wanna do it?” he asked in between kisses.
“Yeah, of course. I mean sure I have a lot of questions, but let’s wait till after.” He said hungrily then continued kissing him.
Hinata was confused but elated. He kissed back with equal passion. Hinata had questions too but right now he felt like being taken with his deep desire. He squeaked at the feeling of Kageyama’s hot length poking his stomach. They were so close to doing it, he felt like he couldn’t breathe. | b4759c91177545bf8bd80627beb780d7 | ['c919da9497e74734a2b76124f7f7b057'] | I began shoveling my food down so dinner can go by faster. I think if this goes on further I’m soon gonna explode from the tension. “Thanks for the meal.” I mumbled as I stood. Kuroo was done eating before I was however. “Mom, can I go walk Kuroo back home?” I asked as politely as possible. Kuroo lives next door so it’s not a far walk.
“Ok, but come back soon.” She gave me a look that I knew all too well. I know I’m in trouble, but I don’t know to what extent. I gulped nervously.
* * *
The moment we left the house, the tense air lifted. “Are we in trouble?” Kuroo said earnestly.
“I don’t know about you, but I sure am.” I huffed. I’m now afraid to think if my mother will ask about our relationship. Will she not allow me to see him? She couldn’t do that because she’d have to make me quit the volleyball team. She wouldn’t do that, could she?
“I’m so sorry.” Kuroo sighed.
“Don’t be, it’s not your fault.” I shivered a little at the cool fall air. I only hand on a hoodie and jogging pants. Kuroo put his arm around me and rubbed my shoulder as we walked.
“I guess we were both to blame. We got a little carried away.” He chuckled. “To be honest, I completely forgot she was there.”
I gave him an incredulous look. He laughed. “Count ourselves lucky. I mean if my parents found out I dumped my ex and got with you they’d kill me _and_ you.” He said in a joking manner. I hope he was just joking. Kuroo’s parents were always nice to me. I’ll just ignore it for now.
We briefly arrived at Kuroo’s front door. “See you later, sweet cheeks.” Kuroo planted a firm kiss on my lips. “That thing we did earlier. Let’s do that more often.” He winked. I blushed really hard as I remembered how intense we were earlier. I can’t believe we actually did all that.
I shook my head. I have to mentally prepare myself for what’s waiting for me at home.
* * *
I quietly entered the front door. “I’m home.” I said quietly. I thought I could reach my room before my mom could catch me but she was sitting in the living room.
“Kozume, Come here, I’d like to speak with you for a moment.” She called. I flinched, but I entered the room anyway. She sat there with her arms crossed over her chest and her expression was stern. “Isn’t there something you would like to tell me?”
I didn’t say anything for a second. I just stood there for a second too afraid to sit down as well. “…I...I wasn’t sure how to tell you…” I fiddled with my fingers anxiously. She waited with an expecting look on her face. “Kuroo and I are…dating now. H-he’s my boyfriend.”
“I see.” She nodded gently. “How long have you been together like this? When were you going to tell me?” she questioned. I couldn’t make eye contact. I shifted from foot to foot looking at anything but her.
“About a month or so…I was going to tell you, but I just uh…” I stammered. I was taken aback when she suddenly sighed.
“I’m fine with you two dating, honey. I just wish you would trust me with this kind of information.” She said softly. This time I made eye-contact.
Everyone says I look like my mom. Our eyes had the same color and shape. Both my mom and dad had black hair like me, but my mom and I shared more distinct feline features as some say. “Come here.” She gestured for me to sit next to her on the couch.
She wrapped her arms around my shoulders and pulled my head to her chest. I was use to this since she tended to do this to me often. She combed her thin fingers through my hair tenderly. “Are you gay?” she asked me softly. I nodded my head.
“I guess that makes sense. You never really talked about girls much. It’s so unexpected though. I don’t think I’ve ever thought of preparing for something like this.” She said. “You’re growing up so fast, I can barely keep up. I’m glad you at least picked someone I can trust. He’s a much better choice than some girl I’m not familiar with.” She continued as she gently stroked my scalp. I savored the feeling as I loved it when she does this.
Suddenly she grabbed my cheeks to make me look up at her. “More importantly Kozume Kenma. I will not allow such perverted things happening in my presence! I was hoping you’d save yourself until you were at least eighteen!” she scolded.
“We didn’t have sex, mom!” I whined as my cheeks heated up.
“You are still my baby Kozume! You are still only sixteen years old. I can’t stand the thought of you boys exploring each other’s bodies before you’re ready!” she argued.
“Mom stop! Gross! Don’t say that!” I stood up and covered my ears. I cannot believe she is saying all of this to me!
“Ah, I’m sorry I don’t mean to embarrass you but it’s true. I just want you to be safe, honey.” She said sincerely. I frowned.
“I’m going to bed.” I said then immediately walked out of the room. I heard her call out a goodnight before I got up the stairs.
I plopped face down onto my bed with exhaustion. I felt so drained. So much has happened within the past few hours. I was thankful that my mother was so accepting of me. I was trying so hard not to break into tears earlier.
It seems that it was just about time for me to come out anyway.
I looked at my phone to see that I got a text from Kuroo. |
cdf45653a6654c09bb5f6af1781bd8f4 | ['c955a4c4cb044a42aa4090c057a02c1d'] | "No. Go to her. I... We'll be fine." Remus let go of Harry's hand and called out loudly, "Harry! How good of you to come and see how we're doing!"
Harry scowled at Remus. "Jerk."
Remus smirked, "Your point?"
The door to Ginny's office opened slowly. "You think I don't know what games you're playing, Remus?" Ginny walked out into the Infirmary and sighed as she observed her family. Even joking now, Remus was nervously watching Severus. As for Harry, she didn't think he could look more worried about what she'd hex him with. "You heard Remus, Harry. Let's go."
Harry looked up at his wife and saw the sparkle in her eyes. He knew it would take a bit, but everything would work out there. "Alright, love."
She smiled, "Don't you love me. You're still in trouble."
The Boy-Who-Lived nodded and winked. "Yes, Ma'am." He stood up and followed his wife to the main doors. He turned at the last second, "Call us the minute he wakes up, Remus. Please?"
Remus acknowledged the silent plea, "Of course." He waved the couple off. "Go on. Snuggle those girls of yours."
Ginny smiled and took Harry's hand in hers. She pushed open the doors and pulled him along. She turned one last time and saw Remus climb onto the small cot to lie next to Severus. Remus would know what to do. He knew now though he couldn't see it. Everything would be fine.
***
Remus opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling. He must have moved in his sleep. The last thing he had known... he had been facing Severus. He started to turn and felt an arm on his tighten. "Severus!"
His bedmate smiled softly, "I didn't want to wake you. You've no doubt been here since the accident."
The werewolf turned himself in the hospital bed and took Severus' hand in his. "I slept a little."
"Not much," Severus snorted.
Remus only smiled. "I missed you."
"I love you."
Those simple words tore a sob from Remus as he tried to pull his Severus... his lover to him. "I didn't know what I was going to do. I sat here for hours and didn't know if I could do it. If I could forgive you."
Severus held his lover tightly, "And what have you decided?"
Remus snuggled closer and almost laughed. "Leave it to you to ask in such a clinical manner if I'm going to leave you or not."
"I would not be myself if I begged for you to stay."
Remus grinned as he breathed in the scent that was uniquely Severus. "You never beg. Except in bed of course."
Severus brought his lips to Remus' forehead and kissed him lightly. "Indeed." He pulled back and looked into the warm gold-brown pools of Remus' eyes. "Will you leave me?"
Harry had been right, Remus thought. He did know. The second he locked eyes with Severus he knew he could never abandon everything they had. "Severus, we all make mistakes. Sometimes the mistakes seem horrifying. But there is always a moment when forgiveness is possible. When fixing it doesn't matter as much as the love."
Severus remembered those words well and bit his lip. His words were nearly a whisper, "Thank you."
"There is something I need to confess though." Remus mumbled.
"You destroyed my lab and office out of revenge?" Severus raised his eyebrow in sarcasm.
Remus grinned, "I thought about it, but no. I..." he hesitated. "I slept with him, Sev."
The Potions Master sighed and brought Remus' lips to his. Their kiss was slow and loving. "I know. I remember." He held Remus' face to force their eyes to meet. "And it changed me, Remus. Without that one moment, I might have stopped all of this from happening. You have no idea..." he sighed as he tried to find the words. Even after all of this time... all of these changes, he often found it hard to express what he was feeling. Even to Remus. "No idea how much the fact that you loved me changed me. I suddenly couldn't imagine my life without you. When you touched me in the lab that day... all those years ago... I could barely think. All I wanted to do was jump you and kiss you until you couldn't think anymore."
Remus smiled, "I wish you had."
The laugh was warm and relieved. "I know that now."
"What settled it all for you? Really?" Remus asked. He had to know.
Severus thought for a moment. "The look in your eyes when I told you I loved the elusive 'him.' The fear and loneliness in Harry's eyes when he brought me that assignment. I had told myself I couldn't take you away from each other. I was sure I had. I needed for you and Harry to have each other."
"And?"
The snarky man smirked, "Then I got selfish for once in my life. I had to have you both. And I, foolishly I might add, believed you both needed me."
Remus smiled, "We do. Your family does need you." He felt his exhaustion creeping up on him. He mumbled, "I love you."
Severus laughed softly, "Sleep, Remus. Harry and I will be waiting as always." | 010327e08f944babab889d8894e5c86a | ['c955a4c4cb044a42aa4090c057a02c1d'] | "You may go. Get some dinner before the dinner hour is over." Severus waved the girl off and looked at the bottle in his hand. He would never have made a mistake like this. And he never allowed the students to bottle scarab beetle. It was too expensive. Somehow he must have made the mistake. But why? Severus groaned and set the bottle down to rub his forehead. He needed to get back to his rooms and to Remus and Evan. Maybe it would all make sense in a few days when he returned to his own time. He must have had a reason for doing this.
As Severus set the bottle down, it slipped and rolled to its side. Suddenly, Severus snatched the bottle back up. There on the bottom of the bottle... clear as day... was another label. In Severus' handwriting. Annie Jacobsen, Hufflepuff. What in the hell was going on here?
9. Day Four/Five: Research
Severus looked at the bottle in front of him for what had to be the seventieth time tonight. He knew that he had promised Remus he would return early but it wasn't working out that way. What had happened to allow him to mislabel this ingredient? Why had he labelled it with the name of a student who hadn't even been enrolled in Hogwarts at the time? What the hell had he been thinking? He couldn't have this. Remus wasn't his. This was all some elaborate dream... wish... thing. What made him think he could... should influence any of it?
He groaned and picked up the bottle. He glared at it in frustration for a minute before launching it at the fireplace in his office. The glass shattered as the pieces of horned slugs slid into the flames. Severus dropped gracelessly into his desk chair and began to bite his bottom lip. Acetone? He still didn't know what Pansy had done to Longbottom's Yedrin Elixir. How could he have let himself go like this? He should have been working on all of this. He didn't have forever. He only had three days left. Progress! That's what he needed.
Severus let his head fall against the surface of the desk. Sometimes a man just needed to bang his head against a wall and be done with it. There were too many possibilities to consider. There were too many things that could have had an influence that day in the Potions classroom. It was migraine-inspiring.
Speaking of migraines... Severus lifted his head from the desk and looked down at his scribbled notes. Nothing was organized. He had books piled up around him. There was a stench of burned slug filling the room. Harry had already assured him that the return trip would involve an accident. But the trip that brought him here. Brought him to this wonderful life. What was it?
The Potions Master dove back into his nearly photographic memory and began to recite the ingredients he had seen Neville use that day. He could clearly remember 14 of the 16. Draco had admitted to there being a 17th... something that would have had neither a temporal nor an explosive effect when added to Yedrin's Elixir. He had to be sure about those last two ingredients. Longbottom must have screwed up one of the two. Even though Severus remembered seeing both vials sitting at Longbottom's station, he had not seen the boy use them. Harry would not have noticed. Not until the explosion anyway. Draco wouldn't have watched until Pansy had tossed her ingredient in.
He was missing something big. The books he had been looking in for the last hour had told him nothing. Severus looked up at the small desk timekeeper he used to find it was nearly eleven. So much for an early night. Perhaps Remus would forgive him. Although Evan might never forgive him. Severus smiled at his thoughts. A lover and another godson? Who was he kidding? He didn't deserve this but he knew he wanted it.
He closed the open books on his desk and stood up slowly. It must have been colder in his office than he thought. His knees felt stiff and his back was aching. Gods, he needed a hot bath and a good night's sleep. Time to get home.
The walk down the dark hallway was boring as usual. The only thing that inspired Severus to continue was the thought that Remus and Evan waited for him. He said the password as soon as he reached the portrait guarding his suite and walked into the living room. He could see in the soft candlelight that Remus was slouched on the sofa with Evan wrapped in a blanket on his chest.
He stepped up to the sofa and carefully picked up his godson. The small boy woke up and whimpered. "Go back to sleep, Evan. Onkel is here." Severus then reached down and lightly shook Remus' shoulder. "Remus? Wake up."
Remus opened his eyes and smiled at his partner. "I thought you were going to be early tonight."
"So did I. Come along." Severus led the way to their bedroom. He allowed Remus to take Evan from him. "I need a bath."
"Take one. I'll put Evan down."
Severus nodded and went into the bathroom. The goblet he had noticed from earlier in the week was still sitting in the sink. This time he didn't glare at it. He didn't find himself disgusted by it. It simply was.
"Sev?" Remus had stuck his head into the bathroom. "Are you going to sit up any longer?"
Severus shook his head as he began to undress. "No. I will come to bed as soon as I am done."
"Good. I'll see you there." Remus started to leave.
"Remus, wait." Severus hated to bring this up but had decided that Harry was right. He couldn't take advantage of the situation. "Not while Evan is here." |
029c7636f10a429495e4742d8c9b96e5 | ['c964f41da7884e17807d4861cb7c203f'] | Bodie nodded, twisting Sam’s arm further up behind his back.
Within minutes, Annie had arrived, rather bent slim manila folder in hand.
Thanking her, Gene leafed through the pages, heart in his mouth. He’d better have remembered this right or he was going to look bloody stupid…
And worse than that, he’d be wrong. Everything would be wrong.
Wait - there it was!
“Listen” he said, running his finger along under the typed text as he read, “This is from the statement from the lead worker at the community project where Frank went. ‘At weekends, Frank liked to help move the art materials around. He had a little bicycle cart and he’d take the stuff to and fro. He went to the houses, even, they didn’t mind. I mean the houses of the other volunteers – Mrs Frampton, Mrs Morgan and Mrs George.’” Gene looked up triumphantly. “Sam, you’re confused, not everything’s joining up properly yet, or at least you can’t see all the links, but maybe you’re actually thinking more clearly than you know.”
And Gene reached into his pocket, to produce the small model cat they’d earlier retrieved from Sam’s coat.
“Really, Hunt,” Bodie sighed, “This is no time for jokes.”
Rolling his eyes, Gene moved to his other pocket, located a hip flask, brought it out and with an almighty crash brought it directly down onto the cat.
The clay split into a million pieces, revealing – falling from the hollow centre like a treat from a Kinder Surprise – a small black roll of microfilm.
“I’d be careful” Gene laughed joy sneaking in under nonchalance, “From what I understand there’s half the secrets of state in there.” And he raised his loyal flask to his lips with a sublime smile.
\- - -
“I wrote it out there in the house” Sam was saying later, much later, “which Morgan thought was odd, and then I photographed it on my Minox – my subminature camera – which he thought was frankly bizarre, but I just told him to complain to the PM if he didn’t like it. I was going to post it to CI5 HQ via the usual channels, rolled up in an empty ball-point pen.”
As he spoke, a police secretary was scribbling shorthand, and an important man in London listened through a two-way radio. Sam was in fact entirely surrounded with a wall of attentive people, as he sat at Gene’s desk - like that painting of the last supper, Gene thought.
And before Sam Tyler departed from this station he spake unto us, revealing the truth, for he knew it was his time to leave…
Sod it, he was getting all nancily poetical - it had been far too long a day.
Sam took a deep breath, rearranging some paperclips on Gene’s desk as if to better order his thoughts, “I was just finishing up when I heard Victor coming, and I…panicked, I suppose. I tried to get through the house, got to the hallway and there were these trays of clay things, I barely looked at them, just shoved the film into the nearest one, the first that was the right size. There were all on these rectangles of cardboard with the name of the person who’d made them – that one said Frank Hagwood, I’m almost sure. I suppose Frank was also delivering them. I suppose he saw me, fighting Victor and got the wrong end of the stick…I must have dropped my ID badge…” His voice seemed to run out and his head slumped down. “And then they killed him, just for seeing that, for seeing me and remembering it. Him and Mrs Morgan and Bethany, poor Bethany…”
“The facts please, Agent Tyler” came the stern voice from the radio.
“Facts!” Sam exclaimed, fiddling his fingers together and giving a short laugh. “I don’t have facts any more. Not many, any how.”
And he looked across the desk, directly at Gene.
Sitting in a chair, near the wall and out of the way, Gene bit his thumb and succeeded in not getting up and sweeping Sam away, in not trying to take him somewhere safe and quiet where it could be just the two of them.
People milled around the room, form after form came along, calls were made, watches put on airports and stations, officers sent to arrest Morgan in Bognor. News came in of arrests made in Hyde, of the discovery of the corrupt CI5 men Victor had used to raid Sam’s flat and the A-Division station. Later in the evening Sam’s so-called wife came on record confessing to her part in creating another false life for Sam after the tip-off that Frank Hagwood had contacted CI5 had made his current position too risky for his interrogators.
“Bitch” Bodie had murmured, putting down the phone. “You had a girlfriend like her once, called Sita, a coloured” he said to Sam, pointing at the identikit photo, “I have to say they did a bloody good job of convincing you, mate.”
“It didn’t feel right” Gene heard Sam reply. “But, I do remember Sita…god, I do remember her now.”
“She’d not be one to forget” Bodie concurred, with a leer. “When we’ve got you back south to civilisation, we should look her up.”
Gene got up and left his office. He didn’t have to listen to this.
\- - -
It was one o’clock in the morning.
The station was littered with sandwich papers and dirty coffee cups, with finished cross-words, used up typewriter ribbon and a thousand cigarette butts.
Gene was sitting once more at one of his inferior’s desks, twisting a pencil idly in his fingers.
There was a chinking noise near his elbow. A cup of tea had appeared, and with it Annie, who looked almost as bad as he felt.
“Thought you could use some, Guv” she said, softly. | cad618d8c5994177aee5162f189b3c78 | ['c964f41da7884e17807d4861cb7c203f'] | “She didn’t eat,” Jamie was saying, slowly. “Whenever my father was in the house, she wouldn’t eat at all. He was there recently for the shooting, with his friends. All his closest friends.” He shuddered. “Mrs Dawson writes that Mama caught a sudden pneumonia and nothing could be done, but I am sure that if she had been stronger...” His voice cracked. “I’m sorry,” he continued, as Jim offered him his handkerchief. “You don’t want to know about all this.”
“My mother works for a charity which helps women who seek to leave the company of their husbands.” Jim said softly. “These things are common enough. It is better to speak about it.”
He was afraid, as he spoke, that ‘common’ might give offence, but Jamie only sipped his tea again, and nodded, slightly.
“Now I must go home for the funeral,” Jamie said slowly, staring ahead, contemplating the task. “I’ll have to miss the end of term. Go and be with my father as he buries her, once and for all.”
He frowned, and Jim saw the grip on his cup tighten, his knuckles turning white. “My father didn’t want me to come here. What’s the point of a degree, he says, if you’re to spend your life managing an estate? Mama didn’t like it either. She wanted me with her. I thought there would be time for that, after. I just... I wanted to be away, just for a few years, to be away from it. From them.”
Jim poured them both another cup of tea, and pushed over a tea-cake. “Write to me,” he said, unable to stop himself. “If, I mean, if it would help. Write to me over the Christmas and tell me how it is – I’m sure it will be awful, but at least...” He tried to think how to phrase it. “When I am angry, I draw. And when it is on the paper, it isn’t inside me in the same way.”
He scribbled down his London address – probably an area Jamie had barely ever heard of outside the Saturday illustrated papers, but that couldn’t be helped – and underneath that wrote his college one. He didn’t quite like to refer to the fact that, give or take the vagaries of memory, Jamie already knew it.
Jamie, taking a deep, shuddering breath and then sipping his tea, gave him a slight smile. And now Jim felt warm, warm through and through, and _awake_ , somehow, as if at long last suddenly roused from hibernation and stumbling into the light.
\- - -
Christmas Day in Jim’s family home always involved a morning spent assisting at the soup kitchen – where roast meat was, for one day, added to the menu – usually accompanied by a stern lecture from his father about considering those who had less than oneself. When Jim had been very small, there had been no decorations and no presents but as he and his elder sister had grown up and become more aware of their school-fellows’ excitement, they had successfully pleaded for both, and it had become a feast day for hospitality more than anything, encompassing whoever was in the house, neighbours and friends and any other waifs and strays who might otherwise have gone without some celebrations to share.
How alien, then, the world in Jamie’s letters seemed.
Jim had worried that Jamie might have regretted the confidences shared under extraordinary circumstances, but a letter had come, and soon another. There was little of direct emotion, Jamie preferring to describe the details of day to day life in his house, which emerged to be Govern Hall, a large country residence in Devon, about which Jim found a substantial entry in the relevant Baedekker. There, Christmas had been a vast undertaking akin to mobilising an army, involving trestle tables, mass slaughter of fowl, ranks of servants awaiting small presents, regimentally correct silverware and strictly defined etiquette. Jamie had perforce attended several balls – he wrote of these as hideously boring – and there had been the Boxing Day Hunt, the only event he spoke of with any real relish.
And yet these were not mere lists. Between the lines, Jamie was trying to say something, Jim knew, and he read the letters again and again, seeking to hear it.
The funeral, Jim read about the most. It had been canvassed in short but descriptive sentences, the letters once or twice blotted by tears: _She looked as though she were asleep. I had never seen her sleeping, I dare say none of us present had. It seemed intrusive of us to be there in her peace, and a relief when she was gone, and hidden again._
From memory, though knowing it to be a bad idea, Jim sketched Jamie, this time intending him to have his own face rather than a reptilian interloper, but the details wouldn’t come. He could see him in his mind clearly enough, but it would not work on paper.
Taking a fresh sheet, he drew the riverbank dwellers – the Rat, in his boating costume, the Mole in a velvet suit, the Toad in motoring goggles, and a whole bevy of different rabbits in gay country costumes. He sent it to Jamie, writing underneath: _It depends, perhaps, on your definition of ‘unnerving’._
“Are there any factory workers, then, in this riverbank?” his father asked, in a tone that was only half joking, having read the first three chapters.
\- - -
Jim returned to Oxford in January, trying not to anticipate anything, but on the second evening back in his rooms, when a knock came at his door, he was up and across the room so fast that he knew the effort had been in vain. |
5603772ffce941fc9071ed775459d53e | ['c9749d2a2a81456baf54e7b6392c6f88'] |
1. Ticking Down
Chapter 1 – Ticking Down
There was something almost soothing about being on the edge of an apocalypse, though Harry knew that anyone would think he was crazy if he expressed the thought out loud. The sense of urgency brought on by impending doom was something that he had lived with for most of his life. He had left when it had grown to be too much, but a part of him, the ‘hero’ part he assumed, had missed it.
So if he was caught sprawled in one of the lounge chairs on Tony’s balcony staring out at the skyline with a ruminating smile on his face, that was the reason why.
And honestly, he didn’t think that it was anyone’s business but his.
Tony disagreed, which was saying it mildly. He was quick to distract Harry whenever he noticed that he’d been drawn into his thoughts for too long. Tony, who had all the subtlety of a tutu wearing rhino painted cherry red and gold, had been wary of leaving him on his own, which hadn’t been much of an issue until recently. The past few days had been full of last minute alterations but now they were playing the waiting game. Harry had prepared his counter wards as best he could and the transmitter was ready to go. After endless hours in each other’s company, Harry had begun to chafe and so he occasionally pulled away for some alone time.
“Oh there you are!”
Which Tony consistently interrupted.
Harry covered his eyes for a moment and took the time to carefully swallow his annoyance. He understood, really he did. If Tony had died for a week and been magically brought back to life, he would stick a little close too. So there was no reason to kill Tony, no reason at all.
The billionaire dropped down into the chair next to his, and wordlessly handed Harry a beer.
“Was the movie that boring?” Harry asked, immediately picking at the label.
“Eh. I was more interested in where you’d run off to,” Tony said, tone pointedly casual.
“Tony…”
“Plus Bruce fell asleep and started to snore. No one likes to be around for that.”
Harry sighed and turned his attention back onto the skyline.
“Are you going to tell me what’s up or do I have to start guessing? Because I totally will.”
“Please god no,” Harry intoned. Then louder he said, “Do you ever think about dying?”
“I try not to, but yeah. I think everyone does,” Tony answered easily. “Why? Is that what’s bothering you?”
Harry frowned. A part of him just wanted to tell Tony. Not only would the secret finally be off his chest, but then Tony could stop worrying. The other man was going to find out anyway. It was only a matter of time. Tentatively, Harry drew a breath, only to stop when he felt something wet and slightly oily land on the back of his hand. He looked down, eyes narrowed at the viscous black liquid that was beginning to fall from the sky. An instant later his skin began to burn, like he’d splashed hot grease on himself.
“The hell –!” Tony bleated.
Harry tugged the other man to his feet and practically tossed him in the direction of the balcony doors. He followed close behind, vacating the balcony right before the stuff really started coming down. Both of them stood there in stunned silence before Steve’s voice startled them into movement.
“Guys!” he barked from the media room. “Come look at this.”
The television had been switched over from the movie that had been playing to the local news.
“…reports of a black rain that burns when it touches skin but it doesn’t appear to be doing any structural damage. We advise that you seek shelter inside until otherwise advised.”
They watched with varying degrees of horrified bewilderment as the television showed footage of the black rain falling over the city, and the span of damage it could do to human skin. Harry was so enthralled that he was unprepared for Tony to grab at his hand.
“Bruce,” the billionaire called intently.
It was enough for everyone to look over and their faces darkened when faced with the creeping burn marks on the back of Harry’s hand and arm.
Bruce jumped to his feet, grabbing Harry’s other arm and towing him into the kitchen.
“Jarvis,” Tony demanded.
“Analysis of the substance reveals that it is a phosphazene class super base. I would recommend --.”
“Vinegar!” Bruce snapped, but Tony was already tearing the cupboards apart.
Bruce and Clint guided Harry into one of the tall bar chairs while Steve and Natasha hovered and tried not to get in the way. Harry sighed and let them fuss, complicatedly resting his arm on the countertop. Tony offered Bruce the bottle of vinegar and Bruce carefully went about splashing it on the worse of the burn.
“The pain should be easing up,” Bruce said, glancing into Harry’s face before refocusing on his arm.
“I’ve had worse,” Harry said. “But yeah. It feels better.”
Bruce rolled his eyes, and continued to splash vinegar over the worst of the burn until the bottle was depleted. Then he carefully lifted Harry’s arm by the wrist, examining the burn with grim fascination.
“Bandages,” he demanded to the group.
Natasha peeled off to rifle through their well stocked first aid kit. She passed a roll over and Bruce began to wrap them around Harry’s wrist, forearm, and fingers.
“What do you think that stuff is?” Clint asked, motioning at one of the windows.
“Preemptive strike,” Harry said with a shrug.
Bruce finally looked up from Harry’s hand, calling it good enough. “How’s the pain?” he asked. “And be honest.” | a805c475f08a42079566c636376c7fcc | ['c9749d2a2a81456baf54e7b6392c6f88'] | “Uh yeah. Wow thanks. That would have been a mess.”
“It’s 3 o’clock in the morning. Why aren’t you sleeping?”
Jack turned, already motioning at the stacks of old newspapers, ready to explain what he was doing. The words frizzled out as he finally took in Reyes - Gale - who had exchanged her CeMDA uniform for her pajamas.
Jack hated the traditional CeMDA robes - he had never been able to shake the feeling that he was wearing a dress, no doubt the result of growing up in mundane Chicago and having a father born of a mundane family. The field uniform was better. It was a long darkly colored double breasted trench coat. Most male agents wore slacks underneath. Gale wore riding pants with long dangerous looking heeled boots.
He had taken note of it. He’d admired her figure when he was sure that she wouldn’t catch him doing so, but that was all. Her coolness quashed any inclination he’d might have had to engage her in conversation outside of the mission. In her uniform she looked untouchable, cold and dangerous. Such sharpness was unlikely to be an accident.
Dressed for bed, standing in the small room that the embassy had put aside for his office, the carefully maintained distance between them seemed utterly bridgeable. Her hair, typically pulled back into a tight bun, had been released to brush against her shoulders. It wasn’t completely straight either. She had bathed recently - her thick hair was still damp and curling loosely.
She was wearing sweatpants that were too large for her. The tops of her feet were lost in them. Her arms and shoulders were bare. She looked…
Jack blinked, and swallowed. “I was doing reading. Doing research, I mean. Trying to track down Black.” He turned from her, reaching absently for his coffee. “There’s a lot of information here, a lot of it is conflicting.”
“You’re meeting with the people at Hogwarts in the morning.”
Her implication was clear and Jack turned in his seat, squinting through the headache pulsing in his temples. “Look, it’s not that simple.” He slapped a hand down on stack of parchment, releasing a cloud of dust. “I know his official records. Every mission. Every little thing that anyone in the Ministry or media ever wrote about him. But it doesn’t make sense.”
Reyes sat in the only other chair in the room, leaned back, legs crossed and arms folded. The unsteady light from the gas lamp on the desk caught her eyes, and for the first time Jack saw that they weren’t black, but brown. He blinked, and looked away.
She sighed. “This can’t be so difficult,” she said. “Even I’ve heard of this guy. He betrayed his friends to Voldemort, murdered 10 innocent mundanes, and thirteen years later was the only man to escape from Azkaban Prison unassisted. He died fighting for Voldemort at the Battle of Hogwarts, his magic sucked from him with the rest of the Death Eaters.” Reyes tilted her head to the side. “Done.”
Jack took a slow breath, any attraction he had for her disappearing in a single annoyed instant. “Okay. Number one, it was thirteen mundanes not ten, and they call them muggles here. Number two, he was sent to prison without any trial or hearing of any kind, so I’m not entirely convinced of his guilt. Number three, there are eyewitness accounts of Sirius Black fighting _against_ Voldemort and his followers.”
He picked up a thick binder of old newspaper clippings and shook it in her direction. “And here. News reports, all conflicting, written shortly Voldemort returned summer of ’94. Some say that he never betrayed the Potters, that it was their other friend, Pettigrew. Others written just after Voldemort’s first death say the opposite, that Pettigrew died trying to capture Black after the Potters’ deaths. Now why would Pettigrew do that?”
Jack picked up a thin leather folio and flipped it open, revealing Peter Pettigrew’s official transcript from Hogwarts. His words came quicker now. “This man was unremarkable. His magic was just developed enough to wield a wand. Why on earth would he think he could capture Black by himself? Why would Black betray the Potters in the first place, when all pervious records indicate that he was their friend, James Potter’s best friend? If he did to it - and I really don’t think he did - what was his exit strategy? He had to know that everyone would suspect him. It’s stupid, and the one thing that everyone can agree on is that Sirius Black is not stupid. And of course the only people that know for sure are _dead._ ”
Jack took a deep breath, and ran a hand over his face. “And why would he escape in the first place? After sitting in jail for thirteen years, something made this man escape and go to Hogwarts.”
Jack turned to his audience, and saw that her eyes were wide and her mouth was slack with surprise. Retroactively, he realized that this was the first time Reyes had spent any time around him when he was working - not interviewing, but truly working. At headquarters his rank afforded him his own office, and most of the other Finders had learned the hard way not in interrupt him. If he had to talk aloud, he usually spoke to himself. He’d forgotten that people were often overwhelmed when he got like this. It seemed even unflappable Reyes wasn’t immune.
He watched her swallow. “Well…” she said. “There’s at least one person who knows for sure."
Jack shook his head. “The Chief wants all of this figured out before we meet with Potter.” He sighed. “No, the Headmistress had all of them as students. She was there when all this was going on. Maybe she’ll have the answers.”
“I think,” Reyes said, obviously choosing her words carefully. “That it’s not that people don’t have the answers.” |
487f886f9a1c437dbd503da88ebc0fac | ['c989c35a6d654ad4ad578ce22ec177b5'] |
1. Chapter 1
Aelin’s head whirled as she came in and out of consciousness. The world around her was utter darkness. She couldn’t quite remember where she was but the smell of iron, the taste of it, assaulted her senses. The last thing that she could remember was the bitter sting of the whip licking the exposed skin on her back and Maeve’s shrill laughter. _Mate_. Maeve had confirmed that Rowan was her mate, that she had known what he was to her since the start. Tears began to roll down Aelin’s blood stained cheek. She could feel the shackles around her feet and hands and cursed herself for walking into so easily Maeve’s trap. She had been ready for this of course, expecting it even, she had already put everything into motion for her inevitable death. _Safe._ She thought, _they were all safe_. Pain coursed through her entire body as she shifted uncomfortable in her prison. _An iron box_ she realised. How clever the old fae bitch was. The blood was still freely trickling down her back, pooling around her. She wondered how deep the cuts were, knowing they may never heal surrounded by all of this iron. If she were foolish enough she would have hoped to die in this iron prison of hers, though she knew fully well that Maeve wouldn’t let her, not until she was done with her. _At least they’re all safe_ she told herself again and again realising it was only half true. They may have been safe from Maeve but there were darker, more powerful forces at work here. She thought of Rowan again, of the future they could have had together, the future that she had now willingly given to Aedion and Lysandra. They would be safe, they would succeed, Terrasen would live and thrive once again. Her thoughts slipped to Manon and the wyrd keys the witch now possessed, what it was now Dorian’s destiny to do. The tears continued rolling down her face as something tugged at the back of her mind, a distant memory. _Wyrd marks_ , she thought as her mind suddenly kicked into action. _Wyrd marks still work on iron_. Hope filled Aelin as she maneuvered herself, wincing at every slight movement until she had access to the blood slicken back of the iron prison. Mustering every ounce of energy she still possessed she recalled the day in the library with Dorian, the day they had faced the grotesque beast his father had created, she recalled the wyrd marks that allowed her to open and lock the iron door. Dipping her finger in her blood, Aelin crudely traced the pattern of the opening wyrd mark on the chain of the shackles grasping her wrist, the chain fizzed and crumbled away. With a suppressed laugh she went to work on her feet, trying to find room in this small iron hell. Once her feet were free she began on the door of the casket, it too opened without a problem. Pushing the lid slightly she realised the damned fools had left her in an empty room, she slowly swung the lid further open feeling her strength, her fire gradually return to her. She knew it would take time for her strength to rebuild and prayed that they were far enough away from Wendlyn for it to return. She felt the skin on her back begin to knit together the moment she had left that infernal iron coffin and smiled to herself. Shutting the lid and locking the box once more the Queen of Terrsasen moved to the shadows of the deserted room, bloodied and broken she hid there and waited.
2. Chapter 2
The scent of iron hung heavy in the air as Aelin crouched, swaying slightly trying to remain conscious. She took in her surroundings, the grotesque iron coffin in the middle of the room, one door, no windows and dozens of boxes containing who knows what. Feeling a gentle sway underneath her feet that had nothing to do with her pounding head, Aelin realised that she was on a boat. Away from that hideous coffin she had been bound and forced in to, the pleasant and familiar feeling of her magic stirred in that well deep within her. The ragged and torn skin on her back began to knit together slowly, so painfully slowly, and she tried to breathe through the pain that held her so tightly. As she sluggishly straightened herself up, Aelin began to realise the extent of the damage inflicted her on skin. Her naked torso protested against every movement she made. Gods knew she had been whipped and beaten before but this time it was different the circumstances were different, and she had never been abused by somebody as brutal as Cairn before. The scent of pleasure that emanated from him every time the whip licked her back was palpable and nauseating, the memory alone made bile rise in her throat but her stomach was so thoroughly empty she just wretched. Becoming agonisingly aware of the dryness in her mouth and throat, Aelin set about the room trying to find something, anything, to quench the now burning thirst. Quietly turning over storage boxes, she stumbled across a barrel that sloshed heavily with liquid. Opening the lid the overpowering scent of rum drifted into the air and she had to supress a gag again. Without any other options Aelin grimaced as she gulped down the hot amber liquid. After sliding the lid back on she slid down to floor and her hands through her blood matted and tangled her. She couldn’t do anything except for wait. Wait for her magic to build itself back up. Wait for Maeve to decide what she wants to do with her. Wait for Cairn to come back for her with that savage smile that promised pain and torture plastered across his cruel face. Aelin didn’t know how long she sat there, contemplating what was in store for her when this ship docked gods knew where. All she knew for sure was that when she was off this boat, when she was facing Maeve again, the fae queen would truly know what it was like to feel fire in her lungs. Maeve and anybody who followed her rule would feel her wrath. Sorrow washed over her at that moment as her mind went to Fenrys and his brother. Fenrys who clashed against the bond that tied him to that bitch. Fenrys who faught for her and tasted the freedom of her court. She would free him she thought, she would free anybody that wanted it. Hearing movement the other side of the door, Aelin’s head whipped. She quickly forced herself back into her iron prison, wincing as her still healing back touched the cold relentless metal. She held her breath as the door to room that had become her prison open and closed again. With a quiet exhale she slumped a bit feeling the bite of iron against her bare skin, but remained where she was. Her thoughts travelled to her loved ones and she wondered if they were following the plan she had set for them. She thought of the web of deceit that she had weaved for her friends, the assumptions she had let Rowan run with and felt a pang of guilt. Yet, as she well knew the best lies had hints of the truth laced in them. As if it had heard her thoughts, Aelin felt a shifting in her exposed stomach. Her hands instinctively went to the source of the movement. _Alive_ she thought to herself, _the baby is alive._ | 3e5f3ab24158405193a06d6f077bf2ca | ['c989c35a6d654ad4ad578ce22ec177b5'] |
Mind Games
****Feyre and her sisters lay sprawled in the garden of the town house. Elain’s flowers had fully bloomed now and under the high sun their colours were breath taking. Since the war the three sisters had lived for the days like these, the days were they did nothing but enjoy each other’s company. Feyre couldn’t help but feel that they had missed out when they were younger, that they had lost those years of bonding and loving one another. They had eternity now to make up for it, but she still mourned the time they had missed, the years that they didn’t even try. Light footsteps sounded in the distance and once the scent of the visitor hit them Nesta swore, colourfully, and loudly enough for him to hear. _Lucien._ It had been a year since the war, since they finally started to piece together their lives, yet Nesta still loathed him with every inch of her body. Feyre let out a soft chuckle at her sister’s outburst as Elain’s head whipped to face him, her delicate cheeks reddening slightly at the sight of him. She still hadn’t accepted the bond, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to, she wasn’t sure if her feelings lay elsewhere, in an Illyrian camp training the females maybe. Nesta’s face slipped back into that cold mask that had rarely been seen since the mating bond with Cassian had clicked into place. Yet she still reserved that face, that unrelenting stare that made most people cower, solely for Lucien. As he approached he bowed slightly, dipping his head to each sister in turn before taking his seat next to Elain on the grass, Nesta rolled her eyes and didn’t break the harsh glare she had firmly fixed on him. He hadn’t pushed the idea of the bond in months now but she couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t try again. Something wicked flashed in her eyes as a predatory smile hinted at the corner of lips.
Lithely rising to her feet in one swift and graceful movement, Nesta strode to the kitchen calling Feyre after her, claiming she needed help with drinks. Without question Feyre followed her older sister into the house. Just as they were out of earshot of the garden Nesta whirled on her.
“Tap in to his mind. Do that listening thing.” She said pointing at her own head.
Feyre looked at her with an expression of shock.
“Nesta I can’t…”
Nesta cut her off. “Bullshit, I’ve seen you do it before. Just sneak in there dig a little and tell me when he’s going to back away from her.”
“It doesn’t work like that. I doubt he knows what he’s feeling right now.” Feyre’s voice was incredulous.
“Okay then. Tell me if he’s planning something today so I can get Cass over here and we can kick his ass.”
Nesta stared her sister down. Her fierce eyes, so much like Feyre’s but harsher somehow, bending her to her will.
“Please Feyre.” She asked softly, pleading.
The words melted Feyre, Nesta never asked for anything nicely unless she was desperate. It went against every instinct she had, but she couldn’t deny her sister, not when their relationship was still new and tentative. She cast her mind out, invisible fingers gliding outward, seeking their prey. The fingers turned to talons as they hit their target and caressed themselves against the walls of Lucien’s mind. It was soft, like warm butter, so different to the black gleaming adamant that protected her mate’s thoughts. Shame and guilt flooded through Feyre as she felt Lucien’s head open to her, completely unaware of the intrusion, unaware that his darkest thoughts would soon be shared.
Looking at Elain through Lucien’s eyes was both lovely and heart breaking. _She saw her sister, saw the beauty in every freckle on her soft, in every curl of her golden brown hair, in the way her eyes lit and sparkled as she reeled off names of the flowers she had planted. Feyre also felt the rejection, no not rejection, he didn’t feel rejected she realised, but he felt like he should. He thought of Jesminda, and how different she and Elain were. How her wildness was so at odds with Elain’s gentleness, how their love had been fierce and passionate and all consuming, while with Elain, well he didn’t know what he was to Elain, what she was to him._ His mind snapped to Vassa and Feyre gasped.
“What is it?” Nesta asked nervously.
Feyre couldn’t hide her shock. “He…He thinks he loves Vassa?”
“The mortal queen?”
Feyre nodded.
“He prefers that rude arrogant hussy over our sister? Has the idiot even seen how beautiful Elain is? You’re in his mind is he actually looking at her?” Nesta’s voice rose in anger.
Feyre’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you kidding me?”
“Well, at least he can leave her alone now.”
Through the bond Feyre had weaved between her and Lucien she felt him stiffen.
“Shh!” She told her sister. “Something’s happened and you made me miss it.”
Feyre dug her invisible talons deeper into his mind trying to find the source of his sudden discomfort. |
e1e027eb2cb245b5aecfc63bf48f2884 | ['c99622affbae416c9c886d95ded75489'] | He didn’t answer, he never did. But he almost felt like thanking her, after all, Astrid’s message was a blessing in disguise. Now he knew they were looking for him around the capital, so he had to stay as far away as possible. And there was nowhere safer than outside the borders of the Empire, where the Cerberus Assembly wasn’t untouchable. A place like... the Menagerie Coast? He made up his mind, that was the last time he thought about turning around.
He arrived in Nicodranas less than a week later and got a room at a cozy little inn in the center of the city. He didn’t stay at the Chateau, it was way above his means, plus it just felt wrong, being under Jester’s roof without letting her know. And he wasn’t ready to let her know yet.
He did, however, keep his eye on the luxurious building, trying to catch a glimpse of any blue tieflings in the windows. Eventually, he found a back road that lead to a small garden area, just behind the Chateau. He supposed it was someone’s private garden but he never saw anybody tending to it, so he took to spending his days there, reading in a small wooden bench under an old oak. It was a lovely location, quiet, peaceful, but the biggest perk of the garden was that, if he looked up over the overgrown bushes, he could see Jester’s balcony.
It was a bit creepy, he supposed, but it wasn’t like he was was stalking her... He wasn’t just any weirdo spying on her... He was weirdo from the future who was madly in love with her and was too awkward to tell her he was in town so he was waiting for her to go out so they could meet _organically_... yeah, it sounded less creepy when he didn’t say it out loud.
But the biggest problem was that Jester never seemed to leave the Chateau, which left him with a couple of afternoons of just sitting around, seeing her paint by the window, messaging her behind the bushes, dying to tell her to just look down but being too much of a coward to do it.
Until, one evening, he saw her tie a long white sheet around the balcony’s railing and climbed her way down, her strong arms making the descent look almost effortless. Jumping the small distance the sheets couldn’t reach, she landed on the stone paved street and put the hood of her green cape up before starting to weave her way into the crowded streets of Nicodranas. His heart in his throat, Caleb decided to follow her, trying hard not to lose sight of her green covered head in the crowd but also keeping his distance, despise how much faster his long legs made him. To his surprise, she entered the Moonweaver’s temple.
He waited a few minutes across the road, keeping an eye on the door to see if she would leave but, when she didn’t, he made his way in. There was a ceremony going on, a daily communal prayer to the Moon Goddess, and a surprising number of people were inside, sitting silently and listening to the priestess, chanting along at times. Jester had taken a seat close to the front and Caleb looked for a spot in the row of pews behind her. She had taken her hood down and her head was bowed respectfully, as if in prayer. To anybody else, she seemed like the perfect picture of a devout follower of Sehanine, but Caleb knew better. There was only one God Jester would ever pray to, and this wasn’t his temple.
From behind, he saw her reach inside a leather pouch and take out a small carving knife. During the entirety of the rest of the Moonweaver’s mass, Jester carved the wooden pew, stopping when the room was silent but doubling her efforts whenever the chanting got louder or people sang songs of praise. Caleb would look over her shoulder from time to time and admire her work, holding back laughter behind his thick woolen scarf. Dicks. Jester had carved out a sea of dicks of every size and shape. If they had more time, he didn’t doubt she would paint them in every color too, but the ceremony ended before she could get to that.
Jester got up, her knife disappearing into her bag again. But, unlike everyone else, she didn’t walk towards the door, sneakily passing by the other parishioners and making her way into a hallway to the side, that went deeper into the temple. Once again, Caleb followed, just a couple of steps behind.
The hallway was dark, illuminated only by clusters of white candles that burned inside recess in the walls, their dripping wax making odd root-like paths down towards the floor. He made his way carefully, trying to avoid the pools of wax in his way, his soft leather booths not making any sound on the polished stone floor. The hallway split at the end, leading to two different doorways that were separated by a large statue of the Moonweaver in a dark marble.
Jester was in front of the statue, her tail waving in the air as she painted the stone. There was already a dick in the statue’s cheek, another one being finished on her hand. The statue’s base said “The Traveler was here” in lime green.
“What are you doing?” He said before he had time to even think if he should. Before he could decide if he wanted to let her know it was him or if he wanted to disguise his accent. His heart made the decision before his brain could catch up. It was probably for the best, he sucked at accents anyway. | d3e56b063683430d8109f94bd71917a7 | ['c99622affbae416c9c886d95ded75489'] | “ _Liebling_...” The voice had called her in a foreign accent that was incredibly sexy. “Remember that time I faked a heart attack and you gave me mouth to mouth? I think about that all the time... Do you-”
If it was a secret code, she couldn’t decipher it. Heart attack? That was never a prank she and the Traveler had talked about. And what had he said in the beginning? Lieb... what?
She mulled it over in her head for a while, replaying the words in her mind until the accent started to meld into something more akin to her own. That’s when she realized something else about the voice, the slow, mumbled cadence in the words she had heard in many of the Lavish Chateau’s patrons. Whoever this messenger was, he was very, very drunk.
And that meant that it was definitely, probably, most likely, not the Traveler. Because Gods didn’t get drunk, right? Which meant she had been messaged by a mysterious stranger, just like one of the girls in her books! Crossed messages, an encounter of the fates, oh it was so romantic!
Except... he had intended to message someone else, right? This Lieb-something person. What if she had just gotten in the way of someone else’s love story? That was far less romantic...
“Hmm...” She started hesitantly. If this person had really messaged her by mistake, they needed to know. She couldn’t bare the thought of him thinking his loved one was ignoring him. “Think you have the wrong person. Unless you’re the Traveler playing a prank...” She added, just in case she was wrong and it really was him. “I’m not _Libwhateveryousaid_ but I’m here if you wanna talk about-”
The spell cut her off, disappearing like a pressure lifting off her shoulders even though she wasn’t done talking. There was so much more she wanted to say and ask. She wanted to know everything about this stranger and his message and the person he had wanted to message originally. If she hadn’t been cut off, Jester could have talked forever.
But it was done now and there was nothing she could do but wait until the stranger messaged back. She laid back down, getting ready to go back to sleep, half hoping that he would answer right away. But it was pretty late and her secret sender was considerably drunk so she wasn’t that disappointed when he didn’t say anything. She could wait until the morning. Until then, she would close her eyes and dream of a cloaked stranger, whispering sweet nothings to her in the dark.
But when morning came and went and the sun started to set again without any answers, Jester became antsy. What if, after learning that she was the wrong girl, he had decided to not message her again? Honestly he didn’t owe her anything, honestly. But she was just so curious! What if she was missing out on the love of her life? Or on one of the greatest unwritten love stories of all time! She needed to know more. And, to be totally, completely honest, she also wanted to hear that sexy accent again.
So, when her bed time came and her Mama disappeared into one of the other rooms with a client, she called on the Traveler.
“Traveler, are you there? I need a tinsy winsy favour...” She said, grasping his symbol in her small fist. There was only silence and the sound of crashing waves in the distance. “Pleaaaaase, pretty please! It’s really important!”
Two bright green eyes blinked into existence in the dark, followed by a large floating smile.
“What do you need, child?” His smooth voice echoed trough her room, pleasantly familiar but so very different from the stranger’s.
“Hey Traveler! So I got a message from a stranger and at first I thought it was you but now I know it wasn’t you and I was waiting for him to message me back and then he didn’t and...”
“Breath, little one” He laughed. “Do you want me to play a prank on this mysterious sender for ignoring you?”
“Well... technically no, technically. But I do want to learn a spell so I can message him.”
The Traveler’s floating features frowned. “That doesn’t sound very fun, child.”
“Pleaaaaaase! I reeeeeaally need it! I’ll do anything!”
The Traveler smiled again. “Anything? Now that does allow for some fun possibilities... I want you to come up with a prank, something big...”
“Sure! I’ll totally do that. Teach me the spell!”
“Not yet, eager one. Come up with a plan for our big prank, then you’ll learn.”
Like fog, he faded into the wall, leaving Jester alone and unfulfilled.
For three days, Jester racked her brain for prank ideas, nothing seemed good enough, big enough. A couple of times, she got impatient and tried to call her God to give him some sub-par idea, but he would not come. Finally, four days after the stranger had messaged her, four days of her secretly waiting for him to message again and getting disappointed, she came up with an idea.
“Hey Traaaaveleeeeeer!” She yelled in the emptiness of her room, swinging her holy symbol around on its chain. “What if I drew dicks all over some other God’s temple? Will that do?”
A familiar, fully formed hooded figure appeared at the end of her bed. “Go on, child. I’m listening.”
Jester smiled widely, like a cat. “I’m going to sneak into one of the other Gods’ temples around town, leave some pamphlets talking about how cool you are and then draw dicks all over their statues!”
The Traveler chuckled deeply. “That sounds excellent, little one. You truly have a gift for mischief.” His hand ruffled her hair and, even though he wasn’t truly there, she felt his caress. “Alright, sit down and listen closely. This is important magic, child.” |
5c78bff21ce145db9f9e4b6047749e95 | ['c9b8c329a5614688abdb54975c464591'] | "What kind of obstacle? Except my sisters absent mindedness." she shot Hilda a quick look.
"A woman."
"A woman?" Zelda gave her a questioning look. She couldn't think of anyone who would want to get in the way of her wedding except maybe her wayward niece but she would hardly call the 16 year old a woman.
"I don't know why I bothered even entertaining your ridiculous act." she rolled her eyes, standing from the table ready to return to the mortuary where she wished she had stayed, even if it meant being in the presence of Faustus.
"An act? I'm hurt _Zelda Spellman_ ", Zelda visibly flinched as the woman spoke her name, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as a feeling of dread washed over her.
"You chose to sit at my table did you not?"
"Of course but if only to cease my sisters incessant ramblings." she replied cooly. Mrs McGavey only smirked in return.
"Please Ms Spellman" she motioned to the empty chair. "Take a seat and let us see if this truly is an act."
It took Zelda a few seconds to comply with the woman's request and took the seat, the hard wooden back of the chair becoming almost soft. She couldn't bring herself to tear her eyes from the woman as she felt herself become lulled into a state of relaxation, the space around them fading into nothing but an empty space, nothing but black.
"That's it Ms Spellman, let's see what monsters are hiding in that head of yours." an all too familiar sultry voice spoke before Zelda could register what was happening. | 5a0ccc0460e34182a184e7dd9ae7798f | ['c9b8c329a5614688abdb54975c464591'] |
1. Misty Day.
**Author's Note:**
> Any feedback or criticisms are welcome.
She often wondered what it would feel like to be the supreme, all that power flowing through her but that wasn't what she wanted. She didn't want to be the centre of attention, everyone looking to her for guidance and protection. She just wanted to be the swamp witch she always had been, she just wanted to be Misty.
What if running away was the only answer? Running from responsibility is for cowards but right now that's all she could think about. After all, Fiona had slit Madison's throat believing she was the next supreme, who's to say she won't do it again? She turned her radio to a Stevie Nicks song, her eyes lit up and taking hold of the light blue shawl wrapped around her shoulders she began to twirl on the spot.
> _Somewhere out in the back of your mind_
>
> _Comes your real life and the life that you know_
>
> _It seems like it was the creation of some of those same old things_
>
> _It seemed to be the only thing left out in light_
She hummed along whilst packing a few things into a bag, going back to her swamp is what she wanted most. It would be hard to leave the girls who had opened up their home to her but surely they'd understand, she hoped Cordelia would understand. She didn't belong there.
Standing in the doorway was a far too familiar face, one she'd be glad to see the last of. "Going somewhere?" Fiona spoke, forcing a smile as she watched the swamp witch come to a halt. Her face expressionless.
"That's none of your business, Miss Goode." hatred in her voice. Everything about the supreme irritated her from the way she would walk around like she owned the world, the way she spoke down to people and acted towards them, and especially the way she treated her own daughter. The only sign of goodness she had shown her was introducing the girl to Stevie. She wasn't the supreme, not to her, she was just some dried up old hag.
"I do believe it is my business Miss Day, everything that goes on under his rood is my business." she took a few steps into the room, taking a long drag of her newly lit cigarette and blew the smoke into the swamp witches face.
"You're something' alright." she tightened her shawl around her shoulders and walked towards the mirror standing in the corner of her room.
"Excuse me?" the supreme was surprised at the young witch.
"You waltz back in here after God knows how long and you treat everyone as though they're nothing' but crap on your shoe, everyone treats you like some _'God'_ but you're not. You're nothin' of the sort." she couldn't believe the words spilling from her mouth, she was just as surprised as the older witch, she couldn't help it.
Fiona raised a hand and the blonde witch went flying into the adjacent wall, detaining her against it. "Just remember I'm still the supreme, you will show me some respect." her eyes dark as she spoke.
"What you gonna do, slit my throat next?" she mocked. Fiona let out a small laugh, letting the witch drop to the floor before turning towards the door. "Is that it?" her breathing was laboured.
"If you do leave, make sure you never come back. I'll make sure the girls know of your cowardly retreat." a grin grew on Fiona's face, she could hear the exasperated sigh of Misty Day.
"There's no chance in hell I'm leavin'. I'm not you Fiona, I'm not gonna run. Miss Cordelia has already been let down by one supreme, I'm not gonna be next."
"Call it what you will but I was simply returning what I had gotten from her. My _daughter_ has been nothing but disappointing, she brought a damn witch hunter into this house for Christ sake. She married the man!" her words stung the young witch, Cordelia was everything to her. She welcomed her into her home, made her feel like one of them, made her feel wanted and safe.
"You don't deserve her in your life, just because you're blood doesn't mean you're family. No one on God's earth needs you Fiona Goode, no one." tears formed in the corner of her eyes begging to be released. The old witch left the room speechless leaving Misty sitting in the centre of the room, tears making their way down her cheeks.
2. Miss Cordelia.
Hours passed since her verbal war with Fiona. She had spent the rest of the day in the greenhouse, she often found herself there when she found the company of the coven overwhelming. She was so used to being alone in her swamp, she'd give anything to smell the air that surrounded her abandoned shack, to feel the mud beneath her bare feet.
Misty switched on her radio and danced to the sound of her idols voice. "Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night, and wouldn't you love to love her." she grabbed her shawl and spun from one end o the room to another. She didn't notice that Cordelia stood in the doorway admiring the young witch, the way she carried herself as she danced and the way her eyes glistened in the dim light. "All your life you've never seen a woman taken by the wind, would you stay if she promised to you _heaven._ " her breath caught in her throat seeing the older witch standing in the doorway. "Miss Cordelia, I-I didn't see you." her face burned with embarrassment. Cordelia just smiled at the young witch. |
e2a336c1e4da4eaab189bbb9211060b7 | ['c9bf2e625f39485ebd429e5b0d0eac3f'] |
turn on the light
**Author's Note:**
> This lil fic is based on a tumblr post I made a couple weeks ago. I didn't plan on writing it, but my bud Jenna wanted me to, which is why it's dedicated to her. I don't think it's too hard to work out who's who, so I'm not gonna tediously explain it.
> Also, the reason this fic more from Beth's POV is because this was originally written for Beth Childs, but, yeah, I failed miserably at that. Oops. Sorry.
It's been a year.
That's Beth's waking thought this morning; what she dreamed of last night; what's been on her mind the whole week, pressing, heavy and uncomfortable. The Burrow is quiet and cold with grief. Mrs. S is quicker to snap at her daughters and quicker to tear up, clamping a hand over her mouth, turning to hide it; Sarah is someone else completely, unbalanced without Helena, _alone_ without Helena. She hardly leaves her room anymore (once upon a time, explosions and loud laughter erupted from inside that room, sometimes annoying, sometimes even unbearable - Beth would give anything to hear those noises again, now that there's just Sarah's silence). Cosima moved out over Christmas break and is staying with her girlfriend Delphine now. They met at Jenn and Fleur's wedding; Delphine is Fleur's neighbor, best friends with Fleur's younger sister Danielle. The newlyweds themselves live, of course, at Shell Cottage; Katja was . . . somewhere. South America - maybe? Beth can't remember. She's been at Hogwarts since September, blocking out everything that wasn’t schoolwork as she completed the year she missed while searching for Horcruxes with Alison and Felix.
Everyone was sent home yesterday, no exceptions, like the building itself needs space to remember and mourn.
Beth slowly gets out of bed and makes her way down the stairs. Every meal used to be an event, but the liveliness of her home and her family was stolen. She eats breakfast with her mother and her father, Ethan, who both look very preoccupied, staring into space.
Rachel joins shortly after, straight-backed and proper, but also looking uncharacteristically hesitant. About a year and a half ago, she chose the government over her parents and sisters and Alison and Felix, severed her ties to them. Now, she’s trying to repair them, on thin ice at the moment. She spent the previous night at the Burrow to accompany her family to the cemetery this morning.
Every moment of Beth's is robotic. Finish eating; stand; put bowl in sink; go upstairs; get dressed; go downstairs; leave for graveyard with what is left of family.
This is the first time she's seen Sarah since Helena’s funeral. Her hair is long and ratty and she smells awful, like she's rotting too. She most likely hasn't showered recently. Her face is old-looking, which is quite a sad way for a (former) prankster to appear.
The graveyard is brimming with sullen people, including Beth’s girlfriend, Alison, who clasps her hand tightly as tears stream down her splotchy red cheeks. She’s probably been crying since before she even opened her eyes this morning, understandably.
Sarah lays down next to Helena's grave, her body the same distance apart from the stone as the twins' beds are. Or used to be. Beth doesn’t know whether Helena’s bed is still there or not, but she doesn't have more than a second to think about it, spotting Cosima and Delphine. She rushes to them, pulls her only younger sibling into her arms.
"We miss you at home," she murmurs into Cosima’s shoulder.
"You sound like Mum," is Cosima's only response, and she leaves to hug their parents, who return the embrace warmly, and Rachel, who is stiff. She knows better than to go near Sarah.
"You see Felix anywhere?" Beth asks Alison, eyes scanning the grieving crowd for him.
"He's not coming," she replies thickly. "Feels too guilty. He and Tony are spending the day together."
Beth nods.
Around them, families cling to each other; some people are wailing, some look mildly discomfort, others’ demeanors are in-between. When Beth remembers the battle, the emotions of that day return as raw and strong as ever, and so she tries not to remember. It’s supposed to over now, but today is sure proof that it’s not. Helena is gone forever, meaning huge parts of Sarah are too; Felix was orphaned as a baby and has suffered so much since; Tony’s parents are insane from being intensively tortured by Bellatrix; countless other people have been permanently damaged because of Voldemort and the Death Eaters. That can never be fixed or paved over or willed out of existence. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named left his mark on the Wizarding world, and parts of the Muggle world as well.
_But he’s not immortal_ , Beth thinks. _All this pain dies with us._ Voldemort is dead and gone and not coming back (again), but wizards and witches are still living. Going to keep living for - well, forever, hopefully.
The thought makes Beth smile, amongst this smog of tragedy. She wraps an arm around Alison, who she loves, who's with her today despite the Battle of Hogwarts. She survived, and so did Beth, and so did so many others. That had to be enough.
* * *
To Felix, Hogwarts is a home, the only one he's ever truly known. To Alison, it's a school, but she adores and lives for academia. To Beth, Hogwarts and the Burrow are two different kinds of home, two sides of the same coin. The Burrow was cramped and loud, brimming with people you loved some days and hated others. Hogwarts felt like somewhere you just belonged, the place you're supposed to be, no matter who you are.
But neither feels particularly like that anymore. | 2ba4fa05ed3048bc8b2c94894e9daad1 | ['c9bf2e625f39485ebd429e5b0d0eac3f'] | After this, comes the next round; one by one, they take her hands, take a deep breath before a history comes tumbling out. No past's the same, of course, but each is related back to her by the owner. They also promise she is not alone anymore, say they have been and it sucks and she doesn’t deserve pain like that. They tell her that her presence on their television makes them smile, makes them feel, and they love her for it. They love her. It’s so odd - her damaged clone heart does not want to believe it. But while some let the word _love_ fall from their lips like they know where to find it in abundance, some release it with gentleness, the appropriate slowness, and Alison feels the sincerity, even if she hasn't fully accepted it yet.
She makes sure to hug all of them a second time when they’re finished talking.
The crowd of them comes to be milling about her house, around her yard, and the housewife in Alison panics. This, certainly, will look suspicious. One by one, she goes around, interrogates each girl and boy and in-between human on whether they have eaten recently, whether they've had dinner, whether they need to shower or not. She provides them with all she can. Alison’s concern for what the neighbors might think ebbs away; that was her mother’s thing, and Alison hates to steal it from her.
She hates to do this too, but she has to ask everyone to leave. She says goodbye to all of them, though. They promise, adamant, to call and email. She promises the same , trying not to wonder how she can possibly keep up with so many. That bit doesn’t matter today. These people are wonderful people. They are glowing with humanity. They are real, despite how crazy this experience has seemed, how dreamlike, and they remind Alison that she is real, too. Also strange. Maybe it’s a more a reminder that realness is based on perception; she can tug on her hair and it hurts, she can hug and feel the warmth, the tears on her skin that aren't hers. Therefore, she is real. It’s that simple.
Those are deep-down feelings, though; mostly, she just feels stunned, stunned and grateful.
The last person is a girl of seventeen-ish, long hair, five foot nothing; she lingers.
“Jordann, right?” Alison asks.
“Yup,” the girl answers. “I just wanted to say - my best friend Ellie’s the one who organized this. Not the one who was here - my Ellie’s from New England, but she couldn't make it because of family stuff. She wanted me to tell you that she really wishes she could’ve been here, and that she hopes you realize how loved you are.”
Alison nods. “I . . . I do.” It is a big thing to say; a big thing to experience, no conditions or secrets or genetic obligations attached. “Tell her I said thank you. So much.”
Jordann nods, smiling, and then walks away. Alison’s alone now, which feels wrong after all that commotion. She just stands there for a moment, unsure of what to do with herself. She feels like she’s in limbo.
She glances at the clock.
Oh. Oscar and Gemma will be home soon. She starts making a small after-school snack like nothing happened, but she’s humming, and she’s grinning ear to ear without even realizing it.
**Author's Note:**
> Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoyed, and that my first foray into Orphan Black fanfiction wasn't a horrific failure. Good luck on surviving the finale - I'm pretty certain that I won't.
>
> \- Ellie |
2fff46af32ac4ba7a9ea71db4f924fa3 | ['c9e6a0891c91400ab937e8167060d2f9'] | He laughed and almost fell on his ass in the kitchen when he finally broke free. Almost every inch of his exposed skin was covered in pink and blue and green marks as he stumbled a few steps before grabbing the counter. He wasn’t drunk exactly, but the rush of the night was getting to him. Lance looked up, then threw his hands at the ceiling, grinning.
“Hunk! Keith! My boys, yes!” Keith rolled his eyes.
“Lance. Buddy. How drunk are you?” Hunk asked, looking almost disappointed, as if he hadn’t seen far worse in the past year sharing a dorm. Not to mention the four years of high school before that.
Lance lowered himself onto the floor where Hunk and Keith were sitting a good foot apart. Even with the distance, Keith still looked like he was trying to vanish through the cabinets he was pressed against. Hunk had dressed up a little for the party, and a sparse few markings covered his arms, though they were all fading.
Keith on the other hand hadn’t even tried to stray from his usual dark on dark on dark ensemble. Right down to the black leather gloves meant for riding his motorcycle. His skin was remarkably clear of any markings, but that wasn’t unusual for him.
“Oh not very, calm down,” he waved his hand in Hunk’s direction. The music was muffled a little in the kitchen, but Lance still had to raise his voice to speak. “I’m just having a good time. Unlike you losers trapped in here.” He jabbed his finger into Hunk’s arm to emphasize his point. “Come on, man. I made absolutely sure that Shay showed up tonight just for you. This is your chance!” Hunk glared at him.
“Right, yeah. But you see that doesn’t really help me when I go and spill a drink all over her before I’ve even said hi. Not that I don’t appreciate you bringing her here, because I do,” he added as reassurance. “But really. This just isn’t going to end well. I don’t know what to do, and now I’ve just made it worse.” Hunk crossed his arms, and pouted down at the tiled floor.
“Hunk, buddy, this is ridiculous.” Lance’s voice was firm, unyielding on the topic, but in no way ungentle. He pointed at the sleeve of Hunk’s t-shirt. “If you look right under there you’ll find complete proof that you’re being a dumbass. That’s some real level two shit right there.” Hunk glared at him, and cupped his hand over his shoulder where all three of them knew full well was a soft yellow mark in the shape of Shay’s short fingers from where she had touched him a few weeks ago when they almost knocked each other over in the hallway. He hadn’t been able to stop touching it for days, unsure if it was even real. Hunk had been distantly crushing on the girl from his geology lab since the semester started, but had never dreamed she would be this important. The problem was though he had been steering clear of Shay ever since, afraid of the rejection he might face.
“What if she’s it for me, but not the other way around? What if she’s one of those people that just totally rejects the all this soulmate mark stuff? What if-“
“Yeah? And what if she’s ready to fall into your arms right now? You’re not going to know until you go out there and talk to her.” Hunk still frowned at him, and ran a hand over his arm. Lance hummed, and stood up, an idea forming.
He grabbed a red solo cup from the stack on the counter, and filled it with coke and a small splash of rum.
“Here’s what you’re going to do,” he started when he turned back to Hunk. “You’re gonna go find her out there, tell her you just fell for her a little too hard the first time, then ask if you can start over. Then when she says yes you go-“ Lance lowered his voice, and wrapped one arm around his waist in his best Hunk impression. “’The name’s Hunk, gorgeous.’” Lance then flips to the other side of the room, and leans into one hip while fanning himself, and going falsetto. “’Oh, Hunk. Of course we can start again. You gorgeous beefcake!’”
Keith, who hadn’t said a word since Lance stumbled in, snorted then hid his face behind his hand to mute his laughter. Hunk flung his head back though, laughing hard, shoulders shaking. Lance grinned at his friend loosening up.
“Lance. That was awful. Absolutely awful,” Keith laughed. Lance glared at him.
“Aw, shut it, Keith. It would totally work. This is the seduction plan to end all other seduction plans. How dare you doubt me?” Hunk shook his head, and breathed through his laughter as he stood up.
“Alright Lance. You’ve convinced me.” Lance grinned as Hunk took the drink from his hand. “You’ve convinced me that I can’t do any worse than that line so there’s no harm in trying.”
“Hey!”
Hunk pulled him into a tight, one armed hug.
“Thank you. Really.” He muttered next to Lance’s ear. He softened, and wrapped his arms around Hunk’s back. Hunk was really just a softie looking for validation, but he didn’t always like letting everyone else in on it, more often just letting people write him off as the anxious kid near the back. Lance was one of the very few people that knew this about him.
“Anytime, big guy.”
Hunk took a deep breath, and Lance shoved his shoulder to help get him out of the door. With Hunk taken care of, Lance turned to the dark shadow of Keith still on the floor. Lance sank back down to the floor to take the space Hunk had given up, careful to keep a comfortable distance between them. | cf979ce0acdd4c42b00852653676353d | ['c9e6a0891c91400ab937e8167060d2f9'] |
1. Level One
**Author's Note:**
> Okay SO! Wow look I actually updated it, and do plan to continue *jazz hands* anyway.
> IMPORTANT: Hi if you're a wonderful person who read chapter one the first time I posted it, I made some edits. Mostly small things, but if nothing else, read the first two sentences. Those are game changers.
>
> For all ya'll new readers: Welcome to another Soulmate AU no one asked for, but I made anyway!-
> So in this au there's a thing commonly known as "Skinship Markings" which appear as colors on your skin in the shape of someone's hand or whatever art of their body touches you, and there's a few "levels" to them, starting at level one which is very basic colors coming from everyday touches between friends and common romantic relationships. Then level two is a permanent mark you receive when your soulmate touches you for the first time, and the color is unique to each pair.
>
> Those are the two good ones.
> The not so good ones are levels zero and three. Zero indicates a particularly harmful and maliciously intended touch which left some kind of psychological scar on you. These will always be black. Level 3 is a gray mark which takes the place of a soulmate mark if one of them dies.
> Sorry that was long I'll let you read now!!
Level One:
This is the most basic level of Skinship Markings. These marks
show kind touches through basic interaction. Blue marks show a brush
between friends, pink marks come from love (darker pinks being that
of lust as well), yellow indicate touches linked to pure joy.
These marks last only for two hours.
If you were to ask anyone else, then they would tell you that it had to have begun the night after the fire. The pictures that shouldn’t have existed, the desperation that hung around every single one of them for months.
If you were to ask Lance, it had begun at the party at his parent’s beach house. It was the first weekend of the summer, and they were celebrating having just barely survived their freshman year of college. As much as Keith had protested, Lance hadn’t kept the party small. The first to know about it were of course, Hunk, Keith, and Pidge since they were his closest friends, and must have VIP guests as far as Lance was concerned. The next to know was Pidge’s brother Matt, as the only one over twenty-one willing to buy them alcohol. then he told Adam and Shiro. A power couple that almost anyone would follow, not that they were great about getting out to actually spread the word, with how much time they spent “studying” together. Which was why, as horrible of an idea he knew it was, he called his ex-girlfriend Nyma next.
Nyma might have pretended to hate hearing from him again, but Lance knew that a chance to show off how much better her life had become in the past three months was too good an offer to pass up. Any of her social activities went public within seconds of any planning. Which meant that by ten thirty that Friday night, the beach house was full of blasting music with lights flashing in time to the beat- curtesy of their tech guru Pidge- and people packed into every inch of available space- curtesy of Nyma, who was already on her way to a drunk mess, hanging off of her junior date.
People had moved out onto the decks, and space beneath the house when it got too crowded inside. There was a couple in the hammock that no one had seen unhooked for hours, a group of frat boys daring each other to jump into the still river backing the row of houses down the block. People loitered along the stairs outside to cool off, and a group had just broken off to go explore the beach not even a half mile away.
And everyone was covered in various colors and sizes of Skinship markings from the lack of personal space in the house. The colors all seemed to glow a little underneath the lights.
There was not a single spare inch of personal space on the main floor. It was taken up by too many moving bodies to count. Everyone was on each other, half of them covered in spilled alcohol, but never making a move to get clean. Not one for dancing, or interacting too much with people, Pidge was up by the TV, acting as the DJ. Every once in a while she would turn the music down a few notches to scream something unintelligible at the crowd just to see their drunken response. Despite rejecting the idea of any alcohol, Lance was pretty sure her curiosity had finally gotten the better of her. She seemed at least a little buzzed. Good for her to have a little fun for the first time all year. Better she does it at Lance’s house when she was spending the night, then at some god awful frat party back on campus.
It was getting close to midnight, and Lance was detangling himself from the middle of the dance floor, trying to shove someone’s hands off of him. He couldn’t quite tell if it was the girl who’d been trying to make out with him a few minutes ago, or the guy he’d left her to go dance with. They ended up lost to the buzzing in his head, and the rapidly changing lights. |
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